She was getting hysterical, and actually, I didn’t want to hear about how awful it was for her. I felt like giving her a good slap. She was sobbing now, and Lance was trying to calm her, leading her to her car, knowing she was doing me no good at all, talking to her in the voice one reserves for – who was it now? – yes, that’s it, the bereaved. Send her home, send her home, I prayed. She was nodding as he cajoled her into the front seat, and I saw her reach, sniffing, for the ignition key. As I watched her drive off, I wondered if I was actually here at all. Wondered whether this was real, or if I was actually in a hospital bed – I felt sick enough – coming round from some ghastly anaesthetic dream which would disappear just as soon as the gas wore off. Lance came back to me.
“I gave her a job. She’s going to ring all the girls in Lucy and Claudia’s class, just to make sure she hasn’t tried to get hold of one of them. That sent her packing.”
I was in the hallway now, front door open, looking desperately for Johnny’s number on the hall table. I felt incredibly dizzy.
“So they’ll all know,” I trembled. “All her friends will know she’s missing.”
“We can’t keep it a secret, Olivia. We have to find her, that’s all that matters.”
I touched my forehead. Of course that was all that mattered. What was I thinking of? Losing face amongst the class mothers?
“Now, Johnny?” He picked up the receiver, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
“Yes, I know but I can’t find the bloody number!” I sifted through papers, lifting them up and letting them drop with hopeless hands.
“Well, what’s it written on?”
“The back of a milk bill, I think – ah! Here!” My trembling fingers pounced on the scrap I’d jotted it down on, not wanting the number in my address book. Too permanent somehow. I dialled. Nina answered.
“Is Johnny there?” I barked. No niceties now. And she knew it was me. Didn’t bother to ask. Yet I’d never rung there before, he always rang here. He came on.
“Liwy?”
“Johnny, is Claudia with you?”
“Of course not. I’ve just this minute got back from you, why?”
I explained in a quavering voice. He was silent. I waited for the storm to break, the how-could-you-have-let-her-out-of-your-sights, the recriminations.
“Oh Christ, this is all my fault,” he said quietly. “I’ve put her in this mess. This is my doing. She came back to see me.”
I was stunned, but I rallied. “Of course it’s not your fault, Johnny, but we must find her. Ask Nina, has she tried to ring while you were out?”
He turned and I heard him talk to her. I had to close my eyes, clench my teeth, so painful did I find the sound of their murmuring voices. He came back.
“No, she hasn’t. Liwy, I’ll come down. Ring the police and I’ll come down.”
“No, Johnny, she may be coming to see you! She’s got your address, remember, and you won’t be there!”
“Nina will be here in case she arrives. I have to be with you on this one, Liwy.”
I shut my eyes again. He had to be with me. But he’d qualified it. On this one, Liwy.
“OK.” I put down the phone, swung round to Lance. “She’s not there. Now I’ll ring the police.” As I went for the receiver, his hand closed on mine.
“In a minute. Just check first – has she taken any money?”
“Oh!” I dropped the receiver. “I don’t know…Wait!”
I raced upstairs two at a time, dashed into her room and seized her china pig. I pulled out the plug. I knew she had about thirty pounds, enough to get her to London and back. It was still there.
“No!” I screamed as I crashed back down the stairs. “It’s still there – that’s good, isn’t it?” I panted, hanging over the banisters, pleading for confirmation. Surely it meant she wasn’t in London, and what on earth could happen to her round here?
“I think it is,” he said slowly. “I think it means she isn’t far away. Nanette?”
“Oh God, of course! Nanette!”
I jumped the last few steps and lunged again for the phone. Roger was in, Nanette was at her mother’s, and no, he hadn’t seen Claudia. I could feel my courage draining.
“Who else?” demanded Lance. “Your mother?”
“Yes – brilliant, my mother! But she’d need money to – ”
“Ring her anyway.”
I did. She was out. Her answer machine was on. Lance paced up and down the hall, biting his lower lip, eyes narrowed. I watched helplessly.
“What would she do,” he muttered, “on a normal day, on a normal Sunday morning? What would she do?” He swung round, his eyes interrogating me. I fought to think.
