Don't Tell Teacher

by Suzy K Quinn

  But we’re nothing without our children.

  I reach Tom’s bed and sneak behind the curtain. ‘Come on, Tommo,’ I whisper. ‘Let’s get you dressed. We’re all packed. We’re going on the train. Ready steady go, okay?’

  Tom pulls himself up. ‘I don’t want to go. I want to see Daddy.’

  ‘You can’t see your father, Tom.’ My voice could strip paint. Through the curtain, I hear the rustle of bedclothes and sense bodies and heads turning in our direction. ‘You’re mine, not his.’ I take some deep breaths, forcing myself to stay calm. ‘You can’t see your father, Tom. He hurt you.’

  Outside the curtain, I hear footsteps.

  ‘This will be the doctor.’ My heartbeat quickens, and I open the bedside drawer and pass Tom his clothes. ‘Get dressed. I’ve asked them to discharge you tonight.’

  ‘Lizzie?’ a voice calls through the curtain. It’s Clara, the nurse I like.

  Oh God. We need to get out of here.

  ‘Just a minute.’ I start to help Tom get dressed.

  But the curtain pulls back anyway.

  Clara looks flustered. ‘Lizzie, the police just arrived. They want to speak to you.’

  ‘What?’ A chill runs through me.

  ‘I’ll tell them you’re here.’

  ‘Could you just give me a few minutes?’

  Clara hesitates. ‘No. No, Lizzie, I can’t do that.’ With a whisk of the curtain, she’s gone, hurrying across the ward.

  Too many coincidences.

  ‘Quickly, Tom.’ I push shoes onto his feet.

  ‘What about the doctor?’

  ‘We’ll have to see another doctor.’ I lift Tom into my arms, folding his skinny body over my shoulder.

  This ward has a fire escape – it’s one of the first things I noticed.

  Escape is always on my mind.

  Briskly and unapologetically, I carry Tom straight across the ward, past the nurse’s station and through the double doors to the fire escape. I don’t know if the nurses see me walk past. I hope not, but I don’t turn to look.

  As I push the silver door-bar with my hip, I brace for the peep, peep of the door alarm.

  I hold my breath, but to my relief hear nothing.

  Typical NHS cuts – the door alarm doesn’t work.

  Tom wriggles around in my arms, clinging to my neck, his body jogging up and down as I run down the stairs.

  Kate

  9.37 p.m.

  ‘They were here.’ The young nurse is breathless, holding the curtain back. ‘Right here.’

  We all stare at Tom’s empty bed.

  ‘She must have taken him,’ says Sergeant Leach, putting a hand to his radio. ‘I’ll go out the front. Constable, search the ward. Check the toilets.’

  The police officers peel off in different directions, Sergeant Leach calling into his radio.

  I stand, impotent, by Tom’s rumpled sheets.

  Where could they have gone?

  In the next bed, the little girl, Charlotte, pulls herself up. ‘Oh, hello. You’re the lady who talked about My Little Pony.’

  ‘I’m looking for Tom,’ I say. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘He went with his mummy. That way.’ She points to double fire-escape doors.

  ‘Thank you.’ I look around for the police, then, not seeing them, run to the doors.

  ‘My mummy is coming tomorrow,’ the girl says.

  ‘Oh, lovely!’ I call back, pausing at the fire exit, noticing the ‘Emergency Use Only’ sign.

  For a split second, I debate whether this counts as the right sort of emergency. I mean, there isn’t a fire. Then I shove open the doors and run down the wrought-iron staircase.

  It’s dark outside. Bright buses cruise past the hospital entrance.

  One flight.

  Two.

  Lizzie is stronger than she looks if she carried Tom down these stairs.

  Or maybe she didn’t go this way.

  I’m on tarmac now, running towards the bus stop.

  A bus is just pulling away, and I ask an old lady with a shopping trolley: ‘Excuse me. Have you seen a woman and a little boy?’

  ‘Yes,’ says the woman. ‘Blond hair, both of them? Yes. They got on the last bus.’

  ‘Do you remember the number?’

  She shakes her head. ‘It wasn’t my one. I want the sixty-one. Do you know when it’s coming?’

