Running on the Cracks

by Julia Donaldson

  ‘Stop it, Zigger,’ said Finlay, though actually it was gratifying to have someone on his side for once.

  ‘So where were you? Rab said something about a Chinese girl. Is this her dog?’

  ‘A Chinese girl?’ He feigned surprise while his mind raced over various possible explanations, all of them implausible.

  Mum sighed. ‘Well, let’s not have a repeat of yesterday. Just eat up now, and the explaining can wait.’

  Finlay agreed readily. He shovelled the lasagne into his mouth with Zigger-like speed.

  ‘That nice girl Ailsa phoned last night,’ said Mum.

  ‘Was it about her sweatshirt?’ asked Finlay and then wished he hadn’t.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. It was something to do with joining a band. She sounded really upset when I told her you’d gone missing.’

  ‘Why did you have to go and tell her that?’ Finlay reacted with automatic irritation, and then, when Mum looked pained, said, ‘I’m sorry. Actually, I’m a bit tired. Maybe I should have a lie down.’

  It wasn’t really true. He was playing for time, but Mum swallowed it, and even allowed Zigger to go up to the bedroom with him. The dog lay on the floor guarding Finlay in case Mum showed any signs of turning fierce.

  He lay there, trying to plan what he would say to Mum when the time came, but it was hard to concentrate. Above his bed, Rick Reaper stared arrogantly down at him from the huge poster of Breakneck. As Finlay stared back, the tune of ‘Stone Sacrifice’ started to play itself in his head. He’d gone off Breakneck a bit, but he still coveted Rick Reaper’s black and silver guitar. It was a shame that his doughnut savings weren’t mounting up the way he’d planned. And now he might get fired for missing his paper round.

  Thinking about doughnuts and paper rounds made him wonder how Leo was getting on with Marina and Kenny. She must be there by now.

  Somehow his thoughts were getting muddled up with the ‘Stone Sacrifice’ tune, and with other thoughts about Mary and Jacqueline and Uncle John … Finlay drifted off to sleep.

  Leo – An Encounter

  ‘Girl,’ says the little boy at the bus stop, pointing at me from his pushchair. ‘Girl, Mummy.’

  ‘Don’t point – it’s rude,’ says his mother, but now it seems to me that she keeps giving me sidelong glances. And that old couple have turned round to have a quick look too. Are they wondering about the school bag? Maybe they remember the description of it from the news reports. Maybe I should have left it at Mary’s after all.

  Apart from the child they’ve all looked away now, but I still feel uncomfortable. Will I ever get used to ordinary people in public places again?

  My bus, the one to Marina’s house, isn’t due for another twenty-five minutes. I’ll go back to the canal and wait on the swing bridge. You can see the bus stop from there, through the gap in the hedge.

  The ducks are back too, now that Zigger is safely out of the way. I wish I had some bread for them. I think about the loaves of bread Mary threw for the swans, that day when I first met her, and I wonder how she is now. Did she sleep at all last night, and if so how did she feel waking up in the hospital?

  I can’t help being nervous about meeting this Marina and her husband Kenny, even though Finlay has given Marina a good report: ‘She likes a laugh, and she knows how to keep her mouth shut.’ She didn’t ask many questions on the phone but when I arrive she’s bound to have a few. How much should I tell them? And how long will they let me stay?

  He’s so quiet that I don’t hear him till he’s almost at the bridge.

  ‘Hello again.’

  He’s standing there, blocking the way.

  No use crossing the bridge, away from him: there’s no towpath on the other side.

  No use hoping for Finlay and Zigger to come to my aid again.

  As if he can read my thoughts, he says, ‘So, no hell dog this time?’

  Was he lurking, spying on us, waiting till Finlay was at a safe distance?

  I’ll have to humour him.

  ‘I’m sorry about the dog,’ I say.

  ‘And I’m sorry if I scared you last night.’ He’s smiling. He sounds polite, but he looks terrible. His raincoat is full of creases, and there is a brown bloodstain on his ripped trouser leg. His face is grey with stubble, and his wispy hair looks wild. (No hat, I notice – did Zigger dispose of it?) Behind the thick glasses – so he did have a spare pair – his eyes have a crazed look.

