by Paul Clayton
Henry counted to three in his head. ‘She went to get the key, and she came back and brought me a sleeping bag and cushion.’
‘Next question then …’ PC Oliver had turned towards the entrance of Parkside Tower. Henry could see he wasn’t smiling. ‘Where did she go?’
Henry wondered if he should tell Oliver about his previous visit to Parkside Tower. But then he would have to tell him about following Cora through the town and how he’d met her outside the wine bar and given her an envelope. Oliver might think it was suspicious, and it might get Mum into more trouble.
‘It might have been this one,’ he said, staring up at the white balconies and the picture windows and recalling the movement he’d seen at one of them.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Oliver. ‘You have a quick scout down the driveway and see if you can spot anything familiar. I’ll go up to the front door and check names on the bells and try to have a look in the hallway. Okay?’
Relieved that he wasn’t being questioned further, Henry nodded and set off down the driveway at the side of the building. He expected a light might turn itself on as it detected movement, but nothing happened. In the darkness the trees sighed as they peeped over the wooden fence. There were several parked cars but none that he recognised, neither the one they were looking for nor the one that he’d bumped into.
What he was looking for? Cora had gone away and returned with the key and the sleeping bag, that was all. But he wanted to impress Oliver with his keen investigative skills, so he wandered round what appeared to be a garden. Should he walk around it again before going back to Oliver to report that he’d found nothing?
Henry stood stock still for a moment, thinking about what to do. There was a sharp blow to the back of his head. As he started to turn, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. And then there was darkness.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Lottie and Andrea’s babysitting system seemed to work well. Andrea went out on Wednesdays and Saturdays and at first Lottie happily limited her excursions to Friday evenings. It seemed best that the kids stayed with whoever was babysitting. When Andrea was out on the town, Sharma slept head to toe in the single bed in Lottie’s bedroom, and the reverse happened when Lottie was out on the town, with her kids tucked up on Andrea’s sofa.
Lottie found nights out hard work at first. It was a long time since she’d socialised but the crowd at the nearest pub, the Lamb and Flag, were sociable and it wasn’t long before there were some familiar faces to talk to when she stepped through the door.
A tall, red-faced, curly-haired landlord called Derek was the centre of all the bonhomie. She spent her first visit perched on a bar stool chatting to him and revealing selected parts of her life story. That was the trouble: what could she say to people without revealing who she was and where she’d come from? She’d enjoyed her time at the refuge, yet it wasn’t something she particularly wanted to talk about and certainly not if it might make people ask questions about her past. A children’s home, failed marriage, abusive husband and taking flight with two children to the seaside was not the stuff of bar-stool chit-chat.
She told Derek that her parents had died and left her a little money. As she’d always wanted to live by the sea, she’d moved down here to see how she liked it. Yes, she had children, but her husband had walked out and that was part of the reason why she wanted to start again somewhere else.
‘Missus left me too, you know,’ said Derek, getting her a second vodka and orange. ‘You’ve got to suit this life, letting everybody into your home all the time. They all know what’s going on. She didn’t like it – no privacy – and she hated being behind the bar. The thing is, it’s the only job I can do. My dad did it and my grandad before him. Anyway, I’m better off without her. And I’ve got our Gary. He’s an enormous help.’
‘I bet he is,’ said Lottie, looking over at Gary, who was working at the other end of the bar. There was no doubt about it, Gary Hackett was fit. His tight-fitting, short-sleeved polo shirt revealed tattooed arms and a curling snake creeping out of his collar and up the back of his neck. His hair was shorn – he’d been in the Army evidently – and he had sturdy footballer’s legs. He had a similar rosy complexion to Derek, but it gave him an apple-cheeked innocence. Lottie knew he’d looked up once or twice but, as yet, he hadn’t approached her.
