by cass green
It was only when he had left and the kindly sister of a boyfriend said Lucas was ‘obviously dyslexic’ that it had made sense. He wasn’t thick, or lazy, or a ‘philistine’ for not reading books (as a particularly nasty little shit called James Burrowes had said in Year Eleven), just wired a bit differently to most people when it came to reading.
But avoiding papers and magazines wasn’t enough. There was a poster for the book at his local train station, for a start.
It had caught him short one evening, causing the woman walking behind him to crash into his back. He had barely heard her berating him as he stood there, staring, fists clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms.
Looking at the oversized face, craggy and weathered, before him, he’d been overcome with a desire to smash that billboard to pieces. He wanted to tear the face up, gouge out the eyes. Stamp on the head. Do all the things he had fantasized about since he was ten years old.
On another occasion, he’d caught a snatch of Radio 4, which one of the groundsmen – Ted – liked to listen to in the truck. An interview. Lucas had buried his earbuds deep into his ears and drowned it out with some grime turned up loud.
But turning off radios and averting his eyes from newspapers and posters wasn’t enough. It was too late.
The face was always there; sneery lip and the cold blue eyes. He’d started having nightmares again and he hadn’t wanted to see his sister. He knew what she would say.
‘Why the fuck can’t you let him go, Lu?’
But he couldn’t. Because every time he heard the name or saw his face, the same terrible picture came into his mind …
Marianne’s pale skin. The curled hand resting on the side of the bath. The shock of seeing his mother’s breasts and pubic hair for the first time. The filmed-over eyes staring up. And the empty pill bottle.
Easy for Angel to talk about letting it go. She hadn’t been the one who came into the house and immediately knew that the air felt different. Like the house was holding its breath, waiting for him. She hadn’t had to climb the stairs, which had suddenly loomed above him, bigger and taller than usual. Or walked into that bathroom with all its familiar things. Known what it felt like to stand there for a surprising number of seconds before his brain dropped the trapdoor and allowed what he was really seeing to rush in.
No, Angel had her own ways of dealing with things. She got drunk, got stoned, shagged unsuitable men. If that was her way of keeping the noise at bay, then fair enough. But Lucas was made differently.
One night when the darkness felt like it would consume him, Lucas decided trying to hide away wasn’t working. He would look for information, rather than shying away from it.
The book – A Bitter Cosmic Joke: Stories from the Frontline – was a bestseller. It was from a Martha Gellhorn quote, apparently.
The stories would get trotted out – the more gruesome and distressing the better – whenever it was thought that the children weren’t showing sufficient gratitude for what they had. Lucas had felt sorry for these blown-apart children in far-off places, but couldn’t really connect it with why he had been slapped so hard his ear buzzed all evening. It felt like a conundrum he was too stupid to work out at the time.
So, no, he wouldn’t be reading this book.
Instead he trawled the internet, looking for interviews and mentions. It was like picking at a scab until it drew blood.
A couple mentioned the wife, Marianne, who had tragically taken her own life in 2004.
But something kept him alert for each new interview, as though it were all leading to this.
And that’s how he found Alice.
27
Nina
I’m dozy with the effects of fatigue and shock from this strange, awful night.
Sam is safe, I say to myself, like a mantra. Sam is safe, Sam is safe.
That’s the most important thing of all. Even if he hates me right now, he hasn’t come anywhere near this mess. If I can just get baby Zach away now, I’ll be free. They can do what they want with the car, I don’t really care. I just want distance between myself and the two damaged people in my house.
I go to the baby, who is lying on the sofa, splayed like a little frog, chest rising and falling quickly. He is on his back and I quickly lift him and place him lengthways on my arm, fretting about whether the ink has bled through his thin vest from the heat of his body.
But Angel and Lucas’s heads are together and they are in murmured discussion, which I can just about make out.
‘What about ANPR?’ says Angel. Then, when Lucas looks blank, ‘Automatic number plate recognition.’ She goes on. ‘Once they have the details of the car, we won’t get as far as Luton, let alone Scotland.’
