by Maeve Binchy
'They could still get in touch,' said Jock hopefully.
'But who would they ring?' Cathy asked. 'That's the thing that's breaking my heart, they rang everyone, and none of us listened.'
'They could be anywhere,'Muttie wailed.
'They're only nine, people will look at two kids and a dog and question them. And they're so distinctive, the guards will find them in no time,' Geraldine soothed them as best she could.
'No, the guards haven't a clue where they are, they keep asking us to think of likely places and known companions, and none of us knows anything about their lives, poor little devils. Why couldn't they have left them here with us instead of transplanting them to The Beeches?'
'They had to go,' Lizzie said because she believed it.
'And didn't they do really fine there,'Muttie scoffed. 'They did so fine that they ended up having to run away, come here by dead of night and take Hooves and head off the Lord knows where.'
'Do you remember them at Marian's wedding, they were so proud of themselves,' Lizzie said.
'And their speeches,' said Muttie, blowing his nose heavily.
'Oh, they're not dead for God's sake!' Geraldine said. 'Really and truly Lizzie, get a hold of yourself, those two are well able to look after themselves.'
'No, they're not, they're real babies,' Lizzie said.
'Wherever they are now, they're terrified,' said Muttie.
Tom was restless. He could settle to nothing. The idea of Marcella on a London street crying in a phone box wouldn't go away. He had been right not to speak to her; there were no more words to be said, only a circular argument going nowhere. But he wished that she hadn't called, she must have been desperate, particularly to admit it and plead with Cathy. Marcella was always so anxious to preserve an image of herself as confident. If he had answered the phone himself, would it have been different? Perhaps he could have said in his own normal voice that it hurt him too much to talk about what could not be changed. Then she might not have been left crying in a phone box. He could concentrate on nothing because of that image. He decided to go and see his parents. JT and Maura Feather were sitting at the kitchen table playing three-handed bridge with Joe. Joe looked as if a wall had fallen on him, his left eye was closed, his lip was swollen and part of his head had been shaved where he had stitches.
'Jesus!' said Tom.
'Wasn't it dreadful?' Maura Feather said. 'Poor Joe reversed into a wall, and it was the direct intervention of God that he didn't do himself any serious damage.'
Tom looked at the injuries which were obviously not the result of reversing into a wall.
'Was it the right wall?' he asked.
'Yes, it was,' Joe nodded painfully.
'And what happens now?' Tom asked.
'Bills are going to be paid,' Joe said with satisfaction.
'At some cost, though?' Tom looked at this brother's injuries sympathetically.
'No cost at all, considering,' Joe said.
And Tom realised that Joe the businessman had suffered much more by being cheated than he had in a fist fight. His street cred was now restored, and to Joe that meant the injuries were irrelevant. His father frowned as if the conversation should change channels. So Tom told them that the twins had run away, and nobody knew where to start looking for them.
'Those two would be well able to speak up for themselves, aren't they Mitchells when all's said and done,' Maura sniffed.
I'm worried about them, Mam, they're very odd, quaint kind of children, they take everything literally, anything could happen to them.'
'And tell me, is Marcella still on her holiday in London?' Maura asked.
'It's not a holiday, Mam, I told you that she's got contacts there and she wants to be a model, so she has to be in London for that.'
'And is it going well for her over there?' JT Feather asked kindly.
'I think so, Dad, I hear she's doing fine.'
'That's funny,' Joe said, 'I hear the very opposite.'
'No word?' Tom asked.
Cathy shook her head. 'No, and that's two nights out on their own somewhere; it's serious, and they all think that Walter has something to do with it, which is utter nonsense.'
'They'd only slow him down,' Tom agreed.
'It's some damn thing that they took literally, you know, like they thought that I was coming to see them on the night of the wedding, apparently I said, "after the wedding", I didn't mean that very day.'
'Would Muttie have said anything to upset them?'
'No; he was so embarrassed about having to go to hospital with his prostate, he hasn't said anything to anyone for days.'
They went through all the things it could be; some dancing engagement they thought they had got, some school project—a quest to find another punchbowl? Those two were so strange, they could have flown to Chicago. They jointed chickens and made sauces as they talked about the children. They never got around to mentioning the hunt for the man who had stolen their belongings and vandalised their premises. Or indeed, the confusion of spending a night, however innocently, in the same room. And just because that night wasn't mentioned, it seemed to take on a greater significance. The fact that Tom had lied to Neil on the phone. The knowledge that it had been seen and completely misconstrued by the hotel. It could easily have been one of the many things they laughed about, but because of the children they lost the moment, and now it was too late to go back to it.
Walter's friend Derek with the sports car wouldn't let him stay. 'You're too much trouble, Walter, and now you say the law is after you, I can't afford to have any policemen poking round this flat.' There was a fair chance they might find cocaine if they did, and black sacks of goods from the shed at The Beeches.
'Can I leave the stuff?'
'No, you can't… Take it up to the market,' Derek advised. 'You can unload it there in no time.'
For peanuts.'
'Well, take the peanuts then and put them on a horse, then you're in the clear,' said Derek, who wanted Walter Mitchell miles from here.