In truth, she wasn’t sure what she’d do if he did. Nothing had happened in that department since Craig. She wasn’t averse to the thought, and one of the reasons she sat at the bar was to watch Gary reaching down to pull bottles from the bottom shelf. He had well-muscled buttocks, just the sort you’d like to grab and pull towards you. She took a large gulp of her drink and caught sight of her blushing face in the mirror behind the bar.
She asked Andrea about him. ‘You know anything about Derek Hackett’s son, Gary, at the Lamb and Flag?’
‘Not really, love. Tell you the truth, I’ve not been in there for a good few weeks. Now we’ve got this lovely arrangement, I go further into town. More bars, more choice, more guys.’ She threw her head back and laughed.
One morning, when Lottie knocked on the door to return Sharma, Andrea opened the door a tiny crack. ‘Give me half an hour, love?’
Lottie said she would, but she had the kids on a promise for a walk along the cliffs and half an hour was the limit. Fifteen minutes later she heard the front door slam and caught sight of a tall, well-built guy in a denim jacket with spiky boy-band hair scurrying away from the house. Andrea’s date, no doubt. Lottie knew the type Andrea went for.
For a moment, Lottie felt her chest tighten with resentment. Part of the agreement was that neither of them would bring men home with kids around. But perhaps one good deed deserved another.
‘This one’s on the house.’ Gary grinned at her as he slid the vodka and orange across the bar.
‘Not busy tonight?’ The Lamb and Flag hadn’t yet sold its soul to become a full-on gastropub. While it served meals and had gone for the stripped wood, teal walls and bare-floor ambiance, it still felt like a local boozer. On fine days they did Sunday lunch in the beer garden, and one week Lottie had brought the kids down. It had all been a bit much but then she’d seen Gary smiling at her. She knew she was in with a chance if she wanted to make a move.
There was a gentle drizzle in the air. A smoky wetness had kept most people at home. Two or three regulars huddled at their table nodded a welcome as she stepped inside, but the place wasn’t busy. With no sign of Derek, it was Gary who settled in for a chat with her at the bar.
By closing time, Gary knew everything there was to know about Lottie – or certainly everything she felt happy to confess. Lottie was determined to know a little more about Gary too, not about his family but whether his thighs were as strong as they looked and was he a wonderful kisser?
A mingling of hesitation and promise flooded through her as he called time. Gary turfed out the five or six other people who’d braved the weather and slid the bolts in the doors. He poured himself a drink and came to sit on the stool next to her. ‘You do this often then, do you?’ he asked. ‘Hang about after time looking for a bit of fun?’
It might have been because she’d consumed four vodka and oranges that he thought sex was on the cards. He seemed to have changed; this side of the counter, he was a little less subtle. Still a looker though, thought Lottie, with his apple cheeks and broad shoulders. She began to wonder if that was enough to justify a quick fumble.
He reached across and stroked the side of her face, sweeping his hand down her cheek. ‘Bit special you are.’
She giggled. Shit, that must be the drink, she thought. He got off the stool and stood next to her. Leaning forward, his moist, full lips brushed hers. A schoolboy’s kiss. She pulled away, her breath shaking and shallow. His eyes reminded her of children’s paintings, too much water added to the green which had run and faded.
Unable to hold back any longer, she t
ook his head in her hands and pulled him into a fierce kiss, nuzzling and gnawing at his lips. Her hands worked their way around his body, feeling each contour of his perfect physique. Then she pulled away and opened her eyes. She was right. He was a superb kisser.
Afterwards, Lottie decided she didn’t want to stay the night. She felt cramped in his single-bedded room above the pub with the bed pushed against the wall, a wardrobe and a juvenile mix of football and pin-up girl posters.
Gary fell asleep almost instantly, but she lay on the bed awash with physical satisfaction and self-loathing. He had lived up to her hopes – not too forceful but rough enough to show who was in charge. He’d spent time making sure she got what she wanted. It’d been a long time; in fact, she couldn’t recall a man ever having spent that much attention on her needs.
