Lottie Project

by Jacqueline Wilson

  More talk.

  ‘No, I want to come anyway. I’ll be with you in ten minutes,’ said Jo, and hung up.

  She ran to the bathroom. I followed her.

  She was on the loo, cleaning her teeth at the same time, shaking her head to wake herself up. She shook it again at me.

  ‘Look, Charlie, I can’t take any sneering from you just now. This is nothing to do with Mark and me. It’s serious.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, biting my knuckle. ‘Has Robin really run away?’

  ‘I don’t know! Mark woke up and he just popped his head into Robin’s room to check up on him – he’d been a bit funny when he put him to bed after the day out – and – and he wasn’t there. Mark says he’s searched everywhere. I don’t see how Robin could have got out the door and run off somewhere, I mean, he’s such a timid little thing – oh God, I keep thinking of awful possibilities . . .’ Jo was nearly in tears as she rushed round the bathroom and then ran back into the bedroom, pulling on jeans and a jacket over her nightie.

  I started yanking on my own clothes too.

  ‘Charlie? Look, you’d better not come. Go back to bed. Maybe you could phone the supermarket later if I’m not back. And you get yourself off to school and—’

  ‘No! I’m coming too! Oh, Jo, something awful will have happened to him, won’t it?’ I clung to her as if I were a tiny kid myself.

  ‘Hey, hey. We’ll find him. He’ll be OK,’ said Jo, although neither of us believed it. ‘Someone will have found him wandering about and—’

  ‘But that’s what I’m scared of. What if some really creepy pervert gets hold of him and—’

  ‘Don’t. No. Look, he’ll have just wandered down the road – maybe sleepwalking, something like that – and he’ll be curled up in a doorway somewhere, perfectly safe, sound asleep.’

  ‘But it’s cold out – really cold for a kid like Robin. And if he was just wearing his pyjamas . . .’

  ‘Mark said his school jumper’s missing too – and his slippers.’

  The thought of Robin setting off in his new too-big school jumper, his pyjamas and his scuffed slippers made me bite my knuckle almost to the bone.

  The lights were all on in Mark’s flat – and there was a police car outside.

  ‘There! They’ve found him,’ said Jo, taking my hand and hauling us both up the stairs.

  But they hadn’t found him. Mark had called the police and was telling them over and over again how he’d looked in on Robin’s room, and he wasn’t in his bed, and he’d gone to the bathroom, he’d gone to the kitchen, gone round and round every room in the house, calling and calling . . . His voice was hoarse now, and his face looked dreadful, pale grey and shiny. He caught hold of Jo but this was different; he was just so desperate to get Robin back safe and she might be able to help.

  I might be able to help.

  I had to tell them.

  I opened my mouth but I couldn’t get the words out.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said this young policewoman, patting my shoulder. ‘We’re doing our very best to find him. We’ve sent out his description and everyone’s searching. Children go missing every week – and they nearly always turn up safe and sound.’

  ‘Not kids as little as Robin. It’s all my fault,’ I said. ‘I made him run away. I even gave him that little cake with GET LOST on it.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Charlie – that was silly, yes, but that’s got nothing to do with it,’ said Jo.

  ‘But I said . . . I said all this hateful stuff . . . when we saw you kissing . . .’ I waited.

  Mark put his hands on my shoulders. His hands dug right into me. ‘What did you say, Charlie?’

  ‘I – I – it was so awful . . .’

  ‘I don’t care how awful. You’ve got to tell us. It might give us some clue where he’s gone. I’ve been running round the streets this past hour, everywhere he goes, down to the shop on the corner, up the road to the park, he’s not anywhere – I’ve looked, I’ve called – and yet how could he have got further, just wearing his slippers, and he hates going for walks, and he’d never go off willingly without me . . .’ Mark’s voice cracked.

  ‘I told him you wouldn’t want him any more,’ I whispered. ‘I didn’t really mean it, I said I was joking, but – but it was a horrible thing to say to him, I’m so sorry, it made him cry in the car going home and I didn’t tell and it’s so awful and if anything’s happened to him—’

  ‘Nothing will have happened to him,’ Jo said, putting her arm round me. We’re nearly the same height and yet I seemed to have shrunk and she’d become a great big enveloping mother. ‘We’ll find him, I promise you, we’ll find him.’ She was promising Mark too, saying it over and over, trying to convince us.

