Would Mummy be going to Jesus too?
‘An ambulance came,’ Mrs Cox said. Children liked stories. ‘Its bell rang, and it came very fast. Men picked Mummy up and took her to the hospital and a clever doctor is making her better. She’s broken her leg.’
Just a broken leg. Tony at school had broken his, falling out of a tree. He walked about now with a plaster on, and bare toes protruding.
‘And a bump on the head,’ Mrs Cox went on. ‘So that she went to sleep and didn’t know what was happening.’ Mrs Cox could picture it all as if it were true: the blue light flashing, the stretcher men stooping to pick up their burden.
‘She said you were to be good and eat up your tea,’ Mrs Cox embroidered.
‘But you said she was asleep,’ Tessa pointed out.
She woke up just as the nurse was going to telephone,’ Mrs Cox said. ‘Now, here’s some hot chocolate for you, Tessa, as a treat. Drink it up, like the good little girl I know you are, and there’s a Mars Bar too.’
Tessa picked up the mug with the Peter Rabbit pattern. She sipped the chocolate. It didn’t taste the same as the chocolate Mummy made for them both, but it was very sweet and she drank it up.
Afterwards, Mrs Cox made her sit in the big armchair she used herself. She had turned it so that the high back was towards the window, and she had already drawn the curtains. She gave Tessa a book to look at, and told her to eat her Mars Bar. They’d play a game soon, she said.
The book was a photograph album full of snapshots of children in funny old-fashioned clothes. There was a newspaper cutting in it, too, not pasted in, but loose. The paper was brown and creased. It was a picture of a child – a little girl. Writing above and beneath the picture told some sort of story, but Tessa, afraid and miserable as she tried to spell out the long words, didn’t fully understand their message. Missing Child, she mouthed to herself but she was thinking really of Mummy.
She nibbled the Mars Bar. Wasn’t there going to be bread and butter for tea? It tasted funny – sort of bitter.
There was something not quite right about Mummy and what Mrs Cox had said happened, but Tessa couldn’t think what it was. Poor Mummy; had she cried, Tessa wondered, and a tear slid out of her own eye at the thought. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.
She ate some more of her Mars Bar, slowly. It would be rude not to finish it, but she really didn’t want it; it tasted horrid.
Mrs Cox was watching her. She smiled as Tessa took a small bite from the bar.
‘We’ll play that game soon,’ she promised, and got up to go out of the room.
Tessa hid the rest of the Mars Bar down the side of the chair, wrapped in her hanky. She’d rescue it later, and flush it away down the lavatory; then Mrs Cox wouldn’t know how ungrateful she’d been.
But she’d had a lot of the sedative in the hot chocolate and it soon took effect. Tessa’s last, elusive thought as she drifted off was about the telephone. Mrs Cox hadn’t got one, so how—? But she slept before the question had fully formed in her mind.
Mrs Cox waited a while. She tapped a spoon on a cup but the child did not stir. She tapped louder. Still no response.
Tessa seemed very heavy for such a young child, though she was, as Mrs Cox knew, rather small for her age. She lifted her up. I’m not as young as I was that other time, she thought; but she’d always kept fit, walking a lot, and cleaning and polishing the flat every day.
She lowered Tessa into the chest on top of the folded rug, and covered her with a crochet blanket Mavis had made. Next she turned her big chair round to face the window again. She pulled back the curtains a little way, and she watched the gap. She could not rely on her ears to pick up the sound of their steps on the path.
They’d look very foolish, the two of them, standing there with the traces of lust still on their faces, Mrs Cox thought, when they heard that Tessa had not come home.
She didn’t have long to wait, but only one pair of legs went past, running.
Soon they came back, palely lit by the glow from Mrs Cox’s window, as Louise clattered down to the basement.
She rang the bell and banged the knocker, but Mrs Cox kept her waiting, moving slowly to open the door.
White-faced, Louise gasped, ‘Is Tessa here, Mrs Cox? She’s not in the flat—I thought you’d—’ Her voice trailed off as Mrs Cox slowly shook her head.
