We bought him a bike for his seventeenth birthday and he’d ride it round like Billy-oh. Him and Phil, his friend, would ride round to a different part of town and drop in a pub for a pint. They would have been hung, drawn and quartered round these parts, drinking so young, but they were after girls and the new music; they rode everywhere together. Phil was courting a young woman from Ainsley Street, but Thomas hadn’t found anyone.
On that day, he’d gone off to work on his bike. He had an apprenticeship in Hyde; a joiner took him on, training him in cabinet making. He liked it, and even though he got paid a small amount, he gave most of it to me, saving only a tiny bit for himself. Mostly for new tyres or the odd pint. I’d kissed him goodbye and given him a Billy can with tea in it, and his butties. Had corned beef on them. He’d shrugged me off.
‘Geroff, Mam! I’m too big for that now!’
He’d shouted it at me as he pedalled away. I remember I laughed loud and shouted back.
‘Never too big for your mammy’s love. You’ll always be my baby, no matter how big you get.’
Colin had come to the door in his overalls to see what the shouting was about and I remember his hand on my shoulder as we waved him off. We’d gone back in the house and had a cup of tea before Colin went to work.
I remember laughing again at one of his jokes, silly like, and patting down my hair in the mirror, little creases at the side of my eyes. Colin said they told the story of our lives—if you had the crow’s feet you’d laughed enough. If not, you were a miserable sod! He’d said it that morning and I’d told him that I looked like a whole murder of crows had hopped on my face.
A murder of crows. Afterward, it was like somehow I had made it happen. Colin had set off to work, both of us grinning into the distance. My face ached with smiling and I’d gone back in and made some food for the rest of the day.
Teatime had come and Colin came back. Thomas was usually in before him, but he wasn’t home yet. We waited a bit, then ate our tea. We were still laughing and joking, thinking he’d snuck off for a pint, that he’d come home later on, a bit unsteady and slurring his words.
We’d planned to sniff at him, through the beer fumes, for scent, or check his face for lipstick. We couldn’t wait for him to have a girlfriend, a daughter we’d never been able to have in them happy days—not for lack of trying, I can tell you. All his friends had girlfriends and he didn’t. He was a good-looking lad, and Colin said he must be a bit fussy. I’d nodded and wondered if he was shy, if I should sort out some introductions?
But he didn’t come home. We sat up until midnight and he didn’t come. I turned out the light under the potato hash I’d saved for him and stomped upstairs in anger. Colin sat for a while longer then came up. Neither of us slept, waiting for the door to click open.
Maybe he’d met a girl? He might have stayed at Phil’s or, God forbid, had an accident. I had him off his bike in a gutter on Coal Pit Lane, then in the infirmary. We couldn’t rest, and Colin got up at six and ran over to Phil’s.
It turned out that Thomas had been there in the morning and left his bike. They’d planned to go to the pub later, after work, after tea, and he’d leave his bike until then. He’d taken his dinner with him. The Billy can of tea and the sandwiches.
Phil had seen him off across Hyde Road, only half a mile from the joinery. But he never got there. My Thomas never arrived for work.
Johnny Stokes, his boss, told the police later that he’d never missed a minute of work. In fact, he’d been early every day. He’d shown willing and was gifted. But he hadn’t turned up that day.
He’d not turned up later on at Phil’s either. Phil told Colin that he thought he must have changed his mind and gone home. That he’d come and pick his bike up later or in the morning. I knew when I saw Colin pushing his bike over the cobbles that something was badly wrong. Colin’s face was grey and he looked very tired.
‘He’s not been at Phillip’s, Bess. He’s not been at work yesterday.’
‘What do you mean? Where the bloody hell is he then?’
In contrast with Colin, who’d had more time to think about it, my cheeks flamed red and I felt a fire inside rise up to my mouth, where the words spat out as hot as flames. Colin went through the whole story again.
‘I’ll bloody kill him. He’ll be somewhere drunk. Too much like my bloody father. I’ll kill him when I get my hands on him.’
