Gone Missing by Jean Ure Page A

because she didn’t come in. At eleven o’clock me and Honey got tired andwent to bed. We couldn’t decide whether to sleep on the sofa or in the single bed in the baby’s room. The bed obviously belonged to Darcy’s sister, and we were a bit worried in case she might not like two strange girls sleeping in it; but as I said, “She’s not here, so she needn’t ever know.” And as Honey said, “The baby might wake up and need something.”
    We’d only been asleep about an hour when there was a banging at the front door. I sprang up, in alarm. Honey clutched at me.
    â€œDon’t answer it!”
    â€œBut s’ppose it’s Darcy?” I said. “She might have gone without her key.”
    I opened the door just the tiniest crack, keeping the chain on. Two hoodies stood there. A big black one and a weedy white one. They wanted to know if Sharleen was in. I couldn’t immediately think who Sharleen was, and then I remembered she was Darcy’s sister. In quavering tones I said that she was away, and stood, heart pounding, waiting for the door to bebattered down. Instead, after mumbling at each other in their hoods, they said OK and went off again. I closed the door, with trembling hands. Honey, who had been anxiously peering over my shoulder, said, “We could have been murdered!”
    It was no more than I had been thinking myself, but one of us had to show some backbone. Very firmly, I told her that that was nonsense.
    â€œJust because one of them was black…you’re being really prejudiced!”
    Honey said it was nothing to do with being prejudiced. “They were wearing hoods .”
    â€œYeah,” I said, “it’s a fashion statement.”
    â€œBut it’s midnight!” wailed Honey. “Who comes knocking on people’s doors at midnight?”
    I said, “You’re not very streetwise, are you? This is London! They do that sort of thing in London. It’s the way they live. It’s different down here.”
    â€œBut what did they want?”
    â€œI don’t know! They probably wanted to go clubbing, or something.”
    Honey muttered again about it being midnight. “And Sunday!” I thought pityingly that she had no idea. As we clambered back into bed, she said, “Do you think they’ll have discovered we’re gone yet?”
    â€œBound to, by now,” I said. People in London might still be wandering round at midnight, but not in Steeple Norton. Especially not teenagers. My curfew was ten o’clock, tops, and that was Fridays and Saturdays. Sunday I was meant to be in by nine thirty. We’d had so many rows about it, I’d lost count. But midnight was unheard of, even for me, so I reckoned Mum and Dad would be pretty sure I’d gone. They’d be asking themselves, “Where can she be?” and “Why did she do it?” Mum might even be crying. Dad—
    I couldn’t picture what Dad would be doing. He certainly wouldn’t be crying. Would he even be worried? Or would he just say, “Good riddance!” and lock the door?
    He’d have rung Honey’s mum, to check whether I was there–or, more likely, Mum would have rung her. They would have woken her from her stupor and she would have reported that Honey, too, was missing. Maybe Dad would have got into the car and driven round a bit, looking for me. Maybe Mum would have found Marnie’s number and tried ringing her. I wondered what Marnie would have said. Would she have told Mum about the boys from Glasgow? Would Dad have rung the police? I could just hear him, bawling them out. Yelling at them to “Shift yourselvesand do something!” Dad always came on heavy; he didn’t seem to realise he put people’s backs up. Maybe he just couldn’t help himself.
    Darcy must have come back some time during the night, cos when we woke up next morning she was there, in her bedroom,