by Rebecca Tope
She was at least right about the gender. Janina, the Bulgarian nanny, came flying into the house, bringing cold air and hot panic with her. ‘Quickly!’ she cried. ‘You have to help me. It’s Ben.’
Ben? For a second, Thea could not remember who that was. Instead, she heard it as Nicky, the little boy who had a habit of wandering off and getting himself involved in situations where he had no business. ‘Ben?’ she said. Then she got it – the other boy, Nicky’s brother. Of course.
‘The school called, and said I should fetch him. I did, just now, and tried to take him home. But he screamed and said he couldn’t go into the house ever again. He is crazy, like I never saw before. And strong. He is six, and I cannot manage him. So I came here. I thought perhaps Kate would help, but no – you are better.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In the car. Just here.’
‘Should we take him to a doctor? It sounds like a sort of breakdown.’ Did six-year-old children have breakdowns, she wondered?
‘Listen to me. I am trained in child psychology. I know him better than a doctor would. I believe he must be obeyed in what he wishes. His house has become horrible to him.’ She was agitatedly swaying in and out of the house as she spoke, staring back at the car, which she had driven across the slippery yard, almost to the door. ‘Come now, will you please?’
Thea had nothing on her feet but socks. Her boots were at the back door, and she could not remember where she’d left her shoes. It seemed an insuperable problem. Her dog had gone out, and was jumping up at the car, trying to get a good view of the child inside.
‘Let me find my shoes,’ she said, struggling to remain calm. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
Her trainers were in the kitchen, and she fought her way into them, tempted just to get them half on, the laces undone and the backs trodden down, but a small voice of good sense told her she might need to move quickly, and loose shoes would be a real hindrance.
‘What did the school say exactly?’
Janina shook her head. ‘They said a child ought not to be sent to school so soon after such a trauma. That he was emotionally unstable and could not stop crying. He has not cried before today. That is quite normal. He is not able to understand what has happened, not fully. It is better to keep quiet and still, and wait for everything to make sense again.’
‘But that isn’t what’s happening to him, is it?’
‘Maybe it is. But I have to find him somewhere warm and safe, before I can work out what he’s feeling – and thinking. He is afraid of something.’
Join the club, thought Thea.
They persuaded the little boy into the barn relatively easily. He looked around suspiciously, his face smeary with tears and mucus. He really was so much less appealing than Nicky, Thea noted. It had to affect the way people treated them. As if reading her thoughts, Ben muttered, ‘Is Nicky here?’
‘No, no. He’s still at nursery,’ Janina assured him. ‘He’s there all day today, remember?’
Ben gave an uninterested twitch of his shoulders, but seemed relieved to be the only child present.
‘Shall I get you a drink or something?’ Thea asked. ‘Have you had any lunch?’
He shook his head. Janina sat close to him on the sofa. ‘It was lunchtime when the trouble started, wasn’t it?’ she said. ‘Can you say what happened?’
A firmer shake of the head.
‘Was it about your mummy?’
‘No!’
Janina took a deep breath, and threw Thea a look of despair. Thea responded cautiously. ‘Ben, did somebody say something? I remember when I was at school, there was always some silly person who would upset me by being rude about somebody I loved. Usually it was my little sister, Jocelyn. They used to say she was fat – well, she was, quite – and that made me so angry.’
It was moderately successful. The child was watching her face, listening to her words. ‘Yeah,’ he said heavily. ‘People say things.’
‘Was that what made you cry?’
He nodded reluctantly. ‘They said George was a tramp.’
Aha! The two women exchanged triumphant glances, despite their surprise. ‘You’re upset about George?’ echoed Thea. Then she remembered that both children had seen their friend’s dead body, whereas they had no actual evidence of their mother’s permanent loss. It made sense that the first death would make the greater impact.
‘Yes, that is dreadfully sad,’ she sympathised. ‘And he was your friend – is that right?’
‘Yeah,’ muttered Ben. ‘He was our friend.’ The words felt hollow, mechanical, repeated for convenience rather than from any sincere feelings.
‘George was kind to the boys,’ Janina supplied. ‘Especially Nicky.’