Sara was tireless in her efforts to find them; she reread her notes over and over in case they might offer a clue. She came round to Waterview to ask Neil and Cathy what kind of interests the twins had.
'Well, they loved that dog, which is why they went and took him,' Cathy said.
'When they were here, what did they do in the evening?'
'We used to make them do homework for a bit, and they liked jigsaws… I don't know what else, Neil, do you?'
'Not really, they kept asking questions all the time… How much do you earn, how often do you mate.'
'Sara, nobody could have murdered them or anything?' Cathy's face was very anxious.
'She's very overwrought,' Neil said. 'Honestly, Cathy, you can't go on like this.'
'No, of course not,' said Sara, but her voice was shaky.
Cathy's eyes filled up and, unexpectedly, she leaned over and patted Sara on the arm.
'They'll be fine, they're a real pair of survivors, those two,' she said, consoling the white-faced social worker.
'Well, you'll be glad of the holiday,' Sara said.
'Holiday?'
Neil interrupted quite quickly. 'That's postponed now,' he said.
Cathy was annoyed. He should not have told Sara all about the holiday as if it were settled before he had checked it with her. It wasn't important now, but it was very, very irritating all the same.
Geraldine couldn't settle down to work, thinking about the twins. There were two important jobs on hand, and her upcoming date with Nick Ryan. But the strange, troubled, pale faces of those children wouldn't go out of her mind. They had been so funny in her flat on the day of the recovery party, doing their encore because they thought people would expect it. She had kept cheering the others up, and mocking them for fearing the worst. But in her heart she was very worried. Two odd, unworldly children, and you heard the most awful things. Every day in the papers there was some horror. Geraldine shook herself firmly. She had a ru
le to stop herself brooding about things. When you can, you must concentrate feverishly on work, and if that doesn't work, concentrate feverishly on sex and social life. Geraldine and Nick Ryan were planning an evening which was going to involve his staying over at Glenstar. Both of them knew this, though neither of them had mentioned it. It was an elaborate ritual about the difficulty of finding somewhere they would like for a late dinner after the theatre. There were endless problems. Places to park, driving after a couple of glasses of wine, noisy people at other tables when you were trying to talk. Possibly they could bring some smoked salmon back to Geraldine's apartment. Indeed, what a good idea, and she had some of Tom Feather's wonderful bread in the freezer. And Nick would love to bring a bottle of wine. And did Nick have to leave at any specific time after the meal? Not at all, the night was his own, her own, their own. It was set up. The affair had begun.
Muttie went in just from sheer habit to Sandy Keane in the betting shop. 'Don't feel like having a bet today, my mind's distracted,' he said.
'Suit yourself,Muttie, but that was a nice little windfall you got yesterday,' Sandy said dourly.
'Yesterday, I didn't have a bet yesterday, I was preoccupied,' said Muttie.
'Internet Dream,' said Sandy.
'Never heard of it,'Muttie shrugged.
'Well, you won seventy pounds on it yesterday morning, which is good for a horse you never heard of,' Sandy said.
'Is one of us losing our minds, I wasn't near here yesterday.'
'I know,Muttie, they told me.'
'Who told you?'
'The twins,' said Sandy.
'Oh, my God, what time?'
'First race at Wincanton,' Sandy said.
'Can I have your phone? I must ring the guards.'
'You're going to bring the guards in here and tell them that I took a bet from minors? You're off your head,Muttie.'
'They won't be interested in that.'
'They won't like hell!'
'No, Sandy.'Muttie had begun to dial. 'You don't understand. The guards are out looking everywhere for these children. They've been missing for two days.'
It didn't in fact bring them very much further down the line. So the children had hung around the St Jarlath's Crescent area for the night with the dog, until the bookies' was open for bets.
'I feel a bit better that they had seventy pounds rather than just a fiver,' said Cathy.
'But it does mean they can stay away longer, like now they won't have to come home out of desperation,'Muttie said, biting his lip.
The hunt centred much more around St Jarlath's Crescent than The Beeches. This is where the children had been happiest, where they had collected Hooves and written their last note. Lizzie looked through the pictures she had of Maud and Simon. The guards had asked for a recent picture, which they would use if there was no news by tomorrow. They had obviously given up on the notion of getting anything helpful from Kenneth and Kay. Lizzie took out a big box; there were some lovely ones of them from Marian's wedding. But maybe they should use the one of the twins with Hooves. She must not let herself think that anything had happened to them. This was Ireland, not some dangerous place; nothing bad could happen to them here.
'I mean, nobody would hurt children, or anything?' she asked the guard fearfully as she showed him an endearing picture of Maud and Simon in their kilts outside the church at the wedding.
The guard looked at the two serious little faces and cleared his throat. He hated cases about children. 'We have to hope not, Mrs Scarlet.'
She had seen in his face the possibility that it might not end well, and the tears came down her face again. 'You see, you'd really have to know them to realise that they're such an odd little pair, not in the real world at all. They just get notions and follow them anywhere.'