“Read maybe, or – or go upstairs and play on the playstation, write an E-mail to a friend.”
“OK, but if she was outside?” he urged. “If she was out in the garden?”
“Well, her bike, I suppose, or – Her bike!”
I ran out of the front door and round the side passage to the shed. Lance followed.
“It’s gone!” I yelled. “Her bike’s gone!”
“Right,” he breathed. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Oh, Lance, she’s just gone for a bike ride! That’s all, isn’t it?”
“Hopefully. And Lucy’s mother’s ringing all her classmates because there’s a good chance she’d ride to one of them, isn’t there?”
“Well, not normally. She’s not allowed out of The Crescent, but – ”
“OK, so where else did she ride it? With you, maybe, but today she tries it on her own. Think!”
“In the park,” I said quickly. “We’d both ride together up to the lake, and also along the tow path by the stream; it runs along the back of The Crescent.”
“Right. I’ll take the park and the lake, you take the tow path. If we meet back here with no joy in ten minutes, we’ll call the police.”
“Shouldn’t we do that now? They could take a description of her and – ”
“Time,” he interrupted. “All of that takes time, all those questions, forms to fill in – and the chances are, if we’re quick, we’ll catch up with her.”
“OK,” I agreed, “but back here at – ” we glanced at our watches – “quarter to.”
Off I raced, back down the garden, but this time, with a slightly lighter heart. She wasn’t on a train, she wasn’t in London, she wasn’t doing drugs in a squat. She was just pootling about on her bike, waiting for Mummy to come home. Oh, thank God. I crossed the bridge and turned right along the tow path. I liked to go the other way, where the trees dipped into the water and the moorhens gathered underneath with their broods, but I knew Claudia preferred this way. This was her beat, with lots of rises and dips to pedal up fast, and shoot down again. As I hurried round a bend, I nearly mowed down an old lady walking her pug.
“Oh – sorry!” I steadied myself, holding her shoulders. “Have you seen a girl?” I panted. “Of about ten, riding her bike?”
“I haven’t dear,” she said, startled. She adjusted her cardigan where I’d held her. She made to move on, but as I broke into a run again, she called me back.
“Oh – I say!”
I swung about.
“There is a bike, though. Further along, in the hedgerow. I noticed it as I came round.”
I stared at her. Couldn’t speak. She raised her walking stick in salute, and went on her way. A bike. In the hedgerow. Full of fear and foreboding I raced around the corner – and there it was. Claudia’s bike. Pink, too young for her she’d insisted recently, too Barbie doll, with a basket on the front, and in her basket, an apple and a book. No Claudia.
My eyes shot about. “CLAUDIA!” I screamed, my heart pounding. Silence.
“CLAUDIAAA!” I felt bile rush to my mouth. My eyes darted back to the bike, abandoned on its side, front wheel at an acute angle, like a silent distress signal. Oh God, she must have been dragged off the path, into the bushes! A strangled sob reared up my throat.
Through the bracken I crashed, sobbing now.
“CLAUDIA! CLAUDI-AA!”
Low branches tore at my clothes and face as I plunged off in all directions, going round in circles, always coming back to the same spot, glancing helplessly at the bike before tearing off again.
“Oh God, oh God,” I sobbed, stumbling further down along the tow path. A couple of amorous teenagers, arms and tongues entwined as they walked blindly towards me, eyes shut, were suddenly confronted by a mad woman, face scratched and bleeding, sobbing wildly.
“Have you seen a girl!” I cried.
“What?” The spotty youth unstuck his lips and blinked, startled.
“A girl! Look, there’s her bike back there – about ten, in red shorts probably – have you seen her?”
“Nah, sorry, luv.” He made to move on.
“Oh yeah, hang abou’.” His girlfriend held his arm. “Yeah, we did, remember? What about the one wiv that man, Gary? You know, the one back there?”
“What man!” I roared, voice hoarse but nearly fainting with fear.
Gary shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Yeah, he was, he was wiv one,” she insisted. She turned to me. “A little girl. She was wearin’ red shorts an’ all, and he ‘ad her by the arm.”
Oh God. Oh dear Jesus and God. “Which way?” I choked.
