Author: Sophie McKenzie
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/sophie-mckenzie/page,4,57523-missing_me.html
‘Here,’ I said. ‘This is you, isn’t it?’
Faraday stared at the report. He let out a low whistle, then looked up at me. His expression was guarded. I got the distinct impression he was weighing up the situation, trying to decide if he was being conned . . . if I was about to make demands on him . . .
‘I don’t want anything from you,’ I said quickly. ‘I just wanted to meet you.’
The suspicious look faded slightly from Faraday’s eyes. He smiled at me and, again, I was reminded of Lauren.
‘I bet none of this is how you imagined,’ he said with a chuckle. He held out his hand. ‘Shall we start again? I’m Allan.’
I shook his hand. ‘Madison.’
‘It must have taken a lot of guts to find me . . .’ Allan pointed to a café just along the road. ‘Would you like to get a coffee?’
I nodded. ‘OK.’ I still wasn’t sure what he was going to do or say, but at least he seemed to believe that I’d genuinely been looking for him.
The café was virtually empty. Allan bought a double espresso for himself and a hot chocolate for me. We sat down in the corner and Allan placed his hands flat on the table in front of him.
‘How on earth did you track me down from this old address?’ he said, nodding towards the sperm donor report.
I explained how I’d searched his name on a range of social networking sites. ‘It wasn’t that hard in the end,’ I said.
Allan nodded. ‘To be honest with you, Madison, I always wondered if this – someone like you – might happen along one day. But if your mother wanted to know so much about me in the first place, why didn’t she try and find me sooner?’
‘Oh, my mum just wanted to make sure you were properly healthy,’ I said. ‘She got a nurse at the clinic to pass on your name and address. But that was all back then, years ago.’
‘You mean your mother doesn’t know you’ve come to meet me tonight?’ Allan’s eyebrows arched with surprise.
‘No, she . . . actually, she doesn’t want me to try and find you at all.’ I looked down at my hot chocolate. The cream was dissolving into the brown. I suddenly felt miserable. This whole meeting was completely surreal. Worse, this man, Allan, was a stranger. I realised I’d been hoping that when I met him, there’d be some way in which we felt connected. But the truth was: he could have been anybody.
I looked up. Allan was sitting back in his chair, arms folded. ‘You realise I could sue your mother and that nurse for revealing my identity?’
I gasped. That hadn’t even occurred to me. ‘But it was so long ago,’ I stammered.
Allan shook his head. ‘I’m forty-three,’ he said. ‘I did the whole sperm donation thing when I was a student to make some extra money. That’s only twenty-three . . . twenty-four years ago. Not long at all, in legal terms.’
I looked down again. Jeez, what had I done? The last thing I wanted was to get anyone into trouble.
Allan chuckled again. ‘Don’t worry, Madison, I’m not going to sue anyone. To be honest with you, I’m more intrigued than anything. And impressed . . . you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to find me. You’ve made me wonder how many other little Allans there might be out there.’
‘There’s Lauren,’ I blurted out. ‘She’s my older sister. They used you for her too.’ I paused. ‘I . . . you actually look a bit like her. I mean, she looks a bit like you.’ I tailed off, feeling I’d said too much and exposed myself again.
Allan watched me for a minute and, when he spoke again, his voice was more gentle than before. ‘What is it you’re looking for here, Madison?’ he said. ‘Why did you want to find me?’
I looked up, into his intense eyes. There were lines on his forehead and grey hairs at his temple. Despite that look of Lauren’s around the mouth, I couldn’t see myself in his face at all. It was still so hard to believe I was related to this man. Impossible to imagine having any kind of relationship with him.
‘I just wanted to meet you once, before you left London tonight and went home . . .’ I said quietly. ‘I just wanted to know who you were.’
Allan made a face. ‘What makes you think I’m leaving London?’
I frowned. ‘It was on your Twitter feed. You said: “leaving London tomorrow” or something?’
‘Leaving for a few days, sure,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’m away on business until Friday, but I’m back home then.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘London is my home now. I live in Fulham.’
‘Oh.’ I didn’t know what to say. ‘Are you married? Do you have . . . you know, your own kids?’
