by Vivien Brown
Patsy nodded. ‘Okay. I suppose. If that’s what you want.’ To be honest, she didn’t feel she was really being given much of a choice. ‘But, Michael, what did Ruby actually say? Is she refusing to let you see Lily, or what?’
‘Letter’s there on the table,’ he said, his voice edged with impatience. He pointed at it, angrily, not even looking Patsy in the eye. ‘Read it for yourself. Bitch!’
Then he was gone, his mother scurrying after him, the front door banging fit to break, without so much as a kiss on the cheek by way of goodbye, leaving her not 100 per cent sure whether it was Ruby or herself he was calling names.
*
The knocking at the door made Lily jump. She wanted it to be the iron man back again. This time she would talk to him, and tell him her Mummy was lost. Sometimes only grown-ups knew what to do.
Knock! Knock! The cat’s ears had pricked right up at the sudden sound, and his claws flicked out, scraping down Lily’s bare arm as he jumped down off the bed, yowling, his tail almost knocking over the lamp on the cupboard beside it. It didn’t matter about the scratch. He hadn’t meant to do it. All she wanted to do was follow him, hold on to him, make him stay, so she wouldn’t be on her own again, but he moved so quickly, running out of the bedroom and towards the door.
By the time she had climbed down to the floor and gone after him, all she could see was the tip of his furry tail disappearing as he shot out through the cat flap, leaving it clattering behind him.
In the hallway outside the flat, she could hear voices. A lady and a man, talking. It wasn’t the iron man this time. It was someone else. Voices she didn’t know. She heard the lady talking to the cat. ‘Smudge, there you are!’ the lady squealed, and Lily could tell she was all happy and excited, even though it sounded like she was crying too.
‘See, I told you,’ the man said. ‘I knew he wouldn’t have gone far. Ah, look, the poor old thing looks as pleased to see you as you are to see him. He’s rubbing all round your legs! Probably hungry by now, and trying to say he knows who’s got the tuna!’
Lily flattened herself on the floor and poked her hand out very carefully through the flap, the plastic rubbing hard against her sore arm. She wanted the cat to come back, but she also wanted someone to help her now, someone nice who would come inside and get her some food and a drink, and tell her where Mummy was.
‘Now we just need to sort out this damned leak. Bloody great box left here on the step too, I see. Looks like some kind of parcel delivery. That doesn’t bode well for someone being at home, does it? Smudge! Smudge! Get off there. Oh, God, Mother, he’s only gone and peed on it!’
And then the knocking came again, heavier and louder this time. It was very close by, making the door shake in its frame, and Lily pulled her hand back inside, quickly.
‘Naughty boy, Smudge. Oh, William, what was that?’ It was the lady talking. ‘Look. That flap down there. It just moved, I swear it did. Surely there’s not another cat living here? I’ve never seen it, if there is.’
‘Well, that could explain things. Maybe our old Smudgey has a girlfriend!’ the man said, laughing. ‘Not quite as old and past it as we thought he was, even if he can’t control his bladder. No wonder he stayed out all night!’
Lily didn’t know what to do. They were just behind the door, but she didn’t know who they were. She could shout, or cry, or push her hand out through the flap again. She could get the kiddie step and stand on it and open the door, even though Mummy had told her she must never, never do that. Whatever she did, she knew she didn’t want the people to go, like the iron man had when he’d just left the things outside and walked away.
‘I’m sure I can hear something inside,’ the man said. ‘Listen. It doesn’t sound like a cat to me.’
‘Then, if it’s a person, why aren’t they coming to the door? Oh, I do hope everything’s all right. You don’t think someone’s hurt, do you? That could be why Smudge went in. He’s very tuned into human emotions, you know. I’ve noticed that before. He always knows when I’m feeling a bit down, or under the weather. Comes and cuddles up to me, he does.’
‘Someone hurt? It’s possible. Or hiding, more like! Not wanting to face us and own up to the water damage. I’ll give it one more try.’
He knocked again. ‘Hello! Anyone home?’
