Finding Joe

By Anthony Masters

Joe has been acting strangely lately. He's been causing serious trouble, and messing up his friends' lives. But they can't tell anyone. Not even each other. You see, no one would believe them.

Everyone looks up to Joe...until he mysteriously disappears. Distraught, his sister Debs pleads with his friends to look for him. Reluctantly, they head for the obvious place - the marsh where they played as kids. But they are not kids anymore, and without Joe they're leaderless. How will they even find him? And do they want to, after what he's done? In fact, they would be quite happy if Joe stayed missing for good...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Oct 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781448209057

Anthony Masters

Anthony Masters was renowned as an adult novelist, short story writer and biographer, but was best known for his fiction for young people. Many of his novels carry deep insights into social problems, which he experienced over four decades by helping the socially excluded. He ran soup kitchens for drug addicts and campaigned for the civic rights of gypsies and other ethnic minorities. Masters is also known for his eclectic range of non-fiction titles, ranging from the biographies of such diverse personalities as the British secret service chief immortalized by Ian Fleming in his James Bond books (The Man Who Was M: the Life of Maxwell Knight). His children's fiction included teenage novels and the ground breaking Weird World series of young adult horror, published by Bloomsbury. He also worked with children both in schools and at art festivals. Anthony Masters died in 2003.

Book preview

Part One

Joe

He’ll be back, said Debbie as they idled the hot afternoon away in the skateboard park. He won’t have gone far. It’s only another row. I’m not worried and neither is Mum. She’s not even going to bother to tell Dad. But Debbie’s casual anxiety belied her words. She was obviously dead worried.

Jake, Barry and Paul sat on the edge of the ramp, clutching their skateboards, looking up at Debbie, sharing the same thoughts.

She needed them to find Joe.

Debbie was talking too much, explaining herself away. But she was actually only saying one thing. Find Joe. You’ve got to find Joe.

He’ll turn up, said Barry.

I know, she replied.

No problem, Paul assured her.

Absolutely not.

He probably got pissed somewhere, volunteered Jake. Still sleeping it off.

Typical of him, grinned Debbie. Then the grin was switched off like a light-bulb, and her face went dark. He’s never stayed away this long. He’s just punishing us. She paused. I know it’s been bad since Dad left home. Debbie couldn’t stop talking, needing to chew over a past they all knew as well as Belstead Marsh.

How long is it now? asked Barry.

Couple of months. It’s rotten. Dad never rings Joe. Never rings. She repeated the words thoughtfully, as if trying to build up a case for her brother’s disappearance. He’s really upset. He was so close to Dad. They used to do such a lot together. She paused again, venting her anger, the bitter bile surfacing. That Bilton woman – bloody Betty Bilton – she’s made Dad forget about us. She’s turned his head. That’s what Mum says. Turned his head. He’s, like, got obsessed with her. We’re bloody invisible. She turned away from them so they wouldn’t see her tears, but they had heard them in her voice. Mum hasn’t called the police, continued Debbie after a while, as if answering a question no one had asked. He’s stayed out all night before. He’s always come back. She paused, still needing reassurance. "But it’s a long time now. Like, over twenty-four hours. Are you sure you don’t know where he is?" She had asked that before, of course, over and over again.

Jake shook his head.

Haven’t a clue, said Barry.

Sorry. Paul shrugged.

She looked at them. Jake, tall and thin with his narrow face and freckles and ginger hair. Debbie was put off by freckles, not exactly repelled, but she didn’t like them.

Her gaze switched to Barry, small and wiry with his dark hair. He was religious, wasn’t he? A Catholic? It was his duty to help her, and as for muscular Paul, with his squat frame and broad shoulders and shaved head – well, he was Joe’s best friend. He had to help.

So what was the matter with them? For the first time she felt raw panic, but with a considerable effort Debbie tried to control herself.

Mum’s rung your parents.

Yes? Paul looked hostile.

I mean – your mum, Debbie said quickly.

What would she know?

She ignored the question and switched to another tack. Where have you lot been, anyway?

We’ve been around, said Barry.

And you haven’t seen Joe? demanded Debbie.

No.

"Were you going to see him?"

No.

I thought you always hung around together. Debbie sounded puzzled. You must have seen Joe.

Not for a while.

Had a row?

There was momentary hesitation. No, they chorused and then looked at each other uneasily, or at least Debbie thought so, but she was suspicious of everyone and everything now. She tried to rationalize the situation. Joe had to come out on top, but of course he hadn’t with Dad. If only he’d phone. Dad, not Joe. But, yes – Joe too. If Dad had phoned Joe then this wouldn’t, couldn’t have happened. Was Dad punishing Joe? Was Joe passing it on? Her thoughts were getting into such a muddle and the three boys in front of her were such a solid wall of silence that Debbie could barely cope. What had been the point of searching them out in the first place?