They think about this silently for a moment or two then Lucas speaks again.
‘Let’s obscure it then. With mud or something. I saw it on a film once. We might risk getting pulled over if it’s completely hidden, but if it just makes it difficult to get the whole number it might do the trick.’
‘OK, good idea,’ says Angel.
But then Lucas leans in close and whispers something that makes Angel flare, seizing his arm in fury.
‘Just look at yourself,’ she hisses, loud now. ‘Can you imagine what prison would be like for someone like you? I’ve read about this, Lucas. It’s not a joke. Do you really want to be raped? I mean, look at you!’
Lucas flinches and I can’t help but wince, thinking about the Panorama programme I saw on sexual abuse in male prisons.
Lucas drops his head, defeatedly, and then nods.
‘I’ll sort out the car,’ he mumbles. ‘But it’s been too dry for mud, even with that rain. It’ll have just run off the top.’ He thinks for a moment and then goes to the sink where he fills the plastic washing-up bowl with water. ‘I’ll improvise,’ he adds.
Before he goes he glances at the baby, his face creased with worry.
‘It won’t be long now,’ he says gruffly. ‘Then he’ll be OK. Can get the help he needs.’
Then he leaves the room. I hear the front door open and close. Maybe they plan to tie me up and then drive Zach to a hospital. I picture Angel thrusting the baby into the arms of the nearest nurse and then fleeing.
My guts turn over at the thought of being tied up here and left alone for days.
‘Right,’ says Angel wearily. ‘This is the plan. We’re letting you go. You’ll have to walk. Obviously.’
My heart skips in my chest. ‘What about Zach?’
Angel waves her hand. ‘I meant that you take him. Take him to hospital, or wherever the fuck you want. We’re leaving first. And I’m not leaving you a phone or anything, sorry. We need time.’
She emits this series of staccato sentences like a burst of machine gun fire. Rat-a-tat-tat. Then she looks around the kitchen and goes to pick up her bag.
‘My clothes,’ she says. ‘The ones I came in. Where are they?’
‘I’ll get them for you,’ I say but Angel shakes her head.
‘No,’ she says. ‘When Lucas comes back in, I’ll get them myself.’
Zach has begun to mewl again and I realize he is bound to be hungry. He’s only had one feed in how many hours? It’s almost eight now and they arrived at three am. I have no way of knowing when he had been fed before this. He starts to cry harder again.
My head aches with the responsibility and juggling all these complex balls.
But I can’t feed him. It works for me that he sounds miserable. Just wait, Zach, I think. Not long now, poppet. Not long now.
A few minutes later, Lucas bursts into the room. For the first time, he has a little colour in his cheeks.
‘Done the best I can,’ he says, and wipes his hands down his jeans. ‘Too much and we might get pulled over, but that should be enough to buy a little time.’
‘Right, let’s go!’ says Angel. She sounds excited now and evidently intends to leave without another word.
But Lucas is staring at a fussy Zach. His eyes seem
to brim with pain. I can’t work him out at all. Is it his baby after all? He’s far more concerned about Zach than his stone-hearted sister appears to be, anyway.
‘Goodbye, little man,’ he says, quietly, and then, his voice, cracking, ‘I’m so sorry.’
They lock the back door and go out the front way. Without another word those two awful people – who muscled their way into my home and caused the worst night of my life – are gone.
Moments later I hear the car start up outside and relief comes over me as pure, sweet warmth.
‘Oh, thank God,’ I say. ‘We’re OK, Zach! We’re OK!’
I hurry from the room, Zach bobbing in my arms, to check for phones but the two landlines in the house have been removed. There is no sign of my mobile.
‘Shit!’ I say but without much feeling. I never really expected Angel to make things easy. I’m just going to have to walk.
Zach complains at being jiggled about and I make impatient shushing sounds. How can someone so tiny feel so very heavy? My arms and shoulders ache. I feel sick with tiredness and my head throbs.