A bad mistake. A look of revulsion and rage crossed Ben’s face. ‘I was his favourite,’ he said firmly. ‘Not Nicky. Nicky’s a baby, can’t keep a secret.’
Thea’s heart thumped. Surely secret had to be one of the great buzzwords of the age, when associated with children. Dark suspicions came crowding in, alien thoughts that Thea had so far successfully kept at arm’s length.
‘You mean going to see Granfer Jack, don’t you?’ said Janina, leaning forward, pushing her face urgently close to Ben’s. ‘We were supposed to keep quiet about that, because Mummy would be cross with me and George. Nicky didn’t tell her, did he?’
The little boy slumped, as if under a great weight, his head drooping hopelessly. ‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘That’s right.’
Janina wouldn’t drop it. ‘But did he? Did Nicky tell her?’
Ben shook his head. ‘No, he didn’t,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t let him. He just said he was George’s favourite – when he wasn’t.’
Janina showed no signs of the same dawning suspicions that Thea was experiencing. Perhaps the paranoia in Bulgaria was directed somewhere else entirely. More likely, Thea hoped, she knew the people concerned and had every reason to be relaxed. Except, she was not relaxed at all – she was still pushing herself too close to the child, as if trying to control his very thoughts.
‘Where’s Simon?’ asked Thea, from a growing sense that Ben needed additional protection. From the little she had seen of his father, there were no grounds for thinking he would fail in this duty. Other than his habitual absences, of course, his job removing him when he was most urgently needed.
Janina flapped a hand, brushing away the man she had characterised as lazy and useless, nearly two weeks ago.
‘So what happens now?’ Thea persisted. ‘He’ll have to go home eventually. And you have to collect Nicky, I presume?’
‘Not till five. Simon is at his work. They had a problem.’
‘Good God…aren’t there rules about bereavement leave or something?’
Janina rolled her eyes. ‘I suppose so, but he says they cannot manage without him, and he cannot afford to lose his job, and he has no choice in the matter.’
Again, the way Janina had described Simon sat totally at odds with Thea’s impression of the actual man. How could he be lazy, if he could hold down a job that demanded constant vigilance, attention to detail, control of a large staff and a dozen other necessary talents? It also, she supposed, required a lot of play-acting. You had to be polite and cooperative to an endless parade of fools and hysterics. Hotel guests were famously unreasonable and capricious, and the management had to smile and apologise and rectify, whatever they might be feeling inside.
‘I wouldn’t think they’d be very busy this time of year,’ said Thea.
‘There is a conference this weekend,’ Janina told her. ‘They cannot manage without Simon.’
Thea wanted to be useful and involved. She was worried about both the little boys, and increasingly concerned that they were not being adequately cared for, given the circumstances. Benjamin’s ‘breakdown’ had demonstrated how needy they were. ‘Are there any other grandparents?’ she wondered aloud.
‘Oh yes,’ said Janina nastily. ‘In South Africa and Spain.’
‘So what about getting Granfer Jack to pitch in? Or Kate?’
Ben squirmed, uneasy at losing his place at the centre of attention. But at least Janina had backed off a little way, and his tears had dried up.
‘It is not for me…’ Janina sagged slightly in the face of her limitations. ‘I have no authority…’
‘No. Except you did bring him here. Why not carry on down to the farm, where they know him?’
‘They are strange people. I cannot understand their minds. You are easier. And nicer,’ she added disarmingly.
And unlikely to be busy with animals and barn roofs and mangel worzels, thought Thea.
‘So let’s all have a drink, and a biscuit, and see what’s what,’ she offered brightly. ‘Things are going to start looking better after that, I’m sure. Do you know, Ben, I have a motto. Shall I tell you what it is?’
The child frowned at the unfamiliar word. ‘Motto?’
‘Yes…something I say to myself when things get difficult or sad. It’s a bit long, compared to most mottoes, but it does work.’ She sat up straight and declaimed, ‘If you’re all right now, this very minute, then you’re all right, full stop.’ She laughed. ‘Well, it varies a bit, but that’s the basic idea. It’s all about the present moment. The thing is, you’re almost certain to be OK at any given moment. It’s worrying about what comes next that brings you down.’
