The Woman in the Wood

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘Forty-eight hours till I see you again,’ he whispered. ‘That’s going to seem forever.’

  Maisy felt exactly the same. But she couldn’t suggest meeting him somewhere tomorrow as Janice had mentioned she wanted to take the twins into Southampton to buy some new clothes.

  ‘I wish,’ she said, but the bus pulled up and everyone in the queue surged forward before she could finish what she wanted to say, which was that she wished she didn’t have to go home. Alan kissed her cheeks and squeezed her hand, then stood back until she’d found a seat.

  He ran alongside the bus for some distance, waving and blowing kisses. Maisy’s face was pink from the sun, but her colour increased at the excitement of finally having a boyfriend.

  All she could think about on the ride home was his kiss. She closed her eyes and relived it, again and again.

  It felt as if she had suddenly stepped into adulthood today. First finding her breasts were at last growing and then meeting Alan.

  She was still glowing when she got in. Janice was doing some ironing and she looked worried.

  ‘What’s up?’ Maisy asked. ‘I did tell you I wouldn’t be in till after seven as I was coming back on the bus. You said that was OK and you’d keep some supper for me.’

  ‘It’s not that. Duncan hasn’t come home,’ Janice said. ‘He said he’d be back by six at the latest.’

  ‘It’s a bit soon to be worried.’ Maisy went over to the housekeeper and gave her a hug. ‘It’s been a beautiful day, I expect he’s lost track of time.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, but he’s always so reliable,’ Janice said. ‘Now tell me about your day.’

  At nine Duncan still hadn’t come home and Janice went in to inform Mrs Mitcham. When she came back into the kitchen she wiped a tear from her eye. ‘I might have known she wouldn’t share my concern,’ she said to Maisy, who was doing some crochet and listening to the wireless. ‘She just said boys will be boys, and it’s a fine dry evening so why was I getting worked up.’

  ‘She has got a point, Janice,’ Maisy said. ‘He’s fifteen, not a little boy. But if you like I’ll ride down to Colin’s house to see if he’s there.’

  Colin Fairly lived in a council house down in the village. It was a messy place with lots of junk piled up in the front garden. Duncan had shown her where Colin lived a few weeks earlier and he said it was even worse inside. He’d added that Mr Fairly got drunk most nights so his mother had a job to make ends meet.

  Mrs Fairly came to the door when Maisy knocked. She was a harassed, tired-looking woman of about forty-five, wearing a shapeless dress, and her hair was straggly and greasy.

  ‘Our Colin came in about five for his tea,’ she said. ‘I asked who he’d been with all day, but he weren’t with Duncan.’

  ‘Is he in now?’ Maisy asked. ‘He might know where my brother is.’

  ‘No, he’s out someplace. But I’ll ask him about Duncan and if he knows anything I’ll get him to come up to your gran’s house and tell you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Fairly, that would be much appreciated,’ Maisy said. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure helping out someone as polite and well mannered as you,’ the woman said, smiling to reveal several missing teeth. ‘Your Duncan’s the same, a real little gent. I tell my Colin, you copy him, not the rough boys round here.’

  Maisy smiled, but it was a forced one as she too was getting worried now. It really wasn’t like Duncan to be this late coming home. They’d had punctuality instilled into them almost from birth. In London they had known being late would worry their mother and annoy their father, and here it was Janice cooking for them that made them punctual. Duncan was always hungry, so he wouldn’t easily skip a meal.

  She rode around for a while, going to a few places where she knew local boys hung out in the evenings, but he wasn’t with any of them and no one had seen him. She didn’t like cycling in the dark, so she decided to go home.

  ‘I wonder if he went to see our mother,’ she said to Janice when she got back in. ‘He said he was thinking about going next week. But maybe he just felt today was the day and went.’

  ‘But he doesn’t know where the place is,’ Janice said, chewing her lower lip with anxiety. ‘Besides, it’s ten o’clock now. If he had found the address and gone there and had to stay the night somewhere, he would have phoned.’

  ‘I’m going in to see Grandmother,’ Maisy said. ‘You’re right; if something unexpected had happened he would’ve phoned.’