Yet somehow, lying there in the bedroom above the pub in the tepid sodium glow of a streetlamp, she knew it wasn’t enough. She feared the urge that had encouraged her to do this would never go away. She thought of her kids and the sacrifice they’d made for her to have this night out, one of them curled up on Andrea’s sofa, the other tucked into her friend’s bed just so that she could have her pleasure. She loved those kids. She knew whatever else happened, she’d always put them first.
She slipped out of bed and started to pull on her clothes. Her phone had ended up on the bedside table. As she picked it up, she noticed a packet of condoms lying there. Unopened. How could she have let that happen?
Picking up her shoes, she stepped out of the bedroom. Downstairs, after pulling on her jacket and shoes, she unbolted the side door to the pub. She would have to leave it open. She’d have to hope that no one tried it until the morning. Hope Gary would be lucky. Given the unopened condom box, she’d have to hope she was lucky, too.
Chapter Fifty-Six
‘What do you mean you’ve lost him?’
‘I mean …’ PC Ashley removed his cap and looked rather shamefaced ‘… that he’s disappeared.’ He stepped into the kitchen.
Frankie reached for the kettle, her automatic reaction in times of stress.
‘No. Nothing to drink, thank you. I called in to see you first. I’ve got to go down to the station and make a report.’
Jonny and Shannon crowded into the doorway. Oliver’s appearance always heralded news of some kind, and they were anxious not to miss anything. Jonny was more than a little envious that Henry had been the one singled out to do the investigating.
‘We walked around the park. There’s a block of flats called Parkside Tower. Henry said that it was there that he hit her car.’
‘He did what?’ Frankie was trying her hardest to breathe calmly and not scream at Oliver.
‘He didn’t tell any of us when it happened and, come to that, neither did she. Nothing serious, but he ran out into the road and caught the side of her car. That was how he met Miss Walsh.’
Frankie shook her head in disbelief. Tears were forming in her eyes. ‘I wonder what else he didn’t tell us.’
Oliver continued with his version of events. ‘I said I’d take a look at the hallway of the block, see if there was a name on the mailbox or anything. I suggested Henry had a look down the drive at the side in case he recognised any of the cars. It seemed to take him quite a time, so I went around the back of the building and there was no trace of him.’
‘He wouldn’t have done anything stupid like he did last time, would he?’ asked Frankie. ‘He’s not run away and hidden in the park again for some silly reason, has he? We’ve got to get people out looking for him.’
Jonny pulled himself upright from slouching on the door frame. ‘I don’t think he’s done anything daft, Mum. Something’s happened. It’s not like Henry. If he was planning something again, he’d have told me like he did before.’
‘What do you mean, he told you?’ Frankie lashed out with her hand, intending to clip Jonny around the head, but he proved too quick and darted away from her in Oliver’s direction.
‘He told me he was playing a Facebook dare and he’d be away from home for a night. Said he’d be okay, and I wasn’t to tell anyone about it.’
Frankie took several rapid breaths. ‘You saw how worried we were about him, and you knew? How could you? You can tell you come from a shit brain of a dad.’ As soon as the words shot across the room, she regretted them.
Jonny’s face crumpled and he looked on the edge of tears. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I thought I was helping. I was looking after Henry.’ He bit his lip, uncertain whether to go on. ‘Thing is, he was so excited when he went off with PC Ashley. He wouldn’t have run away.’ Jonny turned to Oliver. ‘He’d have wanted to find something and impress you. He thinks you’re a bit of a hero.’
‘Why would he think that?’ Frankie picked up a mug from the table and threw it into the sink. It shattered into smithereens. ‘Most of the time you seem to be fucking useless. Now you’ve lost him.’
No one spoke for a moment.
‘I need to call it in at the station.’ Oliver reached for his cap.
‘How did you end up at that particular block of flats?’ Jonny got the question in before his mother could continue her onslaught against the police officer.
‘It was opposite a private gate in the railings. Henry said that’s where she’d let him into the park to sleep. She’d got a key. I thought she might live in that block because they give keys to residents for after-hours access to the park on summer evenings.’
