I took the glue from the kitchen drawer and busied myself with sticking the handle back on to the mug. The trick was to keep occupied.
The earthquake was constantly on the news. There was one photo that appeared over and over of a bridge in Lima. It looked as though a huge hand had grasped it in the middle, knuckles brushing the water, crumbling the middle section, squashing tiny cars with its shocking force and causing trucks to slide helplessly off the sides. It was horrific and yet strangely beautiful at the same time.
Even when the live coverage had stopped, there were hourly updates given by journalists in Peru and the UK. Usually the numbers rolled across the screen.
Number evacuated. Number injured. Number dead.
I started avoiding the living room so that I didn’t have to see or hear the news. Whenever I needed to get to the front door from upstairs, I hummed as loudly as I could to block out the reports.
The one thing I did do was look up earthquakes online.
An earthquake is a shaking of the surface of the earth, resulting in the sudden release of energy in its upper layers.
It didn’t tell me much. What I wanted to know was what Jack would have felt. How terrified would he have been? I read about the different earthquake magnitudes, ranging from almost unnoticeable to devastating, and learned that Jack’s earthquake was towards the higher end of the scale. A lot depended on how far you were from the epicentre. The further, the better. The epicentre in this case had been near the capital, Lima, where Jack was heading to from Arequipa. But how far had he managed to get?
I searched further, skimming through more and more websites. What did it feel like to be in the middle of an earthquake? Survivors of large city-destroying quakes described them as ‘huge bumps followed by a rolling and a shaking feeling’, which somehow seemed inadequate. I shut my eyes, but I still couldn’t imagine anything close. Then I found an article by a girl a little older than me, who’d said an earthquake felt as if a giant had picked up her house and given it a good shake, which was exactly my thought as I’d watched the bridge on TV. Words like ‘unexpected’, ‘terrifying’ and ‘aftershock’ jumped from the screen.
All this research made my head swim. I finally turned off the computer and rang Keira. Yesterday afternoon I’d sent her a message saying, My brother is missing. Even as I wrote it, it didn’t seem real. She’d wanted to come over after school, but I hadn’t felt like seeing anyone.
But now I needed to be with her. Plus, I wanted to tell her about the key and ask for her help in solving Jack’s riddle.
‘Oh Flick. It’s horrid. I’m really, really sorry this has happened,’ said Keira. This was why she was my best friend – unlike everyone else she didn’t try to reassure me. She sat next to me and hugged me tight.
‘S.F.? They’re somebody’s initials, right?’ she asked when I told her about my discovery. ‘But why would Jack leave this key in a box under his bed? Do you know what it’s for? Does it open something, like a safe?’
‘No, I don’t think the key opens anything. It’s just a piece of jewellery. Jack used to wear it around his neck, but he didn’t take it with him, which is weird.’ It struck me that it might open something, but if it did, Jack had never mentioned it to me, and now I had no way of finding out.
‘Perhaps he was worried it would get lost while he was travelling? My mum always leaves her rings at home whenever we go on holiday.’
‘Maybe. He keeps his most important stuff under the bed. I didn’t see it when I was helping him pack before he left. He must have put it there at the last minute.’
‘Well, for whatever reason, it’s for S.F.’
‘But I have no idea who that is. We need to find out.’
Keira racked her brains.
‘I can think of a couple of people whose first names begin with S, but none of them have a surname with an F. Could you ask your parents?’
‘I could, but they’re in such a state, they probably won’t even hear me.’
‘Yeah, fair enough. Hey, it was your dad’s fiftieth birthday a couple of months ago, wasn’t it? Do you think your mum might have kept the invitation list?’
‘Maybe. It’s somewhere to start.’
I sneaked into the spare room, where I knew Mum kept her special gold-covered notebook and took it back to my bedroom. We scanned the guest list.
There were only three names that began with S – my aunts, Scarlett and Sally, and Sadie, from Dad’s chambers. None of their surnames began with F.