‘I haven’t seen her,’ she said. ‘She hasn’t been home.’
13
‘You’re sure?’ Louise said, clinging to the doorpost of the basement flat. ‘You’re sure you never saw her?’
‘Quite sure,’ Mrs Cox asserted, and added, ‘I usually notice when she – or anyone from your flat – goes in and out.’
Her intended irony was wasted on Louise, who, gasping with shock and fear, raced back to search the flat in case Tessa could somehow be hiding there, and then ran round the garden, calling and calling, seeking her child among the shrubs and trees in the gathering dusk. She looked in the shed where Terence Henshaw kept his gardening tools. No one else was at home at 51 Oak Way, for their various places of work hadn’t yet closed for the day, although Louise tried all their bells, just in case.
‘I must tell the police at once,’ Louise said to Mrs Cox, who had closed her own front door and come to the top of the steps during this search.
Somehow or other, in her planning, Mrs Cox had not foreseen this, but it had happened that other time; it had been a policeman who found Grace in the boat.
‘You were late,’ she rebuked Louise.
‘I missed the train,’ Louise said wearily. ‘But Tessa’s come home on her own dozens of times before.’
An accident, she was thinking; she’s been run over, crossing the road.
‘Your friend,’ Mrs Cox remarked, emphasising the noun. ‘Where is he?’
Louise stared.
‘Your gentleman friend,’ Mrs Cox enlarged. ‘He was with you in London.’
Louise was not interested in the activities of the other tenants of the house so she had not realised that her own movements, and those of any visitors, might be noted.
‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘He wasn’t. He had an appointment.’
He’ll help now, though, she thought, thankfully, and in the next instant remembered that she did not know where he lived or how to get hold of him. Meanwhile, they were wasting time when Tessa might be in a hospital ward wondering why she did not come.
‘Perhaps he met her from school?’ Mrs Cox suggested slyly. If Louise did call the police, Mrs Cox would enjoy telling them how she had seen this man alone with the child so often.
‘He couldn’t, today,’ said Louise. ‘Will you wait in my flat, please, Mrs Cox, while I ring the police? Just in case she comes back meanwhile.’
Mrs Cox agreed, and since the Henshaws, who had the only telephone in the building, were not yet home, Louise ran down the road to the nearest box. It was in the shopping area, and was working, though Louise, using one so seldom, didn’t realise how lucky this was as she dialled 999 and asked for the police.
The voice at the other end of the line, when the police answered, was calm; its owner spoke slowly – much too slowly for the impatient Louise. But she was assured a police officer would come to 51 Oak Way at once; she should return there immediately.
Before she did so, Louise thought, oh, if only Alan were here, as he usually was at this hour! He’d search the streets in his car. And Tessa would recognise the Escort, if she had somehow got lost. If only she could speak to him, he’d come at once, despite his wife, she was sure. With trembling hands Louise turned the pages of the telephone directory, but there were dozens of Parkers, and a lot had the initial A. She couldn’t wait to try them, and anyway he wouldn’t be home yet from his interview.
She ran back, as fast as she could, to the flat, for Tessa might have turned up by now.
But she hadn’t.
Mrs Cox waited until a constable in his patrol car arrived; he was very prompt. She listened whi
le Louise told him her story, and added her own – that she’d seen no sign of Tessa, whose return, either alone or in company, she usually noticed.
The constable treated it very seriously. In a way, Louise was relieved that he thought her right to call help so quickly; he said that if Tessa had been involved in an accident and taken to hospital, the police would have been told at once.
‘The child often comes home from school alone, officer,’ Mrs Cox said, her tone condemnatory.
‘Oh yes?’ said the constable. He had already asked about the child’s father.
‘You’d gone off with your gentleman friend, of course,’ Mrs Cox said, to Louise. The police must be told about him.
‘I told you, I went to London alone,’ said Louise. She wished the old woman would go; her usefulness was over.
‘Where did you go in London?’ the constable asked.
