The Finding

by Nina Bawden

  As he walked with Willy across the cropped grass, smelling summery sweet from the mowing, his legs felt stumpy and slow. Willy said, hopping, pretending to be a one-legged cripple to keep down to Alex’s pace, “D’you think they’ll let you spend some of it? Or will they make you put it all in the bank?”

  “Don’t know,” Alex said. He didn’t want to talk about it. But Willy was so excited, it seemed mean, somehow, to be silent and grumpy. Willy’s father was out of work and Willy had free school dinners, so his family must be quite poor. Perhaps, Alex thought, his mother and father would let him give some of the money to Willy. He could give all the money away, share it between his parents and Laura and Bob and Ellie; he could send some to Oxfam to help starving children. He felt lighter suddenly, and started to run, eager to get home and explain this good plan to his mother, only stopping when he got to the slip road to look out for traffic and shout back to Willy, “See you tomorrow.”

  His mother was in the hall, talking on the telephone. She was saying, “No. That’s final. We are making no statement to the press. Absolutely no comment.”

  She banged the receiver down. She said, “That’s the sixth so far. George, can’t we stop them?”

  Alex’s father came out of the living room. He had the newspaper in his hand, folded so that Alex could see the picture and the heavy, black headline. He said, heartily, “Oh, there you are, Alex.” And, to Alex’s mother. “Leave the receiver off, darling.”

  “That won’t stop them. They’ll come to the house.” Her eyes snapped at Alex. “Where have you been?”

  “With Willy.” Alex drew in his breath. “He showed me the paper. I didn’t know it was so much money. I thought it was only just enough for a bicycle.”

  “Oh,” his mother said. “Oh, you poor baby.”

  His father put an arm round her shoulders. He said, “Poor seems an odd word to use in the circumstances. Darling, I thought you’d explained to him.”

  “I tried to. But it’s not an easy thing to explain to a child that everything’s changed, that he’s set apart from his brothers and sisters.”

  She began to cry. The tears made shiny tracks on her cheeks. Alex’s father took out his handkerchief and gave it to her. “Hush,” he said. “Love. It’s not as bad as that, it’s not bad at all, really, you’re making too much of it.” He smiled at Alex, to comfort him, too. He said, “A mountain out of a molehill.”

  Alex said, “What does she mean about everything changing?”

  “Nothing,” his father said. “She’s upset…”

  Alex said, “Willy says it must be more than a hundred thousand pounds. That’s what a house costs, Willy says.”

  His mother stared at him over the handkerchief. Her eyes were still brimming. “You’ve been talking to Willy?”

  “I told you, he showed me the newspaper,” Alex said patiently. “He knew all about it.”

  His mother put her head on his father’s shoulder and groaned. “Oh, there’ll be no peace now, everyone knowing, oh, I can’t bear it. We were so happy, a happy family, now everything will be spoiled. It’s my mother’s fault, she wanted to spoil it, she’s always made trouble.”

  “Rubbish,” Alex’s father said.

  “It’s not rubbish. Why do you think she made the poor old woman give Alex that picture? So he should look at it, and wonder…”

  “That’s enough!” Alex’s father said loudly. He took her arms and shook her, quite roughly. Then he pushed her into the sitting room. “Sit down,” he said. “I’ll come in a minute.” He closed the door and looked down at Alex. “She doesn’t mean half she says.”

  Alex said, “If she means a quarter, that’s quite a lot. I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t want the horrible money.”

  “Look,” his father said. “Listen. What money there is, how much, or how little, will go into a trust for you when you’re older. Until then, it doesn’t concern you. The best thing you can do is forget all about it.”

  “Mum won’t forget.”

  “Yes, she will. She’s just in one of her states. She’ll get out of it.”

  Alex sighed. His father took his chin in his hands and looked into his eyes. “As for the rest of it,” he said, “you’re our boy, nothing can change that. If anything bothers you, come and tell me. Right?”

  “Right, Dad,” Alex said.

  “Nothing you want to ask now?”

  “No, Dad.”

