What You Left Behind (23 page)

“How, love?”

Lana shrugged. “You know.”

“I don’t, I’m afraid.”

“It’s nothing. Really.”

Lorraine allowed a moment’s silence, and Lana realized that was tactics, to make her spill her guts. But she was going to try not to.

“Just something that upset me on his computer, really. But, like I said, it’s nothing.” Lana slowed her breathing, told herself to calm down. She had to change the subject. “You do know that Freddie is being bullied, don’t you?”

Lorraine sat up. “No. Tell me.”

“Some kids were giving him a hard time at school, and online too. Freddie says they never let up.”

“Why didn’t he tell someone? Why didn’t
you
tell someone?”

“I only found out—” She stopped herself again. She could hardly say
this morning
. “He didn’t want anyone to know. I think it was pretty bad.”

“Did he give you any names?”

Lana shook her head. “I reckon he felt ashamed about it, as if people would think badly of him if he admitted it. He said they wanted him dead.”

Lorraine was nodding, as if it was all familiar to her. “You’ve done the right thing by telling me.”

She looked steadily at Lana, and Lana noticed how alike she was to Jo. Their eyes and hair were similar, yet their personalities quite different.

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?” Lorraine pressed. “Even if Freddie told you not to tell anyone, it’s really important that you do. You won’t get into trouble.”

“No, sorry,” Lana said, shaking her head. It was the truth at least.

Lorraine seemed disappointed. “Maybe you have some phone numbers of friends we haven’t already called.” She pulled a notepad and pen from her bag and handed them to Lana.

Without saying anything, Lana took her phone from her pocket and wrote down the numbers of three friends she thought might be useful.

“Thanks,” Lorraine said, staring at Lana for longer than necessary. “If you do hear from him, you must let us know, OK?”

T
HE DAY WAS
heating up. Residual overnight dew was steaming off the pavements, making the town seem oddly tropical. As she and Lorraine crossed the road together the humid air wrapped around Lana’s throat and face so closely she thought she might suffocate.

Lorraine waited while Lana got into her car and started the engine.

“We’ll be calling the local police soon,” she said when Lana wound down the window. “It’s been long enough.”

Lana nodded and put the car into gear. As she drove off, all she could hear were Lorraine’s words ringing inside her head.

She took a left turn at the mini roundabout then a right at the T-junction, driving without really concentrating. She went straight ahead at the bypass roundabout, and continued on for several miles. She had no idea where she was going, but as the town turned into leafy countryside and the road petered out into a single-track lane punctuated with cattle grids and passing places, it dawned on her where she was heading.

With a quick glance in her rearview mirror, she turned onto Devil’s Mile. She thought of Dean, of Lenny, of Simon. But mostly she thought about Freddie and where he’d gone.

Another glance behind told her that the old white pickup was still on her tail, as it had been since she’d left town.

20

It was Lorraine who had decided to organize a proper search for Freddie. Jo had telephoned the Hawkeswells at seven a.m., frantic, hoping and praying that he’d gone to the Manor during the night, been in touch with Lana—
anything
, she’d said, that might give them a clue about where he was.

“We’ve not seen or heard from him,” Sonia had assured her after checking with Tony. “I’ll come up later and help search.”

“Let’s leave it a bit longer before we call the local police,” Lorraine had urged her sister when she got off the phone. They were grouped around the kitchen table. It looked as if Jo had aged about ten years overnight.

“Most of them come back, you know,” Adam had reminded her. He’d made coffee for everyone, having already been out for a run.
He’d hoped to encounter Freddie, perhaps curled up in a gateway or lying on a bus stop bench, but there’d been no sign of him.

“Most?” Jo had responded, pulling her dressing gown around herself tightly.

“W
E DON
’
T HAVE
a great deal to go on,” Lorraine said when Sonia arrived, noticing again how frail she seemed. She was stooping and her arms appeared wisp-like, protruding from a sleeveless vest that was the same gray color as her skin. Her wet hair was combed back, showing tufts of gray at the temples. “Based on experience, this will almost certainly turn out to be nothing more than a pissed-off teenager teaching someone, probably his parents, a lesson.”

Adam glanced at Jo. She looked away.

“A lesson for what?” Sonia whispered.

“We have to take this seriously and form a plan for the next couple of hours,” Lorraine continued. “This isn’t our patch so we can only do so much. I’m still certain, though, that before we even get started Freddie will have skulked back with an apology.”

“Well, let’s hope so,” Jo said, just as Stella came into the room.