Again, a careless turn of phrase that would haunt me afterward, somehow beckoning what happened closer.
Colin set off for Stake’s Joinery to get the full story and I sat down in the kitchen and lit a cigarette. I smoked Park Drive, unfiltered. Everyone did. My teeth were yellowed through the heavy-duty drawing in and blowing out of the acrid smoke. I fumed through five cigarettes, one after another, watching as the ash floated through the air and fell to the floor.
By the time Colin returned I was surrounded by a ring of grey fallout, my colourful dress hidden behind the smoke hanging in the air around me. I only remember because it was exactly the same as how I felt on the inside. Cloudy, slightly hazy. And partially hidden from view. I smiled weakly as Colin shook his head.
‘He’s not been to work yesterday.’
I could see his eye on the clock, wondering about his own job. I sucked on another Park Drive and the thought that Colin had never really cared about Thomas, due to the fact that he missed the first two years of his life, that they never really gelled, flashed through my mind. He wanted to go to work when I was so worried about our son.
‘You go on, Col. I’ll go out and look for him. He might be back later. He might have got himself a girl.’
I rose out of the grey haze and stepped out of the ash circle around me. The spell was broken and I pushed myself into reality as I pulled on a headscarf.
‘I’ll go down to the infirmary. If he’s nowhere else, then he’s there.’
Colin slammed the door shut behind him and I locked the back door. How would Thomas get in if I wasn’t here? He didn’t have a key because I was always here. I unbolted the door and called to Jenny next door.
‘Ey, Jen, watch the door for me. I’m just popping out.’
‘Ay, all right then.’
I didn’t see her, just heard a weak voice in her kitchen. I walked through the house and opened the front door. I half expected Thomas to be cycling down the road waving. He wasn’t and I caught the bus to the hospital.
I stood outside smoking a cigarette as people rolled around in wheelchairs. There were amputees from the war, women with huge bellies, people in standard hospital dressing gowns, all smoking cigarettes and talking.
I peered past them into the entrance, where a wooden desk acted as a booking in area. The woman behind the desk looked friendly so I went in.
‘Hiya. I’m looking for my son, Thomas Swain. He’s not been home last night, see, and I wondered . . .’
‘How old is he?’
The woman was staring at me and for the first time I felt scared.
‘Seventeen. He set off for work yesterday and never got there. We wondered if he’d been in an accident?’
‘Have you told the police?’
It was a perfectly reasonable question and I suddenly thought that I should have called the local bobby, Sam Mackie. Everything felt as if it had gone wrong all at once and I started to cry.
‘No, no I didn’t. Me and his dad, we thought he might have fell off his bike. Except he wasn’t on it because it was at Phillip’s. Or maybe he went under a bus? Can you check?’
‘Yes, love. Go an’ have a sit down over there, would you? Wipe your eyes, love. I’m sure he’ll turn up. Funny at that age, aren’t they?’
I sat and thought. Yes, they are funny at that age. I had a baby at his age. He was grown now and here I am sitting scricing in the infirmary about him when he’s probably with a lass. I’m thinking the worst. Getting all excited over nothing. Colin had gone to work and no one else seemed overly concerned.
I tapped my foot
on the floor and waited. Eventually she returned and waved me over.
‘No one here by that name, love. No young men admitted in the past twenty-four hours as an emergency.’
‘That’s good news. Thanks.’
I hurried out of the reception and lit another cigarette. So he wasn’t in the hospital. He wasn’t at work. He wasn’t at Philip’s. He wasn’t at home. Where the bloody hell was he?
I was angry again now. I caught the bus back to Philip’s and walked the route he’d have to take to work. I caught the same bus, an old charabanc, walked the same pavements, and finally arrived at the joinery.
I could see Thomas’s boss and the other two apprentices working away, engrossed in their labour. I’d been here before, to bring his lunch. I stood awhile, wondering if he was in there now, if he’d just gone straight from where he had been to work.