  ‘No, sorry.’ I spot Sergeant Leach at the hospital entrance and wave him over. He jogs towards me.

  ‘This lady saw a woman and small boy catch a bus,’ I tell him.

  Sergeant Leach takes off his cap, rubbing his damp hair. ‘Hello, madam – what can you tell me?’

  ‘Oh yes, officer. Well, there was a woman and a little boy. Both very fair-haired. Are they in trouble, officer?’

  Sergeant Leach turns to me. ‘You may as well head home, Kate. We’ll get a search underway. I’ll call when we find them.’

  If you find them.

  Because Lizzie Kinnock is very good at staying hidden.

  I head towards the car park, thoughts racing.

  Where could they be going?

  My phone rings and I see Tessa’s number flash up yet again.

  Go away, Tessa.

  As I rummage in my bag for my keys, lost in thought, I nearly walk in front of another vehicle – a large green camper van.

  Beep! Beep!

  Chest tight with shock, I hold up a hand, mouthing, ‘Sorry, sorry.’

  The driver is a scruffy-looking man. Handsome, in a way. Nice white teeth. His forehead is knotted with stress, which I suppose is typical of anyone visiting a hospital. But he looks familiar.

  I remember a black-and-white photocopy, bunged in among some court documents. A passport.

  The driver … it’s Tom’s father.

  Oliver Kinnock.

  Lizzie

  The electronic sign says: London King’s Cross – Delayed, exp 22.15. Seven minutes late.

  Come on, come on.

  I’ve bitten my last fingernail to the skin. My other hand grasps Tom’s fingers. ‘We’re getting a train, Tommo,’ I say, in my best, I’m-a-good-mother voice. ‘Won’t that be exciting?’

  Beside us, an elderly couple smile, touched by this lovely relationship between mother and son.

  And we do have a lovely relationship.

  Tom is part of me. My shadow.

  A glass shard of panic tells me it’s ending. Something was happening at school. One of those Neilson boys was pressuring Tom to bring in medicine. Our medicine. And worse – Tom is growing up. Learning to think for himself.

  Leaving me.

  I blame Pauly Neilson. He sowed a seed of doubt – and I can feel it growing. Mothers aren’t always perfect.

  We need to start again. Tom will forget in time.

  Come on, train.

  Suddenly, the electronic sign flashes and changes. London King’s Cross – Delayed, exp 22.29.

  Oh God.

  I put on my bright mum voice again, covering my anxiety. ‘Ready, Tom? For the big adventure?’

  ‘I don’t want to go.’

  I give him the eyes. The eyes that tell him: Don’t even think about it.

  ‘I love you, Mum,’ he says obediently.

  Kate

  10.15 p.m.

  ‘Excuse me.’ I knock on the camper van window with rapid knuckles. The window rolls down, slowly and jerkily.

  ‘You’re not going to give me a hard time, are you?’ The man has sad blue eyes and deep worry lines cast in grey skin. I’d guess him to be in his early thirties. ‘Trust me, it’s not the day for it. You walked out in front of me.’

  He looks so much like Tom.

  ‘Olly – Oliver Kinnock?’

  The man flinches. ‘Who wants to know?’

  I hold up my card on its woven string. ‘Kate Noble. From Child Services.’

  Olly pulls the gearstick into reverse. ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘Wait, please.’ I grab the van b
y the open window, some stupid instinct telling me I could stop it moving just by holding on. ‘If you are Mr Kinnock, I’m here to help you. I know the truth. About Lizzie.’

  Olly’s hand lingers on the gearstick.

  ‘Look – can you show me some ID?’ I ask. ‘And then I can help you, honestly I can.’

  ‘Fine.’ Olly rummages in the glove box, then flashes a driving licence showing a healthier, tanned man with glowing blond hair and bright white teeth.

  Oliver James Kinnock.

  ‘Listen,’ I say. ‘I know about Lizzie. I need to talk to you. But I can’t do it here—’

  Olly opens the van door and jumps out. ‘I’m not wasting any more time. I need to get to Tom.’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘Yes he is. Lizzie’s mother told me.’

