LITMIR.BIZ

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her voice delicate and lost. ‘When we learnt you might not remember who you were, your dad insisted we kept it that way. He said it would keep you safe and the less I knew the better.’

      ‘Safe from what?’

      ‘I don’t know, honestly, Daniel, I don’t know.’

      ‘But he does?’

      ‘Yes.’ She looked down at her feet, her shoulders rolling in, tired and defeated. I stepped towards her gently, placing my hands back on her shoulders again. Slowly she looked up at me.

      ‘Is he likely to be involved in this?’

      ‘I don’t know, Daniel.’

      ‘Yes or no, Mum?’ I said quietly but through clenched teeth.

      ‘He was mixed up in the same things you were,’ she said, again looking away as if she was drifting back to the past. The past that was destroying my present. I shook her again, releasing her from the shock she was slipping into, snapping her attention back to me.

      ‘Yes or no?!’

      ‘Yes. But I don’t think he took them.’

      ‘But he would know who did?’

      ‘Yes, yes he would.’

      For the first time since the call, I felt like I had a sense of direction. I needed to find my father. He was either involved in, or knew who had taken them. In the back of my mind something fired. It made me feel defensive, cornered, like I knew my father was someone capable of committing a crime. I could feel my hand clench into a fist. I could feel myself wanting to hurt him.

      ‘Where is he?’

      She paused.

      ‘Where is he, Mum?’

      I could feel myself getting more exasperated. I knew she was trying to protect me, but I didn’t matter. My needs of protecting my family were far more important.

      ‘Mum!’

      ‘Chalfont. He has a house in Chalfont.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘When we first married, before you were born, we bought a little two bed in a place called Chalfont. He still has it.’

      ‘And you know he’s there?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘How? How can you be sure?’

      I watched as she began to speak but stopped herself.

      ‘Mum, how do you know?’

      ‘Because … because we still speak from time to time.’

      ‘What? You told me he was gone.’

      ‘And he is. I promise, I’ve not seen him in years. Just, sometimes he calls.’ I had to move away from her, I was worried if I stayed so close I would really lose my temper. When I spoke I did so quietly, fighting to keep control at my anger at being lied to so often.

      ‘When was the last time he rang?’

      ‘It’s been about a year. He usually rings around Christmas.’

      ‘You speak to him … every year?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And didn’t think to tell me?’

      ‘He insisted you two didn’t speak. He insisted it was for your own good that you didn’t know about him at all.’

      ‘Don’t you think that’s suspicious?’

      ‘I didn’t. I don’t. I mean, I don’t know.’

      ‘And he always rings around Christmas?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But not this Christmas?’

      ‘I just assumed he’d been busy.’

      ‘And now my family has been taken.’ I felt my muscles start moving, wanting to head for the door and leave. ‘Where in Chalfont is he?’

      ‘What are you going to do?’

      ‘I’m going down. He needs to tell me what he knows.’

      On shaking legs she left the room, assumedly to get a pen and paper from the telephone table. I turned my back to the room and looked at the window above the sink, catching my hazy reflection. My lip was swollen badly, as was the corner of my eye. I didn’t recognize myself. Who was the man staring back? I was involved in something that meant it was safer to change my identity and hide the past. It explained the question I always had and never asked, for fear of the answer. Why none of my friends before the accident got in touch. Now I knew. My name had been changed, they wouldn’t know how to find me. But still I didn’t know why my mum and dad would go to such extremes. What has the man in my reflection been involved in?

      Mum came back into the room, the address written shakily on a piece of paper in her hand. She gave it to me. She told me it was close to where I grew up, a place just outside Slough called Wexham. Until then, I thought I had grown up in Cambridge with Mum moving this way after my accident to help with my recovery. That was what I had always been told. I had never heard of Wexham. The place that owned all of my childhood. Strangely, I felt myself mourn the childhood I didn’t remember. None of the stories that I had used to manufacture memories were real. None of them.

      But now wasn’t the time for self-pity. I needed to think of what I would do next. I had to go home, grab some cash from the bottom of my wardrobe. Mainly change, but some notes too. Then I remembered. Mum’s holiday scrapbooks. There might be something in them that would help.

      ‘Your books, Mum, did you get them out?’

      ‘My holiday scrapbooks?’

      ‘Yes, give them to me. I need to see them.’

      ‘There are so many.’

      ‘Give me the ones you have before I got hurt. When I was in trouble. And your car keys. Get them, and in the morning ring the police and say your car has been stolen.’ Suddenly, I had a plan. My thoughts frantic, coming thick and fast as I fired information at Mum.

      ‘What, why?’

      ‘Because I cannot drag you into this.’

      She looked at me blankly as shock began to wash over her. I shouted to snap her out of it.

      ‘Mum, go! The holiday scrapbooks and keys.’

      ‘Yes of course, yes.’

      She got her car keys and handed them to me but held on to one, connecting us.

      ‘Daniel, I’m so sorry.’

      ‘Mum, the holiday scrapbooks!’

      She was in shock. And I knew my tone was harsh. But I didn’t have time to waste. She left, retrieved three hardback yellow books and handed them to me. I wouldn’t look now, despite wanting to. I needed to get to Chalfont first and speak to my father.

      ‘I’ve got to go.’

      ‘What are you going to do?’

      ‘Get my family back.’

      She leant in to hug me, but I waved her away. I was still too angry at her. Fifteen years of lies. Fifteen years, and although she was only trying to protect me, she put my little boy at risk by doing so. I walked to the front door, opened it and then turned back. She hadn’t moved, she looked ten years older than when she came downstairs.

      ‘Remember, Mum, ring the police in the morning. It removes your involvement.’

      ‘But then they will be looking for it.’

      ‘I’ll dump it somewhere, I just don’t want them thinking you’ve helped me. And don’t say anything if you’re asked about where I am.’

      ‘But we should

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