by Liz Trenow
‘Thank you so much, everyone,’ Pa was saying. ‘But we don’t want any fuss. Jimmy will back before we . . .’ He seemed to sway slightly, and I caught his arm. His cheeks were hollow, his hair stuck thinly to his scalp and he seemed to have aged two decades.
‘Come on, Pa, we should get back,’ I said. ‘Let’s hand over the search to the others for a little while.’
Mrs D was waiting for us with more hot chocolate. Less welcome was the arrival of Mr Blackman, bustling with self-importance. He needed to be at the centre of everything, even the hunt for a missing child.
‘Henry,’ Pa said, shaking his hand. ‘They say you’ve set up search parties. Really, there’s no need. Jimmy’ll soon be—’
Blackman interrupted. ‘You’re not to worry, Vicar. You look all done in, the pair of you, if you don’t mind my saying so. You stay here in case he turns up, and we’ll look after the search. We’ll find him soon enough, safe and well, never fear.’ He thanked Mrs Diamond, turning down her offer of hot chocolate, and let himself out of the door.
The rest of the day was a blur. Waiting was pure agony. The minute-hand on the clock ticked around so slowly it felt as though time had stopped. I’d rather have been out searching, but Mrs D persuaded me that Pa needed someone to stay with him, and he certainly looked too exhausted to carry on.
Reassurances felt hollow and meaningless, but talking about anything else seemed irrelevant and unimportant. So we sat, wordlessly, with nothing to say to each other, straining our ears for the sound of the front-door latch. Jimmy could breeze in at any moment, calling out, ‘Home,’ in his usual way, and the torture would be over. But the moments slipped into minutes and then into an hour, and then two, then three. It felt as though the walls were leaning in, threatening to suffocate us.
‘Let’s pray together, darling,’ Pa said at last. I’d been hoping he might suggest it, surprised that he hadn’t done so already. Not that I believed it would make an ounce of difference, but by then I was prepared to try anything.
We slipped onto our knees.
‘Dearest Father,’ Pa said, after a very long pause. ‘We beseech you to hear our prayer today and return our dearest Jimmy safely to us . . .’ His voice cracked and he seemed unable to go on. I waited. He sat back on his heels, head in his hands. ‘Oh God, answer me,’ he groaned. ‘Just tell me you’re there.’
I squeezed my eyes shut and took up the prayer, trying not to think about Pa and his failing faith. ‘Dear God, please bring my brother back home. We love him so dearly. He’s done nothing wrong and we are worried for his safety. If you have any mercy at all, please, please, please do this for us.’ In my head I added: If you actually exist, then for heaven’s sake help us now.
‘Amen,’ we said.
‘Thank you, my darling,’ Pa said, hauling himself back into his chair.
Kit arrived on his bicycle, panting from his ride up the hill. ‘No sign, I’m afraid. But I’ve found Robin. She’d been blown right across the lake and into a tree. There’s a ruddy great rip out of the canvas. Not sure whether we’ll be able to fix her, to be honest. Pa will be furious.’
‘Thank you for looking, Christopher,’ Pa said. ‘We are most grateful.’
‘And I found the parrot,’ he added. ‘On Pirate’s Lair, just as we thought.’
‘Jimmy will be pleas . . .’ The words died in my mouth.
‘Yes, he will,’ Kit said firmly. ‘And I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough, so you can tell him. Should I stay?’ he whispered as we returned to the hall. ‘Or join the search parties?’
‘That’s kind, but I’m not sure we . . .’
‘I understand. But I don’t suppose I’ll be going to London after all – not for another day or two. I’ll drop by later to see if you need me.’ He gave a sweet smile. ‘He’ll turn up soon, I’m sure of it.’
‘I’m just so afraid, Kit.’
A knock on the door made us both jump. My heart leaped, of course, but it was only Blackman again. Behind his back, Kit pulled a face of mock horror that, for a brief second, made me smile.
