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Another great thing about Sweden; they’re really clean people! I didn’t land in garbage or piss, which is nice.
From my bag I pull a blond wig. For the first time in two years, my hair is its natural colour. I now see that I made a mistake. Bright red hair isn’t exactly subtle. It is, however, longer than I had it. I grew up a bit of a tomboy. My Nan kept my hair shortish to make sure I could wear wigs easily. I didn’t mind because I had no time to fuck about with my hair as a kid. I was too busy playing to bother with that kind of thing. Now I’m pretty adept at whipping my bushy mane into a knot and donning a wig quickly. It takes me seconds to transform myself now. Whoever is watching won’t recognise me if they catch up.
I edge my way to the front of the building and peer around the corner. I still can’t spot anything out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I trust my Spidey sense. Lesson two of being on the lam: make sure you can leave in a hurry. No matter where I am, I always carry my possessions with me.
Karl the Kia is waiting for me. Yes, I name inanimate objects. I stop twenty metres away. Something is wrong. What is it? A smudge on the rear driver’s side. Someone has touched Karl! Fuck, no one touches Karl but me. Okay, that sounds a bit weird, but you know what I mean. Shit, I can’t enter him now. That one was on purpose, no need to lose my sense of humour.
Plan B. I backtrack two streets. Cilla the scooter is tucked behind a disused building. She looks intact. No one has touched her. Cilla won’t get me to Spain. She’s a city bike, but she will get me to my second get-away car that is a thirty minute scoot away.
Goodbye Sweden, you’ve been wonderful. I hope I can visit again someday, it won’t be for a while though. I let myself wallow for a few seconds. I really was looking forward to getting to know that cute waitress a little better. I’ll just have to rely on Daisy a little longer. Daisy is my dil… never mind, you don’t need to know that. Jesus, I need to find someone to have a sane conversation with.
The roads are empty when I emerge from the back of the building. One last scan. Nope, nothing. Am I letting this life get to me? Paranoia is a genuine issue. How could it not be? No, I’m right, someone has found me and it’s my job now to blend and vanish. Nice try Betty!! Let’s go Cilla, it’s just you and me now.
Chapter 2
Daisy
Day 1 of operation Find Callie Compton; therefore saving my dipshit brother from getting a bullet in the head courtesy of his employer, Betty. Fucking. Compton. So far I have nothing. There is no trace of that beautiful woman anywhere. I should know because despite what Betty thinks, I’ve been searching for her granddaughter since the day she disappeared.
I grew up with Callie. My dad, or waste of fucking space, as he is better known, moved us to that godforsaken Yorkshire hellhole when I was three and my brother Daniel was one. Obviously, at the time, I had no idea that the little village I called home was the HQ of Queen B’s criminal kingdom. I learned that later.
Growing up in that environment was different for me than it was for Callie. Being the granddaughter of Betty wasn’t something she could walk away from. As far as Betty was concerned, Callie was born to become a part of the “family business” whether or not she wanted it. Fortunately for me, I was never considered an option for the family, simply because I was born deaf. Deafness didn’t equate to usefulness, thus I was left to my own devices, even by my own dad.
What those arseholes never figured out was, I could’ve been more useful to them than they ever imagined. My lip reading skills are ridiculously good, and I am also formidable with puzzles and codes. Clearly, I never told them that. I was quite happy being left alone. It meant they weren’t paying attention to me. Big mistake, Betty!
From the age of sixteen—that’s when I figured out who Betty was—I began collecting evidence against her. I told no-one, not even Callie. She wasn’t ready to hear it and I didn’t want to put her in an impossible position. I was confident that one day she would realise what was happening around her and when that day came, I would share what I had collected.
Unfortunately for me, I was away at university when Callie finally cut herself free and disappeared without a trace. Daniel—the aforementioned dipshit brother—told me a week after she’d left for a supposed “holiday” that Betty couldn’t contact her and that she’d never shown up at the holiday home in Devon, where she’d said she would be. From my dorm room I spent every spare minute I had looking for her. But Callie was called a chameleon for a reason.
