There was no sign of her, but Toby was there, only three rows behind Trish’s party. He caught her eye and sent her a look of such hatred that she jerked round in her seat.
‘What’s the matter, Trish?’ Paddy asked, sounding worried.
‘Nothing,’ she muttered. ‘Here we go.’
Mer was back, looking even more abject than before, knocking at a plain blue door. It opened inwards. A light came on and David appeared, with a real dog at his side. He’d told Trish that Mr Mills, the art teacher, was going to bring in his golden retriever and they’d try to use it, but that if it barked too much or widdled on the stage it would have to be taken out.
The dog seemed happy. David kept one hand gripped round the lead, waving the other in the familiar over-stiff gesture. But once he started to speak his lines, he settled into the part. Trish relaxed as the well-known words rang out.
‘You don’t have to mouth them, do you?’ Paddy muttered, making her realize what she was doing. ‘The boy can’t see you from here. And it makes you look ridiculous.’
Trish grinned at him, understanding the anxieties behind his irritated embarrassment. After a moment he nodded and smiled back. At the end of the scene, he said:
‘You’re right. I would have known him anywhere. He looks like the both of us.’
‘Isn’t he brilliant?’ said Nicky, leaning forwards at the far end of the row.
‘Thanks to you and all those rehearsals at home,’ Trish answered, still not sure how to deal with her father’s unusual vulnerability. ‘Paddy, did I tell you there’s to be tea and buns backstage for the cast and parents?’
‘You know you didn’t.’
‘I meant to. Will you stay for it?’
‘So long as you don’t introduce me in any embarrassing way.’
‘Just Paddy Maguire?’
‘Just that.’
Later she was concentrating so hard on the best way of effecting the meeting between David and his father that she didn’t focus on any of the other parents jostling their way towards the queue for the tea table.
‘Ben promised today would be the end of it, so what the fuck are you doing here, you bitch?’ Toby whispered from behind her, spitting out the words so viciously that she could feel flecks of his saliva on the back of her neck.
She looked round and saw that he was standing less than a foot away. His face was contorted and he was shaking. Everyone else shuffled backwards, giving them room.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Trish said in tones that meant what the hell do you think you’re doing?
His eyes were bulging and his face grew even more red. ‘I’ve seen you following me, day after day, but I never dreamed you’d have the cheek to force your way in here, too.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Trish said, facing forwards again and moving nearer the tea table.
He grabbed her wrist and forced her arm up behind her back in a half-nelson. Trying to look back again, she found the constraint meant she couldn’t turn her head far enough to see his face. Was this how he’d broken Mer’s arm?
‘Let me go!’ she said, horrified to realize what she’d risked by getting involved with Buxford and his sodding godson. Somehow she had to get Toby off her before David saw what was happening and panicked.
‘Only when you promise to keep out of my way,’ Toby hissed. She could feel more of his spittle. He pushed her arm higher up her back and made her gasp. ‘Promise.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ An agonizing pain shot from her upper arm, right across her back and through her neck, as he wrenched it higher still.
‘Promise, bitch!’
‘Stop it!’ shrieked a child.
Trish had a confused view of David rushing past her. She forced her head as far as she could and caught sight of him dragging at Toby’s arm. His head was pressed against Toby’s hand for a second before Trish felt his grip on her wrist let go.
‘The little shit’s bitten me,’ Toby yelled and slapped the boy so hard across the face that he sprawled on the floor. Trish grabbed David, hauled him up and put him behind her, wincing as her wrenched arm jagged again. Standing face to face with Toby, she said very clearly:
‘Keep back. If you don’t back off now, I’ll—’
‘What’s going on?’ George said, shouldering his way through the crowd. ‘Are you all right, Trish?’
‘No,’ she said loudly, before explaining what had happened. ‘Will you sort this man out while I see to David?’
‘Of course. Paddy’s here, too. We’ll deal with this.’
