He leaned towards me, his head tilted sideways, trying to see my face.
‘The cab’s ready,’ he said. He paused. ‘D’you really want to go to this Leavington place?’
I nodded, still not trusting myself to look up at him.
Jam put his hand on the chair next to me. ‘On your own?’ he said.
I gritted my teeth. It was no good. Just the thought of doing all this by myself was enough to turn me into a quivering wreck.
‘No,’ I sobbed. ‘I want you to come.’ I looked up at him, a tear trickling down my cheek. ‘Please?’
Jam’s eyes softened. I’d never noticed but they were hazel, not brown. With gold flecks beside the green.
I looked away quickly, wiping my face again.
Crap. I must look totally hideous. Just like he said.
Jam squeezed my arm. ‘Leavington, then,’ he said. ‘Bring it on.’
12
Lincoln Heights
Leavington was a dump. So run-down it made Marchfield look smart. Street after street of big apartment buildings all bunched together in straggly lines, with front yards full of rubbish.
The cab driver was massively narked when we explained we wanted to stop off at Lincoln Heights for thirty minutes or so.
He refused to wait for us unless we covered his fare – which would have taken too much of our remaining money.
‘It’s OK,’ I said to Jam. ‘We’ll get another cab to Burlington. Or a bus.’
Once he knew he wasn’t getting his full fare to the airport the driver grumbled the whole way to Leavington. He grumbled about having to look up Lincoln Heights on his map. Then he grumbled about some one-way system which meant he couldn’t drop us outside. When he finally did pull up, he made a massive fuss about not having much change and needing us to give him the exact money. Of course I only had the hundred-dollar bill Taylor Tarsen had given me.
The driver took it, then turned away and dug deep into a pouch beside his seat.
‘Here,’ he growled. He pushed a huge wodge of folded-over notes into my hand and drove off.
I shoved the money into my pocket and shouldered my bag. It was 6.15 am, just starting to get light. A small knot of older teenagers were leaning against a nearby wall. They looked like they’d been out all night. Two of the guys stared at us, their eyes all hard and threatening.
Heart pounding, I grabbed Jam’s arm and strode off in the opposite direction. The weather matched the scenery. Dull, ugly, steel-grey clouds filled every centimetre of sky. And the air was bitterly cold.
Jam spent his last few dollars on weak coffee and doughnuts from a grubby stall on the corner. Then suddenly we were there. 10904 Lincoln Heights.
It was like all the other buildings in the road. Dark. Dirty. Crumbling. The front door was locked. And none of the buzzers on the chipped side panel appeared to work.
At last a woman came out and scurried down the steps. We slipped inside before the front door shut.
‘Ugh.’ Jam wrinkled his nose.
I swallowed, trying not to breathe in the rank smell of stale piss and rotting food that drifted down from the stained, concrete stairs.
We made our way slowly up to apartment thirty-four on the top floor. Once again, I knew that if Jam wasn’t beside me I would have turned and run away. In fact, if I hadn’t made so much fuss about coming here, I probably would have suggested we left right now.
Surely it was hopeless? There was no way Sonia still lived here. Jeez. She’d probably never lived here. I just didn’t know. But as we stood outside apartment thirty-four I suddenly had this overwhelming sense she was going to open the door. And then what?
What would I say?
Hey. Did you kidnap me eleven years ago?
Suppose I was wrong? Suppose she really was my mother? Suppose she took one look at me and slammed the door in my face?
Jam was already knocking.
I stood frozen to the spot. The door was opening.
I stared at the girl standing in front of us. Then I relaxed. It wasn’t Sonia. Couldn’t be Sonia. She was way too young. No more than eighteen or nineteen.
The girl had a baby in her arms, and a toddler clutching at her knee. She tucked a wisp of greasy hair behind her ears and scowled at me.
‘What you want?’ she said, her voice heavily accented. Spanish, I think.
‘We’re looking for someone called Sonia Holtwood,’ I said. ‘I think she used to live here.’
‘No,’ the girl said. ‘She no live here.’ She started closing the door.
‘Wait,’ I said, pushing it open against her.