‘And does she live there?’ said Frankie.
‘No sign of her. Nothing on the mailboxes. We’ve tried to trace her address before, if you remember, and nothing came up.’
‘And now no Henry.’ Frankie shook her head in disbelief and let out a low growl.
‘What we gonna do, Mum?’ Shannon took her mum’s arm.
Frankie hugged her daughter. ‘I don’t know. What are we going to do, constable?’
‘Let’s me report it at the station. I’ll give you a call as soon as I’ve done that. Meanwhile, stay here in case he turns up.’ Oliver put on his cap and stepped outside. ‘I’m sorry Mrs Baxter.’ He turned back and looked at Frankie. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’
‘Go and report it and let’s pray and hope, shall we?’ Frankie closed the door and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. Tears flooded down her cheeks. ‘Henry, Henry, Henry, Henry.’ She called his name as if trying to conjure him up. ‘Why Henry?’
Jonny and Shannon exchanged glances.
‘Mum,’ said Jonny, ‘I think he’s been to those flats before. On his own.’
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Little Girl walked into the arrivals hall and was met by a stocky dark-haired man bearing a card from consulate advisory services with her name on it. A quick car journey and she settled into a hotel room just off Gloucester Road, organised by the consulate for the next few nights. It was hardly luxurious, but it would suffice for a day or two. Mr Howe had taken great lengths to explain to her before she flew back that the Skuras’ bequest made her a very rich woman.
Little Girl found it hard to understand. ‘Why would they leave me everything?’
She recalled the shopping trip with Marta before they left. All her dreams answered. A couple who actually wanted her. The clothes and presents hadn’t mattered, but on that day, Marta had looked excited to be with her, had seemed to care for her. How mistaken she’d been. From the moment they’d arrived in Dubai, they treated her as little more than a servant, a slave to please an endless stream of strangers. Eric and Marta had never touched her themselves but that made it no less easy to hate them.
Brought up in a home barren of love, unwanted and unneeded, had this helped her survive the night visits of the white-robed Arabs? The painful memories were like deep and horrible chapters of a book. Now was the time to leave it on the shelf to gather dust. Now it was time to choose what she wrote on the pages of her life. Today, tomorr
ow and every tomorrow that followed had to be wonderful. They had to be hers.
She had an appointment with the solicitors the next day. She had one outfit other than the clothes she’d travelled in, which Mrs Howe had sorted out for her before departure, a plain skirt, white shirt and tailored jacket. ‘I look older,’ she thought, as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. It was as if the changes to her face had seeped down into her very soul. This is my world now. My terms.
The outfit was perfectly good enough for today. Tomorrow would be different. Money bought you dreams. It didn’t always make you happy, but it could make you content. Control money, and you could control men.
She stepped out of the solicitor’s office onto the pavement and steadied herself on the plate-glass wall of the office building. What was a lot of money? She recalled how they had read Shakespeare in English lessons at school. How Mark Anthony had promised Caesar’s estate to the people of Rome. ‘Seventy-five drachmas to each and every several man.’ They had considered how it would mean something different to every person. Yet no matter how she looked at it, £3.2 million was a fortune.
Little Girl wasn’t sure where she was. Central London was unfamiliar, but she knew she needed strong coffee in a china cup. Across the road she saw a hotel with a large stone portico and a uniformed footman standing outside, exactly the sort of place where she could afford to take coffee now.
Once inside, the floor, tiled in fine marble, made her every step echo. A young woman, whose features suggested she had an unpleasant smell lodged under her nose, showed Little Girl to a table in a far corner of the lobby. She felt distinctly underdressed but that was something she could soon remedy. For now, she ordered coffee and biscuits and endured the superior glance of the grey-haired waiter who stumbled over to serve her. You’re not good enough to be in here, his eyes told her. Just you wait, she thought. To infuriate him even more, she paid in cash, asked for change and left no tip.