After Kit left, I showed Blackman into the living room. As I left him and Pa, to fetch a fresh pot of tea, I heard him say, ‘Whatever is that boy doing here?’ I could have emptied the boiling kettle over his head. He sounded so contemptuous, and I couldn’t understand why. Whatever had Kit done? He’d been nothing but helpful and kind.
I spent some time searching Jimmy’s bedroom looking for clues, but nothing was out of order. This very normality made his absence even more painful. I lay down on his bed, desperately trying to summon up his presence. After a few moments I became aware of something hard beneath the covers, digging into my ribs. It was The Ugly Dragon.
Even though I knew every word by heart, I began to read. My heart seemed to shrink: although I’d made sure that in the story we were always together at the lake, had I inadvertently encouraged Jimmy to go there on his own? And had the story somehow inspired him to do something dangerous, like taking a boat or climbing a tree, or trying to paddle out of his depth? By the time I reached the last page I was sobbing again.
When Mrs D called us for lunch, I dashed my face with cold water and went downstairs. Pa and I sat obediently at the table, looking at our sandwiches. Neither of us could bring ourselves to eat, even to please Mrs D.
Pa stood suddenly, pushing his chair back so violently that it tipped over, falling with a clatter onto the floor. ‘I’m going to call the police.’
Suddenly everything became deadly serious.
22
If only. The two little words went round and round in my head, like a scratched record, until I feared they might send me mad.
If only I hadn’t gone to see Kit last night; if only I’d checked on Jimmy when I got back; if only I’d warned him more often about the lake; if only I hadn’t been so absorbed by my concern for Eli. If only, if only, if only.
Pa told me not to be silly – Jimmy’s disappearance wasn’t due to anything I’d done or not done. ‘It is my fault, if anything,’ he said. ‘For getting so drunk yesterday. I’m your father, and it is my responsibility to care for you both. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own concerns that I’ve neglected you.’ So then it was my turn to try and reassure him. And so we went on, until the police arrived.
In any other circumstances the two men might have made a comedy duo: one tall and thin, with a weasel-like face; the other short and tubby, his trousers clumsily shortened by at least six inches. Yet despite their appearance, the two men were alarmingly businesslike. After a preliminary conversation with all of us, they asked to speak to Pa and me separately. Then they would talk to Mrs D.
Pa took Weasel Face into his study, while PC Stubby stayed with me in the living room and grilled me so hard that by the time he’d finished, I felt as though I’d hidden my brother all by myself and simply decided not to tell anyone. He wanted to know every detail about my relationship with Jimmy, our relationship with Pa, our move to Wormley, Mrs D, my school friends and my village friends, and the exact timings of our movements. He pressed me for what I knew about Pa’s service in the war – which wasn’t much, because he never spoke of it – and his ‘illness’ afterwards, by which I supposed they meant his mental state.
But most of all he homed in on the events of the past twenty-four hours.
‘Would it be your normal practice to leave the house late at night, Miss Goddard?’
‘Erm, no. But Pa was here, and I was only out for a little while.’
‘And we now know that he was in no fit state to take care of a child. Do you mind my asking where you went?’
I faltered then, anxious not to get Kit into more trouble. But this was serious; it was no time to tell untruths.
‘To see Kit Waddington, down at the Hall. He will confirm that, but I’d rather you didn’t tell his parents.’
PC Stubby nodded. ‘Hmm. Yes. Kit Waddington. Someone else mentioned that name.’ He looked up from his notebook with a sly smile. ‘Like
that, is it?’
‘Not at all. We had something urgent to discuss.’
He cleared his throat meaningfully, and shook his head. ‘And what exactly is a “little while”?’
‘An hour or so. Perhaps a bit longer.’
He frowned and noted this in his notebook with a stubby pencil. He wrote so slowly and laboriously, his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth in concentration, that I felt like screaming.
‘And what time was that?’
I told him.
‘And you got back when?’ I guessed at quarter past eleven. It seemed too careless to tell him that I hadn’t actually looked at the clock.
‘And it was during that time that your brother decided to leave the house?’
‘I can’t be entirely sure when he went out, I’m afraid.’
‘Did you check whether he was here when you arrived home?’
