Finding Hiccup - Modern!Au ✔️

fourty six

That evening Mum and Dad are closeted in Dad's study for, like, two hours, and then eventually they emerge, and Mum says, "Well, there we are, then." There's a kind of dark, satisfied cloud surrounding her. I have a feeling her email didn't hold back.
Dad announces he's off for a quick half with Mike who he plays squash with, and Mum says she's going to have a bath. I wait until I can hear the water running, then sidle along to Heather, who's in her room, listening to her iPod.
"Heather, can you hack into Dad's emails?" I say in a low voice.
"Yeah. Why?"
"Can we do it? Now?"
From the way Heather gets straight into Dad's inbox, it's clear she's done this before. She even knows Dad's weirdo password, which is all signs and numbers and gibberish.
"Do you often look at Dad's emails?" I say curiously, perching on the side of the office chair.
"Sometimes."
"Does he know?"
"Course not." Heather clicks on a couple of emails from someone called George Stourhead.

"There's some quite interesting stuff. Did you know he applied for another job last year?"
"No."
"Didn't get it. But his mate Allan reckons the company's in trouble anyway, so Dad's well out of it."
"Oh." I digest this for a moment. "That's not interesting."
"It's better than geography coursework. Oh, and they're planning a surprise birthday party for me, so don't let on you know, OK?"
"Heather!" I wail. "Why did you tell me?"
"I didn't." She draws a line over her mouth. "I said nada. OK, what are we looking for?"
"Dunno. Some email where Mum's angry."
Heather raises her eyes so comically, I can't help giggling. "Can you narrow it down?"
"OK. Well...Dunno. It's about me. Search Henry."
Heather gives me a funny look. "Every other email is about you, Henry. Don't you realize that? You're Topic A in this family."
"Oh." I stare at her, taken aback. I don't know what to say to that. I don't want to be Topic A. Anyway, I'm not.
"That's rubbish," I counter. "I'm not Topic A, you're Topic A. All Mum talks about is you, all day long. Heather this, Heather that."
"But all she emails about is you. Henry this, Henry that." She gives me a serious look. "Believe me."
I'm silenced for a minute. I never thought of Mum having a secret email world. But of course she does. I wonder what she says. I could look. Heather could show me, I could ask her...
Even at the thought, it's as if a big iron gate clanks down in my mind. No. I'm not going to look. Not at anything more than is necessary. I don't want to know what Mum secretly thinks. We're all allowed our private places.

"You shouldn't spy on Mum and Dad," I say.
"You're spying too," retorts Heather.
"OK, but..." I wince, knowing she's right. "This is necessary. This is a one-off and it's about me and it's important and...I won't ever do it again."
"This'll be it, I bet." Heather is clicking on a recently sent email called Your request.
As the text comes up I scan straight to the bottom and it's signed from Vanessa and Steven Haddock.
"Oh my God." Heather is chuckling. "Mum's really let this person have it."
"Shhh! Let me read it!"
I peer over her shoulder and squint at the words.

𝗗𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗠𝗿𝘀. 𝗟𝗮𝘄𝘁𝗼𝗻

𝗪𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗰𝗸, 𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗺𝗮𝘆. 𝗙𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁, 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗹 𝗱𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗻, 𝗛𝗲𝗻𝗿𝘆, 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿. 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗮𝗻 𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁. 𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗜𝘀𝗮𝗮𝗰 𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗺𝘀, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗛𝗲𝗻𝗿𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝗺, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗱. 𝗗𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲? 𝗗𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗻 (𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀)? 𝗔𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗛𝗲𝗻𝗿𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗹?

𝗪𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝗜𝘀𝗮𝗮𝗰 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝗽𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘁. 𝗪𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗳𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝘀𝘆𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗻.

𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀,
𝗩𝗮𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗛𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗼𝗰𝗸

"Who's Isaac?" says Heather . "One of them?"
"Yes." I'm getting the sick, poisoned feeling again. Just that name Isaac does it.
"I can't believe he wants to see me," I say, my eyes fixed on the words. "After all this time."
"Well, they said no. So you're off the hook."
"I'm not."
"You are! Look, Mum and Dad will back you up. You don't have to see anyone. Henry, you practically don't even have to go to school ever again. You can do whatever the hell you like. Do you appreciate your position?" Heather clicks on another email. "You don't, do you? It's wasted on you."
I'm only barely aware of her. Thoughts are spinning around my brain. Thoughts I don't even understand myself. Thoughts I don't want.
Without realizing I've done it, I've crumpled down on the floor and buried my head in my hands. I need all my energy for thinking.
"Hen?" Heather suddenly seems to notice. "Hen, what's up?"
"You don't understand," I say. "Reading this—knowing that they've asked—that's put me on the hook."
"Why?"
"Because..."
I can't say it. The words are in my brain, but I don't want them there. I don't know why they're there. But they won't disappear.
"Maybe I should see him." I force it out. "Maybe I should go and see him."
"What?" Heather looks aghast. "Why would you do that?"
"I don't know. Because—I don't know." I clutch my head. "I don't know."

"It's a crap idea," proclaims Heather. "It's like inviting bad stuff into your life. You know, it's been shit enough for you already, Hen. Don't make things worse. Hey, Dad's got a link to this quiz on Which Simpsons character are you?" she adds. "You should do it. Where is it..." Heather's clicking randomly all over the desktop. "Dad's actually quite a funny guy..."
"Stop it. I need to think."
"You think too much. That's your trouble. Just stop thinking." Heather breaks off midclick. "Oh. Shit. I don't know what I just did. Did you see what I did?"
"No."
"I think I deleted a document. Oops." She clicks madly. "Come on, you bastard—undo. Hey, don't tell Dad we did this, will you? Because if I've lost anything, he is going to go insane—"
Heather says something else, but I walk out, not even hearing her. My head is a whirl and my heart's thumping and I feel surreal.