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  “Are you okay?” Allissa asked, losing all concern for the stinging in her own elbow. “Are you hurt?” she asked the girl, who looked at her, without understanding. Allissa’s few weeks of lessons in Nepalese were coming up short.

  Allissa’s eyes locked on her and saw, not for the first time in her life, fear. The instinctive, pleading look of help which transcends language.

  “Mānisakō, Mānisakō.” The girl pointed frantically in the direction she’d come. The man, the man.

  Standing slowly, Allissa looked across the busy market. At the edge, next to the stuttering traffic, a large Nepalese man looked left and right before beginning to push towards them. The way he moved told Allissa he wasn’t there to shop.

  “This way.” Allissa pulled the girl by the arm. “Keep low.”

  Pushing people aside, they made it to the opposite side of the market where stalls again became crawling traffic.

  Allissa turned to see the man, muscles taut under a discoloured white t-shirt, looking left and right, heading their way.

  Chapter 8

  The sky had congealed from autumnal orange into ranks of grey some time ago, and now the storm raced and bubbled overhead. Leo sat alone at his kitchen window, smoking a cigarette. He had given up the habit some time ago, but after the stresses and anger of the day he had felt the compulsion and stopped at a shop on the way home.

  “You’ve been a waste of space since you went away with that girl… It’s pathetic. I shouldn’t have kept you on.”

  The words of the editor continued to circle as fists of rain thumped the greasy glass.

  “It’s pathetic…”

  Finishing the cigarette and having thrown away the ashtray when he gave up smoking, Leo pulled up the sash, howling wind forcing rain into the kitchen, and flicked the butt out into the night.

  Moving into the front room, the biggest in his third floor flat, he rubbed the cold from his hands. He really should put the heating on, but now not having a job, the bills would already be problematic.

  His desk, occupying a large proportion of the room, was positioned in the bay window. Leo shook the mouse and the two screens of his computer twitched to life. On one screen was the website he ran, Missing People International, its green banner taking up the whole top third of the display. On the other, a computer programme continuously searched the Internet. The search was based around the most recent images he had of Mya, the locations she wanted to visit or enjoyed going to, as well as the keywords of her name, origin, and more general description. It had been running non-stop for almost two years, giving Leo a couple of results to analyse each day when he got home from work.

  A dialogue box flashed in the centre of the screen. It displayed an article from the Peruvian newspaper Andonde. Clicking the box, a page of Spanish text appeared before being translated automatically by the software. The article was about two so-far unnamed British tourists who died in a climbing accident. Scanning through the article, Leo found that neither was 28, the age that Mya would now be. He moved it to the ‘read’ folder so the system didn’t bring it up again.

  Taking a sip of cold coffee, he let his eyes lose focus on the screens. The room was a reminder of his mission. The mission his life had become. Chipped paintwork. Grey, bare carpets. A map of the world pinned to the wall, printed articles taped around it, stories he had been unable to dismiss and hoped to see a pattern in. One day, hopefully, two would match and lead him to something. A clue to where Mya had gone.

  A notification appeared from the Missing People International forum. It was the most popular part of the site, a vibrant community of people with one, sad, common factor – someone they loved was lost. To read it was heart-breaking. Leo had to remind himself of the importance of his work. It wasn’t just about getting him closer to finding Mya, but also helping the hundreds or thousands of people with unanswered questions in their lives. A question mark hanging where there once was a man, woman or child.

  The notification was a post from a lady in Cyprus looking for her son who’d not been seen in two weeks. Leo knew the feeling, he dealt with it every day. Posting the link for the “Things to do when a loved one is missing,” page on the website, and a personal note, he closed the e-mail window. Another person with a part of their life gone. He wished her well, but in reality, knew there was very little that anyone could do.

  When Mya disappeared two years ago, Leo didn’t know anything about missing people. He had so many questions. What to do first? What authorities to contact? How do you make the local police take it seriously? Leo assumed that there were people whose job it was to find those who are missing. It was a painful realisation that there weren’t. Police forces around the world are stretched thin, so when an adult goes missing it’s assumed they want to be lost and maybe one day will come back.

  She was out there somewhere, Leo knew as he let his eyes lose focus on the screens. He would find her. Sitting back in the chair and listening to the hammering of the rain on the glass, Leo, again, let the memories of Mya swim into his mind.

  Chapter 9

  I’m going to kiss you now, Leo thinks, his confidence coming from an evening of shared drinks, smiles and laughs.

  I’m going to kiss you now. It’s the second time he and Mya have met. It’s going well.

  They started drinking in a wooden-beamed pub in the Lanes hours ago. The night was busy, people stumbled in groups from one place to the next, but Leo hadn’t noticed any of them. A basement cocktail bar. Metal stairs, gleaming bar stools, low lighting, a booth at the back designed for those taking part in a night for two.

  And then they were out, laughing in the lustrous morning air. 4 A.M.

  “Where to now?” Mya asks, crossing her arms against the chill.

  “India!” Leo shouts, pointing as though commanding an army into battle.

  Mya giggles and puts her arm through his.

  “Go on then,” she says. “Take me to India.”