‘No and no,’ Allan said. ‘Never met the right lady, I guess.’ He made another face. ‘Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, Madison? Home. School. What you do in your free time.’
I swallowed. I hated talking about myself. Still, I’d wanted this . . . I couldn’t exactly expect Allan to tell me about himself if I wasn’t prepared to confide a few personal details as well. ‘School’s OK,’ I said. ‘I like English and History best . . . I don’t like reading out loud or doing sums and stuff like that. And I hate swimming.’
I paused, my head filling with the memories of nearly drowning – once when I was six and trapped on a boat and, a second time, two years later, in a bay with the rising tide threatening to pull me under. Ever since those experiences, water had terrified me, especially the sea.
I shook myself and turned my attention back to Allan. ‘Anyway, most of the girls in my class are total airheads, but Rosa’s nice, she’s like my best friend, and Rory looks out for me.’
‘Rory?’
‘He’s Lauren’s brother, the one she grew up with after she was adopted. She was stolen away from us, her original family, when she was little.’
Allan’s eyes widened as I told him the whole story. He listened carefully, just asking a few questions as I went on. I found myself talking about things I never spoke of: the near drownings and how I’d watched as Cooper Trent set fire to the building where Lauren, Shelby and Jam were trapped inside.
‘So Shelby died, like my dad.’ I paused. I couldn’t really remember Shelby any better than Dad, but most of the memories I did have featured her being mean to me. Lauren says she had a hard time growing up, but it’s difficult to feel sympathetic seeing as how Shelby took out her ‘hard time’ on me. Still, I didn’t want to say all of that to Allan.
I looked up to find him watching me intently. ‘The truth is that Shelby and my dad dying makes me different from everyone and sometimes I think they look at me like I’m a total freak . . .’ I stopped, realising I’d been talking for ages. I bit my lip, feeling exposed yet again. I hadn’t intended to tell Allan so much. It was just that he’d listened so well.
‘That’s a lot to go through for a little girl,’ he said. And there was real kindness in his voice.
I looked down. The cream had totally disappeared into my hot chocolate. I took a sip. It was cold.
Allan checked his watch. ‘I have to get going,’ he said. ‘But . . . look, would you like to meet up again?’
‘Yes, um . . .’ I realised that I hadn’t asked him anything about his own life. ‘What is it you do, exactly?’ I said.
‘I’m – well, since recently, I’m a reporter. I work mostly for The Examiner though I do other freelance work too – all sorts of things . . .’ Allan waved his hand as if to indicate a wide sweep of work activities.
‘Wow.’ I was seriously impressed. This, right here, this was a proper connection between us. It couldn’t be coincidence that my genetic father did the very job I most aspired to myself. And on a really impressive newspaper.
Allan smiled. ‘I wonder . . .’ He paused. ‘No, you wouldn’t be interested.’
‘Interested in what?’ I said.
‘Someone I know through work is having a birthday party on Hampstead Heath. It’s this Saturday, in fact, a big celebration with a circus theme, like a festival almost. There’ll be loads of teens there too. I know he’s got four kids . . . I’m not sure how ol
d they are, but all definitely teenagers. You’d be welcome to come along with me, if you’d like.’
I blinked. Was he seriously asking me to a party? Old ingrained warnings from Annie about accepting invitations from strange men sprang into my head.
It’s too risky.
Allan clearly saw the anxiety in my eyes.
‘Perhaps I should speak to your mother first?’ he suggested.
‘No.’ Definitely not. Annie would go into hysterics at the mere idea of me being in touch with Allan. No way would she agree to me seeing him again.
I took a deep breath. This was surely exactly what I’d wanted . . . a chance to get to know my birth father. And he wasn’t a stranger. Plus, the party would be full of people and Annie didn’t need to know about it and . . . I looked at Allan’s slightly lined face again . . . the man had a kind smile. My instincts told me he had no desire to hurt me.