  Grandmother was listening to a play on the wireless and looked none too pleased at being interrupted. ‘Not you panicking too!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Not panicking, but worried,’ Maisy said firmly. ‘None of the village boys have seen him. I wondered if he’d gone to see our mother, but as far as I know he doesn’t have her address. Should we telephone Father?’

  ‘Of course not,’ the old lady sniffed. ‘Boys of his age are always off on the rampage. He’s probably made a camp in the forest and he’ll be back in the morning wanting breakfast. Alastair was always doing that when he was a boy.’

  ‘With all due respect, Grandmother, Duncan and I have been brought up to always be home on time. He wouldn’t stay the night in the forest without any warning, but he could be lying there with a broken leg, so I think we should call the police.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Grandmother waved her arm dismissively. ‘I’ll not phone anyone for something so trivial. Even if he has broken his leg, the police couldn’t find him in the dark. Now off to bed with you and let’s not hear any more of this foolishness.’

  ‘At least let me phone Father,’ Maisy pleaded.

  ‘What good can he do? He’s too far away. Besides, he’s rarely at home these days. Off to bed with you.’

  Maisy had no real choice but to obey. She told Janice what had been said and the pair of them agreed that Grandmother was right – even if Duncan was hurt and lying in the forest, no one could find him now in the dark.

  ‘If we haven’t heard from him by eight tomorrow morning, I’ll call the police,’ Janice said. ‘At least it’s a warm night. He won’t freeze, wherever he is.’

  Maisy went up to bed. She felt a flash of crossness that Duncan had spoiled her perfect day, and then guilt. She had wanted to close her eyes and think of Alan, but now she would have to try and fall asleep with the image of her twin lying on the ground in pain.

  6

  By ten o’clock the next morning, with still no word from Duncan, Maisy knew something was badly wrong. It wasn’t just that he wouldn’t have left them without saying where he was going; it was a feeling deep inside her: that the strong connection they’d always had was severed. She fervently hoped that this was just her overactive imagination, that he was alive and well and in time they would laugh about it.

  Grandmother finally telephoned the police. She did say, however, that if Duncan walked up the garden path later she was going to take both Janice and Maisy to task for wasting her time. It was chilling that she didn’t seem the least bit concerned at his disappearance.

  The police said they couldn’t put him on the missing persons list until he’d been gone twenty-four hours and recommended they contact all his friends, because if Duncan thought he was in trouble at home he might have gone to one of them.

  ‘Well, I’m not going to sit on my hands and wait,’ Maisy said. ‘I’m going into the forest to find him.’

  ‘Shall I telephone Alastair?’ Janice asked Grandmother.

  ‘There’s no need to bother him with this,’ Grandmother stated calmly. ‘It’s simply not necessary in my opinion.’

  Maisy wanted to scream at her grandmother that she was hateful and callous, but she resolved to keep quiet for now and find him herself; that way she could make her grandmother feel ashamed. After a quick change into a pair of slacks to protect her legs from brambles and a hasty word to Janice, she leapt on to her bike and set off.

  It was even hotter than the previous day, and just
the gentle hill out of Burley had Maisy sweating profusely. But her anxiety for Duncan kept her going, and as she turned on to the narrow lane into the forest, her eyes swept over the ground on either side in the hopes of seeing something unusual. The whole area was busy with cars, cyclists and hikers because it was peak holiday season, and she realized that if Duncan had been lying hurt anywhere near a well-used track or lane, he would’ve been found by now, and if not, very soon would be.

  ‘But not if he’s near Grace Deville’s house,’ she murmured aloud. That was a really dense part of the forest and this far into the summer the undergrowth must be virtually impassable.

  She had only been to Grace’s shack once before and to her alarm she found it hard to recognize the way because everywhere was so overgrown. She left her bike and struggled along several small tracks which just petered out after a time. She was almost on the point of giving up the search when she saw a track where there was evidence of broken twigs and flattened weeds, as if someone had used it recently. It could of course just have been an animal, but she didn’t think so.