‘Think harder, Flick,’ said Jack’s voice in my head.
‘Wait a minute,’ I told Keira. ‘I’ll be back.’
In the second drawer of the spare room bedside table Mum kept her old address book, which she still used every Christmas for writing cards. I’d always found this funny for a person who ran a social media marketing company and had her life stored on her phone.
I turned the worn pages until I got to ‘F’. I knew that she had all her contacts arranged by surname. There were only two entries – the first was Mum’s old school friend, Emily Finnegan, but the second was Sol Falcon.
‘Bingo,’ said Keira. ‘Who is he?’
‘No idea.’
‘Hmmm, it’s unlikely, but let me check in case he’s famous. Remember, your mum said she had some celebs that her agency represented.’ She did a quick search on her phone, but shook her head.
‘I think we need to do a search diagram,’ I said.
‘What’s that?’
‘You know, like a big spider diagram that detectives use to solve cases. Whenever we get a clue about an S.F. we can add it in.’
‘Good plan. You want to do it on your noticeboard? Can we take some of these cards down?’ she asked, indicating the pin board above my desk.
‘No, I have the perfect place for it.’ I told Keira to bring my Polaroid camera and the envelope of photos I’d taken on our last family holiday. Then we went up to Jack’s room. The wall opposite his bed was covered in slippery whiteboard paper. He’d used the space to jot down ideas for his riddles and jokes – then he’d copy the best ones into his scrapbook. He’d wiped the wall clean before he left, as if it was a new start. Only faint outlines of his old drawings could be seen if I peered at them carefully.
‘Could you search through that envelope and find a photo of Jack?’ I asked Keira. I couldn’t bear to look at any pictures of when we’d been so happy as a family.
Then I opened the flamingo box and took a close-up of the key.
‘There aren’t really any headshots. This is the closest I can find,’ Keira said, passing me a photo of Jack squinting into the sunshine as he ate an ice cream. Mum had taken it as we walked down a coastal path in the South of France. It was a wonderful, hot day, which couldn’t have been more different to today.
Jack’s photo was our first item on the search diagram, followed by the key.
I decided that rather than making our diagram spider-shaped, I would draw a tree. Jack and the key would form its roots, and different branches would grow out of the trunk, each representing a different S.F. I drew a little lock at the end of every branch.
‘I like what you’ve done,’ said Keira. ‘Now we need to find which of these locks the key fits.’
The way she said this sounded like one of Jack’s riddles, which weirdly made me feel slightly better.
I took one of Jack’s thick green markers and next to the first lock, wrote, ‘Sol Falcon?’ It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
‘I need to run,’ said Keira. ‘I’ll keep thinking of other potential S.Fs. We’ll solve this, Flick, I promise,’ she said, giving me a big hug.
When she left, a strange quiet had descended on the house, and I realised that Mum had finally switched off the TV. I went downstairs to find her sitting in exactly the same position on the sofa, her knees tucked under her chin, staring into space. She looked like a tiny, frightened bird.
I sat next to her and stuck my head under her armpit, as I’d always done when I
was little.
‘Oh, hi, pet.’
‘Hi. You OK, Mum?’
She looked at me with her lips pressed tightly together, trying not to cry, and then she slowly shook her head and hugged me. The screen of her work phone continued to light up with people trying to call her. She ignored them. She was only focused on her personal phone. I guessed that she’d given the number of this one to the police and the ICO.
‘Not really, darling. I can’t sleep,’ she said. ‘How have you been feeling? I should have asked earlier. I’m sorry. I realise I’ve been in my own world. It’s horrible not being able to do anything. It gives you too much time to think.’
‘Yeah, it’s true. I’m OK though. Well, as much as I can be.’
‘It’s fine if you’re not, you know. It’s the most awful thing. I keep telling myself that they’re doing everything they can to find him.’
‘Yeah, everyone says that.’