‘That was definitely a sound just behind the door. Someone’s in there all right! Oh, William, do something. Should we call an ambulance, or the police or something?’
‘Stop panicking, Mother. You really do watch too many TV dramas, don’t you? It’ll be nothing. Look, I’ll have a peep in through the cat flap, all right? If there’s a body in the hall, I’m bound to spot it!’
‘Stop mocking me, William, and just do it!’
Lily saw the flap move. She lay on the floor and watched, half terrified, half relieved, as big man-sized fingers pushed through and stayed there, holding it open, and an eye appeared, looking straight into hers.
‘There is someone.’ The man was talking to the lady outside again, but his voice was much quieter now. ‘But it’s not a body, Mother. It’s a child.’
PART TWO
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ruby
Where does reality end and dreams begin? Who knows? I’m not sure which one I’m in anyway, but I’m not following him. Really, honestly, I’m not. It’s lunchtime, and the sun’s out. So are all the holidaymakers. And me.
The beach is crowded, and so is the pier, and all the seats are occupied. I remember the heat, the noise, the press of people. People eating their sandwiches and their chips, and licking ice creams, and the seagulls hovering. I watch him come out of the bank, loosen his tie, wipe his hand across his forehead and look up into the sun. He smiles. He’s not wearing his jacket and I can see the sweat pool on his shirt, spreading under his armpit. Damp, dirty, real. There’s a newspaper tucked under his arm, rolled up, clutched against his side. He pulls a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. Big, dark, aviator style. When he puts them on he disappears inside them. Anonymous, faceless, not Michael Payne any more. But I know who he is.
Mrs Castle says I’m too trusting, that I want to be everyone’s friend but that it’s not always possible to be. She’s always telling me about boundaries, telling me to protect myself, to be careful. Careful of what? He’s not dangerous. He’s nice. And he does like me. I know he does. He smiles when I go into the bank with the money. He doesn’t pull away when my fingers touch his as I pass the coins through under the glass. I don’t think he knows that I’m waiting for him to notice me. But I am, and he will.
I walk a little way behind him, tracing his footsteps, squinting into the light, dodging in and out of the crowds. He walks slowly, enjoying the day. I walk slowly too. Breathe slowly. Think slowly. He goes into one of the sandwich places, dipping into his pocket for change, and joins the queue. I wait, looking in shop windows, until he comes out again clutching a carrier bag, the newspaper still there under his arm. I know he’s looking for somewhere to sit down, but there’s nowhere. I walk behind him again, watching my own feet moving, making noisy footsteps on the pavement. In the end, he just plants himself on a wall, down by the sea, stretches his legs out, takes a triangular packet of sandwiches out of the carrier bag, and a bottle of water. I find a place on the same wall, further along, stretch my feet out in front, try not to trip anybody up. The wall feels hard, cold against my legs, despite the warmth of the day. He spreads his paper out and reads as he eats. I don’t think he sees me, doesn’t look up at all. I wish he would.
An older woman comes out of one of the shops across the road, clutching a bottle of water, waving, calling his name. I watch her cross, see him stand up and hug her, not too tightly, and without passion. She’s too old to be a threat, anyway. Maybe his mother, a neighbour or an aunt? They talk for a while. Not long. She looks at her watch and goes away again. I wish he would hug me like that, but tighter, and for longer. I wish he would sit easily beside me, and let the crowds go by and ignore them
, and talk to me and listen to the sea.
I don’t know what it is I can hear now, but it’s there all the time, just like the sea. It rushes in and retreats, over and over again, making its whooshing sounds. It never seems to stop. It’s there, even when I’m asleep. Am I asleep now? I don’t really know. I’m not sure where I am at all. But the sea keeps moving in and out. I hear it above, behind, inside everything else. Continuous. Calming. Careful. And I feel warm, protected, safe.
She told me I was good for him. The woman by the sea. Geraldine. She said I was like a breath of fresh air. Fresh, sea air.
She was there with me later. When Lily was born, when there was nothing but pain. Air. Gas and air. Breathe it in, Ruby. Breathe. Deep, deep breaths.