Toby took two steps back as the two tall men closed in on him. Trish could hear David whimpering behind her and turned to take him in her arms. As she hugged him with her good arm, she felt his heart battering and his hands clutching at her back.
‘You can take him into my study,’ said a cool voice behind Trish. A second later, Hester More stood in front of her. ‘He’ll be happier out of this crowd.’
More shaken than she’d ever felt in her life, hating the avid and embarrassed faces all round, Trish urged her brother out of the room, keeping her arm round his shoulders. His face was still jammed into her side and she could feel his lips moving, even through her jacket. Hester unlocked the door of a small room, which was furnished simply with a desk and chair and a soft-looking sofa. Trish gently pushed the child down on it.
‘Don’t make me go,’ he was saying with his eyes tightly closed. ‘Don’t make me go. Don’t make me go. Don’t make me go.’
Her heart breaking, Trish put her hands on his head, lifting it so that he could see her face. But he kept his eyes tightly shut. Fat, glistening tears were forced out between his sticky lashes. Making her voice as firm and sure as it had ever been, she said very clearly: ‘I’ll never make you go. You’re safe.’
His eyes flew open. ‘But you’re not. He hurt you. And he said he’d do it again, and I can’t stop it, Trish.’ His eyes screwed up and he started sobbing as he panted out his worst fear. ‘I can’t stop him hurting you if you make me go.’
At last she knew exactly where he was now and had been all along. She thought of the old adage that you should beware of what you ask for because you never know in what form it will come. She’d wanted David to shed his shell so that she could get at the hurts and fears she knew he must be hiding. But she’d never wanted it to happen like this, pushing him even further back into a hell in which he felt responsible for his mother’s death.
Kneeling in front of him, she wondered whether any words would reach him, and chose the simplest she could find.
‘David,’ she said very gently at last, ‘I will never send you away. But you don’t have to protect me. There are grown-ups who will do that.’
He was still crying, and Trish could see that all his energies were needed for the fight to control himself. She hoped the gentleness of her voice would have got through to him, even if he hadn’t understood a single word she’d said.
He hiccuped every so often as he battled down the tears. Her attempts to comfort him seemed to be making the process harder, so she kept quiet, waiting for him to open his eyes again.
There was a knock at the door. Trish took her hands from his knees and pushed herself up off the floor. Opening the door, she saw Hester More, holding a tray of tea, milk and miniature doughnuts.
‘There’s no need for either of you to come out until you want to,’ she said in a deliberately ordinary voice. ‘Everyone’s fine out there, and Mr Fullwell has asked me to say that he made a dreadful mistake. He seems to have thought you were someone else, someone who’s been stalking him. He hadn’t realized you are David’s sister and were here only to watch the play. He asked me to pass on his deepest apologies.’
‘Thank you,’ Trish said, opening the door more widely. ‘Did you hear that? Mrs More says it was a case of mistaken identity. Just as I thought. There’s nothing to worry about now.’
David looked up from under his sodden lashes. The tears had glued them into clumps as spiky as
her hair had once been. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs More. I didn’t mean to make a scene.’ He sobbed once more, and fought for control as his hands twisted round and round each other. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘That’s fine,’ the Head said casually, as though the episode had been no more important than a lost textbook. ‘Here’s your milk. Have some of that and a doughnut. They’re very good.’
When she had gone, he put down the doughnut he had taken.
‘I can’t eat anything,’ he said as his eyes filled up with tears again. ‘My throat’s shut itself up again at the top.’
‘That’s fine,’ Trish said, finding the description all too recognizable. ‘Don’t worry about it. Would you like to go home now? George has the car outside, so we can nip out as soon as you want.’
‘Can I wash my face first?’
‘Of course. Where’s the nearest loo?’
‘Mrs More has one through there,’ he said, pointing to a door on the other side of the room. ‘She lets us use it if we need to when we’re talking to her.’
‘Fine. I’ll go and find George, and we’ll come back to pick you up.’
