by Milly Adams
There was no time for him to finish because Miss Read, the headmistress of the school, shouted, ‘It’s Joe, someone’s taken him. There was a dog, a big Alsatian, and a Mr Dobbo? They took him. I’ve called the police. It was a big black car.’
Mr Rogers tried to clear his mind. What was the bodyguard doing at the school? What had he saved Joe from? Who was threatening Joe? He said, ‘Dobbo took him to safety, you mean?’
Miss Read shrieked down the phone, ‘Don’t be obtuse, you absurd little man. He’s taken Joe, the dog grabbed him by the arm in the playground, there were other men, he was dragged into the––’
Now Mr Rogers let the receiver dangle from the telephone on the wall, and rushed back into the kitchen and yelled, ‘They’ve grabbed Joe. Get Henry and Thomas.’
He rushed back and snatched up the receiver as a plate crashed to the floor, and broke. There was the sound of the kitchen door slamming back against the wall. ‘Miss Read, please tell me all about it, I’m so sorry, such a shock …’ He trailed off, his heart racing.
Miss Read seemed in no better shape. ‘Quickly then, but you must come because the police are here, and need statements. The boys were playing marbles, Miss Watson was on duty – you’ll need to talk to her too, though the police already are – and the dog came into the playground. The gate shouldn’t have been open, I’m so so sorry. But it was, and in came this dog.’
Mr Rogers felt his heart slowing as he breathed once, twice, coughed and thumped his chest. It was something he’d learned but couldn’t remember where. He shook himself. ‘So, the dog came in. It was an Alsatian?’
‘Yes, Mr Rogers, according to Martin.’
Mr Rogers thought for a brief moment. ‘Ah yes, Joe’s best friend.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Then Mr Dobbo called from the gate and wanted Joe to return his dog. Martin said that when Joe got close to Mr Dobbo, a car door opened and someone told Mr Dobbo to get on with it, and he grabbed Joe. And dragged him to the car.’ The headmistress stopped on a sob.
Henry rushed through, with Thomas right behind. ‘What? Tell me?’ Henry shouted.
Mr Rogers held up his hand and frowned at his employer. ‘Please, Henry.’
Henry waited as meek as a lamb, panting. Mr Rogers waited a moment too, and when Miss Read had collected herself, he asked, ‘Was anything else said, Miss Read? Anything that Martin or Miss Watson remember?’
‘All that Martin really heard was some shouting about getting him to his dad, and Joe saying something like, ‘Leave my ma alone.’ Then there was a screech of tyres, but the police have come into my study, so I must go. You’ll be here soon, won’t you? I’m so sorry, so very sorry. We’ve tried to be careful. The gate is always locked but the chain had been cut. Oh, dear me.’ There was a click, and Mr Rogers replaced the receiver, staring at the wall.
Henry stood at his elbow, with Thomas just behind him, and the women, who were holding the hem of their aprons to their mouths. Mr Rogers explained all that had happened, ending with Joe’s words. Henry drew in a deep breath but his voice was shaking as he said, ‘We’ve got to get there and sort out help from the police.’
The three men rushed back through the kitchen where Mrs B, Pamela and Joyce were scrambling into their coats. Mr Rogers said, ‘Someone has to stay here, just in case …’
Mrs B stared at him. ‘In case what – he walks in the door, safe and sound? We heard everything. Maudie is in danger, our boy is in danger from his bloody father, so don’t be so bloody silly.’
Mr Rogers sat down at the table, out of breath suddenly. ‘You never swear.’
Mrs B held her fist against her mouth. ‘Henry is calling you. You are right, Simon. We will stay, and we will telephone the depot, and Fran, so she can warn Granfer, and we will find our lad, and try and protect Maudie, and that’s that.’
Pamela and Joyce were already heading for the telephone as Rogers heaved himself to his feet and joined Henry and Thomas in the car.
The girls had just moored up at Tyseley, easing their limbs in the early afternoon while Pup leapt and skittered about, yelping. She seemed to love the spring as much as they did. The otters were busy; and they’d seen a kingfisher, though it was early. The allotments were a hive of activity but there had been just a few rather sad sprouts for sale, though loads of early potatoes. They sighed as Mr Roberts the foreman ran up to them waving his clipboard. He must think they were late and so they’d get a ticking off, but they’d headed straight here with no stop at Buckby. They’d thought they’d leave that until the return journey.
