Ha-ha. Harry Potter’s birthday. Great. It’s the summer holiday now and Eleanor hasn’t come back. She’s been missing for almost a month now, and there have been no sightings, despite a full-blown police search. Her mum is going spare, and her sister Isabella has moved out to get away from the atmosphere in the house. Her brother hardly spends any of his time in the house anyway, so he’s okay. Everywhere I go, now, I see posters on lamp-posts and notice boards. “MISSING – ELEANOR, 14, FROM LONDON. CALL US NOW!” And underneath is her mum’s phone number. Every time I see one of them it makes me want to cry. People keep saying, “You knew her, didn’t you?” in the most casual way imaginable and I just can’t bear to explain it all over again so I just stay silent.
I’m going on holiday with my family (fun! not) to Holland. We’re going next week, and planning to stay for a week. Somehow, I’m not looking forward to it. How am I going to hear any news of Elle when I’m in Holland?
Knowing my parents, it’ll be a trip full of walking around, looking at historical buildings, museums, art galleries … and then off to the cheapest tea-shop because “the exchange rate is very bad at the moment”! I’m not looking forward to it. Why can’t we go where I want to go, for once? Why do they always choose? I can tell it’s going to turn out like that camping trip we went on. The one where it rained and the tent got waterlogged and my brother got lost when he went off in a sulk … oh, and then we realised we hadn’t brought the camping stove. Not good. On our holidays, everything always goes wrong.