‘What does that matter? For God’s sake, start looking for Tessa,’ Louise cried. The fact that she’d been to hunt for her father had no relevance to Tessa’s disappearance. ‘It was a business trip,’ she added.
‘I’ll just have a look round,’ said the constable, moving to open a cupboard.
His search was soon over. He wrote down a description of Tessa and the clothes she was wearing, and he asked for a photograph. Louise, silently, took from her bag the one she had planned to show her father.
‘If only you’d asked me to meet her at school,’ Mrs Cox was saying. ‘You know I’d have done it – you’d only to ask.’
‘She’s used to coming home alone,’ Louise said faintly. ‘If she comes through the recreation ground there are no roads to cross.’ She looked at the constable. ‘I haven’t been very well,’ she said. To explain that she had agoraphobia would sound so silly. ‘Tessa’s very sensible.’
But the most sensible child could be enticed with a sweet.
‘I see,’ said the officer, noting it down.
‘Oh, please start looking for her,’ begged Louise. ‘We’re wasting time.’
‘We have to know where to start searching,’ the constable said. ‘Now, Mrs Cox, will you stay with Mrs Waring?’ He turned to Louise. ‘Or have you another friend who would come?’
Only Alan, Louise thought.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said. She didn’t want the old woman. ‘You’ve been very kind, Mrs Cox. Thank you.’
Mrs Cox felt certain that she had established herself in the constable’s eyes as a kindly old lady. She wanted, though, to get back to her flat and her prisoner.
‘Er—Mrs Cox, you spoke of a friend? Mrs Waring’s friend?’ the constable said. He’d better pursue this line, to complete the picture. ‘Who is that, Mrs Waring?’ he asked.
Louise gave Alan’s name and added that she did not know where he lived. He couldn’t have seen Tessa since they both dropped her at school that morning, she said, for he’d had a business appointment across the county that afternoon.
‘He’s got an old green car,’ Mrs Cox said. ‘It’s often outside, sometimes all night,’ she added, with a knowing look at the constable, and recited its number. The police would soon trace the owner from that and he’d have some explaining to do.
Louise was too distraught to pay any attention to this revelation of Mrs Cox’s interest in her affairs. The constable simply thought her a typically nosy old party.
‘Friends of Tessa?’ he suggested, writing down the registration number. ‘Other children? Might she have gone home with some other child after school?’
But Tessa had no particular friends at school, and apart from an occasional birthday party, didn’t go out to tea. The possibility, though, gave Louise hope; something like that, unlikely though it might be, could have happe’Grandparents?’ the policeman was saying, still writing in his notebook.
‘My mother lives in Cornwall,’ Louise said.
‘Maybe Tessa took it into her head to pay her a visit,’ the constable said, throwing out what he knew was an unlikely lifeline. ‘Children do funny things. She liked it there?’
‘Well, yes,’ Louise agreed. ‘But she’d never do that. How could she get there?’
The officer decided not to say that Tessa might have thumbed a ride.
‘Kids get themselves even on to aircraft,’ he said. ‘Older ones, of course, and usually boys.’
He and Mrs Cox left together. The officer said that someone would be in touch with Louise.
At the top of the basement steps Mrs Cox paused to watch the policeman hurry round the side of the house, back to his waiting car. They’d be busy now, with their radios out and their house-to-house inquiries, but her flat was safe from a search; without a warrant, they wouldn’t come in, and she’d said she hadn’t seen Tessa. When the local hue and cry had died down, she’d dispose of that little one.
The river, Mrs Cox thought. The river would be the place.
Daphne had intended to be home well before Alan that evening, but an accident on the motorway causing a long tailback delayed her, and his car – still that shabby Escort was in the garage when she arrived. He was in the study, listening to a flute concerto and trying to finish the Daily Telegraph crossword, when he heard her Mini outside.