He nodded. She went back into the hall, a little self-conscious and very aware of what he would feel when he had to face people again. George was easy to spot, standing with Paddy, apparently chatting happily to a group of parents who were completely unknown to Trish. She was about to join them, when she felt a hand on her arm.
Turning sharply, she saw Margaret Fullwell, who was breathing as though she’d been running. Her eyes had a bruised look about them, and the skin of her lower lip was broken where she’d bitten through it. A crust of dried blood circled the gash.
‘I saw you,’ she said, ‘when I was taking the boys to the car, so I sent them on. I had to come back and make sure you’re all right. You and your brother. I’m sorry about what Toby did. So, so sorry.’
‘Please, Margaret; it’s not your fault.’
‘I thought it was only me Toby was capable of hurting. I never dreamed he’d do it to anyone else. I’m so sorry. I think he really has gone mad, just as his secretary keeps telling me,’ Margaret said, her left hand covering her mouth. Above it, her eyes pleaded with Trish for a moment before she turned away.
David must be ready by now, Trish thought, wishing she’d been able to say something that might have comforted Margaret. She caught George’s eye and beckoned. He said something to the group around him and came over to her.
‘How is he?’
‘Dealing with it. I left in him in the Head’s bathroom, washing his face. I think we ought to take him home now. Could you collect Nicky and explain to the others? I don’t think this is the moment to introduce Paddy into his life, do you?’
‘No. And Paddy will understand, but I know he wants to say something to you. Why don’t I drive David and Nicky home, and give you a chance to talk?’
Trish nodded and left him, while she went to thank her father for his instinctive help. He kissed her, which was a surprise, and his voice was completely English as he said:
‘I was glad to be here. It was little enough to do for you or the boy. Trish, now’s not the time, but later, when he’s over this, will you let me see him?’
Let you? she thought. When I’ve been trying to persuade you to do just that for nearly a year?
‘You know I will.’
‘OK. On your way now,’ Paddy said. ‘David will need you.’
So something good’s come out of this, she thought, rubbing her sore arm as she went in search of her coat. And maybe now that he’s been forced to let go, he’ll learn to be less frightened by everything he’s been keeping so tightly controlled.
Chapter 22
Toby had apologized so much that his throat felt raw. Margaret had told him he’d gone mad. Was she right? Had it happened now, as he’d been afraid it might for so long? It must have. How else could he have mistaken Mer’s friend’s sister for the satanic woman who’d been dogging him wherever he went? Could it be that the relief of being free of his blackmailers had sent him crashing through the last safeguards of sanity?
Trying to believe in the freedom, trying to breathe carefully and remember that he was once more an ordinary, law-abiding member of the civilized classes, Toby made his way through the diminishing crowd of parents. They were probably all sniggering at him. He was tempted to go without waiting to collect his coat, but he couldn’t bear the thought of his own cowardice.
From now on, he would be a different man. He would not give in to pressure from outsiders or his own nightmares. He would remember who he was and behave accordingly. And one day Margaret would come home. He’d show her that he was the same man she had loved when they married and not some mad molester of strange women. He would get her back.
Mrs More came into sight again. Toby tried to smile. She nodded briefly enough to show him that he was of no more importance than a stray woodlouse. He identified his overcoat among all the other good navy wool versions by the scarlet scarf hanging out of the pocket and put on both. It was a struggle to persuade the young games teacher who was running the cloakroom that he’d also left an umbrella, which must be somewhere behind the counter.
‘It’s an old-fashioned City umbrella,’ he said as patiently as he could. ‘Tightly rolled, black, with a malacca handle and a gold band round it with my initials: TTF.’
‘Oh, that one,’ said the young man, apparently holding down laughter with difficulty. Toby had no idea what was so funny about his umbrella. ‘Why didn’t you say so before? I put it up on this shelf to make sure no one nicked it. Here.’