‘That would be great,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
8
Circus Party
The three days until Saturday passed slowly. I didn’t want Annie and Lauren to know I’d met Allan Faraday in case they tried to stop me doing it again. Anyway, I was still cross with both of them for not telling me I had a sperm donor dad for so many years. Plus, I was worried Annie would start freaking out that Allan Faraday knew she’d had him checked out. I was sure Annie and the nurse had acted illegally – and that although Allan had said he wouldn’t do so, suing them was definitely an option.
I told Rosa, of course. I knew she would keep the secret for me. Then I spent hours agonising over what to wear. Allan had said we were going to a party. But he hadn’t said how formal it was going to be. In the end, I decided on my smartest jeans and my most glamorous T-shirt: silky-soft, pale blue cotton with a slash neck. I put on a bit of make-up, like I had for the drinks reception, then set off. I was using Rosa as cover again – Annie didn’t suspect a thing. She’d tried to talk to me about the sperm donor dad revelation several times in the past few days, but I’d brushed her off saying I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Lauren, who understands me so much better, just sent a text saying:
Come round whenever you want. We can talk. Or not. Love ya, kiddo. Lx
Allan met me, as he’d said he would, at Hampstead tube station. He was wearing a different suit this afternoon – darker, with a crisp white shirt underneath. His hair was slicked back off his face and he smelled of a fresh, light, lemony aftershave.
‘You look nice,’ he said, offering me his hand again.
We shook hands. It felt a bit weird, but I was glad he wasn’t being too familiar. I wasn’t ready to kiss him on the cheek like I guess you might a real dad.
‘Please don’t be angry with my mum,’ I said, as we walked along the road. ‘She was just worried about using a sperm donor and she didn’t think the clinic did proper checks . . . My mum worries a lot.’
Allan shot me an amused look. ‘I told you I wasn’t serious about suing her,’ he said. ‘Truth is, there are other ways you could have tracked me down, though it might have taken longer. Anyway, I’m glad you’ve found me. I’m glad to have met you, Madison.’
I could feel my face flushing. And yet, in spite of my embarrassment, I was pleased Allan had said that. Not because it proved Lauren and Annie wrong, but because it meant maybe he wanted to get to know me.
‘What kind of stories do you write as a journalist?’ I asked. ‘When I Googled you, it didn’t come up with any newspaper articles.’
Allan shrugged. ‘I write all sorts. Campaigning pieces mostly . . . investigative stuff into businesses. I often work undercover – that’s why you won’t see a byline.’
‘A what?’
‘The bit that says who the story is written “by”.’
I nodded, taking this in. Allan was really cool. I was itching to tell him about my own ambition to be a journalist – and how I won a London-wide competition for a short story I did a couple of years ago. But I didn’t quite have the nerve.
After a couple more minutes, we turned onto a quiet road opposite Hampstead Heath. A large house was visible about fifty metres away, with a huge marquee in the foreground.
‘That’s where the party is,’ Allan said. ‘I parked here earlier to get a good space, before I came to meet you. Now, the host’s name is Declan Baxter. I checked on his kids. There’s a boy of eighteen, twins of thirteen and a girl in between, about your age. Her name is Esme.’
I gulped. It sounded like Allan was going to expect me to socialise. This Esme probably had a load of fancy clothes to match her fancy name – it was obvious from one look at the house and marquee up ahead that Declan Baxter was loaded. I’d met a few rich kids in the past few years. Some were nice. Some weren’t. But they were all irritatingly confident . . . compared to me, anyway.
As we walked towards the house, Allan squeezed my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Madison, you’ll be fine.’
I shrugged, embarrassed that he’d seen through my anxieties so easily. We reached the large driveway. There was a bouncer on the door who asked politely for our phones. Allan rolled his eyes but gave up his mobile without complaint. I handed mine over too.
‘Baxter is very protective of his privacy,’ Allan whispered darkly as we went into the house. The entrance hall was huge . . . and decorated with streamers and balloons like a carnival. It was full of smartly dressed adults, all drinking and chatting. A woman in a white Lycra bodysuit with clown-style face make-up appeared with a tray of glasses. Allan took an orange juice for each of us.
‘Need to keep a clear head,’ he said with a wink. ‘Let’s go through to the circus.’