‘Hey. Dejame. Puta. Get out.’ The girl’s voice rose in a shriek.
‘Please, is there anyone else you can ask? Someone who might remember who used to live here?’
But the girl had totally lost it. She was screaming at me now. Lots of Spanish words I didn’t understand.
‘No se,’ she shouted. ‘I don’t know.’ She slammed the door shut.
I blinked. I could sense a few of the other doors open further down the corridor. People nosing outside to see what all the noise was about. There was a shuffling of feet as they turned and went inside.
I looked up at Jam.
‘Guess that’s it,’ he said.
‘Excuse me, darlin’.’
I looked round. An old lady in the apartment opposite had appeared at her door. She was stooped over with age, and the skin on her face and arms was wrinkled in folds like fine paper.
‘Did I hear you askin’ for Sonia?’ she said ‘Sonia Holtwood?’
‘Yes.’ I looked at her eagerly. ‘Do you know her? Did she used to live here?’
The old lady stared at me with bright, hard eyes. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘She was only here a short time, but I used to babysit her little girl.’
13
Bettina
The lady said her name was Bettina.
‘How d’ya’all know Sonia, then?’ she said.
‘It’s not . . . I mean . . .’ I stammered, reluctant to tell a stranger my story.
But Bettina guessed. ‘You’re never Sonia’s little girl?’ she said.
I nodded, my face flushing.
Bettina clasped her crooked twig-fingers together in delight. ‘Saints alive! I never thought . . . Well come in, come in.’
She ushered us into her little apartment, chattering like a bird. ‘So where’s your mama? Where’d’y’all get that accent?’
I sat on the edge of a fussily patterned chair. It clashed with the carpet and the curtains. The sort of thing Mum hated.
‘I was adopted when I was three,’ I said awkwardly. ‘I live in Britain. I’m trying to find out about Sonia because, because . . .’ My voice died away. Apart from the sound of a ticking clock the room was silent.
Because she knows where I’m from. She knows where I belong. Because I think she stole me from my real family.
Bettina stared at me with sad eyes. ‘Adopted? Poor child,’ she whispered.
I looked round, embarrassed by her sympathy. There were cushions on the seats and little ornaments on every shelf. It was kind of homey. I wondered if I’d ever crawled over the sofa when I was little.
Bettina went off to make some tea. A few minutes later she came back in, a tray of cups and saucers rattling in her hands. Jam jumped up and dashed over to her. ‘Let me take that,’ he smiled. He set the tray on a low table in front of one of the sofas.
‘Charmin’,’ Bettina nodded approvingly at him. ‘What lovely British manners.’ She sat down on the sofa.
‘When did you last see her?’ I said.
Bettina leaned forward and slowly arranged the cups on the saucers. ‘She only stayed here a few weeks. An’ it was a long, long time ago. Ten, eleven years maybe. People do that now. Come an’ go. No roots.’
‘So . . . so what was she like?’ I said.
Bettina looked down. I noticed her ears were pierced. The long earring was dragging the hole in her earlobe down.
/> ‘Sonia was very private,’ she said slowly. ‘She didn’t want people knowin’ her business. I prob’ly wouldn’t even remember her if it wasn’t for you. She never told me anythin’ about herself. To be truthful an’ all – I hope you don’t mind me sayin’ – she didn’t seem the motherly type.’
Bettina poured the tea, then set the teapot down with a sigh. ‘I didn’t see much kissin’ and cuddlin’.’
I sipped at my tea, my heart beating fast. ‘When she left, d’you know where she went?’
Bettina shook her head sorrowfully. ‘Darlin’ I wish I could tell you. But one day she just upped and left with you. Not a word to anyone.’
‘Oh.’ I stared into my teacup. A longing filled me. This old lady had known me longer than anyone. Before Mum and Dad, even. ‘What was I like?’ I spoke before I’d realised I was going to. My voice sounded small.
Bettina put her gnarled hand over mine. ‘The cutest little thing,’ she said. ‘Though I only minded you a few times I’ll never forget you. You were real quiet, real serious. Hardly said a word. And you had this sad little face. It took some doing to make you smile. But when you did you were so pretty. There was this one time I sorely wanted to take a picture of you. You were sitting right where you are now.’