‘It doesn’t help, eh?’ Mum asked, rolling her eyes. It was the same expression that she used when Dad said something silly or when we found Auntie Chrissy’s Instagram photos of her dog wearing a waistcoat. Only this time it was about Jack, and it made the tiny drummer start in my head again.
‘Have there… have there been any updates?’
‘Nothing. The police said that we’ll be the first to know if they hear anything.’
She stared nervously at the two phones laid out on the coffee table. I noticed that she’d started picking the skin on her fingers. There were red tracks down the side of two fingernails on her right hand. The sight of them made me want to get her plasters, but I knew she’d be embarrassed by me noticing.
‘Mum… Who’s Sol?’
‘Who?’
‘Sol Falcon.’
‘Do you mean Simon’s dad?’ I could see her lower lip begin to tremble. Simon was Jack’s friend from school, who was supposed to be joining him in Peru. He hadn’t saved enough money to do the whole trip with Jack, but he’d been due to fly out this coming weekend. He’d rung yesterday to say how worried he was and to ask if we’d let him know when we had news.
‘Oh, yes.’ I’d completely forgotten that Falcon was Simon’s surname.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. I saw it written down somewhere,’ I said, hoping that Mum wouldn’t be suspicious. I don’t know why I didn’t tell her but something told me this was a puzzle I needed to work out on my own.
She didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she patted my hand.
‘I’m going to have a shower now, pet,’ she said quietly. She lifted herself carefully from the sofa and was gone before I could ask any more questions.
Simon… It took me a moment to register that I’d scored double points on Jack’s puzzle already. I’d managed to find not one, but two people with the initials S.F. Simon was such an obvious answer to the riddle. He was one of Jack’s newer friends – they’d only begun hanging out in their last year of school and they played tennis at the local club. After their A-level results came through, they started properly planning their gap year. Simon had already been to Brazil, so he didn’t mind missing the first part of the trip. I remembered them looking at a huge map of South America on our living-room floor and excitedly drawing their route with a red pen. I wondered if he was still stacking shelves at Sutty’s shop, where he and Jack had worked together through the summer.
I rang Keira to tell her what I’d learned.
‘Why would he give the key to somebody who was going on the same trip as him? That’s the puzzling part. But you should go and speak to him anyway,’ she said. ‘Find out if he still works at Sutty’s and if he does, ask to have a chat when he’s on his break. Let me know what happens.’
She was right. I would go and speak to him tomorrow.
‘The sooner, the better,’ said Jack’s voice in my head.
When I lay in bed that night, sleep didn’t come. Instead, I thought of questions to ask Simon, or any other S.F. I could track down. I knew from the advice Jack had given me over the years that the main thing was to be discreet. I couldn’t launch into asking whether they knew anything about the key.
After what felt like hours of brainstorming in the dark, I came up with these questions:
• Could you tell me three things about Jack that I might not know?
• Have you ever solved one of his puzzles?
• Do you know anything about a special item that he owned?
I couldn’t reel them off as if I were conducting an interview. They would have to be cunningly slotted into casual conversation, which was easier said than done.
If I thought their answers were good enough, I would subtly introduce the subject of the key.
Finally, around 3 a.m. I fell asleep. I dreamed of Lady Abigail, walking along the dark lanes of Victorian London, calling ‘Margot! Margot!’ Her name echoed among the stone walls, returning fruitlessly to her mother’s ears. But in those last moments before the sound dissolved into the night, it seemed to merge with Jack’s name and the two danced together on a gust of wind.
Five
The first time Jack took me to Sutty’s shop was a week after it had opened. He collected me from school and we took a detour on the way home, because he said he was craving chocolate. I suspected something straight away, because he hates sweet things, apart from that particular brand of American chocolate frog which Dad once brought back from a law conference in Boston, and which Jack had been buying from Sutty’s ever since.
From the outside, Sutty’s looked like an ordinary grocery shop, but inside, we found that it was anything but.