The way was wreathed with bunches of balloons and the same brightly coloured decorations as the hall. As we turned down a short corridor, the smell of fried onions wafted towards us. Another face-painted girl in Lycra, this one also wearing a red and pink apron, was handing out hot dogs from a huge oval platter. She smiled at me, offering the platter, and the big red paint circles round her eyes crinkled.
‘Er, no thanks,’ I said.
‘Me neither.’ Allan patted his stomach. ‘Watching my weight.’
Allan steered me through the crowd. More adults, all talking loudly and clinking glasses. I hadn’t seen a single person under twenty so far.
‘Ah, there’s Hobbs,’ he said. ‘He works for Declan Baxter; he’ll be able to tell me when the man himself is most likely to be free for a chat. Won’t be a second, Madison.’
Before I could say anything, Allan was across the room and talking with a middle-aged man wearing a waistcoat and a yellow tie. Hobbs didn’t look that pleased to see him, although his manner was so stiff and formal it was hard to tell. After about thirty seconds, he walked off. Allan hesitated a moment, then left the marquee through an exit marked Toilets this way. I waited, feeling self-conscious. After what felt like ages but was only really a couple of minutes, he was back. He was still smiling brightly, but there was a new look of disappointment behind his eyes. I hoped it wasn’t because I was here, making it tricky for him to talk properly to people.
‘Are you going to be able to talk to Mr Baxter?’ I asked.
Allan sighed. ‘Not if Hobbs has anything to do with it. He was no help.’ He paused. ‘By the way, the loos are just out there.’ He pointed to the door he’d just come through. ‘If you need to freshen up. Er, I’m going to circulate for a bit. See if I can get close to Baxter another way. I won’t be long. Will you be OK on your own for a bit?’
‘Sure.’ In fact, I wanted to tell Allan not to leave me, but it would have sounded really lame.
I watched him fight his way through the thickest part of the crowd. I had no idea which man was Declan Baxter. Almost everybody here was taller than me and I soon lost sight of Allan in the crowd. I walked past a stilt-walker and a man on a unicycle to where a group of acrobats swung from a row of long white rope-ribbons. Two of them were juggling with five balls. I stared, entranced.
‘Not much of a show, is it?’ a woman
walking past sneered.
‘This is just for decoration,’ the man beside her said. ‘Declan’s saving the big stuff for the show, later.’ They moved on.
Wow. There was more? Declan Baxter must be even richer than I’d thought. There was still no sign of anyone remotely my age. And Allan hadn’t reappeared. Grown-ups kept passing me and staring. I was feeling more and more uncomfortable. After another minute of wandering about, I headed for the door Allan had pointed out earlier. He was obviously still trying to talk to Declan Baxter and I didn’t fancy hanging around inside the marquee any longer. A few minutes in the bathroom would kill some time.
I left the marquee and found myself outside the main house. A makeshift Toilets sign had been propped on a window ledge beside the second door down. I stopped before entering to finish my orange juice, then stood the glass on the ledge and headed inside. The building felt cool and quiet. I was standing in a wood-floored hallway, with corridors leading off on either side. There was no further sign but the bathroom surely had to be through the only door opposite. My feet echoed round the walls as I padded over. I could hear a girl’s voice coming from inside.
‘That’s stupid.’ She sounded younger than most of the guests I’d seen so far and very posh. ‘You’re stupid.’
That must be the toilet.
I pushed the door open and walked into a big room that bent round in an L-shape. There were no windows, but the wall lights were bright and the room was bathed in a warm, yellow glow. The shelves nearest to me were filled with books and games.
This didn’t look anything like a bathroom.
‘Hello?’ It was the girl. ‘Who’s there?’
I had no choice but to show myself.
‘Hi.’ Cheeks burning, I walked into the main part of the room. I could hear the door I’d just walked through swinging shut but I paid it no attention. All my focus was on the area in front of me. It was huge and filled with old sofas and an array of floor cushions. A girl and a boy were sitting on the rug in the middle of the stone floor. The boy sprang to his feet – he was tall and slim, with thick fair hair that fell in a fringe almost as full as mine.