'And would they trust strangers, do you think?' The big guard gave Lizzie a paper handkerchief.
'Of course they would, they'd go off with Jack the Ripper if he came to the door with a plan.' She put her head down on the table and wept aloud.
Muttie came and patted her shoulder awkwardly. If we could just think what mad thought was going through their little minds the moment they took off, then we'd find them in no time,' he said, shaking his head again and again.
All over Dublin people were trying to think what might have been going through their minds. To little avail. Maud and Simon, left so long surviving in a strange, troubled and changing lifestyle, had invented a little world of their own where no one could follow them.
'You know it will all be so obvious when we find them,' Cathy said to Neil.
' If we find them,' he said.
'Come on, you don't mean it. Why say something so frightening?'
'I'm only saying what the guards are saying, they don't like it at all,' he said.
The twins had no idea of the drama they had created. To them it had been utterly simple.Muttie had promised to take them to the races for their birthday. To hear the real thunder of hooves. That's where he had gone, to the country, to the races, and his wife Lizzie didn't want to admit it. And so they made their plans. They would go to the races and confront Muttie. Ask him straight out what they had done to annoy him. They had five pounds and eighty-three pence. It was a lot of money, but would it take them the hundred miles to County Kilkenny? They stayed up all night discussing it. There was nobody to object. Father was out with old Barty, Mother didn't get up these days at all and Walter had left home. They packed a plastic carrier bag each to take with them, extra shoes, a big sweater, pyjamas, a pot of jam, a loaf of bread and two slices of ham. There was an animated discussion about soap. Simon thought there might be soap already wherever they were going;
Maud said that since they were going to be sleeping in sheds and barns and in fields it might be mad to think there'd be any soap in those places. They took a small piece, just in case. Then shortly after dawn when the first bus passed the end of the road the twins ate into their savings and made their way to St Jarlath's Crescent. They weren't leaving without Hooves. Five pounds wouldn't take them to Kilkenny.
'What do people do when they need money desperately?' Maud wondered.
'They earn some or they steal, or they win the Lotto.'
'The Lotto isn't until Saturday,' Maud said.
'There's Muttie's office,' said Simon.
After that it had all been simple. They studied the paper for a long time before they went in, and they wrote out a slip of paper. Mr Keane knew them well.
'How's tricks?' he said, as he always did.
They told him tricks were great and placed the bet. Two pounds to win on a horse called Internet Dream.
'I break every rule in the book for the pair of you,' said Mr Keane. 'I let minors into my establishment and a small four-footed beast as well.'
'Muttie asked us to put it on for him.'
'Where's the man himself, he wasn't in yesterday either.'
They had planned for this one, too. They couldn't say he had gone to Gowran Park race meeting in Kilkenny, otherwise he should be putting on his own bets there.
'He has a whole lot of tiring things to do for his wife Lizzie today, so he asked us to put the bet on for him,' Simon said.
Sandy Keane nodded; this seemed entirely reasonable.
'And may we wait here to bring his winnings back to him?' Maud asked politely. 'Would you mind waiting outside, you're too young to be seen in here, strictly speaking.'
'It's cold outside, Mr Keane.'
'All right, but sit somewhere out of sight.'
They sat as quiet as mice until the race. Internet Dream won at thirty-five to one and they had their fare to Kilkenny. Hooves loved the train journey; he socialised with some of the other passengers by laying his head in their laps, and they seemed delighted with him.
'What will we do if he wants to pee?' Maud whispered.
'What do other people do with dogs on trains?' Simon whispered.
They looked around them. Nobody else had a dog.
&nbs
p; 'Maybe he'll know you can't go on a train,' Maud said optimistically. Hooves saw a nice leather briefcase and was about to relieve himself against it. Simon and Maud jumped up horrified and alerted the owner of the briefcase, who was reading a newspaper.
'Could you take it away? He thinks it's a lamp-post.'
'Easy mistake, often made,' the man said.
'Where should I take him? I can't hold him out the window,' Simon asked.
'Just out there where the two carriages sort of join, and look away as if you have nothing to do with it,' the man advised.
They came back and sat down to talk to him since he was so pleasant, and told him that they were going to the races.
'Aren't you a bit young to be going on your own?' he said.
'We'll be meeting a grown-up there, of course,' Simon said.
'Is that your Dad?'
'Yes,' said Simon.
'No,' said Maud at the same time.
'Sort of stepfather, foster father really.'
'And does he have any tips for today?'
'No, but he'll have been studying form all morning,' Maud explained.
'Great. The important thing is to feel lucky.'
'We've been quite lucky already today, we had Internet Dream,' Simon said proudly.
The man looked at him with more interest. 'You had? What odds?'
'Thirty-five to one,' Maud said.
'Well, maybe I should stick with the pair of you. How did you pick Internet Dream, anyway?'
'The name,' said Simon, as if it were self-evident.
'And who put the bet on for you?'
'We did it ourselves.'
'By God, I'll certainly stay with you, you could be the making of me,' said the man; who said his name was Jim, known to his friends as Unlucky Jim, and he'd be taking a taxi to the races if they'd like a lift.