  His father’s eyes searched his face with a doubtful expression. Alex felt his eyes flicker. Then his father said, “Good boy. It’ll be all right, I promise. Don’t worry.”

  Alex went slowly upstairs. His room had been tidied and cleaned by the lady who came twice a week. She had stood the picture of Mrs Angel’s daughter on the chest of drawers. Alex looked at it and the dark eyes met his. He moved—and they seemed to follow him. Alex knew this was only because she had been looking straight at the camera when the picture was taken, but it made him uncomfortable. He said, under his breath, “Don’t watch me, I don’t want you to watch me.” He opened a drawer and put the photograph away, on its face, at the bottom, and went to find Laura.

  Chapter 8

  Laura said, “She could be your proper mother. That’s what Mum thinks Gran was hinting at. Course, it’s not true. I mean, Gran didn’t really believe it. She was just making up a nice story. Mum knows that, really.”

  “Why is she cross, then?”

  “You know why! Gran putting ideas in your head. Mischief making. Putting ideas in Mrs Angel’s head, too. Don’t you see?”

  He shrugged, his face stubborn. “Don’t want to see,” Laura scolded. “Oh, you are boring. If it was me I’d be glad, these exciting things happening.”

  “I wish it was you, then it wouldn’t be me,” Alex said. “I don’t want things to happen, I want them to stay the same. Mum was crying. She’s angry with me.”

  “No, she’s not, she’s just angry.”

  “If I wasn’t here she wouldn’t be, so it’s still my fault, isn’t it?” Alex stood by the window in Laura’s room, fiddling with the roller blind. He jerked the tassel and the blind flew up with a snap, breaking the cord. He said, “I wish I could run away.”

  “I often wish that,” Laura said. “Everyone does.”

  He was looking so utterly miserable that she wanted to shake him. She said, putting her head on one side and pretending to think very deeply, “Suppose it was true!”

  “You just said it wasn’t.”

  Laura ignored the pleading in his voice. “I know I said that, but I don’t know, do I? I mean, you must have had a mother or you wouldn’t be here, and she might be still alive, mightn’t she? If I was you, I’d be interested.”

  “You’re not me,” Alex said. “I don’t want…”

  Laura said sternly, “And if I was her, I’d be sorry to think you didn’t want to know who I was.”

  “You’re not her,” Alex said. Blood darkened his face.

  “I said, if I was! I know if I’d had a little baby, and couldn’t look after him, I’d like to think he thought of me sometimes. If I knew that he didn’t care, I’d be dreadfully sad.”

  “Shut up.”

  Laura heard his voice. She saw his face. But she was enjoying herself too much to stop. “I know that if I’d been adopted, even though I loved my Mum and Dad, I’d want to know about my real parents. And if I had some kind of clue like you’ve got, I’d want to investigate. I wouldn’t just sit about moaning.”

  “Please,” he said. “Please. Don’t go on, Laura.”

  She stopped then, not because he had asked her to, but because she couldn’t think how to go on. And once she had stopped, she was alarmed by how scared he looked, his eyes huge and quite black with fear. She said, “It’s all right, I was joking. J.O.K.E.”

  He stammered, “You’re as b-bad as G-Gran, making up stories. Only she’s not like you, she’s not spiteful.”

  If he hadn’t said that, if he had been pathetic and cried, she would have apolog
ised. Instead she tossed her head and said, “If that’s what you think, I don’t care! I suppose you’ll go running to Mum and Dad now, poor little boy, complaining about your spiteful big sister.”

  “No, I won’t. But I hate you.”

  He spoke very quietly and sadly as if he truly meant this. She said, shaken, “So what? You don’t have to love me, you’re not my real brother. Why don’t you run away if you want to, and leave us alone?”

  He gave her one blazing glance and ran from the room. She called after him, “Don’t be silly, I didn’t mean it.” But his door had slammed. She went to the landing and stood, listening, outside his closed door, hoping to hear him crying. But there was no sound and that made her ashamed and a little scared too. Although Alex never told tales, at least not intentionally, he might this time. Still she did not dare to open his door. She said, in a loud voice, “Alex, do you want to go out before supper? If you like, you can borrow my bike. I shan’t be using it, I’ve got all this homework.”