‘Did you?’ I said. ‘I mean, do you have the photo?’
Bettina shook her head. ‘Sonia came back from wherever she’d been and found me. She was real mad. Pulled the film out of my camera. She moved out the next day.’
We finished our tea and left. Bettina wasn’t in any hurry to say goodbye. I got the strong impression that she didn’t have many visitors.
Out on the street it was light, but still freezing. I wished for the tenth time since arriving in America that I had brought a warmer jacket.
‘Guess we’d better find out about buses to Burlington?’ Jam looked at me sideways. I could see he was wondering if I was going to insist we kept trying to find Sonia.
But the trail was cold. There was nothing more I could do. What Bettina had said made me certain that Sonia was not my real mother. Yet I still knew nothing about my life before she found me.
The next logical step was to call the Missing-Children.com hotline and tell them I thought I might be Martha Lauren Purditt.
But I didn’t want to do that any more than I had wanted to do it back in London. It’s my past. I don’t want police and officials and Social Services people taking over. Making all the decisions.
Jam stood there, shivering. He was still looking expectantly at me.
‘Let’s go into a shop. Ask where the bus station is,’ I said.
As we walked down the road towards a convenience store, I pulled the wodge of dollars out of my pocket. ‘How much d’you think . . . ?’
I stared at the unfolding roll of money in my hand. Apart from the dollar bill on top, the other notes were all just plain pieces of grey paper.
‘That cab driver,’ I hissed.
‘What?’ Jam looked round.
‘He ripped us off with the change for the fare.’ My voice rose to a squeak as I rifled desperately through the pieces of paper.
I looked up at Jam.
We had one dollar left.
14
The ride
We walked, unspeaking, towards a small square patch of green between two of the apartment buildings. My ears stung with cold, but I hardly noticed.
We had no money. How were we going to get back to Burlington?
Jam paced up and down on the hard grass. ‘We’ll just have to ring your mum,’ he said.
My heart sank. I knew we had to make the call. But it felt like defeat. The wind whipped round my shoulders. I dragged my jacket round me more tightly. There was no other choice. I dug into my pocket for my mobile.
‘You guys need a ride?’ I looked round. A middle-aged woman with wavy brown hair was leaning out of a car window, smiling at us.
Instinctively I shook my head and turned away. The woman opened her car door and leaned further out. She was wearing a police uniform. ‘Hey, I don’t bite,’ she laughed. ‘Where you folks headed?’
I caught Jam’s eye. We walked over to the woman together.
She was older than she looked from a distance. Her hair was very set. It might even have been a wig. And she wore heavy blue eye make-up and loads of face powder.
‘I just spotted you guys out here. You look cold.’ The woman glanced up into the cloudy sky. ‘Weather forecast reckons it’ll snow later,’ she said.
The woman reached into her jacket and pulled out a leather wallet. She flipped it open and flashed it front of us. I caught a glimpse of a star-shaped badge and the words Police Dept. ‘I’m Suzanna Sanders,’ the woman smiled. ‘On vacation as from my last shift. You guys sure I can’t drop you anywhere?’
I chewed my lip. ‘We’re going to Burlington, then Boston. The airports.’ I said.
Suzanna Sanders’s eyes widened. ‘No way. I’m going to Boston, too. Flight from Logan.’ She looked down at her uniform. ‘I’m on a tight schedule as you can see. I’m gonna have to change at the airport. So make up your minds.’
‘Can you wait a minute?’ I said. ‘I just want to talk to my friend.’
I pulled Jam away from the car. ‘I think we should go with her.’
‘What, get in a total stranger’s car?’
‘She’s a police officer,’ I said. ‘She’s not going to hurt us.’
‘Suppose your mum’s called the police?’ Jam said. ‘They might be looking for us.’
‘So? We’re going back to Mum anyway. This way we get to Boston quicker than we would if we had to go back to Burlington first.’ I glanced at Suzanna Sanders. ‘If she asks, we can say we got lost or something. And we’re trying to get back to Mum in Boston. I’ll text Mum now, tell her that’s where we’re going.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Jam said. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling.’