  She picked up a stout stick to beat back the brambles and stinging nettles, but there were sections when the track virtually disappeared, and she was worried she would get stuck. Even with the stick the brambles caught at her hair, and her arms were badly scratched. It was fearfully hot too, and she had nothing to drink.

  Just as she was thinking she must turn back, she saw the bushes were thinner up ahead, so she pressed on, and finally to her relief she broke through into the glade where Grace lived. Seeing the woman weeding her vegetable plot, she ran the last hundred yards.

  Grace looked up in alarm. ‘Get out! This is private property!’ she shouted.

  ‘I know it is,’ Maisy called back breathlessly, but still coming on. She was too upset to feel fear. ‘I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Duncan’s sister. He’s missing, gone all night, and I’m frantic that he might be lying in the forest hurt. Have you seen him?’

  The woman’s hostile look vanished and she frowned with concern. ‘Not for a few days,’ she said.

  Maisy was close to her now. ‘Has he said anything to you that might suggest he was going to make a trip somewhere?’

  The older woman looked thoughtful. ‘He did say he wanted to go and see his mother. He often talks about her. But you’re his sister – surely he’d tell you if that was where he was going?’

  ‘But neither of us know where Mother is,’ Maisy said. ‘We would’ve gone together if we knew. I’m sure if he managed to get our father to tell him the address he would’ve told me, so I don’t believe that’s where he’s gone. But I do know he likes you, that’s why I hoped he’d come here.’

  All at once Maisy began to cry; she tried to stop it but she just couldn’t. The heat, thirst, anxiety and her grandmother’s reluctance to do anything all seemed to come together in one big wave of insurmountable difficulty.

  ‘I like him too,’ Grace said and put one hand tentatively on Maisy’s shoulder. ‘Now stop crying. He’s a sensible boy, I’m sure he hasn’t come to any harm. Sit down and have a drink of water. You’re overheated.’

  She brought Maisy some water in a tin cup and made her sit in the shade. ‘Now let’s put our heads together,’ she said, sitting down on a log. ‘He left your house when yesterday? And what was he wearing?’

  ‘He was still at home when I left before nine. Janice – she’s the housekeeper – said he went out about ten wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. He took his bike.’

  ‘Well, if he was going off to London I think he’d have been out the door much earlier. I also don’t think he’d be wearing shorts. Not to catch a train and visit his mother.’

  Maisy nodded. She hadn’t thought of that. ‘You’re right. Not unless the shorts were a smokescreen for our grandmother and Janice, and he had some long trousers or even his suit outside somewhere to pick up before he cycled to the station.’

  ‘Why would he hide his clothes? Is it because your grandmother wouldn’t approve?’

  Maisy nodded glumly. ‘She’s a bit of a dragon and she doesn’t like our mother.’

  ‘So if he did go to see her he must have got the address from your father. Have you spoken to him yet?’

  Maisy didn’t know why people made out Grace was mad. She certainly wasn’t, and despite her scary manner on first meeting, she was kind too.

  ‘No, I haven’t, and Grandmother said there was no point in telephoning him until we are sure something is wrong. She seems to think it’s quite normal for boys to go off into the forest to sleep. I agree Duncan would probably love to do that, but only with a friend and all the right equipment. And he’d never do it without telling anyone.’

  ‘No, he struck me as a very sensitive, conscientious boy. Do you know, he’s the only person I’ve talked to properly in ten years or more. I frighten everyone else off.’

  Maisy wasn’t sure which was the biggest surprise: that a person could live ten years without speaking to anyone, or Grace admitting such a thing.

  ‘Can you think of anything else he said to you that might give us a hint where he is, or did he mention anyone at all?’ she asked.

  ‘There was your teacher, Mr Dove; I felt he’d been a huge influence on him. He said they’d talked about all sorts of things, and he’d made him see his father in a different light.’

  ‘Really? Duncan never said anything like that to me.’

  ‘Maybe that was because he didn’t wish you or his grandmother to see his sensitivity. People are fond of saying boys shouldn’t cry, they have to be strong and keep the stiff upper lip. They aren’t encouraged to talk about their feelings and certainly not to analyse anyone else’s.’

