Melt Page 13

  My head is spinning. I don’t want any of what Mum is saying to be true, and yet it no longer feels impossible.

  ‘So where is Dad now?’

  ‘When they confronted him, he escaped. He’s on the run. They say that someone else must have been helping him.’

  We are both silent.

  Hester prowls around my feet, annoyed that I’m not giving her any attention.

  ‘I should have done something,’ Mum says. ‘Dad wasn’t himself. I should have tried to find out what was wrong.’

  I’m not used to Mum having doubts. She’s always so certain.

  My head is a jumble of truth and lies. It feels like I’m seeing the last four days through some kind of kaleidoscope; with a simple twist, the story has changed shape completely. Dad must be innocent. That was the one fact I could trust. But Mum doesn’t think so, and she’s told me why. The company knew all about this before it even happened.

  But Mum didn’t see Dad running from the building, clutching his head, warning me I had to escape. She wasn’t there. If she had been, she wouldn’t think that Dad was caught red-handed. She would think he was attacked.

  ‘What happens now?’ I say, trying to stay calm.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ says Mum. ‘I think they will formally charge him. Bea, there’s something else you should know.’

  Something in her voice makes me look up, even though I want to lay my head on my hands and go to sleep where I am, at the kitchen table.

  ‘There have been reports in the newspapers about a local man and his daughter going missing. The company wants to keep the story as quiet as possible. They know it will be hard for us. Even so, if Dad is charged with espionage, and they get wind of you flying a plane on your own across the Arctic, then that’s more of a story. Much more.’

  ‘Is that why there’s a car parked outside our house?’

  Mum looks startled. ‘Is there?’ She gets up. ‘I wonder if some journalists have got hold of our address,’ she says, almost to herself.

  ‘Mum—if you go to look, they might think something’s happened.’

  ‘Is that why you came through the back door? Because of the car outside the front?’

  ‘I thought the men who attacked Dad might be waiting for me.’

  A wave of tiredness makes me feel like I can barely sit up any more.

  ‘Mum, I think I have to go to bed. Will you wait a bit longer before you call the police?’

  Mum looks uncertain.

  ‘Please. Just until tomorrow morning. I need a little bit of time to let everything sink in.’

  ‘OK,’ says Mum. ‘But we call first thing in the morning.’ I nod. ‘Will you have something to eat first? It’s lunchtime and you’ve only had a cup of hot chocolate.’

  ‘I’ll have a big breakfast when I wake up, I promise. I just really need to sleep.’

  Mum hugs me again. ‘I can’t believe you’re home,’ she murmurs into my hair.

  Hester runs ahead of me, her tail in the air. She wants to get the best spot on the bed.

  Midnight

  A strip of moonlight glows through the curtains. I can’t sleep while my mind is whirring. I try to picture Dad sleeping peacefully somewhere. But words like espionage and custody keep drifting into my head. How can they apply to my dad? Everything is so different to how I’d imagined on my journey home. Mum thinks there is nothing we can do. If the oil company says it knew about the deal, knows the man Dad had planned to meet, then the evidence is too convincing.

  Hester’s front paw twitches in her sleep.

  If there have been reports in the local newspaper, then everyone at school will know about them. What will Stella do if she has some real material to use against me? Perhaps she’ll come up with a new sound to make every time I walk past. Maybe a police siren. My stomach twists at the thought of going back.

  The strip of moonlight ripples as a gentle breeze touches the curtain. I opened my window before climbing into bed. It’s freezing outside but the air in the house feels stuffy.

  Hester twitches again. That’s what I was supposed to remember. Tell Bea—Hester. I push my covers away. Hester leaps off the bed in disgust. Hester can’t help, but maybe I can.

  Without turning my light on, I push my bedroom door open and pad softly down the stairs.

  I walk silently through to the front room, towards the thick curtains. Without lifting the fabric, I peer through a crack at the side to the street, bathed in moonlit shades of grey. The black car is still parked in front of the house. There is at least one figure sitting in the front. There isn’t enough light to make out their features, or whether they are dozing or awake.

  I walk back through the sitting room, towards Dad’s study. I push down gently on the door handle and step inside. I’ve only been in here a couple of times. It seems darker than the rest of the house. There is a smell of books and paper. I look around. There’s a filing cabinet, some bookshelves and a desk. On the desk is a coaster, a pot full of pens, a small pad and a pencil. Nothing looks unusual or out of place. What should I be looking for? A few minutes ago, I felt sure I would find some answers in here. Now I feel silly. I tug at the filing cabinet door, but it’s locked. I pick up the pencil. Dad was the last person to hold it. The pad is a similar size to Dad’s note. I pick up the pad too. I stand still for a moment and try to imagine Dad sitting behind his desk, looking up as I come in. I imagine him smiling, saying everything is going to be OK. But I know it’s not.

  As I pull the door closed behind me, something touches me gently on the shoulder. I spin round. It’s Mum, wrapped up in her dressing gown, looking even paler in the moonlight. Instinctively I hide the pad and pencil behind my back.

  Mum’s voice is calm, ‘Come on, darling. You should get back to bed. I heard a noise downstairs and came to investigate. I didn’t mean to scare you.’