“Over there.” She pointed behind me. I swung about. She was pointing across the other side of the stream, back to The Crescent, to the row of back gardens.
“She was cryin’ an’ that, too, weren’t she, Gary?”
“Dunno.”
“Yeah, she was, an’ I watched them go, ‘cos I fought it was funny, wasn’t sure if he was her dad, an’ he took ‘er up that parf, into that house there.”
“Which one?” I breathed.
“There, that one wiv the green back door, over there.”
She jabbed her finger. I followed it. Stared – then froze with horror. My heart nearly stopped completely. Oh God. Oh dear God Almighty. Sebastian. It was Sebastian’s house.
12
I flew across the footbridge and down the path that led along the back of The Crescent gardens. Sebastian’s house was in the middle, tall, and red brick at the back, in contrast to its white stucco façade, and with a strip of immaculate lawn stretching down to wrought-iron railings and a gate at the bottom. With a pounding heart I ran along the path to the gate. He’d forced her through here, sobbing, the bastard. Had her arm in a vicelike grip. The gate was still open. I ran through, then, realising the French windows at the back of the house were also wide open, veered left and shot behind a shed. I flattened myself against it for a moment, panting hard. I had to get her out of there, but I had to be careful. If I charged in, all guns blazing, he might put a kitchen knife to her throat, hold her hostage or something. Oh yes, I thought, my mind racing, it was all becoming very clear now. He was obviously taking some sort of warped revenge for having my sexual exploits thrust in his face by Lance. Perhaps he was impotent, or – or maybe he had designs on me himself, was plucking up the courage to ask me out and had come to the door on the pretext of delivering leaflets, but then had had to listen to Lance’s account of me, wallowing in Radox, bug-eyed with sexual exhaustion. Well, that was enough to send anyone remotely remedial into a complete lather, enough to make him bide his time, wait, watch, and then take revenge. Enough to make him take my baby. A sob tore up my throat. I gulped it back down, clenching my teeth.
Peering cautiously round the shed, I narrowed my eyes. I could just about see into the drawing room, but the bright sunlight made it too dark for me to determine if anyone was in there. I had to make an angled dash across the lawn, aim for the outside wall of the house, flush with the French windows, and hope for the best. Head down and bent forward, I went for it, leaping an immaculate flowerbed and making it to the relative safety of the wall. I flattened myself against it, heart going like a bongo drum. Slowly I inched my way along the doorframe and peeped round. I could hear noises, voices, and for a moment I thought there were a few people in the room, until I realised the television was on. I couldn’t see anyone, except – yes. Suddenly I realised that that was Claudia, sitting hunched in an armchair at the back of the room. Except I hardly recognised her. Her hair looked lank and too dark, and she was wearing a dressing gown. A man’s dressing gown. His dressing gown. A little yelp escaped my lips and I could bear it no longer. A garden rake was propped up against the wall beside me. I seized it and charged in.
“CLAUDIA, GET BEHIND ME!” I shrieked, spreading out my arms and brandishing the rake at the rest of the room. Claudia looked up from the television in astonishment.
“Mum!”
“Get behind me!” I yelled.
“But – ”
“JUST DO IT!”
Claudia, never having seen me in totally-lost-it mode, waving a rake, leapt up and scuttled behind me.
“Why?” she whispered.
“Where is he?” I barked.
“Who?”
“Sebastian!”
“Oh well, around, I think.”
Around. I swung about, pushing her behind me, still shielding her with my body, glancing furtively in corners, waiting for him to pounce out from behind one of those dark pieces of furniture at any moment.
“Now, back,” I hissed.
“What?”
“Back! Go backwards, out of the French windows!”
Catching the madness and urgency in my voice, Claudia obeyed. Clutching her dressing gown to her, she started reversing out, wide-eyed. I backed with her, eyes darting everywhere.
“Did he touch you, my love?” I whispered brokenly.
“What d’you mean?”
“Well, did he – ” I choked back a strangled sob – “hurt you in any way?”
“Of course not!”
I swung round to see her staring in astonishment at me.
“But he took your clothes?”
“Yes, but – ”
“The bastard!” I spat. “The rotten, dirty, filthy bastard. How dare he – aha!”
