Nicci French - Secret Smile

I ended the call and turned to Broughton.

'I have to leave,' I said.

His glare deepened.

'Do you realize how expensive my time is?' he said.

'I'm very sorry,' I repeated. I wanted to say that my time was valuable as well, to me, at least. But I didn't. I was thinking of Troy, out there in the rain.

I went to my parents' house first. The workmen weren't there, though the ground floor looked like a building site – well, it was a building site. The kitchen was half-exposed to the weather. There was yellow London clay everywhere. I went from room to room, calling him. In his bedroom I opened the curtains and shook out the crumpled duvet, to make it look more welcoming if he returned. A book about the migration of birds lay open on the floor. I marked it with a scrap of paper and put it on his pillow.

I didn't really know where to look. Where would I go, if I were him, and hanging around waiting for the end of the day? I walked on to the high street and peered into cafes, record shops, the local bookstore. I tried the library, but it was closed; it's only open two days a week now. I looked into the mini-arcade, where several boys – other truants, I assumed – were playing the fruit machines in the smoky, bleeping gloom. Troy hated places like that. They made him feel trapped.

I walked to the park and wandered around in the rain. There weren't many other people, just a couple of winos sitting on a bench and a young mother striding furiously past pushing a buggy. From its inside came a yell like a siren. No Troy. I went to the playground in case he was taking shelter there, but it was deserted. Pigeons hopped through the puddles. I went to the little snack bar which sells ice creams on sunny days, but there was just one woman in there.

Really, he could be anywhere. I rang Mum at work and she'd heard nothing. I rang Dad, who was in Sheffield on business, but his voice kept breaking up until it eventually crackled into silence. I rang my flat in case Troy had somehow found his way there, but after two rings the answering machine clicked on and my own voice told me no one was there to take the call. I left a message anyway, one of those that go: ' Troy? Troy? Are you there? Can you hear me? If you can hear me, pick up the phone. Please, pick up the phone. Troy?' I heard the note of fear in my voice.

When you're looking for someone, you see them everywhere. Out of the corner of your eye, and then you turn and it's an old man. In the distance, but as they get closer it's nothing like them after all. Ahead of you, and they turn around and it's a stranger's face. I walked for an hour, telling myself reasonably enough that I shouldn't worry too much. In the end, wet and chilly, I went back to collect my car from outside my parents' house and, on the chance that he'd returned, went in.

The hall doorway was slightly open and through it I could see Troy seated on the old sofa. His hair was plastered to his skull, and he was draped in a thick tartan blanket, under which he was naked. He looked so shrunken and desolate, sitting there, that I could hardly bear to approach him. He lifted his head and looked up and gave a half-smile at someone I couldn't see, and a figure moved across to block him from my view. I pushed the door fully open and stepped into the room.

' Troy,' I said. 'Brendan. What's going on?'

I don't know what I was thinking, but my voice was sharp. I pushed past Brendan and knelt by Troy, clutched him by his narrow shoulders.

' Troy? Are you all right?'

He didn't reply, just looked at me, through me. He had the appearance of one of those people you see on the news, who's just been pulled out of wreckage, off a sinking ship.

'Sweetheart,' I said as if he were a baby still. I wanted to cry. 'What happened?'

'I've run your bath,' said Brendan. 'Nice and warm. And I'll bring you hot chocolate while you're in it. OK, mate?'

Troy nodded.

'And I better ring your mum, all right?'

'I'll take you up to your bath,' I said.

I left Troy in his bath and went to the kitchen, where Brendan was standing amid the builders' wreckage microwaving a jug of milk for Troy 's chocolate. It was a clumsy process because he could only use his unbandaged hand.

'I got Marcia's message on your answering machine. Clearly she doesn't know you've moved out,' he said. The microwave bleeped and he took the jug out, stirred in the cocoa and sugar, and whisked it till it frothed. 'There.' He took a little sip and added more sugar. 'So I thought I should go and look.'

'Where was he?'

'Down by the derelict warehouses. I don't know why I went there – I just had a feeling he was there, like an instinct. I knew. I think some people have that gift, don't you?'

I shrugged.

'Who knows what might have happened if I hadn't been there. I think I was meant to save him. It was fate. And so I've made a decision.' He poured the drink into a mug. I'm going to put off looking for a job until Troy 's all right. Troy will be my job.'

'Oh no,' I said, 'I don't think that's a very good idea. Not at all. In fact, if you ask me…'

'I'm not,' he said calmly.

'Well, I'm going to tell you anyway. Troy doesn't need you. The very opposite. What Troy needs, apart from anything else, is you out of his…'

'I'll take him his chocolate,' Brendan cut in. 'You don't really need to stay if you're busy.'

'I'll wait,' I said furiously. 'I'm not leaving him.'

'As you like,' he said.

'I thought you were getting better. I thought things were getting back to normal at last.' My mother was pacing the room in an agitated fashion. Her hair was half unloosed from its bun and hanging down in strands over her face. She was wearing a jumper back-to-front.

'What does "better" mean, exactly?' asked Troy. 'And what's normal? No one's normal.'

He was sitting on the same sofa I'd found him on the previous night, in the same slumped position, as if there weren't a bone in his body.

'Oh, for God's sake,' snapped my mother.

'Calm down, love,' said my father, who was standing with his back to the window. He'd come home early from Sheffield and was still wearing his suit. He hadn't shaved, though, and the knot of his tie was pulled loose. It wasn't exactly a total psychological collapse, but it gave him an odd, raffish look.

'Calm down? Is that all you've got to say? Every time something goes wrong, that's your advice. Why don't you say you'll make us all a nice cup of tea?'

'Marcia…'

'I want someone else to take charge here, not always me.'

I glanced across at Troy. The sun was shining through the window on to his silky hair, and he seemed quite tranquil. He felt my eyes on him and looked up, raised his eyebrows and gave a little smile.

'Tea would be nice, actually,' he said. 'And I'm quite hungry. I haven't had anything to eat all day.'

I stood up.

'I'll get us all something in a minute,' I said. 'Toasted cheese sandwiches?'

'Thank God Brendan was here,' said Mum fervently. I flinched. I'd been there too, hadn't I? 'If he hadn't found him…'

'I'm in the same room, Mum,' said Troy. 'You can talk to me.'

'What have I done wrong?'

'What's it got to do with you?'

'Exactly,' said my father. 'We're not going to get anywhere if this becomes about your feelings of guilt. This is about Troy.'

My mother opened her mouth to say something, then changed her mind. She sat down on the sofa and took Troy 's hand.

'I know,' she said. 'I was so worried. I kept thinking…' She stopped.

'I wasn't going to kill myself or anything,' said Troy.

'So what were you up to?' asked Dad. 'Skipping lessons, wandering around.'

Troy shrugged.

'I wanted to be left alone,' he said eventually. 'I couldn't bear everyone fussing over me all the time. People looking at me to see how I am.'