‘But I’m not OK,’ he said, as if this was perfectly obvious. ‘I’m desperate.’ And he burst into fresh tears, turning to hide his face in the cushions behind him.
‘Oops,’ muttered Thea. Maybe all that had been rather too grown-up for him. Janina gave her a look of reproach.
‘Come on,’ coaxed Thea. ‘I’ll go and get that drink. Do you like milk?’
‘Noghh,’ came the muffled response.
Janina snorted. ‘They are not allowed milk. Do you have fruit juice – without any E-numbers, of course.’ The habitual scorn was back, presumably directed somewhat callously at the deceased Bunny.
‘Pineapple juice?’ Thea offered. ‘I brought some with me that I haven’t opened yet.’
Janina shrugged. ‘OK. Or water. Do you want a drink, Ben?’ she asked, her voice raised.
Thea remembered the warm drink she had given Nicky after his chilly morning in the church. Warm drinks was something she could do.
There was no response, and Thea hesitated. She was reminded of the younger boy, shivering after a morning in a cold church, every bit as pathetic as his brother. The ghastly glaring fact that their mother was dead hit her with fresh force, rendering futile any attempts at reassurance. You couldn’t say, There, there, everything’s going to be all right – because it wasn’t. They would be marked for life, not only because of the loss, but because of the ineradicable taint of murder. And if it turned out that their father had been the killer, then their fate grew even darker. She felt chilled at the prospect ahead for them. Foster care, boarding school, adoption – anything was possible once their parents left the picture.
‘Poor little boy,’ she murmured. ‘No wonder he’s desperate.’
Janina was hovering, more and more agitated as the lack of decision expanded. Neither woman had any idea what to do, each wrestling with a jumble of resentment, pity, and helplessness. Thea still made no move to fetch drinks, anticipating that Benjamin would simply ignore anything she offered.
And then an unlikely rescuer came slowly into the room.
* * *
‘Jimmy!’ Thea exclaimed. She moved to intercept him, afraid that he would repeat the performance of a few days ago, and soak another rug with malodorous urine. But he pushed against her when she laid a hand on him, evidently intent on his goal – which was the sofa on which the snivelling child huddled. Thea backed away, some instinct telling her she should trust him.
The cold nose found Benjamin’s hand, and he raised his head to see what it was. With an inarticulate cry, he stared at the scruffy animal as if at an angel. ‘Oh!’ he cried.
The dog wagged his tail slightly, and nestled his face against the boy. Ben gently stroked him with both hands, following the line from neck to shoulder to ribcage, then back to the top of the head. Jimmy made a noise of contentment and hauled himself up onto the sofa, where he curled himself around the child.
‘My God!’ squawked Janina. ‘What is that?’
Thea braced herself for a struggle if the au pair chose to try to remove the dog. But it seemed that Jimmy’s force of character had affected her as well.
‘That’s Jimmy,’ she said. ‘He was a stray, and Lucy rescued him. Now I think he might have rescued Ben.’
‘Jimmy?’ crooned Benjamin. ‘Are you Jimmy?’ He looked up at Thea. ‘Why’s he so thin?’
‘That’s just the way he is. He’s half greyhound, and they’re always thin.’
It hadn’t actually resolved anything, of course, but it brought considerable relief to have Ben no longer crying about his own desperate situation. She remembered how Ben had petted Hepzie on their first encounter, and Janina had said something about a special liking for dogs. Why hadn’t the spaniel had the sense to cuddle up with the kid, twenty minutes ago, instead of remaining antisocially in the kitchen, where she had established a favourite warm corner during the daytime?
‘Ben,’ said Janina, aiming for a firm tone, ‘we have to go home soon. Daddy will be back any time now, and then Nicky. It will be the same as always.’
‘I don’t want to talk,’ said the child, hugging the dog to him. ‘I want to stay here with Jimmy.’
‘You don’t have to talk. And you can come and see Jimmy again at the weekend. But we must go now.’
Benjamin pouted exaggeratedly. ‘Nicky will talk and be annoying.’