  ‘What did Robin say when you said all this?’ Mark persisted.

  ‘He mentioned his mum. Could he have run away to see her?’ I asked.

  ‘She lives in Manchester. How could he possibly . . . ? But I know he’s been missing her ever since his last visit. Though he always said he wanted to stay with me when I talked to him about it. Oh, Charlie, how could you tell him I didn’t want him?’ said Mark, tears running down his face.

  He wasn’t angry with me. Yet. This was far worse. I started to cry too.

  ‘It was a terrible thing to say but you were angry and upset,’ said Jo. ‘Everyone says terrible things when they feel really bad. Stop it Mark, she’s only a kid herself. Can’t you see how desperately sorry she is? Don’t blame her, blame me. I forced her into that day out. She wasn’t ready for it. We’ve been too close . . .’

  I listened to Jo sticking up for me, making all these excuses. It made me feel worse, the worst person in the whole world.

  Messages kept crackling over the police radio clipped to the policewoman’s shoulder. We froze each time – but it was never to say they’d found him.

  ‘I’ve got to go and search for him again myself,’ said Mark.

  ‘It’ll be light soon. I should wait till then,’ said the policewoman.

  ‘But Robin’s frightened of the dark—’

  ‘He’s probably tucked up in a corner somewhere, fast asleep. We’ve alerted everyone available. They’re all searching. We’ve got the helicopter up too. It’s got this special thermal imaging sweep that works even in the dark. The scanner picks up heat from the body—’

  ‘The body?’ said Mark, his voice cracking.

  ‘From the person, from your little boy, and it gives off a green image. It’s an amazing invention; we’ve had great success with it.’

  But Mark couldn’t wait, couldn’t stay still, so he went off in one of the patrol cars cruising the area. Jo and I waited in his flat with the policewoman. She made us a cup of tea but when I drank it down it made me feel so sick I only just got to the toilet in time. I splashed cold water on my face afterwards and stared at myself in Mark’s bathroom mirror. I felt I was looking at a murderer.

  I’ve never really felt bad about myself before. I could be cheeky, I could be bossy, I could be fierce – but I’d always thought I was one of the good guys. If any little kid at school was getting bullied I’d always charge in and send the bully flying. If anything needed sorting out then all the other kids would turn to me. Everybody liked me. Even the boys.

  But now I’d done the meanest thing in the whole world. It didn’t matter that I was sorry. Robin had run away and maybe he was going to be lost for ever.

  I felt myself folding up so that I was crouching on the bathroom floor, my head banging against the cold edge of the bath. I shut my eyes tight, banging and banging, trying to knock myself backwards, trying to make time tick backwards, so that I could undo and unsay everything. But no matter how I tried I couldn’t stop the hands on my watch moving forward, and every minute Robin was still missing.

  I heard the whirr of the police helicopter overhead. I wondered if they’d be able to spot Robin staggering along a grass verge, crouching down beside a hedge, curled beneath a tree. He might look up and show B
irdie this immense mechanical relation . . . No, if he heard the whirling noise he’d probably be frightened and hide in a doorway, a cardboard box, behind a dustbin, and then he’d never be spotted.

  I could see him so vividly in my head, crying, shivering with the cold, clutching Birdie desperately. And then I saw a sinister shadow beside him, someone reaching out and grabbing him, a hand over his mouth so that he couldn’t scream . . .

  ‘Charlie? Charlie, let me in.’ It was Jo, knocking on the door.

  But I needed to stay in there by myself. I scrunched up tight into a ball and I closed my eyes and I mumbled, Please let Robin be all right, Please let Robin be all right, Please let Robin be all right, over and over, until the words concertinaed. I didn’t dare stop even for a second – not until I heard the front door bang.

  I rushed out of the bathroom. More police. And Mark – holding something small and shabby in his hands.

  ‘Robin?’ I whispered.