  ‘Lizzie just left with Tom,’ I say. ‘The police are trying to locate her. They know everything. What she’s been doing. The medicine.’

  Olly grabs the car door for support. ‘When did she take him?’

  ‘Within the last half an hour. But …’ I look around the car park. ‘Technically, we should discuss this in private—’

  ‘She’s got my son, okay?’

  ‘We think she took him on a bus.’

  ‘Get in,’ says Olly.

  ‘I really shouldn’t—’

  ‘Oh Jesus. Just get in, would you? Lizzie will be on her way to the train station.’

  ‘How do you know?’ I ask.

  ‘Because she’s trying to escape and a train is faster than a police car. She’s not stupid.’

  No. Lizzie is very, very clever.

  Lizzie

  I see a red light in the distance.

  ‘Tom. Tom! This is our train. Here it comes.’

  The train pulls agonisingly slowly into the station, sliding to a stop an inch at a time.

  Come on. Come on.

  I rush to the doors, pressing the electronic entry button over and over again. The doors won’t open. Not until the driver releases the lock. I know that. But I keep pressing it anyway.

  Open!

  With a ding the button lights up and I bash it with such severity that the older woman behind me gasps. The train doors glide apart.

  ‘On you get, Tom. There’s a good boy.’ I load Tom onto the train, watching the car park, scanning the diamond fencing.

  Then I see something.

  Oh God. Olly’s camper van.

  I’m always noticing camper vans, but this one is definitely Olly’s.

  The train doors slide closed.

  Very slowly, we ease along greased rails, pulling out of the station, rolling past the car park and into shrubby woodland.

  I sit by the window, heart pounding. Then I motion Tom to sit beside me.

  There’s one more stop in this town and then the train will pull away, fast into the night, through countryside, all the way to London.

  ‘Just sleep on me, okay, Tom?’ I smile at the fidgety, bald man opposite, and say: ‘This is quite an adventure for him.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’ The man smiles back.

  The train rocks and rolls along the track.

  Kate

  10.35 p.m.

  ‘They’re not here.’ Olly stalks up and down the train platform. The ticket office is unmanned and the platform empty. He looks at the overhead timetables. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘The police will find them. Have faith.’

  Olly glances at the small silver cross around my neck. ‘I’ll say this for religion: it has the audacity to give advice during moments of unbearable pain.’

  He sits on a bench, puts his head in his hands and cries – big, noisy man sobs.

  Faith is a little bit ridiculous. As a sci-fi fan, I know there’s no logic to it. But sometimes, you just have to believe.

  ‘It’s going to be okay,’ I say.

  Olly looks up, forehead a bunch of muscles. ‘My solicitor said that before the court case. “Everything will be okay.” And then I lost my son. She had everyone fooled. She can do it again.’

  ‘The police are experts in this sort of thing.’

  Olly gives a humourless laugh. ‘So is she. They gave me a restraining order based on her lies. I don’t have a lot of faith in the police. Nor would you, if you were me.’

  ‘Well, where do you think she could be going?’ I ask. ‘You know her better than anyone.’

  ‘The woman I knew was just a shell. An image for other people to look at. I never really knew her. Not the real Lizzie.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘But I do know this. She’ll be looking for somewhere to start over. And ideally some idiot to look after her.’

  Something ticks in my brain.

  I see a picture of Saint Michael, illustrated with big angel wings, on a Shetlands ferry leaflet.

  I never gave the leaflet to Lizzie. I meant to, but I forgot. Maybe stress-related disorganisation has a useful purpose sometimes. I pull out the neatly folded page from an inside pocket of my bag.

  ‘What about your neighbour?’ I ask, showing Olly the leaflet. ‘The guy downstairs. Could Lizzie be going to see him? He asked me to give a message to her. About going to the Shetlands with him.’

  ‘Shit. Shit. If that’s where she’s going …’ Olly jumps to his feet. ‘It’s a wilderness out there. Half of those islands don’t have phone signal. And she could travel by sea to Germany or … or anywhere. If she gets on that ferry with Tom, he’s lost.’

  ‘She might not be going to the Shetlands,’ I say. ‘I never gave her this leaflet.’

  ‘Stuart is a perfect target for her right now. Let’s go.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Aberdeen. The ferry port. Right now.’