I squeezed his arm. ‘Come on, what can happen? She’s a cop. And there are two of us.’
Jam nodded. ‘OK.’
I turned back to the policewoman and told her our names. ‘Thanks. If it’s really all right, we will come with you. I just have to text my mum.’
‘Great,’ Suzanna smiled. ‘But would you mind texting in the car? I’m freezing my ass off out here.’
I followed her over to her car. I hesitated, not wanting to sit alone in the front with her, but also not wanting to force Jam to either.
‘It’s OK, you guys take the back seat.’ Suzanna opened the door. ‘But no smooching.’
I blushed as I got inside. Suzanna put our backpacks in the boot as we slid along the leatherette seat. The car inside was as smart and polished as it was outside. I rubbed my frozen hands together, then pulled my phone out and switched it on. Yet more missed calls and messages. I ignored them and punched in Mum’s number. Nothing. I checked the battery – still half-full. Then I noticed I had no signal.
Jam checked his as the car drew off. Same thing.
‘Often happens round here,’ Suzanna said cheerfully. Give it five minutes then try again.’
Jam settled wearily against the opposite window. He pulled his PSP out of his jacket pocket and switched it on. But he didn’t play it. He turned it over and rubbed his thumb over the neat gouges on the back – the six stripes I’d noticed in the motel.
‘What are they for?’ I said.
‘Nothing.’ Jam shrugged. He gazed out the window as we roared past a row of flat-roofed shops.
I tried my phone several more times, but still couldn’t get a signal. I left it switched on.
‘You guys want some juice?’ Suzanna reached onto the passenger seat and passed a couple of orange-juice cartons back to us. We gulped them down thirstily.
To my relief, Suzanna didn’t ask us any questions about where we came from or why we were in Leavington. I leaned my head against the damp chill of the car window. After a few minutes I began to feel sleepy. I looked over at Jam. His eyes were shut, his head lol
ling against the seat behind him.
I felt my own head nodding.
I was back on the beach. Alone. Scared. I reached the rock where I had seen the flash of long black hair. No one was there. I turned round, suddenly full of panic. ‘Mommy,’ I wailed. ‘Mommeeeee. Where are you?’
When I woke up it was dark outside. The car was humming along a deserted road. No street lights, but a white glow shone off the ground. I sat up, feeling groggy.
Jam was still asleep.
‘No.’ Suzanna’s voice was low and angry. It took me a second to realise she was speaking into her cellphone. ‘Don’t order me around, Taylor,’ she spat. ‘It’s your fault we’re in this mess. An’ yet look who’s the one clearing it up.’
She threw the phone onto the passenger seat beside her.
My head felt like a big cotton-wool ball. Taylor. There was something significant about that name. Something I should remember.
‘Where are we?’ I rubbed my forehead.
Suzanna rolled back her shoulders. ‘Nearly there,’ she said. ‘Hey, guess what? I was right – it did snow. You guys have been asleep for hours.’
I shivered. There was something about the way Suzanna spoke – a hard edge to her voice – that hadn’t been there before. I reached for the phone in my jeans pocket.
It wasn’t there.
Maybe it had fallen on the floor. I reached down and groped along the floor of the car. As I reached where Jam was sitting I tugged at his leg. ‘Jam, wake up. I can’t find my phone.’
Jam yawned and stretched his arms.
‘It’s not here,’ I said.
‘Must be,’ Suzanna said from the front seat. She coughed. ‘We’re nearly at Logan. I’ll put the light on when we get there. We can have a proper look.’
I sat back in my seat, feeling uneasy. I was sure my phone had been in my pocket before I went to sleep. How could it have just fallen out?
Come to that, how could it be dark now? I checked my watch – 7 pm. I forced my fuggy brain to think. It couldn’t have been later than nine this morning that we left Bettina’s. How could we have been asleep for over ten hours? And surely we should have been in Boston long before now?
I looked out of the window, straining to see a road sign.