  How did he find me?

  Again he seems to read my mind.

  ‘You’re quite a talented artist, you know,’ he says. ‘You really captured this scene.’

  So that’s it. My drawings have given me away.

  ‘I expect you’d like the sketchbook back, wouldn’t you? And the bag too.’

  ‘Well …’

  Where is the bag? It’s not over his shoulder. This is some kind of trap.

  ‘It’s in the car. Shall we go and get it?’

  ‘It’s all right. You can keep it. I don’t really need it.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to force you to go back with me. I understand – you need time. Just come to the car and I’ll give you the bag.’

  I don’t believe a word of it.

  I glance at my watch, and then at the bus stop. A quarter of an hour to go. Oh, why didn’t I stay there, with the little boy and his mother? Or why didn’t I let Finlay wait with me?

  ‘Come on.’ He steps back from the bridge and holds out a hand.

  What shall I do? Can I somehow humour him for fifteen minutes and then make a run for the bus?

  ‘I’ve changed my mind too,’ I say. Is this going to work or will he see straight through it? ‘I’m tired of being on the run. I’ll go with you after all.’

  I can’t tell from his smile whether he believes me or is just pretending to.

  ‘Good girl,’ he says.

  I step off the bridge. To my relief, he doesn’t grab my wrist this time.

  ‘I just need to pack a few things.’

  ‘You seem to have packed quite a lot already,’ he says, indicating the school bag.

  ‘Yes, but there’s some more stuff in the flat where I’ve been staying. It’s very near here – it won’t take long.’

  ‘Who have you been staying with?’ he asks. I can tell he’s not keen to meet anyone.

  ‘No one. It’s an empty flat – I’ve been squatting there.’

  He’s still not happy. ‘Don’t worry about your things,’ he says. ‘I can buy you some nice new things.’

  ‘No. I want my stuff. It’s important to me.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to be quick. I’ve left the birds for too long as it is.’

  Where now? My mind is racing. I need to make a choice quickly. We’re walking in the direction of Mary’s flat but I don’t really have to take him there. I could just keep him walking and talking, and then try to give him the slip when I sense he’s off guard.

  But I’m afraid that wouldn’t work. He’s sticking very close to me. Maybe I could try and smash his glasses again? I glance up at them and now I see that they’re attached to a string round his neck. So he’s one jump ahead.

  ‘You like the birds, don’t you?’ he’s saying now, his voice right beside my ear as we walk.

  ‘Yes, they’re lovely.’

  ‘And you like me really, I know you do.’

  What if I actually go to the flat? Are those social workers still there? Perhaps I should tell them everything. Surely they wouldn’t make me go back with him?

  But what if they believed him and not me? He looks pretty wild at the moment, but I know how smooth and convincing he can sound.

  ‘I’m glad I’ve found you,’ he says. ‘I didn’t want them to find you first.’

  What does he mean?

  We’re turning the corner into Struan Drive.

  ‘They’re all a bit hysterical,’ he carries on. ‘They’re making up silly stories. You can tell them none of them
are true. You will tell them, won’t you?’

  This doesn’t make any sense to me but I say, ‘Yes,’ just to keep him happy.

  ‘Good girl,’ he says. ‘That’s best for you. We don’t want anything to happen to you, do we?’

  What sort of threat is that? Is he even more dangerous than I suspected?

  We’re nearly at the flats. I slow down and glance up. There’s no light on in Mary’s sitting-room window, but I can’t remember if it was on when Finlay and I left. Are the social workers still there?

  ‘Is this it?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes.’ Too late to change my mind now.

  We’re on the echoey stone staircase.

  And we’re not alone. Someone’s coming down the stairs.

  I never thought I’d be so pleased to see the President.

  ‘Hiya! Mary’s oot,’ he says when he sees me. Then he turns and says over his shoulder, ‘It’s the Prospect’s pal! It’s that Leo lassie.’

  ‘Delighted.’ The Godfather, close behind him, raises a hand in greeting.