  And when he didn’t answer, it seemed that there was nothing more she could do.

  She tried to make it up to him. At supper, she smiled and winked, and afterwards, let him switch television programmes without once complaining. He didn’t smile or wink back but he didn’t scowl either, and after he had watched a boring half hour about computers, he switched to Dallas without being asked.

  Laura said, “There’s a Nature programme on, wouldn’t you rather see that? I don’t mind about Dallas, not really.”

  But he shook his head, still unsmiling, still solemn.

  He kept out of her way for the rest of that evening and the next and the next. He went out on his roller boots while the light lasted; played with Bob and Ellie; helped their mother get supper and wash up the dishes. When Laura spoke to him, he answered politely, as if they were strangers. If she had not felt so bad, sick inside about the things she had said to him, she would have been angry with him for punishing her. As it was, she longed to be friends again.

  Friday afternoon, she waited for him at the school gate. She guessed that the other children were making fun of him. She had seen him several times in the playground, surrounded by a giggling group, pink-faced and desperate. When he came, running ahead of the rest of his class, head down, bolting past her, she ran after him. She caught him up and he slowed down beside her. She said, “Are they all being horrible?”

  He glanced at her timidly. “Not really. I mean, not unkind. Just teasing. It makes me feel silly.”

  “They’ll get bored soon. Did Willy tell them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It was rotten of him if he did.”

  “I didn’t ask him not to.”

  She said, indignantly, “There ought to be a law about putting things like that in the papers. It’s private. Perhaps you ought to stay home until it’s blown over. If Mum knew…”

  “Don’t tell Mum.”

  “She ought to know if they’re teasing you.”

  “No. Please. She’d be angry.”

  “Not angry,” Laura said thoughtfully. “I think she’s more scared.” She looked at him slyly, wondering if she dare tell him the idea that had come to her. She knew that she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t bear not to. She said, “I think she’s scared about the bits in the papers in case someone sees them, someone from your real family, and comes to take you away.”

  “No one came before, did they?” he said, speaking with confidence, as if he had already thought of this possibility and settled it in his mind. “I mean, it was all in the papers then. About me, and my Finding.”

  “It’s different now. You’ve got all this money. They might be poor people.”

  He stood still. He stared at her. He said, in a husky whimper. “Dad wouldn’t let them take me away. I wouldn’t go. I’d kill myself.”

  “Don’t be a ninny. Don’t you see, it’s exciting! I think you’re just feeble!” But she saw that he really was terrified. She said, “It’s all right, don’t panic, Dad won’t let anything happen to hurt you. If someone comes when he isn’t there, you could always hide. There’s a good place in the loft at the back of the water tank, you could hide there, I’d help you, I wouldn’t tell anyone…” She thought of stories she’d read, about wars, about people hiding refugees in attics and cellars. Her mind seemed to take wings and fly. She whispered, “I wouldn’t tell, even if I was tortured.”

  He said nothing. His face had gone tight and scarlet. At last, he blurted out miserably, “You said I wasn’t your brother.”

  “You know I didn’t mean that. It’s not fair, bringing it up.”

  “You said it, though.”

  “Oh, all right. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.” And, suddenly, she was. She took his hand and held it tight. “I really am sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

  He gave her a funny, half-smile. He said, “I wish you could turn things back.” But his hand stayed in hers as they walked home and she thought he was comforted, not afraid any longer, until they saw the man waiting outside the house and she felt his fingers tug, pulling her back, and heard the fear still in his voice as he said, “Laura, quick, let’s go in the side way. Mum said I mustn’t…”

  But they were too late. The man was advancing, smiling kindly and broadly. “Hallo,” he said, “Are you Alexander?”

  “What do you want?” Laura said, and he smiled at her, too.

  “Just a picture, young lady, you don’t mind that, do you?”

  He was holding a camera against his chest. There was a click. Then another. He sank to one knee. “Fine,” he said, clicking away. “Perfect. Just a couple more, I won’t keep you. Look at the camera, sonny, yes, that’s right, that’s super, a bit of a smile if you can manage it. And again. Good. A nice, happy one there. Thank you both very much.”