Mr Roberts shouted, ‘Thank God you’re here.’ Verity grinned and said, ‘It’s only four o’clock, and here is your load safe and sound.’
Mr Roberts shook his head. ‘Never mind that, come here, all of you.’ He waved them into a group in front of him and handed them a message. ‘It only came through to the Bull’s Bridge Depot just after lunchtime, and they phoned through to here knowing you were on your way.’
His face was sombre, and he was calling the crane to leapfrog Steerer Mercy’s pair, Lincoln and York. ‘We’ll get you unloaded ahead of the rest, but I sent Timmo off quick smart in the fastest unload ever, and then the fastest reload there’s ever been. He headed for Buckby and Granfer Hopkins to get there about one o’clock. Mark you, the office is phoning through to the police station there and all, and to Fran at the school.’
Sylvia read the message over Verity’s shoulder, and wept, just like that. Wept for Joe, who she had blamed for setting fire to the butty last year, when it had been Leon’s fault. Leon’s men had tried to snatch Joe back then, but Dog had stopped them; she had misunderstood in all the kerfuffle and told the police of her suspicions, and they had put Joe into a remand home for the night. She buried her face in her hands, and Steerer Mercy came up, shouting, ‘Why we been jumped for the unloadin’? What be wrong?’
Sylvia shouted back, ‘For heaven’s sake, shut up. Joe’s been taken, we have to get to Buckby and make sure Maudie is safe. It’s that bloody sodding bastard Leon.’
Everyone looked astonished. Polly said, pulling Sylvia to her, ‘It’s all right. We’ll get unloaded and get straight off when we’ve taken on whatever needs transporting. Sorry, Steerer Mercy, she doesn’t mean it.’
Steerer Mercy was looking sad. ’’Tis no matter. She’ll be thinking o’ the time the lass accused the lad of firing the butty, when it weren’t ’im, if you get my meaning, just that devil Leon’s. ’Ow the ’ell do he be finding t’lad?’
As Alf swung the crane, the girls leapt down on to the motor, untying the tarpaulin over the steel ingots, rolling it up, and Polly shouted up to Steerer Mercy on the quay, telling him all they knew. ‘Keep your eyes and ears peeled, please, Steerer Mercy, because Lord knows where Leon is, but the one sure thing is he’ll hunt Maudie down, now he knows she’s alive. Or he will know that when Joe reaches him.’
Sylvia listened to all this, working like fury on the tarpaulin, but inside she was desperate. Their boy had been taken. What would Leon do, and how would they ever find him? There had been no trace so far. Despair raged. They all worked more quickly than they had ever done.
Behind them Bet, Evelyn and Mabel were now moored up, but there was no time to talk as they moved to the butty and started to untie the tarpaulin over that load. Mr Roberts was telling Bet the news, though, so all three jumped down on to the counter, crossed the cabin roof and joined them on the gunwale, untying as though there was a hurricane driving them on. Leaving the five of them to roll it up, Bet took off across the yard, calling, ‘I’ll telephone Fran at the school. She’ll get a guard.’
Mr Roberts yelled, ‘The police are on it.’ But already Bet was running to the office.
The girls were off, lashed abreast, within two hours, a record, and the locks were with them as the dusk seemed to hold off for them, but when they saw a telephone box near a warehouse at Leamington, Sylvia suddenly yelled, ‘Moor up, we need to telephone Solly.’
Verity, who wa
s steering, looked puzzled, shouting, ‘We haven’t time.’
Sylvia crossed to her counter and gripped Verity’s arms, shaking her, shouting into her face. ‘We haven’t time not to. Don’t you remember Solly half recognised the name Tony Burrowes, Dobbo’s referee? If he could just try harder, perhaps they could find Leon through Burrowes. After all, Dobbo must have been Leon’s man, mustn’t he?’
They pulled in immediately and Sylvia ran to the telephone box. She fed in the money, then asked for Jacob Fisher’s number, which Polly had written in her diary.