I pushed on the door, then hesitated. If he was there I would be able to see him. I turned to walk away and caught the bus home. He was probably at home. I hurried up the street, stopping at the shop too, bought twenty Park Drives, and ran into the house.
‘Tom? Thomas?’ Nothing. Probably asleep. Sleeping it off. Little sod. ‘Tom? Wake up.’
I went into his room, but he wasn’t there. His bed wasn’t slept in. I stared at the candlewick tufts, at the pattern he has picked away as a child. A map of England. I looked around the room at his possessions: trophies for football, a cup for cricket, cycling proficiency certificate. His best suit hanging on the back of the door.
Nothing appeared to be missing, except the clothes he had on when he left for work. I knew his clothes by heart, the pile of his sweaters, the collars of his shirts, even his socks—items I took care of as an extension of caring for my child.
My child. Although he was a man, he was still my child. It struck me then that this must be what people mean by flying the nest. I’d heard some mothers go mad with it. I’d never really imagined that Thomas would leave home. He wasn’t courting and he was happy here.
We’d had our differences, mainly about the late-night bike riding and drinking, but we all mostly got on. Had I upset him yesterday morning? Had I done something to annoy him? Had Colin said something I didn’t know about?
I examined every detail of yesterday and soon found myself sitting in another ashen circle. The smoke hung in the air and I blinked into it. Where was he?
Colin came back at lunchtime with Sam Mackie. By then, I was expecting it and was a little calmer. I lit yet another cigarette and smiled.
‘He’ll be with some lass. He’s at that age. He’ll be ’fraid to come back because he’s in trouble.’
Colin and Sam looked at each other. Sam sat down opposite me.
‘That’s as maybe, Bessy, but we’re going to do a search. We’re going to do the route from here to Stoke’s, see if we can turn up anything. If that doesn’t, we’ll go further afield.’
I nodded and sucked on a Park Drive.
‘I’ll come with you. I might be able to give you some tips.’
Colin and Sam looked at each other.
‘Might be better if you stay here, love, in case he comes back.’
I stood up and tied on my headscarf.
‘I’ll leave the door on the snick. I’ll come with you.’
Colin sat down and took my hands in his. His legs were spread out and he pulled his chair closer.
‘Look, Bess, there somat you need to know, take into account, like. There been some troubles with folk. Children. Goin’ missing. Round here over the past year. You know what I’m sayin’, love?’
I stared him out.
‘You’re sayin’ someone might have taken our Thomas? Don’t be stupid. He’s a man. No one could take him; he’d fight. You’ve seen the size of him. He’s a fully grown man. Children are taken, not seventeen-year-olds.’
Again, they looked at each other. Colin looked completely grey now, like someone had tried to rub out his features with an India rubber. Sam stepped forward.
‘The thing is, Mrs Swain, a fifteen-year-old was taken and . . .’
Colin grabbed his arm.
‘Let them do their job, love. Let them go and find him. Chances are he’ll be back before we know it. They’ll have a talk to Phillip as well, to see if he knows anything.’ Sam nodded. ‘I’ll go with ’em up to the joinery then I’ll come back. It’ll take most of the day. Will you be all right here?’
The Search
I remember this part better than any. It’s like it was yesterday. I’ve written exactly what happened to me, nothing more and nothing less. I can only tell you what I know, you’d have to ask the police the rest. I don’t mind. Some of it’s a bit personal like, but I’ve just jotted it down how it was.
So. I’d been sitting in the kitchen for four hours, well into teatime, and I’d not put anything on for Colin and Thomas’s tea. I just sat there. Smoking and drinking tea until the brown teapot was drained.
The moment the door shut behind Sam and Colin I felt a strange pulling in my insides. It was like all my vital organs were shrinking, and my belly was pulled in. My head went very sharp, like, and all the colours in the room felt brighter.
I thought about sending out my thoughts to wherever Thomas was and asking him to please come home, to not do this to me. And his dad. My self, folding in on me, building a thick, invisible skin over my body, a case that I could stare out of later, one that kept me swimming in my own tears inside it.