A figure materialised from the shadows. A figure coming through the far door, bearing a tray of tea and biscuits. Sebastian, in a white shirt and faded brown cords, blinked in surprise as he confronted a scratched and bleeding woman in his sitting room, legs planted wide apart and bent at the knee like a sumo wrestler, hands gripping either end of a horizontal garden rake, kung fu style.
“Aha!” I cried again, bracing myself, head stuck forward and moving slowly from side to side, like a bull facing a matador. “So! You’ve finally slunk out, have you, you little piece of filth! Come one step closer and I swear to God I’ll – Stay where you are!”
Sebastian stopped, astonished. “Good Lord, what on earth – ”
“Don’t you Good Lord me,” I hissed, “you dirty, scummy degenerate – Keep backing away, Claudia!”
Claudia, who for a moment had popped her startled head out, hastily obeyed and began making her way out to the garden.
“Now run!” I yelled over my shoulder. “Run home and I’ll cover you. I’ll follow later. Now! GO!”
Claudia didn’t wait to argue with a mother in this mood. She took to her heels and scampered off, scared witless, no doubt.
“Mrs McFarllen, are you taking drugs?” enquired Sebastian calmly.
“How dare you?” I breathed as I slowly followed my daughter, backing out, but keeping my rake rigid at chest level. “How dare you abduct a poor defenceless child? You’re not just a harmless halfwit like everyone says, you’re a bloody pervert! The lowest of the low! D’you know what happens to people like you in prison? Hmm? Do you? Do you know what your fellow inmates will do to you?”
“Good god,” he muttered. “You need help.”
“Help!” I barked derisively. “Ha! You’re the one who needs help, you little creep, and I’ll see that you get it – in spades! You were seen,” I hissed, curling my lip, “by a decent, upright young couple out walking, seen dragging an innocent
child, screaming, sobbing, on her knees practically, into your house!”
“This is outrageous!” His face clouded and he came towards me.
“NO CLOSER!” I bellowed, swinging the rake so it pointed straight at him. I brandished it at his chest. “No closer or I’ll – ”
THWACKK! As he took another step I jerked the rake up, slamming it under the tray and sending it flying. It performed a neat somersault, and steaming Lapsang Souchong and garibaldis leapt high in the air – then splashed straight down in his face.
“Christ!” he clutched his eyes.
Temporarily blinded, he staggered about a bit, and I took advantage. I flung down the rake, shot one last look at the stumbling, gasping figure with his face in his hands – then fled. Up the immaculate lawn I tore, leaping the flowerbed, through the gate, down the towpath, through our own wrought-iron gate, then back down the garden, through the French windows – and home. I slammed the glass doors shut behind me, shooting bolts across at top and bottom with quivering hands. I spun round.
“Claudia!”
No answer.
“CLAUDIAAA!”
“In here,” came a flat, dead-pan voice.
I flew off in its general direction and found her, sitting with Lance, at the kitchen table. She was still huddled in the dressing gown and drinking orange juice straight from a carton. I dropped to my knees beside her.
“Darling, oh, my poor darling,” I sobbed, hugging her knees. “Are you all right? Shall I call the police?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mum. You’ve made a complete and utter pill of yourself,” snapped Claudia, shaking me off. “I’m so embarrassed. He didn’t hurt me at all, he just hauled me out of the river.”
My mouth fell open. I sat back on my heels, then stood up. “Wh-what?”
“My bike hit a rut and I went in headfirst, bumped my head on a rock. He was at an upstairs window and saw what happened. He came out to help me. I was absolutely soaking so he lent me a dressing gown and put my clothes in the tumble dryer.”
“But – they said you were crying,” I gasped. “And being held by him!”
“I was crying. I cut my knee, look.” She lifted the dressing gown to show a newly bandaged knee with blood still seeping through. “It hurt like anything, and he wasn’t holding me, he was just helping me ‘cos I was limping so much. I could hardly walk. I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life, Mum. He was so kind and put a bandage on, and made tea and everything, and then you appear like bloody Boadicea, looking totally insane, screaming and hollering, with blood all over your face and twigs and things coming out of your head, and a rake, for God’s sake. You looked like such a spasmo.”
Olivia’s Luck (2000) Page 18