In Golders Green, Solly was reading the newspaper, his mind half on the war news and how the Allied columns were racing across the German plain, closing in on Hanover, and half on the lilac tree in his son’s garden, which went with the ground floor apartment. It was threatening to flower. It was that time of year. Rachel was working on her embroidery, silently. She had been silent more often than not as the days, weeks and months had gone by since Manny had disappeared. In Europe there were so many Jews dead; the news disclosed camp after camp as the Allies advanced, but it was Manny they concentrated on, because how could anyone believe that all their relatives had died in those camps? No, it was beyond imagination – but Manny was manageable.
The telephone was ringing. Jacob was in his study and would answer it. It was usually for him, after all. Solly looked out at the lilac tree again. The seasons held him together. They came, they went, and there was a sense and a peace in that.
‘Dad,’ called Jacob from the hall. ‘It’s Sylvia Simpson. You know, Sylv of the terrible trio. Something’s wrong; the boy, Joe, has been taken by his father. Come, they need to talk to you.’
Solly was already hurrying to the telephone, Rachel close behind him. He took the receiver, not wanting to hear such news on top of everything. ‘Sylv, ’ow yer gettin’ on? What’s all this about the boy?’
He listened as Sylvia talked about his hesitation over the name of Tony Burrowes. She explained and ended, ‘He was Dobbo’s referee. Dobbo must have been working for Leon, so Leon must have seen the newspaper article and put two and two together to find out where Joe was. We need you to try and think of whether you really do know something about Burrowes. We’ve just phoned Verity’s mother, who said that the police can’t get anywhere, the car has just disappeared and there’s no talk of Leon in London apparently, or anywhere else. They even tried the Blind Weasel club, but it’s still half dead, and a bloke called Dougie who’s running it didn’t know what they were talking about. Their policemen and snouts are drawing blan—’ She stopped, her voice breaking, and sweat broke out on Solly’s forehead.
He heard Verity’s voice now. ‘I’m sorry, Solly, but we’re so worried.’ He felt his throat working because now she sounded funny. Polly’s voice came next. ‘We have to pull in before Braunston, in about an hour, perhaps two. Can we call you again, just in case? If you haven’t remembered, we’ll call you in the morning. Please, Solly.’ Now she was sounding funny too. The telephone went dead.
Jacob took the receiver from Solly, and had to peel his fingers free. ‘Blimey,’ Solly said. ‘Me fingers ’ave set hard.’
His son held him, saying, ‘Let it go, Dad. You’ve not cried since you were buried. Let it go.’
An hour later the telephone went again, and Jacob answered it. He told Sylvia that Solly was working his way through Manny’s books and diaries but so far, nothing. Sylvia said she would telephone in the morning.
Bet had caught them an hour out of Leamington, and moored up too, just before the locks. All six of them stood by the boats, smoking, even Sylvia, though inhaling made her feel sick. It was better than the whirling panic, though, and the talk was of Joe, of course. Sylvia’s thoughts were prayers. She had once misjudged Joe and therefore felt obliged by a powerful love, just as she was obliged to Harriet, but that was because of betrayal. She dug her hands into her pockets and, just like a boater, she made a deal and hers was between herself and Him. She whispered, ‘I will come to you if you keep our boy safe, but only if you do that, and return him to us, safe and sound. What is my life beside his safety?’
Joe was led through the corridor into a poorly lit room. A man with a beard and short hair sat behind a desk. Mr Dobbo gripped Joe’s shoulder and Joe were glad, because his legs were all wobbles and had been since he got out of the car. He didn’t need a wee, he’d done it in his pants like a baby, and the memory made him swallow with shame. It had only happened once because he’d had nothing to drink, and now he was really thirsty, but his head was swimming so much he feared he’d be sick again if he were given water. So he just stood beside Mr Dobbo, right up against his leg because he was afraid he’d fall down otherwise.
The man behind the desk said nothing, just sat smoking that big brown cigarette, looking at him, or at least it seemed like he was. The light was on a big stand behind the man and there were more above the fish tank, or were the lights inside the fish tank? Joe wasn’t sure, and the light was swimming, or maybe wobbling like his head. It was a huge fish tank, and it made him remember the cut. There were fish in the cut too; the kingfisher caught them. He could smell the cut, see it, the way the sun sort of danced on the water and the boats made ripples. His Saul at the tiller, laughing, or painting his kettles with him, guiding his hand.