  ‘Sorry. I just wanted to look in Dad’s office. I’m not sure why.’ I feel my cheeks flush and am grateful to be standing in shadow.

  ‘Some officers are going to come and take the files away from Dad’s office. Anything to do with work.’

  I feel tears prickle in the corner of my eyes.

  ‘They can’t just come and take his stuff.’

  ‘If it might contain evidence, then they can.’

  ‘I’m going to go back to bed,’ I say, hoping that tears don’t start to fall before I make it to the stairs. I don’t want Mum to see me crying. I walk past her and run up to my room, Hester at my heels.

  I sit on my bed and listen to Mum walking slowly back up to bed.

  I realize that I’m angry with her. Perhaps I want her to prove the evidence was wrong, that somehow Dad must be innocent. I want her to fix things.

  When I think Mum is safely back in bed, I take my laptop from my desk. I wait impatiently for it to power up.

  Where should I start? I type in the name of Dad’s company. They drill for oil all over this part of the world. There are images of people looking busy and of trees and countryside. The website doesn’t show any massive refineries or pipes snaking their way through the landscape from drilling site to processing plant. I read everything but have no new ideas.

  A feeling of desperation builds in my chest. I’ve discovered nothing useful and no one knows where Dad is. People will come to our house to start taking his things away. Journalists will write about him and school will be more unbearable than ever, and I will have to face it without Dad. What if the police want to go and talk to Yutu and Miki too?

  I wish I could speak to Yutu now.

  Puzzle

  When I wake, light is streaming through the curtains. Why didn’t I set an alarm? I tug a pile of clothes from my chair and pull out jeans and a T-shirt, then rush downstairs to the kitchen.

  Mum is on the phone. A cold wave passes over me.

  ‘Yes, that would be best,’ she says, and puts the phone down. She turns to me and takes a deep breath. ‘That was a journalist. I don’t know how they got our private number.�
��

  I feel myself relax a little. She hasn’t called the police.

  ‘I made you some pancakes,’ she adds, smiling, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  The plate in the middle of the table is piled with too many pancakes for two people.

  ‘Bea, it’s time I told the police you are here. Perhaps we need to think of a reason for not calling yesterday.’

  I put down the piece of pancake I’m holding. My mouth feels dry.

  ‘Mum, did Dad say anything about Hester before we went away?’

  She frowns. ‘No, I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘There was a note in his pocket. In the trousers he’d packed. It said Tell Bea—Hester.’

  She puts her fingers to her lips in thought, then slowly shakes her head.

  ‘I’m going to have a quick shower and think about what to say to the police. I won’t be long.’

  ‘OK,’ she says. ‘Half an hour.’

  I stuff one more piece of pancake in my mouth and then run upstairs.

  Instead of the shower, I go back to my room and pick up Dad’s pad and pencil. Then lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

  Hester is watching suspiciously from the chair. I put my hand out towards her.

  ‘I promise not to push my bedcovers onto you again.’ She stares at me for a few seconds more. Just to make sure it’s clear who was in the wrong. Then she jumps across to the bed.

  I scratch her between the ears. ‘Are you keeping secrets from me?’ I whisper. She rubs her head against my arm. I realize that her collar isn’t making its soft tinkling noise any more. Perhaps the silver identity disc has fallen off. I wave the pencil above her head. She can’t resist batting it with her paw. As she looks up, I see the disc is missing, but there is something in its place. A small black oblong. I undo Hester’s collar and slide it over the end. I stare into the palm of my hand. The oblong is a USB stick.

  I roll over onto my stomach and plug the stick into my laptop.

  ‘Bea!’ Mum shouts from the hall.

  ‘Just a minute!’ I call back. My laptop whirrs but nothing happens.

  Mum’s footsteps thud softly up the stairs. As she enters my room, there is a loud knock at the front door.

  ‘Bea,’ she says more softly, ‘I have to answer it.’

  ‘I didn’t know they’d be coming to get Dad’s stuff so soon,’ I say.

  She turns to leave.

  ‘Mum, wait!’ I say to her back.

  She turns around and closes her eyes. ‘I don’t want this to be happening either, but we could be charged with obstructing the course of justice.’

  ‘There’s something you need to see,’ I say quietly. ‘That note from Dad, Tell Bea—Hester.’

  Mum frowns.

  I show her the USB stick. ‘This was on her collar.’

  Mum sits on the edge of my bed. ‘Why would Dad put it on Hester’s collar?’

  ‘We need to find out what’s on there,’ I say.

  There’s another knock at the door.

  ‘You could be in the shower,’ I say desperately. ‘It’s the morning. People have showers in the morning.’ I can tell that Mum is wavering. ‘What if they search the whole house for anything which might be evidence? They might take my laptop too.’

  ‘Let’s look,’ she says, ‘but quickly.’

  A box has popped up on the screen. It says Password. I type in Beatrice but nothing happens, so I try Hester. Nothing. My palms are damp with sweat. I’m sure Dad wouldn’t have made this difficult for me. I just need to think. Words fly around my head, but I know none of them are right. Mum is beside me, staring intently at the screen.