  The President stops a couple of stairs above us. ‘Who’s the wee man?’ he asks me.

  Uncle John does grasp my wrist now. He pulls me to the wall of the staircase, to let them past. ‘Just ignore them. They look unsavoury,’ he says.

  ‘Let go of me,’ I say loudly.

  He doesn’t, but immediately the President is on my side.

  ‘You heard what she said,’ he says.

  ‘Please be on your way and mind your own business.’ The grip tightens.

  The President takes a step down. I can smell his beery breath as he says, ‘Take your greasy paw off the lassie.’

  ‘She’s my niece, and she needs my protection.’

  ‘Whose protection do you want, Leo hen? His or oors?’

  ‘Yours!’

  The President lurches forwards to grab the lapel of Uncle John’s raincoat. But the alcohol is slowing his movements. Uncle John bats the hand away, then pushes him hard. The President loses his balance. Now he’s sitting slumped on the stair above us.

  ‘Let’s get away from these people,’ says Uncle John. He starts to pull me down the stairs.

  ‘Help me!’ I yell, and then his free hand clamps over my mouth, just like that other time.

  ‘It’ll be much better for you if you don’t make a silly fuss,’ he says under his breath.

  He’s dragging me out of the building. Has the President given up?

  Someone overtakes us. It’s not the President. It’s the Godfather.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he murmurs. As always, he sounds like the perfect gentleman.

  Then he wrests both of Uncle John’s hands off me, swings him round and punches him in the stomach.

  I don’t see what happens next because I’m running and running, hoping I can still catch that bus.

  Finlay – Cornered

  ‘Finlay. Dad’s home.’ Mum brought him in a cup of tea. ‘Drink this and come down.’

  It was evening already. Maybe he could get away with closing his eyes and going back to sleep again; as likely as not his parents would leave him undisturbed till morning. But he wanted to get this thing over with.

  ‘Just coming.’ He had half-formed a story. It was another lie of course, but it had to be, for Leo’s sake, and after today he would try to incorporate a little more blameless purity into his life.

  Zigger stood to attention, tail wagging, as Finlay struggled to his feet.

  ‘You’d better stay here, Ziggy boy,’ Finlay told him. Somehow he didn’t think Dad and Zigger would hit it off straight away.

  Mum and Dad were in the sitting room. There were no hugs this time.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ asked his father.

  ‘Chill, Dad,’ Finlay found himself answering instinctively, though he knew this was the one expression guaranteed to rile his father and produce the opposite result.

  Here it came: ‘I will not “chill” as you call it. You’re lucky I’m not thumping you. Mum’s been off her head with worry, you stupid little—’

  ‘Steve, I think Finlay’s going to explain.’ Mum put a calming hand on Dad’s arm.

  ‘Go on then. But it had better be good.’

  ‘Well, I had this row with Mum. About what happened last night – no, the night before. I know it was mostly my fault.’

  ‘Oh, very magnanimous,’ muttered his father, and ‘Wait, Steve,’ said his mother.

  ‘Anyway, I went off to … to a friend’s house.’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘You don’t know them.’

  ‘Stop being so evasive. What friend?’

  ‘Was it a Chinese girl?’ asked Mum. ‘This one Rab’s been telling us about – Emma Clark?’

  Finlay hesitated. Then, ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘So who is she? How come we’ve never heard of her?’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you about every single person I ever meet, do I?’ said Finlay, unwisely raising his voice. From upstairs, a sharp yapping started up.

  ‘And on top of everything, you pick up a bloody dog!’ his father shouted, thereby increasing the volume of the yapping.

  ‘Look, let’s go back to the Chinese girl,’ said Mum. ‘I think you must have been seeing her the night before as well. Were you, Finlay? Is she your girlfriend? Did you think we’d be cross with you for having a girlfriend?’ In fact, she looked quite pleased.

  ‘No, she’s not really a girlfriend but … but I thought you’d think she was.’ This was working out better than he’d hoped. ‘I didn’t think you’d want me to be seeing her, or to go to her house. And then we were watching these DVDs and it somehow got really late, and her mum said it would be all right to stay the night.’