She held my hand, let me squeeze it as I wriggled and screamed, stayed with me when they decided to cut. I try to move my hand now, to reach for her fingers. Or his. She’s not here, and neither is he. But Lily is, and she’s not a baby any more. She’s bigger now. Walking, talking. She’s reaching out her hand to me. If I could just stretch that little bit further, touch her fingers through the glass … But I can’t. I look away, towards the sea. Michael finishes eating and throws his crumbs to the birds. And when I look for Lily again, she’s gone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
William pushed his hand further through the flap and touched the smaller one on the other side of the door. It was hot and damp, and it didn’t pull away.
‘Where’s my mummy?’ The voice was tiny and high. It was a little girl, her blonde hair matted into rat’s tails, lying on the floor, her eyes wide and pleading. As she gripped his fingers, hard, he heard her start to cry. Great sobs seemed to shake through her. He could feel her hand tremble as it gripped on to him for dear life.
‘It’s okay. Don’t worry. Is Mummy not in there with you?’
The child shook her head. ‘No,’ she gulped.
‘Well, I’m going to find her for you, little one. Everything’s going to be all right, I promise. Now, can you tell me your name?’
She opened her mouth, but no words came out, just a huge sob.
‘It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. My name’s William. All right? William. And I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help you. Now, tell me, where did Mummy go? Do you know?’
She shook her head, just enough to register a no.
‘Can you open the door for me? Can you reach?’
The child didn’t answer.
‘did Mummy tell you not to open the door?’ Still nothing. He lifted his head for a moment, just by an inch or two, and coughed, trying to clear his mouth of dust.
‘Oh, William, what shall we do? Do you think she’s really on her own in there?’ Agnes put the wriggling cat down in the hallway and lifted her hands to her face, covering her eyes for a moment, then running her fingers up over her forehead and through her hair. ‘I mean, you hear about these things, read them in the papers, about children being abandoned, left alone. Mothers going to work, or out for the evening, or even on holiday, and leaving their children locked in alone. But, here? Here, right under our noses? How could she do a thing like this? And where’s the father?’
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions, Mother. Anything could have happened. First things first.’ He turned his attention back to the little girl, still clinging to his hand. His shoulder was pressed hard into the floor and his neck was stiffening up. He couldn’t stay down here much longer.
‘Okay, can you stand up now and see if you can open the door for me? I won’t go away, I promise. And I will find out what’s happened to your mummy, but we have to get the door open first, don’t we? We have to get you out of there.’ He eased his fingers out of her grasp and watched her slide back, away from him. He could see that her feet were bare, and so were her legs, small and pale under a shiny blue dress that was badly crumpled and undone at the back. ‘Good girl. Tiptoes now. Find something to stand on if you have to. That’s it. Good girl. Now try to turn the catch for me.’
William raised his head from the dirty floor and slowly stood up. There was dust in his hair and in the back of his throat. As he tried again to cough it free, he could hear her moving something around behind the door.
‘That’s it. Just twist it and pull. Can you do that?’ He could feel his mother beside him, gripping his arm, and the cat, still weaving his way between their legs, rubbing, purring, hoping to be fed.
Then the lock clicked and the door opened, inwards, just by a crack at first, and her fingers appeared, wrapped around the door, tugging at the edge, and there she was, tears streaming in lines down her dirty face. A toddler, half naked, her legs smeared with excrement, her eyes red and sore from crying, her arms held up, covered in streaks of blood, just begging to be saved. Agnes let out a gasp and rushed forward, scooping the girl up, the tiny arms latching immediately and oh so tightly around her neck.
‘Oh, my God. William, just look at her. The poor little mite. Come on, I’m going to get her downstairs quickly and clean her up. I bet she’s had nothing to eat or drink either. However long must she have been in there by herself?’