Stubbornly, Debbie plodded on. We’ve checked all the usual places. The club. Uncle Bill’s. She paused, glanced at Barry and then looked away again. Roz.

Barry gazed up at her, hostility in his eyes. She looked a bit like Joe. Tall and fair with high cheekbones and a clear complexion. Her hair was cropped and she wore Bermudas that didn’t suit her thin legs.

It’s Saturday afternoon – Debbie was repeating herself now – and still no sign of him. The panic bubbled back, freezing cold, and Debbie felt rooted to the spot, as if she would stand here eternally saying the same words over and over again. Why wouldn’t they help?

Barry stood up. But he didn’t say anything and she was suddenly afraid they were all going to walk out on her.

"You should do something," she yelled at them in sudden anger. Dad silent. Joe silent. Now Joe’s mates silent. Someone had to do something.

What? asked Jake, fiddling with the wheels of his skateboard.

Look for him, she yelled again amidst a sudden bumping clatter as a group of young boys arrived.

"Us?" asked Barry in apparent bewilderment.

The heat was stifling now, the sun a dull red ball in a smothering, suffocating sky.

Why not?

Where?

I don’t know. Do you?

Again they shook their heads and looked away.

I’ve got to get back to Mum. Debbie at last conceded defeat.

We could try. Paul made it sound as if she had asked the impossible.

The heat shimmered on the concrete ramps of the park, the shadows of the skateboarders wafting like strange birds in the lowering sun. Dust rose and spiralled, making them choke.

Maybe he camped out on the marsh, she said. Joe had done that several times since Dad had gone, but only for a night. He’d always come back early in the morning, truculent, wanting her and Mum to have missed him, and of course they had, and Joe had enjoyed their anxiety. So why hadn’t he turned up? Was he putting the screws on, wanting to test them out even more?

How long’s he been gone? asked Jake.

Two nights now, she said bleakly.

Is the tent still there? asked Paul.

Of course she’d checked. It’s still there.

Then he –

He wouldn’t need a tent. It’s hot enough, isn’t it?

OK, said Jake.

OK what?

We’ll take a look.

Where? asked Debbie in surprise, sounding stupid.

On the marsh. Jake turned to the other two who looked resentful, or were they just unwilling? Debbie couldn’t work out what they were feeling.

OK, said Barry and Paul without enthusiasm.

When are you going?

There was a long silence. Then Jake said, Now.

You’ll keep in touch?

We’ll try, said Jake.

We could go and look, said Paul woodenly as they watched Debbie trudge back over the brown grass. A dog ran up to her yelping and she kicked out at it, hurrying on as the dog ran away and the owner bawled abuse. Everyone was bad-tempered. The heat was too much.

Why not? Barry got up and stretched, yawning, rubbing his hands through his sweat-sticky hair.

We could take rucksacks, said Jake.

The other two laughed.

What’s so funny? He looked hurt, as if he was a child again, left out of a private joke.

We’re not sleeping rough. The other two seemed quite alarmed now and Jake grinned, regaining supremacy.

Why not?

There seemed no answer.

We used to when we were kids.

We’re not kids now, said Paul.

Anyway, we could take something to eat, Jake continued.

And drink. Barry looked hopeful. I could nick some of my dad’s Scotch.

How much? asked Paul.

A bottle –

He’ll suss you.

He won’t. Barry was confident. He’s got so much he won’t notice. Not ever.

All right then. Jake seemed to have assumed temporary leadership. We’ll go then.

Barry frowned. "Do we really want to find Joe? I mean – he’s been a right pain in the arse, hasn’t he?"

They looked at each other uneasily. It was the first time any of them had made this admission and Jake suddenly felt strange, as if they were establishing a new bond.

We’ve got to help Debs out, said Paul. You can see she’s upset.

Then there’s her mum, added Barry.

We’ve got to help. Jake sounded righteously indignant.

They were all justifying their actions now with a false enthusiasm.

We’ll search the marsh then, Jake summed up. Get some rations together and meet back here in an hour.

No one moved.

"Who do you think you are? asked Paul. A scoutmaster?"

Someone’s got to get it together, muttered Jake.

It could be fun. Barry wanted to lighten up. Building bivouacs and boozing.

Better than looking for Joe, muttered Paul.

As they somewhat reluctantly prepared for a night on Belstead Marsh, Barry grabbed a bottle of whisky from his father’s drinks cabinet, Paul found his mother’s hiding-place for her cigarettes and Jake borrowed a Walkman from one of his twin brothers because his own was broken. Then he put it back. A Walkman seemed wrong.

The looting gave them satisfaction, comfort for their quest. None of them wanted