The Key to Finding Jack by Ewa Jozefkowicz (best classic books to read TXT) 📕

dining room, it occurred to her that her son, although quiet, hadn’t seemed anywhere near as distraught by Margot’s disappearance as she was. She decided to ask him why. Henry was startled by the question.

‘Because I don’t think that she has been snatched, Mother,’ he admitted eventually.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You believe that Margot’s been taken, but maybe… Well, maybe she chose to leave.’

‘You’re saying she disappeared on purpose?’ asked Lady Abigail. She couldn’t accept the words even as she said them.

Henry nodded.

The red beret, which the bobbies had returned after deciding it offered no further clues, was hanging on the carved wooden coatrack. Lady Abigail wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she took it to bed with her every night.

Henry glanced at it now as he finished his breakfast.

‘They sell them outside the hospital, Mother. They are worn by the nurses. They raise money to look after the poor and infirm; those destined for the workhouse.’

‘What? Henry, why did you not mention this earlier?’

‘I didn’t think it mattered.’

‘Which hospital is it? St Bartholemew’s?’

‘No, the Evelina Hospital. The children’s hospital near London Bridge.’

Lady Abigail put on her coat, drank a glass of water which the maid passed to her, and headed straight for the door.

This was as much as I’d managed to write and I felt it was a good line on which to end the chapter. I glanced back at the class. I’d almost forgotten that they were there. I looked over to Keira hopefully, but she shook her head. He hadn’t called.

‘Thank you very much, Felicity. Very intriguing.’

Next, we heard from Duncan’s sidekick, Max, whose story was surprisingly good, and from a shy boy called Errol who’d slightly misinterpreted what we were supposed to be doing and had written a complicated sci-fi crime comic, complete with detailed illustrations.

Finally, Duncan strolled up with his next instalment of ‘The Cabin’. By now, I was certain that everyone in the class must have figured out that the weapon of death had been an icicle.

‘Thank you, all,’ said Mrs Emmett at the end of the lesson. ‘Before you go, I want to announce something exciting. There’s a countrywide new Young Writers’ Award which has been brought to my attention, and a particular part of it is dedicated to crime fiction. It’s one entry per school and I’d like us to take part. Having read your stories, I’ve selected five which I think are particularly strong, and I want you as a class to help me choose the one we should submit. We’re mature writers in this class, so it isn’t a popularity contest. I trust you to be fair and not just to vote for your friends.

‘The people whose stories I’ve shortlisted are: Vera, Max, Felicity, Siobhan and Rafe.’

An excited murmur went round the room. Normally, I would have been thrilled at the news, but I felt nothing. I couldn’t even muster a smile when Keira slapped me on the shoulder.

Behind me, Duncan was boasting about all the big literary prizes that his dad had won.

‘I’m pleased for you, dude,’ he said eventually to Max, and then more quietly, ‘we’ll make sure you win, yeah?’

Seventeen

By lunchtime, Jack still hadn’t called and I couldn’t wait any longer. I sneaked away to a far corner of the netball courts and rang Simon. He picked up on the first ring.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘We need to keep waiting. I’ll try calling again in a few hours, but I don’t want him to get annoyed with me. I’m sure there are loads of people trying to find their friends and loved ones.’

‘You know you don’t have to stay here,’ said Keira when I updated her, ‘you can go home. Everyone will understand.’

But for some reason, I insisted on staying in the lunchroom, staring at my plate, picking at my chips. I thought going home might jinx things – that Jack definitely wouldn’t call if I gave up on my day.

I was trying to avoid everyone’s gaze, even Keira’s. I could see Duncan throwing me odd looks from behind one of the canteen pillars.

‘What does he want now?’ I muttered to Keira.

‘Oh, ignore him. He’s an idiot.’

But as we were putting away our trays, he walked over to us nervously, clutching something in his hand which, on closer inspection, seemed to be a folded piece of paper. I could tell by the way he was holding it that he didn’t want anyone else to see it.

Before I could ask what he was playing at, he thrust the clammy square into my hand and was gone.

Keira was burning with curiosity.

‘I’m not in the mood,’ I told her, putting the paper in my jacket pocket. ‘It’s probably information about one of his dad’s creative writing courses or something. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.’

My phone was silent through the last period of double chemistry, and when Keira’s mum came to collect us, I told her that I would rather walk home on my own. Her eyes widened in surprise and worry, but she agreed.

‘Message your mum and tell her that’s what you’re doing,’ she made me promise.

I took the long route home, dragging out each step. Remembering what Charlie had said, I took my phone from my pocket and messaged Mum.

Back late, I wrote simply. Don’t worry x.

I walked past the edge of Ottoman’s Field and sat down at the corner, exhausted. The last few days had been cold, but I hadn’t noticed quite how freezing it had become. It was only when I stopped moving that I regretted not wearing my proper winter coat. As I was pulling my thin jacket tightly around my shoulders, it began to snow.

At the other end of the field, a group of kids who’d been playing football stopped their game and looked up at the sky with wonder.

As the snow continued to fall, I squinted. Through the flurry of white, I could make out two figures spinning round and round. One was small and chubby with pigtails, wearing a