  Mark shook his head. ‘I went to the park,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘It’s still too dark to see properly, but I thought I’d check the pond – I always take him there to feed the ducks. And he’s not there – no sign of him – but over by the gate the police officer stood on something. He thought it was a dead bird . . .’

  Mark held out the cloth wings and the stained scarlet chest. Birdie.

  LAW AND ORDER

  Oh my Lord! Baby Freddie is missing and I fear it is all my fault.

  I was worn out and near to despairing with all three children. Freddie kept me up half the night wailing and whimpering, then Louisa would not wear her proper day dress and insisted on putting on her party silk – and then spilt her porridge all down the front. Victor gave me cheek all morning and when I remonstrated he kicked me hard upon the shin.

  I was so cross with my disagreeable and disobedient charges that when we were in the public gardens together I parked the perambulator and stormed off for a few moments by myself, calling all three children as many bad names as I could think of under my breath. When I had calmed down a little I went back again. There was no sound from the perambulator so I assumed baby Freddie had gone to sleep at last. Louisa was over by the pond, feeding the ducks with crusts of stale bread begged from Mrs Angel, while Victor bowled his hoop round and round the pond, singing a vulgar song at the top of his voice.

  I told him to hush and begged Louisa to take care because she was standing right on the edge. Louisa took no notice and hurled a crust wildly, lost her balance and toppled over into the water! The pond is not deep but Louisa went headlong. I had to hitch up my skirts to wade in and grab her. Louisa clutched at me wildly, convinced she was drowning – and over I toppled too.

  Victor shrieked with laughter at the pair of us. I had duckweed streaming from my hair when I struggled out at last, Louisa under one arm. We were both sopping wet.

  ‘Quick! Home at once before we catch our death of cold,’ I said, shivering, conscious that we made a right spectacle. I took hold of the perambulator handle – and peered at the pillow. No baby Freddie! I pulled back the blankets frantically, tossing the pillow to one side. He was gone! I ran desperately around the perambulator, wondering if he could possibly have clambered out by himself. I wondered if Victor was playing another prank on me but one look at his white face made me see that this time he wasn’t joking.

  Someone had snatched baby Freddie and stolen him away! I stopped passersby and asked them if they had seen the little mite. Someone said they’d seen an infant in the arms of some scoundrelly looking creature and I started shrieking. I ran home with Victor and Louisa, pushing the empty perambulator. I had to tell the Mistress. I could scarce get the words out. She had a fit of the vapours at the terrible news and Eliza had to fetch the smelling bottle. Mrs Angel ran down the road to find her policeman friend and he took all the particulars. He swears he will search every thieves’ den in the town, for he thinks Freddie has been stolen to be held to ransom. He is going to write to the police station in the neighbouring district, and a piece will be put in the Police Gazette.

  He said that once he catches the varmint responsible he will have him publicly flogged and if he has harmed the baby then he will hang by the neck until he is dead.

  Oh my Lord, I am so scared. If only I hadn’t stormed off like that. If only I had kept a watch on the perambulator all the time! If only, if only, if only!

  SICKNESS

  ‘They’ll find him,’ Jo kept saying. ‘He’ll be in the park. Or nearby. They’ll find him when it’s light. He’ll have just fallen asleep now, Mark, that’s all.’

  ‘The helicopter hasn’t tracked him down. And we’ve looked everywhere. All over the park,’ said Mark, hugging Birdie to his chest. ‘We called and called. They’re still there now, calling. If he was asleep he’d wake up and hear. He could be in the pond – they’re going to dredge it. He could be lying in a ditch somewhere—’

  ‘Don’t think like that, Sir. There’s no reason to think the worst,’ said the policewoman. ‘I’ve been with parents so many times, and they’ve been going through agonies like this but it’s always turned out well in the end—’

  ‘That’s right, Mark. We’ve got to be positive,’ said Jo, putting her arm round him. She held her other arm out to me. ‘Come here, Charlie.’ But I couldn’t go. I felt too ashamed. Police came, police went. The phone rang but it was Mark’s ex-wife, ringing from an all-night motorway café. She was on her way here with her new man, desperate to know if there was any further news. The policewoman made more tea, endless cups, although no-one took more than a few sips of each fresh brew. Someone switched on the radio at six and tuned it into the local station.

