Ugh. A weirdo hermit rabbit butcher.
I looked at Jam, expecting to see him making a disgusted face. But, astonishingly, Jam had already leaped to his feet and was halfway to the door.
He had to be kidding? Take the skin off an animal? How gross was that?
‘Lauren?’ Glane smiled at me. ‘D’you want to help?’
I shook my head. Do you want me to hurl?
‘Bet you enjoy eating them though,’ Glane grinned.
I blinked.
‘You rest up,’ Glane continued. ‘Put another log on the fire if you like. And you are welcome to look around.’
He and Jam disappeared outside. I explored the cabin. In one of the large cupboards was some dry food and a stack of plates and mugs. In the other were three violins with parts of their wooden panelling missing. The books were a strange mix. Lots of hardbacks full of stiff, glossy pictures of ancient musical instruments. And a row of flimsy manuals with titles like How to Pluck a Chicken and Basic Outdoor Cookery.
Who was this guy?
Glane came back in just as I was tearing off another hunk of bread. I stepped back guiltily.
‘Eat,’ he said. ‘It is OK.’ He picked up a large wooden bucket and turned to go back outside.
‘How long have you lived here?’ I said.
Glane grinned. ‘I do not live here. I just come for a month each year. I was going back home today. Back to Boston.’
I tried to imagine him in a busy, bustling city.
‘You live in Boston?’
Glane nodded. ‘I have a job. Repairing musical instruments.’
I watched him stride across the snow to where Jam was waiting beside a tree stump. The sun glinted on a massive axe at his feet. Glane picked it up like it was a toy and swung it behind his head. He was obviously showing Jam how to use it.
Great. A weirdo hermit butcher violin-mender with an axe.
Jam took the axe and copied Glane’s swing. Up, up in the air, then thud. The axe slammed down into the tree stump.
‘Very back-to-nature,’ I muttered. I took a deep breath and sighed it out.
Jam walked over to a snow drift. Glane gave him the bucket he’d taken from the cabin and pointed at a patch of snow. I pulled on my cracked trainers and went outside. The sun was low in the sky, but warm on the back of my head.
Jam’s face was glowing with delight as I strolled up.
‘Glane’s showing me which bits of snow to take to melt for water,’ he said.
I wanted to laugh.
Oh, great. That’ll come in handy when we get back to north London.
But Jam looked so excited and pleased with himself that I said nothing.
After a couple more minutes I could feel the snow seeping in through the cracks in my shoes. I trudged back to the cabin.
My mother’s face was still in my head. A stronger presence than the woods and the snow. Stronger even than Jam.
I sat by the fire and stared into the flames. If I could only find her, then everything else in my life would make sense.
I would know who I was, at last.
17
More real than
real life
Darkness fell. Glane lit two lanterns, then cooked a stew with the rabbit meat and some herbs. It smelled delicious, but the thought of eating it after knowing the others had skinned the rabbits made me feel slightly sick.
Jam smacked his lips. ‘Awesome.’
‘Really?’ I said.
Jam’s mouth stretched into this wide grin. ‘Try it.’
Tentatively, I sipped a spoonful of the meat sauce. It was good. And I was hungry.
I tucked in.
After we’d eaten, Glane took the dishes outside. I didn’t think I was tired, but when I lay down on the bed I drifted into this warm, comfy sleep.
She was there again. My mother. Her face full of love for me. She bent over me. She gently stroked my cheek. Her finger was soft and warm. Just the lightest touch.
My heart leaped. It was real. She was there. It was really happening.
I strained, trying to swim up out of my sleep.
I forced my eyes to open.
No one was there. I looked round. The cabin was empty, except for Jam standing a couple of metres away looking at one of Glane’s books. He was frowning at the page, clearly completely engrossed in what he was reading.
I lay back, letting the waves of loss flow through me.
Glane stomped inside, bringing with him a blast of icy air. He strode over to the fire and sat down.
‘Time to make your boot lining,’ he said. ‘Want to help, Lauren?’