  The curving domes and minarets of the Royal Pavilion float in the milky pinks of summertime pre-dawn. The garden’s tall flowers shake with dew, rippling a thousand tiny mirrored wet leaves. The bright colours of their petals echoic of the rising sun.

  I’m going to kiss you now, Leo thinks as they drink from cans on a bench in the glinting air. He tries not to show he’s cold as Mya wears his jacket and curves her shape into his. His hand slips down her back. Tracing the contours of her figure beneath the dress he’s been looking at all night. They’ve built a bubble around them which is theirs alone. The world has been reduced to the two of them. He knows this is the moment, this is his moment, their moment.

  The sun warns of its impending arrival as purple shoots across the clear sky, colouring every surface of the ivory pavilion. Time is short. Once the sun comes, their bubble will fade with the waking city.

  Leo takes a sip of his beer. Breathe. Do it.

  “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, hearing the words before his drunken ears knew they’d been said.

  Mya looks up at him, her eyes absorbing the colour from the sky.

  The kiss is hot, sexy, steamy and longing. It’s all he’s wanted and more, all he’s thought about all night, feeling her soft skin beneath his. They kiss until they’re kissing more than not. They’re in their own world, a planet just for them. Breathing the smell of her neck, Leo feels the passion rise past boiling point. It’s a moment he wants to live in forever. He doesn’t want it to end, but he knows it will with the rising sun.

  Neither notice the light fade from aubergine to peach.

  “Oi, get out of here!” A voice from the direction of the pavilion. “What you doing? You shouldn’t be here!”

  A security guard jogs towards them, deceptively close on the curving path.

  Leo pulls on Mya’s hand – they must go. One more kiss as she stands.

  The bubble has burst and the world is alive. Buses pull sleepy passengers to work, people walk dogs, and the large security man runs after them.
r />   Over the fence they go, giggling back into the city and reality.

  Mya rummages through her bag for the key, fits it into the lock and leads Leo in. Into the bedroom, she pushes him backwards onto the bed, still covered with dresses she’d laid there to decide on.

  From where Leo lies, the light catches her jawline, her strong cheekbones, her figure. Her dress slips to the floor, a mix of excitement and awe. Her body a silhouette. She moves towards him. He’s already there, already living it. They roll like thunder into the darkness, into the silence.

  Chapter 10

  The late afternoon light, filtered by long net curtains, poured through the window. Darkness was some hours off, but the shadows had started to elongate towards the evening.

  On one end of the bed sat Fuli, her chin resting on her hands. Her face was streaked where the tears had fallen, but now her eyes were dry and empty. She looked forward, her face devoid of expression, unblinking.

  “There you are, that’s looking much better,” said Allissa, kneeling on the floor, cleaning the scratch on her right shin. “Urrrm,” she stuttered, searching her limited Nepalese to find the words to reassure. “Taya bhayō?” Fuli looked at her with a weak smile.

  “When Chimini gets home,” Allissa said, ignoring the fact she knew the girl wouldn’t understand but afraid to let the silence go too far, “she’ll explain everything. We’ll talk. It’ll be good to get to know you. The most important thing is that you know you’re safe here.”

  A metallic ding drew Allissa’s attention to the door, through which the brightness of the guest house’s reception area glowed.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said to Fuli, whose eyes hadn’t moved from the same patch of wall in half an hour. Allissa stood and walked to the door.

  “You’re totally safe here,” she said again, before pulling the door almost closed behind her.

  In the brightness of the reception area, a young man stood at the desk, his rucksack still on his back, tanned skin indicating this was not the first stop on his travels.

  “Hi, can I help you?” Allissa said, crossing the room towards him.

  “Yes, hi,” he said. “I’m looking for a room tonight. Just got here, saw your sign outside.”

  “We’ve got none available tonight, I’m sorry,” Allissa said, without needing to check the register. They still needed to buy furniture for five of the rooms to take in tourists. “Sorry,” she said again with a smile. “Try downstairs.”

  “No problem, will do,” the man said, turning back towards the stairs. The guesthouse occupied just one floor of a building, above two similar operations.

  Smiling at him and crossing back towards her room, Allissa didn’t notice the appreciative look she received as he descended the stairs.

  “Just someone looking to see if they could stay here,” Allissa said out loud as she pushed open the bedroom door, “but we’ve not got any room, I need to…”

  She stopped short, looking into the bedroom. It was empty.

  Chapter 11

  Leo slept in the next day. Waking a few times throughout the morning, he’d rolled over and tried for more sleep. There was no reason for him to get up today.

  It wasn’t until he’d pulled himself out of bed, been for his run, and stood sweating and panting in the middle of his living room that the sense of loss really dropped. It fell all at once, as though the tide had shifted and everything was moving in the opposite direction.

  His home, the place where he once felt most comfortable, was now bleak and empty. The faded blue curtains unevenly hung, the maps and magazines, his computer, the faint smell of tobacco.