But I’m free.
Briefly, I wonder if I ought to feed Zach first, but my impatience to get out of this overnight prison is too strong. Grabbing the dirty bottle and the remaining carton of milk, I find my handbag in the hallway. No keys, of course. The door will lock behind me so once I’m outside I won’t be able to get back in again.
I have to tell the police what has happened. That’s the priority.
They can break in if necessary.
Murmuring quietly to the little boy in my arms, I hurry out of the house and hear the door click behind me.
As I move away from the front door the thought comes to me I may never be able to see this place as home in the same way again.
Last night’s rain has done little to cool things down, it seems, and it is already a warm morning. The traffic on the main road is rush-hour thick now, the familiar roaring of cars fuzzy with the rising heat of the morning.
But the relief of being free, of being away from those people, is immense. I turn my face up and allow myself a second of pure, uncomplicated pleasure at the feel of sunshine on my skin.
I have to move though. This little boy needs to be back with people who love him.
Perhaps for the first time ever, I truly curse living so far out of town. I think about climbing the bank and trying to flag down a car for help. Anyone would stop for a waving woman with a baby, wouldn’t they?
But it would be so dangerous. It’s a fifty mph zone along here but most people seem to drive much faster.
No, it’s too risky. I’ll have to make my way towards town. I’ll knock on a random door if needs be.
Arms aching with the effort of holding the baby for so many hours, and sweat already beginning to prickle under my arms, I start to walk up the hill.
28
Angel
The journey hadn’t started well.
Angel hasn’t driven for ages and, at first, she keeps stalling the car.
When she goes to start it again, Lucas holds her wrist and says, ‘Careful. You might flood the engine.’
‘Thanks, Jeremy Fucking Clarkson,’ says Angel, ‘but I know what I’m doing. Or would you rather take over?’
Her brother shoots her a wounded look then shrugs and turns in on himself.
When they get to the end of the road, Angel hesitates, then goes around the roundabout, heading in the direction of the motorway.
They are silent for a couple of minutes and then Lucas gives a small cry.
‘What is that?’ he says, his voice panicked. He’s staring at his hands, which are blotchy and red.
Angel glances at him and says, instantly, ‘Looks like red ink to me. What did you touch?’
As she says the words, something in the back of her mind pricks uncomfortably but Lucas is evidently already ahead of her.
‘Fuck!’ he says and smashes his hand against the dashboard, making Angel jump.
‘What is it?’ she cries, trying to concentrate on the traffic, which is heavy on this road. Her head aches too and so she pulls down the sun visor, which helps a little.
‘She fooled us!’
Lucas is yelling now, ridiculously upset. Angel glances wildly at him, making the car wobble.
‘What is it?’ she says. ‘What are you on about?’
‘Oh, meningitis can be really serious,’ he says now, in a mocking facsimile of Nina’s voice. ‘I’m a mother, I know about these things!’
‘What are you talking about Lucas? For God’s sake!’
‘It’s ink!’ he screams, thrusting his hand in front of her face. ‘She painted those spots on Zach! There was no reason to let him go!’
Angel is silent for a moment and then can’t stop herself from giving a small laugh. ‘Well well well,’ she says. ‘I didn’t think she had it in her.’
Lucas is breathing heavily, like he is going to have an asthma attack.
‘What does it matter?’ she says. ‘We couldn’t really take him. You did understand that, didn’t you? And have you got your inhaler?’
‘Don’t need my inhaler any more,’ snaps Lucas. ‘And you know why I took him. I made a promise. I …’
Angel looks sharply at her brother and watches his face crumple and fall. He starts to sob, his shoulders heaving.
‘You did everything you could!’ she cries, desperately trying to keep her eyes on the road. ‘What more could you have done?’
‘You don’t understand,’ says Lucas, his voice thick. He is hunched over in the seat, hands scrunched tightly into his hair and face lowered. ‘Oh God,’ he says, ‘I can’t stand it, I can’t …’ Then, ‘We’re going back,’ he says.
