Page 71 of Searching for Hope

“Everything okay, dear?” Mrs Gorman looks behind me, searching for her husband. Her eyes then fall to my dress, no doubt searching for some sort of disarray. I stand tall, showing off the unaltered state of my clothing, attempting to reassure her at the same time as protesting the fact that she’s looking at all. There’s a part of me that feels sorry for the woman. Each time she smiles there’s sadness there. As though she knows exactly who her husband is and what he does but she’s powerless to stop it. Then again, for all I know, she could be in support of it.

“I’m searching for something my father lost. Your husband was kind enough to give me his assistance.”

She gives me a tight smile. One that’s laced with either sadness or malice. It’s hard to tell.

Jericho clamps his hands to his thighs. “We should probably get going.” He raises his wrist as though to check the time, but he’s not wearing a watch.

He’s done his best to maintain his carefree, playboy-styled image tonight, but it’s wearing on him. His smile is strained, his eyes are tired rather than twinkling with confidence. There’s tension in the way he sits, as though he can’t wait to leave. The vein under his eye is more visible.

“We just need to wait for Mr Gorman to return.” I place my hand on his jiggling thigh. “He said he might be able to get the information I need tonight.”

“Tonight?” Jericho raises a brow in surprise and his leg stills beneath my hand.

I shrug and smile sweetly, as though we aren’t discussing the single most important thing Jericho has been working towards. As though the whereabouts of his wife who has been missing for seven years isn’t about to be revealed. As though the information isn’t what could unite Ette with her mother.

Half an hour passes before Mr Gorman appears again. Jericho almost leaps out of his seat when the footsteps sound.

“Sorry about that.” Mr Gorman leans over to pass me a folded piece of paper. “You know how it is sometimes. Once you get certain people talking it’s very difficult to stop them.”

Jericho’s eyes snap to the note. It burns between my fingers, but I don’t unfold it. I don’t look at the information it might contain. After all, it’s not supposed to be for me. It’s supposed to be for my father.

“Please let us know if there’s any way we can repay the debt on my father’s behalf. He’ll be extremely grateful.”

Mr Gorman laughs heartily. “Of that I have no doubt. Give him my regards.”

If Michael is surprised by the revelation that I’m in contact with my father, he doesn’t show it. He’s been oddly quiet for most of the night, choosing to glare at Jericho and me rather than participate in the conversation. The odd time I’ve caught his eye, a shudder has run through me. I used to think of Michael as laid-back, a kid content to ride the waves of daddy’s wealth. But there is something more dangerous about him now. Something that boils beneath the surface of his smile. He reminds me of my half-brother. The one who’s now in a facility rather than prison. He seemed so normal to both the world and to me. No one knew the thoughts that raced through his mind. Just like my father, no one knew the depth of his depravity until a light was shone on his darkness.

I clutch onto the note as we say our goodbyes. Mr Gorman chats easily as we make our way to the gates of the property where Barrett and the car are waiting for us. We do our best not to rush or act too eager to depart, but it’s hard with the note burning between my fingers. Thankfully, they don’t follow us out the gates and down the few short steps it takes to get to the car, so we rip open the doors and clamber inside, urging Barrett to pull away from the curb as quickly as possible.

“What does it say?” Jericho’s eyes are filled with desperation.

My fingers tremble as I unfold the note. All it contains is a name.

“Keating.” I frown as I say it out loud. It means nothing to me.

Jericho reaches across and rips the paper out of my hand. He glares at it before tossing it over the seat and onto Barrett’s lap.

“I should have fucking known.” He kicks the seat in front of him violently. “I should have fucking known!” he yells.

“Who is Keating?”

Jericho ignores me and talks instead to Barrett. “You know where his place is in the city, right?”

Barrett shakes his head. “It’s not committed to memory sir, but I can find out.”

Jericho nods then pushes himself back against the seat. His breath is coming out in heavy pants. There’s a wildness to his eyes.

“Who is Keating?” I ask again, although this time it’s quieter. More of a plea.

Jericho’s gaze moves to me. “He’s Ette’s father.”

HOPE

HOPE

Under my pillow, I keep sketches of her. They are rough, without finesse, but they’re all I have. Even though it brings pain, I’ve had to embrace the memory of her. She will not stop haunting me. They are drawings of how I remember her because I don’t know who she is now. I don’t know where she is now. I don’t know if she is happy, if she is free, or if she’s like me.

My heart clenches at the thought of her being with her father. He stood for everything I hoped she’d never be. But even I have to admit I’d rather her be with him than like me. I’d rather she grew up in the spoils of wealth and arrogance than the confines of captivity.

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