  Sitting listlessly at his desk, the screens flicking to life, Leo started to go through the results the search bots had thrown up overnight. Possible sightings of Mya in newspapers, Facebook or Instagram posts. But none seemed to get him anywhere, they never did, they never had. It wasn’t reconnecting him with her. It wasn’t getting him any closer, but he didn’t know what else to do.

  He rejected the first ten straight away, they didn’t look anything like her. Misty images with a face in the background that the scanner thought could be her. He saved one to look back at later and possibly print to stick on the map, if it turned out to be viable.

  He then turned to his e-mail, a long list of comments from the site’s forum awaiting authorisation. He’d once turned this off to save time, but someone had made a ridiculous comment referring the site to a Where’s Wally picture in which the small striped figure was hidden in the crowd of a recent football match. Although to some people these comments were a joke, to Leo and many others, they were serious. The website represented not just a place that they could share advice about how to look for their missing loved ones, but hope. Hope that there were people out there who could still be found.

  Deleting a collection of junk e-mails about web-hosting and relationships with cheeky-looking Russian women, he saw one from an address he didn’t recognise. Without thinking, he almost deleted it. But something stopped him. There was something familiar about the name, Blake Stockwell.

  Subject: Assistance needed to find my missing daughter.

  Dear Mr Keane,

  It is with regret that I write to you as I fear I have few options left. My youngest daughter, Allissa, has been out of communication with the family for nearly two years. She is now twenty-eight years old. We have recently come into some new information, which although possibly mistaken, may indicate her whereabouts. My wife and I are unable to go ourselves. Obviously, we could send someone else, but would like to do this discreetly, hence my contacting you. I understand you reside in Brighton. We will be visiting this weekend, until Sunday evening. We will be staying at the Grand Hotel. If you are able to discuss this, please call the hotel to arrange a meeting. I will give you a full precis of the facts as we understand them in person.

  Yours sincerely, and with thanks.

  Lord B. Stockwell

  Chapter 12

  “Hello?” Allissa shouted. Where had the girl gone? Why would she just disappear?

  The doors to the seven other bedrooms of the guesthouse were ajar, and Allissa checked each one. Within two, double beds lay made, the few items owned by the occupant on the small dresser or bedside table. The girls who came to stay never had much to carry.

  Allissa checked the other five rooms, all of which were empty, waiting for the furniture to be bought. That was something she hoped to do as soon as possible so they could take in paying guests. Still no sign of the girl.

  Crossing to the top of the stairs Allissa looked down – the girl must somehow have made it out. There was no other way from the third floor.

  “Hello,” Allissa shouted again, descending the first few steps. “There really is nothing to worry about, you’re safe here.”

  Chapter 13

  Blake Stockwell sat in the refined and elaborate surroundings of the Grand Hotel bar. He had been staying at the hotel for the weekend with the sole purpose of orchestrating this meeting with Leo. He was not in a good mood, and he looked like it. In fact, Lord Stockwell was rarely in a good mood, but even on the few occasions that he was, his pinked, wobbly face and coarse, affluent voice gave the impression he was not. This time it was the young man he was meeting who’d caused his irritation – he’d left it until Sunday morning to contact him. Stockwell was not a man who was used to being kept waiting.

  “There’s a young man here to see you,” said the concierge from the door.

  “Bring him over then,” the Lord snapped, turning to see a shabby-looking man already there.

  “Mr Keane,” Stockwell said, standing and offering Leo his hand.

  Leo looked exactly as Stockwell had hoped – bedraggled hair, tatty coat, almost a down-and-out.

  Leo struggled out of his coat as Stockwell grinned.

  “Lord Stockwell,” Leo said mechanically, after passing the coat to the waiting concierge.

  “Blake, please,” Stockwell replied, shaking an outstretch
ed palm. “Would you like a drink? I can recommend the Glendronach.” Stockwell lifted his glass, ice cubes clinking.

  “Yeah, that would be good. I’ll have the same,” Leo replied.

  “This is a fine hotel,” Stockwell said as he sat. “I’ve had many memorable nights here, been coming to Brighton for almost fifty years.”

  It was the first time Leo had been inside the Grand, though he ran past it every day, each time peering in to see people eating like prancing birds in the restaurant.

  “There was one particularly memorable night,” mused the Lord, “here for a conference in the eighties, ’84 I think it was… Someone put a bomb underneath the Prime Minister’s bath, totally ruined everyone’s sleep.” Stockwell smiled and took a deep sip. “Anyway, I’ve not asked you here to share stories, this is a serious matter.”

  Leo’s drink arrived.

  “Yes, of course. How can I help you, Lord Stockwell?”

  “It concerns my daughter, my youngest, Allissa.” Stockwell had a way of speaking that made the whole lower part of his face wobble and vibrate. “She’s always been a problem to us, never wanted to do any of the things the other girls did. We sent her to the best schools, and she did well, but has never been interested in using it... She’s got this idea in her head about trying to change the world, and the more we spent on her education, the more she used it to rail against us.” He paused and sipped his whisky. “I mean, I’m no monster, but I just don’t see the appeal for a young, beautiful, intelligent girl to help a bunch of people who are doing nothing to help themselves.”

  “I understand,” Leo said, wondering whether him helping Stockwell was exactly that.