  He stood up, letting the camera dangle from the strap round his neck while he felt in his pocket. “There,” he said. “That wasn’t too painful, was it? Not like the dentist. What about an ice, or whatever you fancy.” He was holding his hand out.

  “No thank you,” Laura said. She had been fixed with astonishment. Now she turned her back, shoving Alex ahead of her, keeping him tight against the front door as she thumped the knocker and shouted, “Mum! Open up! Quick.”

  “She’s out, I’m waiting in for the little ones,” Gran said as she opened the door. She was munching. She swallowed and brushed biscuit crumbs from her mouth, rather guiltily. “Shouldn’t pick between meals,” she said. “Bad example. What’s wrong, chicken?”

  “Him.” Laura jerked her head towards the man. “Taking pictures.”

  The photographer beamed at her grandmother. “Local paper, ma’am. Just one or two shots of this famous young man. Some of the family too, if that’s possible. If you’d like to stand by your son, it won’t take a minute.”

  “He’s not my son.” Gran stood very straight, patting the frills down the front of her blouse. “I don’t suppose you want his old grandmother.”

  “Why not?” the man said. “Though no one would believe it. You look much too young.”

  Gran smiled happily. Her hands went up to her hair, fluffing it forward. “Do I look all right, Laura?”

  “Gran, you mustn’t.” Laura grabbed her arm and hissed in her ear. “Mum will be furious.”

  “I could let you have some glossy prints,” the man said. “Nice for framing. I’m sure that your daughter—or is it your daughter-in-law?—would be pleased with them.”

  “No she wouldn’t,” Laura said.

  The photographer looked at her, then at her grandmother. He raised an eyebrow enquiringly.

  “I’m afraid she’s right,” Gran said. “I’m so sorry.”

  She smiled at him sweetly and shut the door. As she walked down the hall to the kitchen she said, “I can’t see it would have done much harm Laura. I’d have liked a nice picture of Alex and me. Still, you seem to think you know best.” />
  “Mum would have murdered you,” Laura said.

  “I think that’s a little unlikely. Though I admit she’s quick-tempered.”

  “You know what I mean! She’d have gone up in smoke!”

  Alex laughed at the thought of his mother rising up in a puff of white, like a genie out of a bottle, and Laura turned on him. “It was bad enough letting him take a picture of you, it’ll be in the paper, why on earth did you smile?”

  s “He asked me to.”

  “Do you always do what people ask?”

  “There wasn’t time,” Alex said. “I didn’t think.”

  Laura raised her eyes to the ceiling. Her grandmother said, “Don’t worry, chick. If I’d known he was lurking outside I’d have sent him packing. But I can’t really see that it matters so much.”

  “It does matter,” Laura said. “Everyone will know now, not just a few kids at school.” She looked fiercely at Alex. “Everyone will know where you live, what you look like. Standing outside our house, grinning!” He was gazing at her, his mouth open. His blank stare infuriated her. “Pleased with yourself, cock-a-hoop, that’s what Mr Fowles said, remember? If he sees you, smirking away like that in the paper, he’ll come round here, shouting…”

  Her grandmother saw Alex turn white. She said, “Don’t bully, Laura, you’re old enough to know better. As for Eric Fowles, I’ve already given him a good piece of my mind, and if he comes here, making trouble, your father will deal with him.”

  Alex said, in a small, breathy voice, “Suppose he comes when Dad isn’t here?”

  Grand didn’t hear him. She had turned to the sink to fill up the kettle. She said, “The man’s a fool. He can shout as much as he likes but it won’t get him anywhere. He’s put himself in the wrong, anyway, walking off with poor Angel’s bits and pieces that he’d no right to. Your mother’s gone to the solicitor to sort that out now, and I think you’ll find he’ll get his come-uppance.” She put the kettle on the stove and smiled brightly at Laura. “So let’s have no more silliness, chicken. It’s just jealousy, I suppose, that’s only natural, but you must try not to take it out on poor Alex.”