‘Thank you,’ Toby said, wondering whether he was supposed to tip the teacher as he would a proper cloakroom attendant. Oh, what did it matter? He couldn’t be bothered with anything so trivial.
Outside he was met with a wall of thick, acrid fog, which made him cough. He hadn’t seen anything like it since childhood. A boat hooted on the river, sounding like a wounded animal pleading with its mate to bring it some sustenance. Car engines throbbed much closer, and a man swore viciously as he tripped. All the sounds were exaggerated and distorted, and the street lights turned the filthy fog pale green.
‘Sorry,’ someone muttered ahead of him, then: ‘Sod it.’
Toby almost fell, too, as his foot caught on something. Then he found he couldn’t move forwards. Someone was pulling at his coat. All the rage that had made him hit that boy flooded up again and he flung himself round to confront his attacker. There was no one there. Ghosts of madness danced round him again, until he realized he still couldn’t move forwards. At last he saw that his coat had caught in the wheel of a bicycle chained to one of the lampposts.
‘Irresponsible fool!’ he muttered to the bike’s absent owner, as he bent to free the cloth. It ripped against a broken spoke. Toby nearly cried as he thought of the price of the coat and his pathetic salary, and how unfair it was that he had to pig away on starvation wages when everyone else around him – even that scrawny woman he’d mistaken for one of Ben’s watchers – looked so sodding rich. He kicked the bicycle and heard it clang down on to the pavement. Serve its irresponsible owner right.
He was alone in the fog, just as he was alone in his misery. Margaret had abandoned him again. Another boat hooted, and a lorry crashed by, two inches from his nose. He might have been killed.
Here was the pedestrian crossing. He pressed the button for the lights to change, hoping that any more lorries would at least be able to see the red globes against the fog, even if they hadn’t seen his red scarf. At last the green man lit up on the far side of the road. If he could see that, the cars must be able to see their traffic lights. He crossed over as fast as he could, huddling his cold chin into the scarf. Margaret had given it to him last Christmas, when she still cared whether he was warm enough or not.
Turning into Baynard Street, which would lead him down to Upper Thames Street and the quickest way home, he thought he heard footsteps behind him. If that bloody woman was after him ag
ain, he thought, even if she had nothing to do with Ben, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He stopped to listen more carefully. Yes, there were steps, but they weren’t a woman’s and they weren’t coming from behind him. That was all right. Only in Alice Through the Looking Glass could someone follow you from a place you hadn’t yet reached.
Light-headed in relief, he breathed carefully and thought he might, after all, be able to deal with all this. It occurred to him at last that Trish Maguire and his dark-haired Nemesis could be the same woman. If Trish Maguire had been taking her brother to school, there was no reason why she might not have been talking to Margaret, or walking about the streets round here. The stalking might have been no more than a product of his own fears, nothing whatever to do with Ben. What a fool he’d been!
The footsteps were coming closer. They were definitely heavier than any tall thin woman’s would be. Suddenly a new fear rose out of the swirling fog as a purring, powerful car swished past him. This was just the kind of weather for muggers. He touched the breast of his overcoat, feeling through the soft material to the solidity of his wallet in the inside pocket of his suit.
He could always hand over his mobile if he had to. That was in his right outer pocket. It would be a pain to lose it, but not a disaster. It rang suddenly, betraying its presence and his. He moved back against the high concrete wall, just before the turning into Upper Thames Street.
The fog seemed protective now. No one would be able to see him, pressed against the wall like this. He put the phone to his ear and gave his name as quietly as he could.
The footsteps ahead had stopped, as though their owner was listening. There was a high pile of something covered in thick blue plastic sheeting beside Toby. It looked like a tumulus. He wondered whether anyone had ever dumped a body in a builder’s storage heap.
‘Toby?’ said Ben’s voice over the phone. ‘That is you against the wall, isn’t it? I can’t see properly in all this damn fog.’
A Place of Safety Page 24