A lump stuck in my throat.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Goddard, but we have to ask these questions.’
I swallowed hard and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘Yes, I know. Sorry. No, I didn’t look in on him when I got back.’
‘What time did you get up this morning?’
‘About eight. We had a very disturbed night because of the storm.’
‘Of course. And did you check on him then?’
‘Not immediately. We assumed Jimmy was asleep and would come down in his own time, which is perfectly usual during school holidays. I went up to his room at about a quarter past nine, when he hadn’t turned up for breakfast. His bed had been slept in, but it wasn’t warm any more. He’d been gone for a while.’
‘Thank you. That is helpful. Now, does your brother have any friends of his own in the village, or at school? Who does he play with?’
‘No one really. He comes with me most of the time.’ I sent up a silent, guilty prayer: Bring him back safely, God, and I will never be grumpy about having to take care of him, ever again.
‘And what do you do, when you go out together?’
‘We go for walks, or picnics – you know. To The Pines, or into the woods. Sometimes down to the lake and the Hall. We are friends with the family.’ He was scribbling so fast now that I paused to give him time to catch up. ‘Kit taught us how to row.’
He looked up sharply. ‘On the river?’
‘On their lake.’
‘Any other friends?’
‘The Timpson twins. We see them sometimes. Or the other lads: Robert Parsons, Ashley, Brian and Peter.’
His next question caught me off-guard. ‘How well do you get on with your brother?’
‘We get on fine. I love him, of course. He’s my brother.’ It sounded so defensive. ‘His language is a bit limited and he might never be able to look after himself, but he’s such a happy boy, always smiling.’
‘He’s a Mongol, I understand?’ That terrible, shocking word. It had been used by the hospital when Mum first had Jimmy, but after that she’d banned it.
‘No,’ I said angrily. ‘Well, yes. But it’s such an ugly term that we don’t like to use it. He has a mental disability.’
I watched him writing: Mental disability.
‘Your mother . . .?’
‘She died. Nearly two years ago.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Goddard. So it’s just your father looking after you?’
‘And Mrs Diamond, our housekeeper. We couldn’t do without her.’
‘Indeed. Thank you. Now, have you got any idea why your brother left the house, and where he might have been going?’
‘He was anxious about a toy he’d left on an island when we were out rowing with Kit. We told him not to worry, but . . .’ Wondering was so painful.
‘A toy?’
‘A stuffed parrot. Part of a pirate’s costume.’
Watching him write Check lake and Stuffed parrot on island so painstakingly in his notebook, I felt a hysterical urge to giggle.
‘Thank you, Miss Goddard. We’ll get our people on to that right away.’
‘Kit checked the island this morning. He went out in his boat. He found the parrot.’
Stubby nodded. And then the oddest thing happened. From a brown paper bag he produced what I thought at first was a home-made scrapbook. And then, as he held it up, I realised that it was my book, The Ugly Dragon.
‘Do you recognise this?’
I wanted to grab it from his grubby hands. ‘Please give it back. It’s private, and very precious. They’re stories I wrote for my brother.’
‘That much is obvious. But I am intrigued. Why this obsession with a crocodile and a lake?’
‘It’s just a local legend. A bit of fun. That’s all.’ I sounded defensive, despite my best efforts to speak in a neutral tone.
‘But this notion of evil that the dragon goes on about . . .? The, erm, black serpent?’ He opened the book and began to read. ‘Men who feel weak or inadequate feel they have to prove themselves somehow, trying to get power over others and bullying people who can’t fight back. And then there is a reference to Mr Eli Chadwick. That doesn’t sound like a “bit of fun”, Miss Goddard. Would you like to tell me about Eli Chadwick? He lives in a shepherd’s hut in the woods, I understand?’
‘Not any more. He’s been evicted. And the hut’s been burned down.’
He looked up. ‘Are you suggesting he burned it?’
‘No, he’d never destroy his own hut. It was his home. It might have been lightning, but that seems a bit unlikely, since it’s surrounded by tall trees.’
‘I sense, from your tone, that you are concerned for Mr Chadwick, Miss Goddard?’