By the time the four hours was up, I had realised Thomas wasn’t coming back today. One way or another, he was missing. I tried to think about him being kidnapped, or worse, but the thoughts couldn’t crack that shell around me, holding me together.
A panda car arrived at six o’clock, with Sam and Colin in the backseat and two other men in the front. I scanned them for my son but he wasn’t one of them. The curtains across the road moved and my neighbours on either side came out to see what the fuss was.
Children from up the street came to see the panda car and soon everyone was interested in the police visit. The only police activity we usually get on Ney Street is Sam Mackie having a quick ciggie up the ginnel, but everyone knew this was serious. These police were from town. Everyone knew it was serious. Everyone could see me and Colin stood outside. So everyone would know it was about our Thomas.
They all came into the house and I looked at Colin. His eyes were red rimmed and he held his cap in front of him. Sam Mackie stood beside him and the other two men pulled up chairs and sat in front of me.
‘I’m Inspector Little, Mrs Swain. This is DC MacDonald. We’ve come to have a little word about Thomas. Just some information about him.’
I started to tell them what had happened the previous morning, the scene well-rehearsed in my head. They wrote everything down in notebooks and nodded. When I’d got to lunchtime today they stopped me.
‘Look, Bessy, you said that Thomas had his lunch with him? In his Billy can and box? Corned beef sandwiches and tea?’
I nodded, watching as the other man reached into a bag, and everything goes into slow motion. I could hear the tap in the kitchen dripping and I wanted to go and twist it tight to stop it. My face crumbled into disbelief. DC MacDonald produced Thomas’s can and sandwiches, his lunch that I had put up for him. I stared at them.
‘Yes. That’s them. Where did you get them?’
They all looked at each other. Inspector Little spoke.
‘We found them during a search of the route. They were in a front garden, just over the wall. We think someone could have just dropped them there.‘
‘Someone?’
‘Yes. Either Thomas or someone else.’
I snigger. I can’t help it.
‘But why would Thomas throw his dinner over a wall?’
‘Look, Bessy, we have to investigate everything. He could have gone off somewhere, made a plan, gone off with a friend. In that case he could just walk back in anytime. You know what teenagers are like.’
I stared them
out.
‘But Thomas isn’t like that. He’s not that kind of boy. He likes his bed.’
‘His dad told us he likes a pint. He can pass for eighteen easy. Some lads just go off, Bessy. Only they know why. Was he worried about National Service or anything?’
We’d never discussed it. We’d known it was coming, next year, but it was just unspoken. I started to worry that I hadn’t spoken to him enough about adult things. I knew Colin had told him about the birds and the bees. But I hadn’t really talked to him like that. He was still my little boy.
‘No. I don’t think so. He just wanted to go to work, then come home and have his tea. He’s never done anything like this before.’
Colin went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. I could see his hands shaking as he picked up the teapot. I wanted to touch him, tell him I was scared, but I couldn’t. Not with strangers here. Inspector Little carried on.
‘Look, Bessy, the other thing we have to consider is that something has happened to Thomas. You know there’s been other incidents around here of people going missing, kids and teenagers, and we can’t rule out that with Thomas. It’s something else we’re looking at. But I don’t want you to worry. We don’t think it’s that at the moment. We’re thinking he might have just gone on an adventure.’
The casing cracked for a moment and I erupted.
‘An adventure? This isn’t Boy’s bloody Own, you know. It’s my son.’ Colin rushed over and put his hands on my shoulders. A tear squeezed out of my eye and all the men looked relieved that I was upset, as if that’s what should happen next. ‘I just want him to come back. I just want him to come back for his tea.’ I picked up the tea can that’s left on the table as the police filed out of our small living room.
This house used to be my idea of heaven. A manageable little haven for me and my boys, first Colin, then Colin and Thomas. I never wanted any more than this.
The sofa was a bit threadbare, but I always joked that no one could see it with two big men to cover it up. They’d laugh and push each other and rush to sit down when I put the tea out. All shirtsleeves and razor cuts, the two of them.
Random Acts of Unkindness Page 4