  My work phone rings.

  Bloody Tessa … at this time of night.

  I think of all the times Tessa has told me not to wear myself out, and now she’s phoning me at gone 10 p.m. Ha, ha. It would be funny, if I weren’t so tired.

  ‘Hi Tessa. I’m about to drive to Scotland.’

  ‘Scotland?’ Tessa’s volume rattles the tinny speaker.

  ‘Yes, Tessa,’ I say. ‘With Olly Kinnock. We think Lizzie might be on her way to the Shetland Islands.’

  A verbal tirade follows, but I’m barely listening because I’m running back to the car park with Olly.

  ‘We can’t risk waiting until morning, Tessa,’ I shout back. ‘If Lizzie gets on the Shetland ferry with Tom, the chances of getting him back again … There are too many ways she can hide or escape out there.’

  Olly opens the camper van door for me. It occurs to me that he is likely to break the speed limit, given the circumstances. I never usually drive with people who break the speed limit – it’s a rule I have.

  Never mind the rules. Think about Tom.

  I jump into the van.

  Lizzie

  The elderly man on the train is having a panic attack. He’s gone all sweaty and is saying out loud what I think in my head sometimes: ‘Oh no, oh no, I can’t cope, I can’t do this, help, I think I’m dying, help.’

  Tom is watching the man, eyes wide, body stiff.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the train window and realise I look frightened, too.

  What’s happening? Have they stopped the train because we’re on it? Are the police after us?

  I see a flash of yellow neon on the platform and my heart pounds in my forehead.

  Boom, boom, boom.

  ‘Tom, let’s use the toilet.’ As I hustle Tom along the gangway, the neon people enter the carriage.

  Oh God, oh God.

  ‘Hello there.’ The voice is booming. Authoritative.

  I turn.

  Across the carriage, the bald man says, ‘It’s too much. I can’t do it. I need to get off.’

  Relief floods through me.

  The neon people are transport police, here to help the man on the train. Someone must have pulled the emergency cord.

  One of them says, ‘Okay, sir. We’ll help you out and check you over. Are yo
u going anywhere important this evening?’

  ‘I’m seeing my daughter.’ The man gulps. ‘But I can’t do it. Could someone phone her?’

  ‘Let us help you off and we’ll sort it out.’

  ‘Mum,’ Tom whispers.

  ‘Shush, Tom. Just be quiet.’

  I watch, heart racing, as the bald man is led off the train.

  An announcer says, ‘We’re sorry for the delay to your journey. A passenger required medical attention. We will shortly be on our way.’

  After a moment, the train doors whoosh closed and the carriage jolts. We move along the track again, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

  Towards London and the overnight train to Scotland.

  Lizzie

  Olly is lying on the sofa looking drunk and pliable, watching the Winter Olympics on YouTube.

  ‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’ I put my arms around his shoulders and kiss his cheek.

  ‘What?’ Olly turns to me, his eyes hazy. ‘Oh. Yeah.’ He points at the TV screen. ‘They’re amazing, these guys. The heights they reach.’

  ‘We should sort out your meds,’ I say. ‘You haven’t had any today.’

  ‘Haven’t I?’ he says, blinking languidly.

  ‘No, love. There’s a whole new lot to take now. Remember?’

  ‘You know, maybe I should see the doctor again. It’s about time I had another blood test. I can’t have you doing my visits forever.’

  ‘Olly.’ I put a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m a nurse, remember. I’m telling you, you don’t need a blood test. You’re just depressed, that’s all. Trust me. I’ve seen it a hundred times. You’ll just be wasting the doctor’s time. And you know how painful it is to move on your leg now. Let me sort out your meds.’

  People take power in all sorts of ways. Being tough. Sexy. Rich.

  Without power, we are nothing. Empty.

  For years, I was a shadow. Impotent. Part of someone else. I had no control. No life of my own. No profession or identity.

  But now I am powerful beyond measure.

  A real nurse who cares for the sick.

  Sometimes, that means making people sick.

  Kate

  9.03 a.m.

  We’ve driven all night. The sun is bright and I don’t feel tired any more. Just anxious.