  ‘That’s just the sort of thing Mr Dove says. He lost the use of his legs in the war but he’s not bitter about it. He understands people. I think you do too.’

  ‘I understand them so well that I hide from them,’ Grace said, and gave a humourless laugh. ‘I think maybe your Mr Dove and I come at things from opposite sides. I am still bitter about things I can’t forgive. But I’ve talked to you for too long, Maisy. You must go home and see if there’s any news of your brother.’

  ‘May I come back?’ Maisy asked. ‘I promise I won’t be a nuisance.’

  ‘Come back and tell me when Duncan is found,’ Grace said.

  Maisy realized that was Grace’s way of telling her she was welcome to come once more, but that was all. She stood up and held out her hand to the older woman.

  ‘Thank you for being so kind,’ she said. ‘I see now why my brother liked to visit you.’

  Grace took Maisy’s hand between her two deeply tanned, rough-looking ones and her tawny eyes appeared to be seeing right down to Maisy’s soul. ‘It is good after all these years of people thinking the worst of me to meet two people with open minds,’ she said. ‘But go home now. I hope Duncan will soon be back.’

  Maisy continued to look all around her as she rode back to Nightingales, but she felt a terrible sense of foreboding. She tried to tell herself she was making a drama about something that would turn out to be quite trivial and he’d be home again soon with a story to tell, but she didn’t believe it.

  Duncan wasn’t home. Instead the local constable, PC Welby, was speaking to her grandmother in the garden. As Maisy leaned her bike against the shed, she heard her grandmother speak.

  ‘This is an overreaction, he’s just a boy out adventuring. He’ll come back when he’s hungry.’

  Maisy saw red at that remark, furious that her grandmother was being so blind and stubborn. ‘Why don’t you tell the police that this isn’t like him, then maybe they’ll start looking for him?’ she yelled out.

  PC Welby wheeled round to look at Maisy. ‘I take it you are Duncan’s twin sister? And you don’t agree with Mrs Mitcham?’

  ‘Yes, I am Maisy Mitcham, and no, I don’t agree with my grandmother. I know my brother far better than anyone else does. Grandmother hasn’t said more than a few hundre
d words to him in his whole life. He wouldn’t go off “adventuring” without telling someone or leaving a note. He’s either out there somewhere too hurt or sick to get help, or someone has got him.’ This idea had come to her as she’d been cycling home and to her it seemed logical.

  ‘How dare you be so rude?’ Grandmother said, taking a few warning steps towards Maisy as if she was going to box her ears. ‘I have a lifetime of experience with people. You are still a child, and I would remind you that you are a guest in my home.’

  Welby ignored the older woman and looked at Maisy. ‘Why would you think someone has got him? To demand a ransom, do you mean?’

  Maisy shrugged. ‘Why not? Rumour has it Mrs Mitcham is a wealthy woman. If that is the case we’ll hear from the kidnappers soon. But surely in the meantime there should be a thorough search in case he’s lying out there hurt? You should be questioning people too.’

  ‘Mrs Mitcham is right – you are rude. You don’t need to tell me how to do my job,’ Welby said, his plump face tightening with indignation. ‘Now tell me who his friends are.’

  Maisy was chastened; she needed people on her side, not to put their backs up.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be rude to either of you,’ she said. ‘I’m just scared and I want to see someone taking his disappearance seriously. I did go and see some of his friends last night, but I’m sure they’ll be more honest with you than they might be with me.’

  She told him all the names she knew, including Grace Deville, and that she’d been out to see her already. Welby wrote their names down in his pocket book. Grandmother asked Welby to step into the house with her. Maisy had no doubt she wanted to tell the policeman that her granddaughter had an overactive imagination. She used the chance to jump on her bike again and ride down to see Mr Dove.

  He, at least, was shocked, and truly concerned. ‘I agree with you, Maisy, Duncan isn’t the kind of lad to do something hare-brained or to go off to London without telling someone. In fact, I think if he had decided to go and see his mother he would’ve run it past me.’