“Mum, where’s my phone? Did Freddie bring it back yet?” She was bleary-eyed, most likely having been woken by their voices in the kitchen, even though it wasn’t early anymore.

“No, darling,” Lorraine replied. “I’m afraid he didn’t come home last night.”

Stella pulled the oversized hoodie she was wearing—Freddie’s, by the look of it—around her body. “Has he run away?” she asked. Her eyes were huge.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Lorraine said. “Did he say anything to you? Even if it didn’t seem like much?”

Stella pulled a face. “Not really. He was always getting loads of texts then going quiet. He seemed a bit …”

“A bit what?” Jo said, sitting forward.

“Am I allowed to say ‘pissed off?’ ” Stella asked, glancing at her dad.

Jo slumped back. “Tell me something new.”

“Someone needs to get in touch with Freddie’s friends,” Lorraine said, looking at her daughter. “Close mates first, followed by acquaintances.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Stella offered. “I can contact his friends on Facebook. They’d probably be more willing to talk to someone their own sort of age.”

“Thanks, love,” Lorraine said.

“But I’m going to need to borrow a laptop because Freddie’s gone off with my phone, hasn’t he.”

“We’ll sort something out, darling,” Adam said.

“I’ve already paid a visit to Lana at New Hope,” Lorraine continued. “She gave me some of Freddie’s friends’ names and numbers. We could go and see them after we’ve done a local search.”

“Yes,” Adam said with authority, “a local search. I’ll tackle the surrounding area in the car, question people in shops, bus drivers, the ticket office at the station and suchlike. Jo and Sonia, seeing as you know the villagers best, you should do a door-knock search. Lorraine will go with you. Ask memory-jogging questions relating to last night—anyone taking dogs for a walk, going to the pub, collecting in the washing, that kind of thing. Someone must have seen Freddie.”

“I think that’s enough to be going on with,” Lorraine said, giving Jo a hug. “Don’t worry. He’s my nephew and I’m not going to let anything happen to him.”

A
S SHE WALKED
along the deserted lane running through the center of Radcote, it hardly seemed possible to Lorraine that Freddie was missing. She fought down her fears. What Stella had mentioned
about texts and Freddie seeming upset fitted perfectly with Lana’s revelation about the bullying. She had no idea how to break the news to Jo.

They’d decided to start with the outermost houses in the village and work inward, Sonia from one side, Lorraine and Jo from the other.

“Excuse me,” Jo said, going up to a woman coming out of her house. “I’m looking for my son.” Her voice was thin and anxious.

The woman stared at her, her hand on the car door handle, a frown on her face, as if they were about to make her late for something. Jo pushed her phone at her and showed her the picture of Freddie she’d taken only days before at Kenilworth Castle. His face was stretched into a fake smile, his disgust at being out on such a trip easily visible.

“Sorry, not seen him,” the woman said after a cursory glance, opening the car door and chucking her bag onto the passenger seat.

Jo continued to hold the phone out. “Take a proper look. Please.”

“No, don’t know him,” the woman insisted, having barely taken another glance. She got into her car and Jo and Lorraine had to move out of the way as she backed out and drove off.

The next house also proved fruitless. No one was home in the next one, so they moved on to the adjacent property in the row of terraced council houses. Most were now privately owned though they still bore the telltale classic gray stucco so popular in the fifties.

“Hello,” Lorraine said, giving Jo a break. “We were wondering if you’ve seen this lad. His name’s Freddie. He lives in the village. He didn’t come home last night. We’re very worried.”

The man, in his mid-forties, stared at Lorraine scornfully, probably wondering what kind of mother allowed that sort of thing to happen.

“I know you, don’t I?” he said, turning to Jo. “Your other half, he play darts?”

“He used to,” Jo stated meekly. “In the Old Dog on Thursday nights. Have you seen my son?”

She held her phone up to his face and the man squinted at the screen, shielding his eyes.

“Nah, it’s no use without my reading glasses,” he said. He glanced back at his front door. “The missus’ll be mad if I don’t get a move on. She wanted milk from the shop. But hang on, let me get them and see if I can help. Any boy of Malc’s …”

He went inside and returned a moment later with his glasses.

“Just like his dad, eh?” he said after taking a good look at the photo. “Handsome lad. You must be very proud.”

Jo turned her head away. Only Lorraine could see the tear on her cheek.

“Did you see him last night?” Lorraine said. “Maybe walking through the village, getting a lift, catching a bus, anything?”