The Family Secret. Tracy Buchanan

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      ‘Okay, as long as you can put up with my stinky pits,’ Amber replies.

      ‘You don’t smell.’

      A trolley stops at the cubicle and a tired-looking porter peers in. ‘Breakfast, love.’

      ‘My head hurts,’ the girl says as the trolleys rolls in. ‘Can I have something for it?’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ the porter replies, ‘your painkillers are here.’

      Amber helps the girl to sit up and pulls the makeshift table over the bed. The porter lays the breakfast on it: scrambled eggs, some streaky bacon and a sausage with a cup of tea and plastic tumbler of orange juice.

      The girl wrinkles her nose at the smell, pushing the plate away. ‘Yuck. That meat smells awful.’

      ‘Smells fine to me. Maybe you’re a vegetarian?’

      The girl nods. ‘Maybe I am!’

      Amber turns to the porter. ‘Can we have a vegetarian breakfast, please?’

      ‘What about you?’ the girls asks Amber.

      ‘No food for visitors,’ the porter says. ‘There’s a café downstairs.’

      ‘She’s just spent the night looking after one of your patients,’ the girl says. ‘I think a coffee and a croissant or something is a small ask, right?’

      Amber looks at the girl in surprise. She’s clearly a feisty one, whether she knows it or not.

      ‘This isn’t Starbucks,’ the porter retorts.

      ‘Fine, then just leave this breakfast here,’ the girl says, pushing the tray towards me. ‘You’ll only throw it away.’

      The porter shakes his head in exasperation and walks away.

      ‘Now you’re going to tell me you’re a vegetarian too, aren’t you?’ the girl says.

      Amber laughs. ‘No chance. That was impressive though.’ Amber picks a sausage up and bites into it.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘How gutsy you just were. Though I think the blue streaks in your hair kind of give it away.’

      The girl examines a blue strand of her hair. ‘Turns out I’m a rebellious pain in the butt, who knew?’

      They both laugh.

      ‘Okay, how about we try to remember some stuff while we wait for your breakfast,’ Amber says. ‘Let’s focus on the lodge and the lake. Anything else? A road? Any landmarks?’

      The girl thinks about it for a moment. ‘Do you have paper and a pen?’ she eventually asks.

      Amber nods, digging a small notepad and pencil out of her bag. She doesn’t use it much. It’s a struggle to write. She was clearly meant to be left-handed.

      The girl takes the pencil and stares at it. Then she suddenly bends her head over the pad, her blonde and blue hair trailing over the paper as she starts sketching. Over the next few minutes, Amber watches, amazed, as the girl draws the most beautiful sketch of a vast lodge overlooking a glistening lake. It wasn’t a classical type of drawing. It had a Manga feel to it.

      The girl looks up when she’s finished. ‘I think I can draw.’

      ‘You bloody well can,’ Amber says with a laugh. ‘Let’s have a proper look. Is this the lodge you dreamt of?’

      The girl nods as she hands the drawing over and Amber examines it. The lodge is made from wood with large windows that reflect the icy lake before it. A veranda leads out into it and behind the lodge are snow-topped mountains and hints of a forest. A bird glides over the lake, its wings wide and feathery.

      ‘I don’t remember the details,’ the girl remarks. ‘I improvised a few bits. I remember the bird in my dream though.’

      ‘There was a drawing of a bird like this in the notepad,’ Amber says, opening the notepad at the right page. ‘A ptarmigan.’

      The girl looks over her shoulder at the page. ‘Oh, yes.’ She seems disappointed. ‘The dream probably means nothing then. I must’ve copied the bird from this notepad.’

      ‘Don’t discount it straight away. It’s no coincidence you have this notepad. Your dream, and this drawing, may well be based on reality. Your reality.’

      ‘Do you think the drawing could help then?’ the girl asks, looking hopeful.

      ‘Well, there are a lot of lodges overlooking lakes in the country, but who knows? This is certainly better than nothing. I’ll take a photo,’ Amber says, getting her phone out and taking a quick snap of the drawing before handing it back to the girl. ‘I can then take it home with me and do some searching on the net.’

      ‘Vegetarian breakfast,’ a bored voice calls out. The porter appears, lays the new breakfast – a sorry-looking Quorn sausage – on the table and slams down a coffee, some of it spilling over the sides. ‘Coffee for you too.’ Then he walks off.

      Amber bursts out laughing, expecting the girl to laugh too but instead she’s staring at her drawing, a furrow in her brow.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Amber ask her.

      The girl looks up, eyes filled with tears. ‘Something bad happened there. Something … really bad. I just felt it as I was looking at the photo. But I can’t grasp what happened,’ she adds in frustration.

      A shiver runs down Amber’s back. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ she says, trying to reassure the girl. ‘Probably just this whole situation making you think like that.’

      The girl nods but doesn’t look convinced. As Amber watches her half-heartedly dig her fork into the sausage, she makes a promise to herself: she’ll do everything she can to get this girl safely home.

      Half an hour later, Amber is walking towards her flat. She’s promised the girl she’d be back in time for the police visit. She’d leave the shop closed today. It wasn’t like anything would be sold anyway and the painting would just need to be delayed a few hours. As she goes to put her key in the door, her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out and sees it’s her mum.

      ‘Hi, Mum,’ she says as she puts it to her ear, hovering it between her neck and shoulder as she lets herself into the main part of the block of flats she lives in. It’s a three-storey building enclosing a pretty garden. There’s a nice feel there, close enough to the sea to hear it, but far enough from town to avoid the noise from the late-night pubs. Amber had moved in three months after she and Jasper had split up, and that was ten years ago now. He’d insisted she stay in the house they’d shared together, but she hadn’t been able to face it. Without Katy, it was just a black hole of grief and painful memories. The flat meant a clean start, a complete contrast to the busy, bright family home they’d had. Walls painted white, a white kitchen, minimal furniture.

      ‘I tried calling you,’ Rita says. ‘You haven’t picked up!’

      ‘I’ve СКАЧАТЬ