Girl, Missing Read Free Page A

down a couple of steps towards me. ‘Are Mum and Dad going to get divorced?’ he said.
    â€˜Yeah,’ I snapped. ‘They’re arguing over which one of them has to live with you afterwards.’
    Rory stuck his tongue out at me again but didn’t say anything. A few seconds later he stomped off to his room.
    The shouting was getting louder, Mum’s high-pitched shriek piercing through Dad’s thundering rumble. And then I heard my own name. I walked back across the hall, trying to separate out what they were saying.
    â€˜Stop shouting,’ Mum was yelling. ‘This is your fault. You promised me—’
    â€˜For Chrissakes!’ Dad yelled back. ‘I’m only saying we can’t ignore her asking about it.’
    I’d never heard him sound so angry. I mean, they bicker all the time, but mostly about trivial stuff – like Dad working too hard. This was different.
    I shivered, and crept closer to the kitchen door.
    There was silence for a few seconds. Then Mum spoke again. Her voice was quieter now, almost pleading.
    â€˜She’s too young. Her head’s still full of homework and … and … pop songs.’
    Yeah, right, Mum – you know me so well
.
    â€˜Then why’s she so angry? Why’s she been asking questions?’ Dad said.
    â€˜Some stupid school project got her started. But she’ll lose interest.’
    There was a pause.
    â€˜You mean you hope she’ll lose interest.’
    There was a longer pause. Then I could hear Mum sniffing. Her voice sounded muffled.
    â€˜If we tell her one thing, she’ll want to hear the rest.’
    Dad murmured something I couldn’t catch.
    â€˜I know, but not now,’ Mum said. ‘When she’s sixteen, I’ll show her my diaries. That’ll put it all in context for her.’
    I heard footsteps coming towards the door and scurried away, up the stairs. My heart was beating fast. So much for all Mum’s ‘closed adoption’ crap. They
did
know something about my life before they got me.
    My stomach twisted into a knot. What could it be that was so terrible they didn’t think I could handle yet? Could it have anything to do with Martha Lauren Purditt?
    I lay on my bed sure of only one thing. There was no way I could wait until I was sixteen to read Mum’s diaries.

4
    Marchfield
    Break time the next day. Jam and I were out on the high street, buying our lunch. It’s something school only lets you do once you get to Year Ten. Three weeks in and Mum’s already complaining about my eating rubbish food – and spending too much money on it.
    I told Jam about the diaries while we waited to order our pizza from the takeaway bar.
    â€˜Why don’t you just go and read them?’ he said.
    â€˜Because Mum keeps all her old stuff in these locked trunks up in our attic.’
    A gust of wind whipped round my legs as a group of girls from another school tottered into the pizza bar. They stood in a cluster at the opposite end of the counter from us, giggling over a menu.
    Jam ordered our usual – a ham and pineapple pizza with double extra pepperoni for me to pick off – then we sat down to wait on the metal bench in the corner.
    â€˜Well, get the keys and go up there,’ he said.
    I stared at him. Jam always made everything sound so simple.
    â€˜What about Mum?’ I said. ‘I’ll need someone to keep her out of the way for at least an hour.’
    Jam frowned. ‘Doesn’t she ever go out?’
    â€˜Not much.’ It was true. While Dad often doesn’t get in until nine or so, Mum works from home and spends most weekends and evenings in her office too.
    She isn’t exactly a party animal.
    After a few minutes Jam wandered over to the counter to see where our pizza was. While he waited, one of the girls from the other school went up to him. She was dead hard-looking, with spiky blonde hair and her school skirt