Free Daylight Saving by Edward Hogan Page B

too, sitting around the table in the dining area.
    “Hello, Daniel!” Dad said. “We were about to get our flashlights and come out looking for you.” He was beaming. “This is Gavin, Mike, and Martha.” He pointed to the guests, who all waved. “And you know Tash, of course.”
    “Hi,” I said. “None of you play bingo, do you?”
    They looked puzzled. “No,” they said.
    “Good,” I said.
    “Hi, Daniel,” Tash said. She was walking toward the door. “What happened to your face?”
    “Oh, I got in a bit of a scrap. We were just messing around.”
    “You and the fellas, was it?” Dad called over.
    “Yeah,” I said.
    “I bet the other guy’s in worse shape, huh?” Dad said.
    I thought of Jack scrambling out of the water, his eyes wide with terror. “Yeah, he’s struggling,” I said.
    “Good lad,” Dad said. He turned back to the guests. “He’s a big old thing is our Daniel. Good healthy temper on him, and all,” he said.
    I followed Tash out to the door. “How’s Chrissy?” I asked.
    “She’s fine. She’s just a bit tired. How are you?”
    “The same.”
    We said our
good night
s
,
and she walked next door. I went through to my bedroom. I heard Gavin open the fridge. “Another beer, Ricky?”
    “No, thanks, Gav. I’ve had enough,” Dad said.
    These were strange times, indeed.
    I opened the window in the bedroom. The darkness had a greenish, submarine tinge. I felt the surge of energy again, at once enlivening and calming. The trees looked like the thick wires of some giant machine. I could hear Chrissy and Tash talking in their garden.
    “Don’t be silly, Chrissy,” said Tash. “He’s absolutely fine. This is just more of your hippie nonsense. You’ve smoked too much tofu.”
    I sat on the bed and stroked the place on my leg where the long gash had been. I wanted it back: I wanted the connection; I wanted the trouble.
    “I’m telling you, Tash,” Chrissy said, her voice weak and strained. “I’ve never felt energy like that before. If he’s not careful, something terrible is going to happen.”



The next morning, I biked to the Internet café round the back of the Dome. I took my code and descended to a basement lined with computers. This, it seemed, was where the Leisure World rejects hung out: a goth wearing big headphones, an anxious-looking woman, probably checking her work e-mails, and a boy with a cold playing
World of Warcraft.
These, I supposed, were my people. It was eight a.m. Everyone else was jogging in the clean crisp air or playing vigorous tennis while we withered under fluorescent lights and the haze of a standing heater cranked up to the max.
    I turned my monitor away from the others. The search engine took me to the website of the
Derby City News.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010. A few days after the second date Lexi had carved into the tree.
    The main headline for that day was “ CITY STILL GRIPPED BY FREAK ICE STORM .” There was a picture of the freezing city center, a statue of a boy astride a ram. The animal had icicles hanging from his mouth and horns.
    Lexi’s story must have been on page two of the hard copy. “ GIRL GOES MISSING FROM PARTY .” I clicked the link and scanned the text: “Alexandria Helen Cocker, 17, who goes by the name of ‘Lexi’ . . .”
    The article said she had been wearing a blue dress, with leggings underneath, and a black parka coat. She was last seen at a nightclub in town, talking to a tall man in his thirties who was wearing a suit and a long gray coat. The police asked for any information and requested that the man come forward. They said that accounts of Lexi’s movements were confused due to the clocks going back for the end of British Summer Time.
    A teacher from her school said, “Lexi is a sensible, straightforward girl and always willing to help others. Obviously we’re worried because this is unusual — she’s so capable and never in any sort of trouble.”
    I felt my hands trembling on the mouse. I