It had all become much more normal, Thea realised. Whatever dreadful terror had seized him had withdrawn again, leaving the far more manageable sibling antipathy. ‘I will tell him not to,’ said Janina. ‘You can be in the playroom by yourself, if you want.’
‘Can I have supper in there?’
‘I expect so.’
Ben looked at Thea. ‘Can I really come and see Jimmy again?’
‘Of course you can. And the donkey, if you want. And…’ she held up a finger, insisting on his attention ‘…there are baby rabbits in the shed outside. They’re absolutely gorgeous.’
He clasped the lurcher closer. ‘I only want to see Jimmy,’ he said.
‘Oh, well,’ Thea shrugged. ‘That’s fine.’
The shift in atmosphere seemed to leave all three of them limp and inert. ‘Home,’ said Janina. ‘Come on home now, Ben.’ There was just enough authority in her voice to penetrate the child’s defences. Or perhaps it gave him the courage to trust her and do as she said. Thea had often thought that modern children were cruelly denied the discipline and authority their elders owed them. It was pleasant to be told what to do, at least some of the time.
The visitors departed, leaving a miasma of sadness and fear. The real reason for Ben’s distress remained obscure, as was frequently the case with children, Thea recalled. There had been episodes when Jessica had been discovered crying in a corner, quite unable to explain why. ‘Cosmic misery,’ Carl had called it. ‘She’s weeping for the woes of the world.’
It was less than ten minutes before another car arrived at the barn. Thea sighed, as she heard the slamming door. ‘What now?’ she muttered to the dogs, both of whom were settled on the sofa, woven together like conjoined twins. They ignored her.
She opened the door to Gladwin, feeling no surprise. ‘I got your message,’ said the detective. ‘Are you OK?’
Thea went blank, forgetting entirely what she had wanted to impart. ‘Um, yes,’ she said. ‘Come in. I’m fine. It’s Tony. I went to see Tony Newby this morning. Then Janina turned up with Ben. It’s all a bit of a muddle, actually.’
‘So it sounds. Well, if it’s any help, we’re more or less straight at our end.’
‘What? What does that mean?’
‘It m
ust have been the husband. It’s always the husband. We’ve got ten officers trawling through Mrs Newby’s computer and papers, looking for a motive. But it has to have been him. Everybody’s been telling us what a cow she was. He’ll have lost it, last week. Probably something snapped over Christmas – that’s usually it.’ She had moved into the main room, and stood gazing at the tangled dogs, as she spoke. There was an air to her that Thea hadn’t seen before. A tension that contradicted the confidence in her words.
‘Simon did it? You really think so? I can’t believe that. Have you got any evidence?’
‘Nothing concrete. I was kinda hoping that’s what you were offering. If I know you, you’ll have picked up a whole bagful of important clues since I last saw you.’
‘Well, no, not really. I don’t feel very clued up at all, quite honestly. For instance, was Bunny hit from the back or front?’
‘Back.’
‘Without any warning? So she wouldn’t have had time to scratch or hit her attacker?’
‘That sort of thing, yes.’
‘Do you think somebody lured her down a snowy lane, to a ditch beside a field, coshed her from behind and left her there? Is that the picture?’
Gladwin was restless, walking around the back of the sofa and leaning over it, then jerking upright, swinging her arms. ‘Oh, shit, it isn’t very convincing, is it? There’s some massive factor we haven’t got hold of yet. I always want to go for the simplest answer, but it’s not working this time.’
‘Maybe it is. You might be right. Except, I just can’t see Simon doing anything so violent. Not to the mother of his children. I know lots of men do it, but he seems so docile.’
Gladwin huffed a small laugh at that. ‘Docile? The man manages a busy upmarket hotel. He keeps a staff of twenty or more under control. I don’t think either of us has seen what he’s capable of.’
Thea pondered for a moment. ‘It’s no good – I honestly don’t think Simon Newby could do such a thing. He’s not passionate enough. There’s no hint of temper in him. And what about George? Everybody keeps talking about him as a bigger loss than Bunny. Tony loved him. The boys loved him. Janina hatched a conspiracy with him – and the people on the farm. He’s at the centre of everything. It’s as if Bunny was just some kind of distraction. I swear Nicky and Ben are more upset about him than their own mother.’