He could see Sylvia when she thought it was he who had burned the boats, poor Miss Sylvia, for she was right sorry she had done that, but he wouldn’t be at school or sunk in the aunties’ and uncles’ world of love but for her. He was grateful to her from the bottom of his world and for all the love she had given him since. He could see Granfer polishing his pierced plates, Polly laughing and Verity calling him ‘darling’.
He wouldn’t see his ma, in case he said something about her again.
At that thought, the swimming in his head was sliced with fear, and the fear was getting larger and larger as no one were saying anything. Perhaps they were going to put him in the fish tank? One of the men in the car had told Mr Dobbo just before they stopped outside this dark place that Mr Dobbo had to be tough or he’d end up with the fishes, like that Manny.
The man moved now, putting his big fat brown cigarette in the ashtray. He leaned forward and said, ‘Ain’t yer got a hello for your da then, Joe?’
Chapter 26
Will Joe be saved, and Sylvia have to pay her dues?
Marigold and Horizon had been loaded with wood for the paper factory, but after a morning call to Solly an hour out from Leamington they moored at Buckby, where there were other pairs all tied up too. They tore along to Granfer’s with Pup running on her lead. Verity banged on the door.
‘Steady on, Verity, leave it standing,’ Polly said.
It was pulled open, and Timmo stood there, his hands fisted. He relaxed when he saw them, and pulled them inside, checking up and down the road. In the kitchen were various boaters, taking orders from Granfer. It became apparent that those pairs that could manage with one adult and a couple of children had gone on, and left the second adult at Buckby. They were spread about the village.
Verity said, ‘You need someone to keep an eye on the moorings.’
Timmo nodded grimly. ‘We do ’ave them, but hid they be. They be all spread from here to there and will pass the word back, should it be a bad ’un arriving.’
Sylvia asked, ‘How will you know it’s a bad one?’
Granfer, sitting at the table, with Maudie by his side, muttered, ‘Cos them’ll be strangers to the village.’
Polly told them then what Solly was trying to do, and that they’d telephone him from Fran’s, because Bet was there now, just phoning around the area with warnings, and pleading for information from pubs along the cut.
Maudie looked up, her eyes full. ‘Yer find my boy, that’s all. I’ll go back ter Leon, but find my boy and I’ll stand in his place.’
Timmo stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, shaking his head. Maudie gripped his hands, as Lettie began to pour the girls mugs of tea. They hadn’t
time to drink it, so they stopped her, listening as Timmo said, ‘He wants yer both, Maudie, so if yer do that, you’ll not free yer boy.’
Maudie whispered, ‘But I be with him.’
The boaters and the girls just nodded, Timmo too, for what mother would not go? Verity said, ‘Father and the others are paying for information, and waiting. They want to do something, but as Mrs B said, until they know what, all they can do is pray.’
They ran off again, back to Fran’s, to call Solly. At Fran’s, Bet, Evelyn and Mabel had yet more tea on offer, and sandwiches with ham. How? Verity wondered. Did they have access to a pig, as her father did? She gave one sandwich to Pup, but couldn’t face food, and neither could the others. Bet made them sit and drink tea and so she and Sylvia sipped while Polly telephoned Solly. There was no reply. ‘Damn it,’ Polly yelled.
Bet said, ‘Come and eat. I insist. Who knows what the next few hours will bring and you must keep up your strength. You all look like death.’
Verity took a sandwich, looking from Bet to Sylvia, hoping Bet would see what she was trying to say. Bet raised an eyebrow, but then Mabel said, ‘Sylvia, eat.’
Sylvia just pushed the plate away. Mabel said, ‘You’re not punishing yourself, are you, for what’s happened? I heard about the mistake with Joe, but that’s what it was. No one could have stopped it, but somehow when things happen we blame ourselves.’
Sylvia merely shook her head. ‘Is that a line from one of your plays?’ Her smile was false.
Mabel said, ‘No, from my heart.’
Sylvia whispered, ‘I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry, too, because I’m just not hungry. I feel I can’t eat, not while he’s away and we don’t know what he’s going through.’
Verity stopped after one mouthful and put her own sandwich down. It tasted of sand, because underneath it all, that’s what she felt too, and she couldn’t get the picture of a scared Joe out of her head.