‘I am. He’s a lovely old man who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but some people seem determined to force him out.’
‘Some people?’ He fixed me with a piercing look.
‘That is a private book, and a private matter,’ I said, annoyed now. What on earth did any of this have to do with finding Jimmy? ‘Now can I have it back, please? It is very precious to me and my brother.’
‘Of course you may,’ he said, putting it back into the paper bag. ‘I will return it just as soon as we are finished with it.’
When they’d finally gone, Pa and I compared notes.
‘They made me feel like a criminal.’
‘Me too. People have been talking about me, Molly. Saying I’ve been acting oddly, saying they’ve seen me out at all times of the day and night. It’s horrible.’
‘But the police have to ask questions. They’re only doing their job,’ I said. ‘What are they going to do next?’
‘More search parties, interviewing other people – Mr Blackman, I understand. I hope to God he doesn’t tell them about the money. And Eli, I think.’
‘If they can find him.’
‘They seemed particularly keen, so I expect they will.’
‘Keen? What on earth has Eli got to do with anything?’
‘Well, you did say Jimmy thinks of him as a special friend.’
‘You told them that?’
‘Yes. Why not?’
‘Don’t you see, Pa? They’ll think Eli was interested in Jimmy because . . .’ I didn’t have the words for it, just a nasty feeling. ‘A young boy says that an eccentric old man is his “special friend”. What does that suggest to you, Pa, especially if you are a policeman with a suspicious mind?’
Pa looked shocked. ‘Surely they wouldn’t think . . .?’
‘Well, whatever they think, they will suspect Eli might have had something to do with Jimmy’s disappearance. And he’s done nothing wrong. He’s completely innocent.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘What do you mean, “You don’t know that”?’ I spluttered. ‘You don’t honestly think Eli would have harmed Jimmy? For heaven’s sake.’
‘Don’t let’s argue, darling.’
I stomped up to my room and wept into my pillow. Everything seemed so bleak and hopeless.
At some point in the afternoon the police returned. They’d talk
ed to a number of other people, but hadn’t come up with anything yet and would resume their searches in the morning, with dogs and divers this time. Divers. The very thought made me feel dizzy and sick.
‘Please don’t worry too much,’ Weasel Face said. ‘If Jimmy’s just got lost, he’ll be perfectly fine for a few days in this warm weather. We are still optimistic of finding him safe and well.’
Henry Blackman arrived with a shepherd’s pie made by his wife, and seemed to delight in reporting the day’s events: how the police had complimented the way he’d organised the search parties; how he had been up to see Eli in his new home and found him wandering around the building site, looking for firewood.
‘Had to show him the electric cooker in his house. Poor old fellow seems to be losing his mind,’ he said. ‘The police have already interviewed him once, and I got the impression they think there’s something he’s not divulging.’ He tipped his head confidentially.
My guilt had hardened into a permanent painful lump in my chest. Now I felt even guiltier than ever. Why did I tell Pa about Jimmy calling Eli his ‘special friend’? It seemed such a harmless, even charming thing to say at the time. But now Jimmy had gone missing the phrase took on a sinister meaning, bringing the poor old man under suspicion. And this, too, was my fault.
By nightfall, Pa and I had held each other and cried together many times. We’d joined search parties, been to the church to pray, talked endlessly between ourselves and to the police. Nothing could bring us any peace. It was like a living nightmare, and I wished so much that I could pinch myself and wake up.
23
I slept in Pa’s room that night. Or, rather, we lay together, holding each other throughout the long hours of darkness. Neither of us slept much, if at all. Mrs D stayed too, making up a bed for herself in one of the unused rooms.
At some point in the night I went off to sleep in Jimmy’s bed, imagining in my confused mind that I should keep it warm for him. I missed him with a fierce pain that no drugs could dull: his hot, clumsy little body, his crazy smile, the way he hummed tunelessly to himself, how he would tug at my arm if he wanted attention. All the things I’d usually found irritating I now desired more than anything else in the world. I prayed shamelessly to a God I didn’t believe in.