I didn’t see how I could refuse.
For one horrible second I thought he might be planning to use the rabbit skins from earlier.
Then he rummaged in a basket on the floor and drew out some lengths of fleece. I sighed with relief.
Glane wrapped the material round my foot, then measured it against a pair of walking boots. I helped him cut and stitch the fleece. Soon it began to take a rough boot-shape.
Jam still hadn’t looked up from his book.
‘Doesn’t Jam need boot linings too?’ I said.
‘His boots did not fall apart,’ Glane said.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. How did Glane manage to make everything he said sound like the end of a conversation?
Jam finally put down his book. He walked to the door.
‘I’m going outside,’ he grinned. ‘For another freeze-ya-butt-outdoor-peeing experience.’
As he shut the door behind him, it struck me that Jam was actually enjoying being here. He certainly felt more comfortable around Glane than I did.
A twinge of jealousy twisted in my stomach. I wasn’t used to sharing Jam with anyone.
I wandered over to look at the book he had been reading, one of the flimsy manuals: Making Fire Without Matches.
For God’s sake.
Glane had put down the boot lining and was gazing at me. My heart thudded. Here it comes. Weirdo hermit axe-murderer attacks defenceless teen in deserted wood cabin.
‘So you are searching for your past?’ Glane said matter-of-factly.
I stared at him, shocked. ‘Jam told you?’
Glane nodded. ‘Of course. Do you not think I asked why you were here in the woods dying of the cold?’
I turned away. It was my secret. My story. Jam had had no right.
‘Don’t be angry,’ Glane said softly. ‘He thought you were going to die. He was very frightened. Very upset. Ashamed that he had lost his temper, run away.’
I looked up. ‘He told you about that too?’
Glane nodded, turning back to the fleece. His fingers were like great, fat sausages, yet they moved deftly over the material. ‘We talked for a long time about it while you slept. We agreed it is not what a man does.’
I shook my head, my irritation with Jam turning into annoyance with Glane. OK, so maybe the guy wasn’t an axe-murderer, but he was definitely an insufferably pompous jerk-head.
‘I don’t see what being a man’s got to do with it,’ I snapped. ‘Anyway, Jam’s only fifteen. Not exactly a man.’
‘He is trying to become one,’ Glane said. He tugged at the stitched fleece, testing to see if it held. ‘It’s not as easy as you think. Especially without a father to guide you. Here. Your linings are finished.’
He handed them to me. They looked like thick, furry socks.
‘Jam has a father,’ I said. ‘His parents are divorced, not dead. It’s me who’s lost my parents.’
Glane moved the lantern closer and started tidying away scraps of fleece.
The words were out of my mouth before I realised I was going to say them.
‘I’ve seen her face,’ I said. ‘In my memories. My real mum. I found her. I mean . . . in my dream. But I know she’s there, waiting for me.’
I stopped. What was I doing? My memories were private, secret, fragile. And here I was, blabbing about them to this weird guy I’d only just m
et.
Glane stared at me. ‘But Lauren,’ he said. ‘This is all only inside your head. It is not real.’
I pulled on the boot linings.
Glane didn’t understand. How could he? It’s impossible to explain what it feels like, when something inside your head is more real than your real life.
18
Out of the woods
We left very early the next morning. A few snowflakes whirled down from a cloudy sky, but Glane was confident there wouldn’t be a storm. He loaned us jumpers and hats and gloves.
The fleece linings Glane had made padded out his enormous walking boots well, but they still felt big and heavy on my feet. My legs ached by the time we stopped for a brief meal of bread (baked in the cabin fire in a sealed tin the night before) and water (fresh melted snow – boiled then cooled).
We walked and walked, past endless trees and along snow-covered tracks. Glane never looked once at a map, but he seemed to know exactly where he was going the whole time.
It was almost dark when we arrived at Wells Canyon Lodge, on the outskirts of what Glane said was a small town about two hundred miles east of Burlington. My legs were totally exhausted and my eyes were sore from the sun and snow.