‘Are you insane?’ Angel is shouting now. ‘No we’re not! We’ve only just got away! Why would we even think of doing that?’
‘I want to take Zach with us,’ yells Lucas. ‘If he’s not sick there is no reason to leave him. We’re going back.’
‘No we aren’t!’ yells Angel and then Lucas is wresting open the car door and Angel shrieks and swerves, causing a blaze of tooting from other cars. ‘Stop it! Stop it! You’ll get us killed!’
‘Well pull over then!’ bellows Lucas. Angel looks at him in exasperation. She can’t believe this is happening.
‘I mean it!’
If only to stop her nutjob of a brother from killing them both, Angel pulls over to the side of the road.
They sit there with the engine ticking, and the morning sun blazing through the window.
29
Nina
Zach is revving quietly like a small angry motor, evidently unhappy at being walked like this, and I long for a sling or something to carry him in. But I gave our BabyBjörn away years ago, when it became apparent that there would be no more infants in this household.
The bright colours of the day assault my eyes and I squint against the sunlight, hand shading my face. I can finally see the end of my road and the roundabout. Then I realize there is a car coming towards me from the opposite direction and cry out with the relief. Help at last! I’ll wave the car down and they can take me to a police station.
But something feels wrong.
It’s coming far too fast. As Zach squirms awkwardly in my arms, I let out a small moan of dismay when I recognize my own red Fiat Uno coming towards me, a furious-looking Angel clenched over the steering wheel like a malevolent crow.
‘Oh shit,’ I wail. ‘No!’
The car slows and goes past me, then I can hear it turning in the layby.
I start to run, Zach an awkward bundle bouncing in my arms. Wildly, I peer at the thick hedge lining the road. Could I climb through into the farmer’s field beyond? But no, there are no gaps wide enough for me to squeeze through, not without possibly hurting the baby.
Shit.
I can hear the familiar purr of my own car’s engine behind me and I let out a sob of frustration. I’m sweating and so exhausted now I can’t run any further. I
whisper a tiny apology to the baby at my abject failure to get away and kiss his downy head, which feels damp and seems to radiate heat. Incredibly, he has been quiet during all this but, now I’ve stopped, he begins to crank up a series of creaky little complaints again.
The car is beside me now. The passenger window lowers and Angel leans across her brother, who is staring straight ahead, white-faced.
‘Get in,’ she says, deadpan.
‘No!’ I say, trying to sound tough but it’s no good because my voice wobbles as I continue. ‘Can’t you just leave us alone?’
‘Get in,’ says Angel again, her jaw set. ‘I’m not messing around. Don’t make me get out of this car.’
‘But what about Zach?’ I cry. ‘I have to get him to hospital, he’s—’
‘Oh, cut the crap, Nina,’ says Angel. ‘You think you’ve been very clever, don’t you? With your little red marker pen. But I’m afraid you’ve been rumbled.’
Of course they’d come back for him, I think now. He’s worth something to them, isn’t he? No ransom for them if he’s in hospital.
I cast my gaze around me, wildly. To have almost got away and then to be yanked back into this nightmare feels like something I won’t be able to bear. I want to scream, cry, cause violence to these people. For a moment, I bitterly resent the small boy in my arms. For several shameful seconds, I contemplate thrusting Zach into Angel’s arms and trying to run on my own.
‘Just get in, Nina,’ says Angel. Her voice is weary now.
I hesitate for a few futile moments more. I have no way of escaping right now. I suppose if I am around at least I know this baby will be moderately safe. I tell myself this in an attempt to make up for the previous, shameful feelings about fleeing alone.
Sick with resentment, I open the rear passenger door and climb in, then pull it shut with such savage force it hurts my shoulder. On cue, Zach starts to cry again.
The journey back takes less than two minutes and never have I been so unhappy to see my own house. No one speaks as we get out of the car and close the doors.
