Free Stuck on Me by Hilary Freeman

pocket. ‘I have a picture. Do you want to see it?’
    ‘Sure.’ I pass it to her and she studies it for a minute.
    ‘He looks a lot like you.’
    I blush. She means the nose. ‘I know.’
    ‘But I don’t recognise him, I’m afraid. He might not have come in here, or I might never have seen his band play.’
    ‘He might have been in other bands, I think, but I don’t know their names.’
    ‘Her mum won’t help,’ Rosie pipes up. ‘She doesn’t want Sky to find him.’
    I nudge her. ‘Too much information,’ I whisper.
    Dot looks like she feels sorry for me. ‘Hmm. Another thought. He might be a member of something called the Musicians’ Union. I have a directory in the back here . . . hang on.’
She goes behind the counter and bends down for a moment, re-emerging with a battered, old book. ‘Right, let’s have a look. Carter. C. Hmm . . .’
    I crane my neck so I can see what she’s reading. It’s a long list of names and addresses. Carey. Carson . . . I scroll down them, following her finger with my eyes.
    ‘There’s a few Carters, but no Connor. Are you sure he didn’t use any other name?’
    ‘I’m not sure,’ I say, again acutely aware of how little I know about my dad. ‘I don’t think so.’
    Dot must sense my disappointment. She smiles kindly and says, ‘I’m sorry, love, he’s not here.’ She snaps the book shut and replaces it behind the counter. ‘It just
means he isn’t a member. Not everybody joins.’
    ‘Right.’ I stand awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, unsure what to say or do next. I guess it’s time to thank Dot and leave. Another dead end. Vix gives me a sympathetic
smile and takes my arm. Rosie must have grown bored, because she’s gone to the front of the shop, where she’s rifling through a stand of sheet music.
    ‘I tell you what,’ says Dot. ‘I can put a note in the window for you if you like.’ She points to a board displaying adverts for concerts, guitar lessons and everything
else related to music in Camden. ‘You never know, someone might spot it and get in touch.’
    ‘Really? Like a missing person’s poster? Would you do that for me? That would be fantastic. Thank you.’
    Dot sticks Dad’s picture to a blank, A4 sheet and then, underneath it, we write a note together. It reads, If anyone has any information on the whereabouts of musician Connor Carter,
formerly of bands including The Four Horsemen, please tell Dot or another member of staff.
    ‘You’d better give me your phone number,’ says Dot. ‘I won’t put it in the window, it’s just so I can call you if anybody does know anything.’
    ‘Sure, thank you.’ I write it on a bit of paper and hand it over. ‘Right,’ I say. I feel dejected now, and the lack of sleep is catching up on me. ‘I guess
we’ve taken up enough of your time. Thanks so much for everything. Please call me if you hear anything. Come on, Rosie . . .’
    I start to turn towards the door and then I backtrack. I feel like I should buy something, to thank Dot for her help. There are some sets of earplugs on the counter, five pounds a pair.
‘Actually, I could do with these,’ I say, handing over the five shiny pound coins that were meant for Starbucks. They might be useful, I think, to drown out the noise of Mum’s
singing when she has her medieval music group round to the flat.
    Dot smiles and wraps the ear plugs in a paper bag for me. ‘Good luck,’ she says. ‘I promise I’ll be in touch if I can help.’
    ‘Fingers crossed,’ I say, under my breath, as the door tinkles shut behind me.
    I link arms with my friends and we head back onto Kentish Town Road, towards Camden High Street.
    ‘She was lovely,’ says Vix.
    ‘Yeah.’ I nod.
    ‘And you never know, that poster might work.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘You seem really quiet. You OK?’
    ‘Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m just starting to realise finding Dad’s not going to be easy.’
    ‘I know what you need,’ says Rosie. ‘Retail