Glane booked us all in and we went upstairs. As Jam and I trudged along the corridor to our rooms, my stomach churned. I dreaded calling Mum. She would be mad enough with me for running off. How on earth was I going to get her to understand how much I needed to find my real mother?
Jam looked pretty anxious too. He went into his room without saying anything. Mine was a few doors down. Bare, but clean. I smoothed my hand over the nubby cotton counterpane. A large, old-fashioned white phone stood beside the bed. I stared at it.
It took me five minutes to work up the courage to dial Mum’s mobile number.
‘Hello?’ A voice like a wound-up spring.
‘Mum?’
‘Lauren.’ The voice almost collapsed in on itself. ‘Are you all right? Are you safe?’
‘I’m OK, Mum, everything’s fine.’
‘Oh my God, Lauren.’ Mum dissolved into tears.
I sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
‘Where are you?’
I told her. But when I tried to explain what had happened, she just kept asking over and over if I was really all right.
‘We’re still in Boston, but we can be with you in a few hours,’ she said. ‘Dad’s here too. And the FBI. They tracked you to Burlington, but no one remembered you after that. You’ll have to talk to them about who took you from the airport, but—’
I sat up, my heart thudding. What was she talking about? ‘Wait. Mum. Listen. Back at Logan Airport – we left on . . . on purpose. It was me. I got Jam to do it. But I had to find out. About where I come from.’
Shocked silence.
‘What?’ Mum gasped.
‘You wouldn’t talk about it so I . . . we went to Marchfield. I—’
‘I thought you’d been abducted by some lunatic from the airport,’ Mum shrieked. ‘I thought you were dead, Lauren.’
‘But I texted to say we were all right,’ I stammered. ‘I didn’t want you to worry. You’re always saying how psychos are very rare.’
‘Not worry?’ Mum shrieked. ‘How was I supposed to know someone hadn’t made you send that text?’
My head flooded with guilt. That possibility hadn’t occurred to me.
Mum sucked in her breath. ‘So while I’ve been sitting here unable to sleep or eat for five days solid, you’ve been gallivanting around America with your boyfriend, trying to find out things which we didn’t want to tell you because we thought you weren’t old enough. A decision you have just confirmed in its rightness by your absolute selfishness . . .’
‘But . . . look, I’m sorry, Mum.’ I hesitated, trying to work out what to say to make her understand. ‘We were only supposed to be gone for a few hours. Listen. Mum, I . . . I know about Sonia Holtwood and—’
‘You don’t know anything, Lauren.’ Mum’s voice was suddenly harsh and low.
‘Mum, she followed us,’ I pleaded. ‘She tricked us . . . tried to kill us.’ I shivered, remembering how I’d felt in the car and in the woods.
‘You just said you went off on your own.’
‘We did. This was later, after we’d seen Mr Tarsen.’ I stopped. It was hopeless. Everything that had happened was coming out all muddled. None of it mattered now anyway. Only one thing was important. ‘Mum, you have to listen to me. Sonia Holtwood admitted what she did when I was—’
‘ENOUGH.’ Mum’s yell was so loud that I jerked phone away from my ear.
I sat there, my heart pounding. Slowly I brought the receiver back to my ear. I could hear Mum breathing heavily on the other end. I suddenly remembered what Sonia had said about me being worth ‘a fortune’ when I was little.
Somebody must have paid her that fortune. Why else would she have let me go?
‘Did you buy me from her?’ I whispered. My stomach twisted into a knot. ‘Did you pay her to take me?’
But Mum went into brisk, organised mode. ‘No more, Lauren,’ she said. ‘We’re coming to get you. We’ll be there in a few hours.’
‘But—?’
‘We’ll talk about it when we get there.’
She hung up.
I sat on the bed, hunched over my knees.
How could they have done it? There was no other explanation. Mum and Dad were evil, evil people who had paid Sonia to steal me away from my real mother.
My beautiful, kind angel mother.