  ‘A five-year-old boy is missing from his home in Newcombe Way,’ said a voice. ‘Little Robin West is small and slight, dark hair, dark eyes, believed to be wearing nightclothes and a grey sweater . . .’

  It made it all so horribly real hearing Robin’s name on the radio. Everyone’s head jerked at the sound.

  More news bulletins kept tuning into my head. Imaginary ones with terrible news. I put my hands over my ears, but I couldn’t block out the sound of my own thoughts.

  Then the police radio crackled again, and the policewoman answered it.

  ‘You’re sure? He’s OK?’

  We all stared, hardly daring to hope.

  ‘Robin?’ said Mark, springing up.

  ‘Yes, I think it is!’ said the policewoman. ‘Small boy, dark hair, found at the railway station. He’d crawled behind a whole pile of parcels awaiting delivery, so no-one spotted him at first.’

  ‘He’s all right?’ said Mark, tears pouring down his face.

  ‘I think so, Sir – but freezing cold, so they’re taking him straight to the hospital. We’ll take you there right away.’

  ‘We have to go too,’ said Jo, pulling me up.

  I didn’t dare believe it until we got to the hospital. I kept thinking it would be some other little boy – it couldn’t be Robin because I was so sure he was lost for ever now, and that it was all my fault, and that I would hate myself for the rest of my life.

  Jo knew, and held my hand very tight all the way there, and when Mark ran forward at the hospital Jo elbowed our way through too.

  ‘She has to see him, just for a few seconds,’ she said when nurses tried to catch hold of us.

  There was something so commanding in her voice that they let us through. There were more nurses at a bed, a doctor with a stethoscope, a policeman, all circling a narrow bed containing a small tinfoil parcel like a chicken ready to be roasted for Sunday dinner. A flushed face peered out of one end, a smaller bird than a chicken. A Robin. ‘Oh, Robin!’ I whispered. ‘It really is you!’

  He didn’t hear me. He was too busy blinking up at Mark.

  ‘Daddy!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘What are you doing here, you silly sausage?’ said Mark, and he bent and kissed the tiny bit of Robin that was exposed. ‘Oh, Robin, you’ve led us a merry dance! Wha
t did you run away for? We’ve been so scared.’

  ‘I was scared too. I wanted Mummy—’

  ‘Mummy’s coming. She’ll be here soon. And you can see her for as long as you like. But Robin, you do know we both love you and want you. You’re the most important little guy in my life. I was so frightened when I found your bed empty.’

  ‘I had a nasty dream and I wanted Mummy so I got Birdie and we thought we’d go and see her.’

  ‘In Manchester? But Robin, how could you possibly think you could walk to Manchester?’ said Mark.

  ‘You get the train. You took me once. We went through the park to the station so that’s what we did, Birdie and me, but when we went past the pond the ducks woke up and quacked at us and scared us and then . . . and then . . .’ Robin burst into tears.

  ‘You dropped Birdie – but look, Robin, look!’ said Mark, producing Birdie, who flew down onto Robin’s chest, one wing touching his cheek. ‘Birdie’s got more sense than you, Robin. He flew home to Daddy.’

  I wanted to talk to Robin myself, to tell him how sorry I was.

  ‘Not now,’ said Jo, pulling me away. ‘He just needs Mark. And we don’t want to be here when his mother comes. We’ll go home.’

  It seemed extraordinary to be back at our flat, having breakfast at the usual time. Whole weeks seemed to have gone by since yesterday.

  ‘You ought really to go back to bed,’ said Jo. ‘You look exhausted.’

  I was far too wound up to sleep. ‘I still can’t believe he’s safe!’ I said.

  ‘I said he would be!’ said Jo, hugging me.

  ‘Don’t, Jo. You’ve been so nice to me. When I was so wicked.’

  ‘But you didn’t mean it.’

  ‘I should still be terribly punished.’

  ‘Well, what do you want me to do? Whip you? Shut you up in a cupboard for a week? Shave all your lovely long hair off and paint you purple?’