  I feel like ripping the computer open or shaking it until the secrets fall out. It sits there, infuriatingly silent. There is another knock at the door. Someone shakes the handle.

  Slowly, I begin to type again. Wing Commander. Nothing happens. I remove the space, wingcommander, and press enter. A list of files appears.

  Mum gasps. ‘That’s it!’

  My mouth feels dry as I click on the first file. As it opens, I see a document with lots of maps and graphs. My eyes scan the text, desperate to make sense of it. What did Dad want me to see?

  After a few seconds, I realize that I know what this is. Dad has told me about geological surveys and seismic surveys and piecing together information for reports which show every important detail about a new drilling site. Some of them are top secret. If a rival company gets hold of one, they will know exactly what their competitor is planning. I’ve never seen one. Until now. But why would Dad want me to see it?

  I open the next file. This one has Dad’s name at the top. It includes some maps from the first file. I scroll through to the end.

  ‘Go back a bit,’ says Mum.

  I scroll back to where it says Summary and begin to read. I don’t understand all the technical words, but the meaning is clear. Oil can’t be extracted without risk to the public. It won’t be possible to get oil from this site.

  The next file shows maps of a new area. It’s a section of coastline. I can’t work out why it looks strange, then I realize it’s because there are no roads marked. There are hardly any towns either. I read a name at the southern end of the map. It sounds familiar, then I realize it’s the town I went to with Yutu. The town where I caught the train. This map is a map of the Arctic.

  ‘Why would an oil company be looking at maps of the Arctic?’ I murmur to Mum.

  There are two files left. I click on the one which says Emails.

  They are between Dad and two people at his new company.

  In the first, Dad says that extraction near the town isn’t viable. In the next, he says his decision is final, he won’t write a report to support their proposed new drilling site. Sea ice and storms make the risk of a large spill likely, which would be catastrophic for the region. There is a reply underneath. They hope Dad will reconsider his decision. Dad replies to say he will never support drilling in the Arctic. The next message says that Dad is an expensive member of the team, and this decision has grave implications for the company. It may also have implications for him. Three or four messages follow, then one which says they will give Dad another chance to comply, or else face serious consequences.

  There is a final email. Separate from the others. The tone has changed. It’s more friendly. It says the company will need further evidence from Dad, about why drilling would be ‘catastrophic’. A plane and accommodation will be made available. The dates match when I travelled up with Dad. And the airport. Dad hadn’t arranged to meet someone he could sell secrets to. The company had sent him.

  ‘Oh no,’ Mum gasps. ‘He was set up.’

  She puts her face in her hands.

  ‘Because he wouldn’t write the reports they needed?’

  Mum looks at me. ‘The men who came to see me weren’t detectives,’ she whispers.

  There has been no sound from the front door for a few minutes. ‘Mum,’ I say, ‘is the back door locked?’

  She nods.

  I click on the final file. It’s a media file. There are no images, just a sound recording. One of the voices is Dad’s. It’s over so quickly that I don’t hear what’s being said. I click play again.

  I hear Dad saying slowly, ‘Hear you?’ then a man’s voice saying, ‘We hope you make the right decision. Until you do, keep an eye on your daughter. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.’

  I realize I’m holding my breath.

  I hear a thud and a scrabbling sound from the garden. I push my curtains aside. There is a man halfway over our back fence. Another man is waiting in the garden.

  ‘I’m going to call the police.’ Mum rushes to her bedroom to get the phone. ‘The real police.’

  Minutes later, the back door rattles. I’m not sure the police will get here in time. I have to make sure someone else knows about what’s happened.

  I type in the name of the local newspaper and scan down for contact details. There is an email addr
ess for the news desk. I copy and paste it. In the body of the email I write Password: wingcommander. I attach the files, then press send.

  They wanted a story. Now they have one.

  AFTER

  AW1

  There is a knock at the front door. It makes me jump, even though I know there’s nothing to be frightened of any more.

  I hear Mum hurry across the hall, the click as she opens the door. Then silence. I run down the stairs to see her standing on the front step. Someone is hugging her. He looks up and smiles at me. A proper smile, like the ones he gave me before any of this started, and I know that Dad is back. Really back.

  Mum puts on the kettle and we sit down at the table. It’s almost as if nothing has happened. Then I look at the greenish-yellow bruise on the side of Dad’s head. At Mum and Dad’s pale, tired faces. Also, the phone won’t stop ringing.

  ‘I would have been back yesterday evening but the doctor wanted to observe me overnight, because of the blow to my head.’ Dad puts his hand on top of mine.

  We sit in silence for a moment. It feels so good to be together.

  ‘I’m not sure how this would have turned out if you weren’t so brilliant,’ he says, ‘escaping from those men, trekking across the Arctic tundra, then finding my files on Hester’s collar.’

  ‘Hester played her part brilliantly.’

  The last few days have felt like endless interviews, questions and phone calls. First at the police station, then with journalists. Now that Dad is here next to me, I have questions of my own—even though the police did their best to answer most of them. But I know I have to wait. Dad has been held captive for almost a week. The police said he would need some time to adjust to what has happened to him. Some space.