No wonder they had refused to tell me anything about my adoption. I gritted my teeth, hating them with every cell of my body. I didn’t need them. I didn’t need anyone else.
And that’s when it came to me – the only next step possible.
I went down to the Lodge’s computer room and logged onto the internet.
19
Going home
An hour later I was back in my room.
I had a bath, then got changed.
Glane had somehow blagged me and Jam some spare clothes from the hotel. Stuff left behind by former staff. Mine was entirely hideous: a pair of outsize green combats, two drainingly grey sweatshirts and a pair of ancient, hotpink trainers. I tugged the tiny plastic bathroom comb through my hair, wishing I had some hair wax and a nail file. And some make-up. My skin was red raw from the cold and snow and my lips were chapped.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
My heart sank.
This was not how I wanted to look when I found my real mother. She was so beautiful, she’d never believe I was her daughter.
I went down to the Lodge dining room and walked through a sea of empty tables to the one Jam and Glane were sitting at near the bar. A bottle of beer stood on the table in front of Glane, who looked like a different person. The beard was gone, and he was dressed in dark jeans and a crisp, white T-shirt. He looked up from the menu he was studying as I approached.
‘Mmnn.’ He licked his lips. ‘Buckwheat pancakes with maple syrup for me.’
I sat down. ‘Skinned rabbits not available, then?’ I said.
Glane smiled. ‘No. Anyway, I only eat meat when there is nothing else. And when I’ve killed it myself.’ He glanced sideways at me. ‘I don’t see why someone else should have to skin my rabbits for me.’
I ignored this and cleared my throat. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘What?’ Jam took a long swig of Glane’s beer. I noticed he was wearing new clothes too. Much nicer than mine. Jeans and a black jumper. His hair was damp and slicked back from his face.
I hesitated. ‘Martha Lauren Purditt went missing in Evanport, near where she was born. It’s in Connecticut.’
Jam raised his eyebrows. ‘So?’
‘I’m going there. Now. I’ve checked the internet directories. The Purditts – the family who lost her – still live there.’
Jam frowned. ‘How d’you know it’s the same Purditts?’ he said
.
‘I looked back at the news stories from when . . . from when Martha went missing. Their names are Annie and Sam Purditt. Bits and pieces of their address are in the different stories.’ I sighed. ‘I should have done it ages ago, but there was stuff I didn’t know then.’
My mother’s face. Now I know her face I only have to see her and I’ll know if I’m Martha or not.
Glane scratched his freshly shaved chin. ‘But your parents? The police?’
I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I was sure Mum and Dad had been involved in kidnapping me in the first place.
‘Mum and Dad don’t understand how important it is for me to know who I am,’ I said, lamely.
A slow smile curled across Glane’s mouth. ‘This seeking out of your birth family will not tell you who you are. It will only tell you if you are somebody’s missing child.’
I shook my head. ‘Don’t you think the family I was taken from have a right to know what happened to me?’
‘Yes, I do. But it will be hard. For everybody. You should wait. Talk to people first.’ Glane paused. ‘Lauren, I think you see dreams. You are not seeing what is real. What is right under your nose.’
I stood up. ‘Right. Anyway, I’m going.’
‘How?’ Jam cut in. ‘How’re you gonna get there?’ He took another swig of Glane’s beer.
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to hitch-hike.’
Jam spluttered his beer on the tablecloth. ‘No way,’ he said angrily. ‘I can’t believe you’d even consider that after what happened to us.’
‘Well, what else can I do?’ I looked down, my face burning. ‘I just wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done. And that I’ll pay you both back when I can.’
My hands were shaking as I walked away.
I stood at the hotel entrance, pulling on the second of my two ugly sweatshirts. The highway was a few hundred metres up the road.
My tummy rumbled. I started to wish I’d timed my dramatic exit for after I’d eaten. But even if I left now I probably only had a few hours before Mum and Dad arrived.
‘Nobody’s going to give you a ride wearing those shoes,’ a voice said behind me.
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