For starters, Sutty greeted each of his customers as though they were a long-lost friend. When he’d first opened his shop, he insisted on giving everyone a handshake, until some customers became a bit freaked out by his affection. He would settle for an excited wave from behind the till.
The second unusual thing was that every nook and cranny was rammed with stuff. Sutty’s had shelves that towered to the ceiling, overflowing with all of the normal things you would find in a corner shop – milk, washing-up liquid, biscuits… and so much more. Indian silk fabrics spilled from woven baskets; there were dog beds with leopard print lining; fishing rods hung from the ceiling, along with headphones, strings of fairy lights and even feather boas, all forming an upside-down maze for taller shoppers. I loved it the moment I stepped through the doors and I could see why Jack wanted to show it to me.
‘You’re back,’ said Sutty when we’d come in that day. ‘Here for the goods, as agreed?’ he asked winking. He emerged from behind the counter with a plastic cylinder filled with balls.
‘Tennis balls?’ I asked, confused.
‘Ah, not just any tennis balls, my lady,’ said Sutty, ‘they’re glow-in-the-dark tennis balls. Your games will never be the same again.’
It seemed an odd thing to buy, even for Jack, who loved tennis. But as he never played late in the evening, and the courts in our local park had fancy floodlights, you could see everything, even in the dark. I was convinced that the balls were to be used as part of a joke and I vowed to ask Jack as soon as we left the shop.
‘I played with them last week,’ said a voice behind us, ‘it’s like hitting balls of fire.’
I turned around to see a tall, pale girl of about Jack’s age with jet-black hair. She was wearing an oversized leather jacket and what looked like men’s jeans. Her left eyebrow was raised in a mocking expression.
I glanced at Jack and for the first time ever, I saw his cheeks flush. He ran his hand over his face trying to hide it, but I could tell that the girl had noticed the effect she’d had on him.
‘Manfy,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Jack.’
I looked from one to the other, wondering what was going on, but neither of them gave anything away.
I was almost at the front door of Sutty’s shop, when somebody called my name. I turned around and saw Duncan standing outside the bakery next door. W
ithout his immaculate school uniform, he looked younger and friendlier.
‘Hi. What are you doing here?’ I asked him.
‘Oh… Erm, my mom sent me out for some breakfast things… Mr Rox told us about your brother. I’m really sorry. I hope he gets found as soon as possible. If you need anything, you know, like any lesson notes for stuff that you miss, let me know. I’m good at taking notes.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, staring at Duncan with surprise. ‘But I’ll probably be back on Monday.’
I couldn’t help but notice that he kept casting quick glances right and left, as if to make sure that nobody had seen him talking to me. It seemed that even in his moment of kindness, he was thinking about looking good.
I watched him cross the road, with his perfect posture and confident stride.
Luckily, I was spared from having to worry about this strange encounter any longer, because just then the door to Sutty’s swung open and there he was.
‘I’m deeply, deeply sorry,’ he said simply. ‘I’ve been watching it all on television. I keep hoping somebody will announce Jack is OK.’ And then, strangely for him, he appeared lost for words.
‘Thank you,’ I said, although the drumming in my head was already rising in volume. ‘I… I’m actually here to see Simon.’
‘Ah, he’s not here today. In fact he officially finished working here last week, but now that his… now that his plans have changed, I’ve told him that he could come back if he wanted to. He’s going to do a stocktake for me on Monday…’ Sutty began to explain but I felt my eyes blurring. I sat down on the front step. My shoulders shook.
I felt a big hand patting my back and then Sutty sat beside me, his huge body blocking the entrance to the shop. Luckily as it was early on a Saturday morning, there didn’t seem to be any customers around.
We sat in silence and I rested my head on my knees to stop Sutty seeing me cry. I couldn’t believe that Simon wasn’t there. Monday was two whole days away. How would I fill that time? I wouldn’t be able to dodge Mum and Dad, or avoid the drone of the TV news for another forty-eight hours.
The Key to Finding Jack Page 3