‘God knows.’ William pushed the door fully open and hovered on the threshold. The phone was making that howling noise they made when they’d been left off the hook. He picked up the receiver and dropped it back in its cradle. Sounds coming from the lounge told him that the TV was on. Or maybe a radio. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Anyone at home?’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ Agnes said. ‘If anyone was in there, I think they’d have made themselves known by now, don’t you? Unless … Well, you’d better take a quick look, just in case someone’s …’ She stopped, not wanting to say the unthinkable in front of the child who was now snuggled in close to her, her little chubby legs tightened around her waist, her sobs smothered in Agnes’s woolly chest as she bent to kiss the top of her head. ‘And see if you can find something for her to wear while you’re in there. The poor thing’s so cold, and she’s half bare, with her dress all undone, and no socks or tights or anything. Then I think we’d best call the police, right away, don’t you? There’s something very wrong here, William. Very wrong indeed.’
*
Laura usually went to see her mum and dad on her days off, but she was tired, more so than usual after working several long days in a row, and she just wanted to take things easy, stay in with a packet of biscuits and a pile of magazines and whatever the TV had to offer.
Gina, her flatmate, was working today, so she had the place to herself. Gina had left early for her shift, trying to creep about but not quite managing it. When she’d dropped a cereal bowl on the kitchen floor, the sound of smashing china, not to mention the barely suppressed swearing, had reverberated through the bedroom wall, and Laura’s plan for a lie-in had been scuppered before it even started. It was hard to relax knowing there were still little sharp pieces of broken china scattered about the corners of the kitchen floor, and a heap of last night’s mucky dishes teetering in the sink. So, she’d got up and taken the bus to the hospital to see Lily. Stupid behaviour on her day off, but the girl had got to her.
Now, back at the flat, she was watching a doctor on the TV talking about flu jabs to protect the elderly. As if she didn’t get enough medical stuff at work, now she had to listen to it at home as well. It reminded her that winter would soon be setting in. Another Christmas on the way, another round of snow and ice and transport delays, woolly hats and scarves and furry boots, and cramming onto the bus at the crack of dawn when it was still dark, let alone all the patients coming in who’d slipped over on the ice or couldn’t stop coughing. She would have to get a flu jab herself to keep all those germs at bay. How depressing!
What she needed was something to cheer her up, a bit of fun, something – or someone – to bring some sparkle into her life. She was only twenty-four. She shouldn’t be sitting about with nothing but the housework to look forward to, letting life pass her by. Laura smiled to herself. Fantasy time. She c
losed her eyes. A boyfriend, that was what she needed. Tall, dark, Johnny Depp-style handsome. Someone to go for a walk in the park with, kicking at the piles of crispy leaves and feeding the ducks, would be nice, or to stroll round a museum with, or just go for pizza. But a fantasy was all it was at the moment. Likely candidates had been a tad thin on the ground lately. It was a nice day out there too, for October. There was a peep of sun between those clouds. Ideal dating weather, if ever she saw it.
It had been all of eight months since she’d split up with Kevin. Not that he’d ever been the love of her life, or that she even missed him all that much, but she did miss the idea of him. Someone she could call ‘my boyfriend’, who would walk into parties by her side, not necessarily even holding her hand but at least sharing a bottle of beer they’d bought together at the offie on the way, and who could make up the numbers when she was asked for a meal somewhere and stop her being the odd one out stuck at the end of the table and calling for a taxi for one to get her home. It made her look less sad and desperate, sound less alone somehow, when there was someone in her life to take on the boyfriend title and hang onto it past the first couple of tentative dates. And who wasn’t so keen to get straight into her pants that he forgot to ask what she liked to drink or what kind of films she preferred or, worse still, forgot her name.
Of course, there was always the vicar guy she’d met this morning. Paul. He had seemed really nice. A genuine sort of a person, but then a vicar would be, wouldn’t he? She’d felt very comfortable around him, less flustered. And despite the tiredness and the TV and the mess waiting to be sorted out in the kitchen, she found that he kept popping back up into her thoughts. His hair, his eyes, that slightly crooked smile. He was certainly her type, in the looks department at least. But boyfriend material? A vicar? She laughed. Probably not.