Let’s zip to six years later when I was summoned to see the wicked witch. A bold beefy “nephew”—she has no nephews, but she calls all her henchmen her nephews just to make them feel truly part of a family—of Betty’s escorted me from my flat in Edinburgh to her country cottage in Hellsville UK.
I hadn’t been in the cottage for over ten years. I knew she meant business when I saw a interpreter standing next to her. The poor guy was visibly shaking, clearly not there by his own design. I sat down, keeping my nerves in check. Callie could be the only reason she wanted to see me. As far as she knew, I had no knowledge of anything else to do with her business.
So, this is how the meeting went: “Good to see you, Daisy.” The man’s hands were shaking so violently that if I wasn’t so good at lip reading, I would have struggled to understand his signing. Jesus, that poor guy. To save him from pissing himself, I leaned forward and put my hands on his. I looked at Betty.
“I don’t need him to sign. I will understand.” It’s possible that was the first time Betty had ever heard my voice. I worked hard growing up to speak like a hearing person—people expect me to adapt to makethemcomfortable—and I succeeded, but my voice still holds a nasal sound.
“Fine.” The quaking man was dismissed. Hopefully, he wasn’t going to be dispatched. “Daniel tells me you’re rather good at solving things.” Ah, my dear brother, the useless prick. “Is that true?” I nodded. “Good. Find Callie and find her fast. She has something of mine and I want it back.”
“Mrs Compton, how do you suggest I do that? Callie has been gone for years. I wouldn’t even know where to start!” Not true. I’d started six years ago, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Figure it out, and before you speak again, know that I have an incentive for you.” The door behind me opened. I felt it scuff on the carpet. I turned around and, of course, my brother was there with a gun to his head. Fun add-on, it was my dad holding the weapon.
Now, I probably should have feigned shock at sweet old Betty threatening me. As far as she knew, I have no reason to think she is the type of person to pull such a thing. I couldn’t summon the energy to pretend. I turned back to Betty and nodded. There was no reason for her to explain her threat to me. Daniel would get a bullet if I said no.
Honestly, the whole thing could have been done over email. What a waste of time dragging me to Yorkshire for that.
Bold and Beefy escorted me back to Edinburgh. That was a fun train ride! He left me at my apartment door with a knowing grin. Prick. When I was sure Beefy was gone, I opened my laptop and stared at it. There were no new clues. I closed my eyes and pictured eighteen-year-old Callie. I pictured the day before I left for university, wishing with my whole heart she was going with me. That would’ve been impossible, though. Betty would never have let her go.
Regrets are stupid, in my opinion, but leaving Callie without telling her how I felt about her is a regret that I will carry with me forever. Super fucking cliché to fall in love with your straight best friend, although some would say it’s a rite of passage for all baby gays. Either way, I know she didn’t feel the same, but I should have been honest nonetheless. Maybe she would have been honest with me about leaving. I’ll never know, well, actually I might if I can ever track her down.
How do you find someone that doesn’t want to be found? Social Media. I should have thought of it sooner. Like six years sooner! It was like a bolt of lightning striking me. Yes, it was a long shot, but I had nothing else. I spammedeverysocial media platform with Callie’s picture, begging the internet population for help. I spun a heart-wrenching story about her being my sister that disappeared. Once it was posted, I sat back and waited.
The internet is full of useful and crazy people. It took nearly a week before I started getting legitimate messages from people all over Europe claiming to have seen Callie. By the end of the month, I was up to my eyeballs with supposed sightings. My living room resembled a war room. I had a map of Europe pinned to the wall where my flat screen once hung. It took me weeks to sift through all the sightings.
Finally, I started to see a pattern. It was a surprising pattern, to be honest, one that made me rethink Callie’s heterosexuality. There was a woman who looked like Callie travelling around Europe bedding women along the way. I’d received no less than thirty messages from women claiming to have had sexual relations with Callie or a woman who looked like her.
Norway, Italy, Spain, Germany and many more had a little red pin attached to it on my map. Nearly every country in Europe had a sighting. I spent my evenings after work chatting with women, gathering more information. I couldn’t assume they were telling the truth or that it really was Callie.