  ‘So why didn’t you phone?’

  ‘Well, I tried to, but it was always engaged. Maybe it was when you were phoning round and phoning the police and things.’

  His parents were both looking thoughtful rather than incredulous. Was he on home ground now?

  Not quite. ‘So what about this morning? Why didn’t you phone then? Why did you miss your paper round? Why weren’t you at school?’

  Finlay tried to produce one of the weary sighs he was usually so good at but it didn’t come out quite right. ‘I can only answer one question at a time,’ he said.

  ‘This isn’t the time for your cheeky retorts!’ His dad looked as if he was about to jump out of his seat, but again one of Mum’s calming pats restrained him.

  ‘I’ve got a different question,’ she said. ‘Is Emma in your class?’

  ‘Er …’ Finlay tried to remember what he had told Rab. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Well, that’s funny, because when I rang the school—’

  ‘No, no, I mean, she’s in my year but not my actual class. I forget which class she’s in.’

  ‘What I was going to say was they said there was no Emma Clark on the school roll.’

  ‘That’s probably because she’s new.’ Finlay was blustering, and they knew it. Mum was shaking her head now, in a sad kind of way.

  ‘We just want the truth, Finlay. What’s so hard about that? We know this girl exists – Rab told us. So who is she, and how do you know her?’

  ‘And when are you going to give her back her bloody dog?’ added Dad.

  ‘Actually, I was wondering about the dog … I mean, well, Emma’s little sister has found that she’s allergic to dogs. They’ve done these tests. So they can’t keep the dog.’

  ‘NO, WE ARE NOT HAVING THE BLOODY DOG!’

  Zigger started up again, his yapping turning into loud barks, and Finlay could hear him scrabbling at his bedroom door.

  It was all going wrong. If only he could tell them the truth.

  The phone rang. Let it not be that hospital social worker, Finlay prayed.

  Mum answered it. ‘Yes … yes. I see. A Chinese girl, yes. Leo? I thought it was Emma … A meeting? Yes, I think that’s a very good idea … Yes, all right, tomorrow evening then.’

>   She put the phone down. ‘That was Marina. She wants everything out in the open.’

  Leo – Persuasion

  ‘Over to you, then, Leo,’ says Marina.

  I’ve agreed to this. I’ve agreed to tell them all everything. ‘All’ is Finlay and his parents, Jacqueline, Kim, Marina and her husband Kenny. All eight of us are crammed into Marina and Kenny’s cosy little sitting room.

  I’m not sure where to start. Finlay has already heard most of my story, of course – well, he’s been a huge part of it. Jacqueline knows a lot, and the others have been told bits and pieces – except for Finlay’s mum and dad. If I know Finlay the way I think I do, they’re still completely in the dark.

  I swallow. They’re all looking at me. Public speaking isn’t really my thing.

  People always say ‘Begin at the beginning’ but what is the beginning? Is it the station loo? Or Uncle John by my bedside? The plane crash? Should I perhaps go further back than that, to Dad’s rift with his parents? Or is the real beginning back in a tiny village in Hong Kong?

  ‘I ran away to look for my grandparents,’ I say, and now that I’ve started it’s easy enough to go on. It all comes tumbling out, even if it’s in rather a muddly order.

  Finlay’s parents are sitting either side of him on the little sofa. They’re goggling. I hope it’s not with horror at his undercover activities. I haven’t even got up to Zigger’s attack on Uncle John yet.

  Occasionally someone chips in – mainly Jacqueline, of course. It’s an ordeal for her to stay silent for more than a few minutes. When I explain how Finlay met her at the Barras, she says, ‘Such a clever boy. A real detective.’ And then I see Finlay’s mum wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. Mr Grant is patting Finlay’s knee awkwardly. They’re proud of him! That makes it easier to go on.

  There are gasps all round at the incidents with Uncle John.

  ‘You know he came to our house?’ says Jacqueline. ‘Such a creepy man! I tried to ring you at Mary’s – to warn you. But someone told me I’d got the wrong number.’

  Kenny is looking thoughtful now. ‘What kind of car does he have?’ he asks.