In the mail, when he returned to Cherry Cottage that morning after his magical days and nights with Louise, was a letter offering him the job with the firm making electronic games. What should he do about it? If he didn’t take it, he might remain unemployed for months. He brooded, pouring milk he should have consumed in Daphne’s absence down the sink to leave the sort of amount she would expect to find in the fridge when she came home, and he went on brooding all day. This afternoon’s interview had been for a much more suitable post; could he play for time until he heard about that?
Daphne, when she arrived, was full of news about Pauline. She’d promised that they would provide the pram for their first grandchild.
‘I’ll go up afterwards – when she comes out of hospital. She’ll need a hand for a week or two,’ she said.
Alan’s thoughts flew at once to Louise. He’d be able to snatch another spell with her then. He longed to know how she had fared in London, but he would have to wait till Monday to find out, unless he could slip off the next day to see her. He wondered what plans Daphne had for the weekend.
Daphne was still telling him about foetal scans when the doorbell rang. A uniformed police officer stood on the step. He asked Alan, who opened the door, if he knew a Mrs Louise Waring of 51 Oak Way, Berbridge, and being told yes, said he had some inquiries to make.
Something had happened to Louise! Had she had a panic attack in London and perhaps been taken to hospital? Alan’s heart plummeted. He whisked the policeman into his study as Daphne went into the kitchen to take something out of the freezer for dinner. She felt only mild curiosity about the policeman’s call.
The constable noticed Daphne’s suitcase, still in the hall.
‘You’ve been away?’ he asked.
‘My wife’s been in York, visiting our daughter,’ said Alan.
He closed the study door firmly, but he was sick with apprehension; a whole new area of vulnerability opened up in his life now because of Louise.
‘Oh God!’ he exclaimed when he heard about Tessa. What agony Louise must be in, he thought, but he experienced a gut reaction of relief because she, herself, was safe.
The constable inquired about Alan’s movements that day. He’d spent the last three nights with Mrs Waring at Berbridge, had he not?
Alan wondered briefly how the police had traced him, since he had never told Louise where he lived.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, and added, nervously, ‘My wife—’ letting the sentence trail off.
‘She was away. Quite, Mr Parker,’ said the officer. Adopting a moral stance over marital misdemeanours was not his role unless a felony had been committed. So far there was simply a missing child in this case. No crime had yet been discovered.
‘What’s happened to Tessa?’ Alan asked.
She had been
seen leaving the school alone, and setting off to walk home, said the constable. She had never arrived.
‘But Louise—her mother—? She’d gone to London,’ said Alan.
‘She missed the train,’ said the policeman. ‘And was back too late to meet the child.’
He went on to ask Alan again how he had spent the day.
Alan described dropping Tessa at school and taking Louise to the station. He hesitated. Then the door opened and Daphne came in, obviously wanting to know why the policeman had called.
‘There’s been an accident,’ Alan said to her, and added, to the constable, ‘I was at the office as usual.’ He gave the time of his return home, and when asked for his employer’s name and address, supplied those of Biggs and Cooper.
When the policeman had gone, he told Daphne he must go out at once.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘What sort of accident is it?’
‘There’s no time to explain now,’ Alan said. He was already through the door as he spoke. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back,’ he called, and rushed from the house.
She had never seen him move so fast. In seconds he shot down the drive in his car, scattering gravel on his precious lawn as he passed. Daphne followed him out to put her own car away, and was just going back into the house herself when Bea Pearce went past, giving her boxer dog his evening walk. She stopped when she saw Daphne and asked about Pauline. Daphne supplied the news and Bea went on, ‘Is Alan all right? I see he’s not here,’ and she looked at the empty space in the garage.
‘Of course he’s all right,’ she said. ‘Why shouldn’t he be?’
‘Well, when I went past this morning, the milk was on the step and the paper still stuck in the door,’ Bea said. She’d noticed it the previous two mornings too. Usually Alan had left for the office by the time she passed each day with her boxer dog on his routine walk.
Maybe he overslept,’ said Daphne, but she frowned. Alan’s system was geared to wake at seven every morning and even at weekends he rarely slept longer.
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