Tideline

by Penny Hancock

  ‘There was once a fifteen-year-old boy. He lived, as I do, by the Thames, but he was homeless. So poor he had to scavenge for rubbish washed up by the tide. Twice a day he went, at low tide, down to the shore to collect whatever he could find. The bones of the drowned and decomposed, pieces of wood, scrap metal. Occasionally he found a coin, or a jewel, but those things were rare. He had friends who worked with him, but many of these so-called mudlarkers drowned. Stuck on a mudbank when the tide came in, they’d become marooned and then swept away by the relentless tides.’

  I pause for a second. I can see he’s almost asleep but I want to finish the tale. It’s brought tears to my eyes. I swallow, wipe my eyes on the back of my hand and continue. ‘This boy, Edmund, he struck lucky. He found a little medallion with Queen Victoria’s face on it and he believed it must be hers, her own medallion. That he should give it back to her.

  ‘He made his way to the palace but the guards refused him. He was a ragamuffin, dressed in muddy clothes and ill-fitting shoes that he’d picked up on the shore. But Edmund was not a boy to give up easily, and he was agile. He shinned up a wall outside the palace and broke in through a window. He found Queen Victoria lying in her bed. It was as if she’d been waiting for him. Edmund handed the medallion to Queen Victoria who was still in mourning for Prince Albert and had barely left her room for months. She asked him to sit on her bed and to tell her all about himself. She was so impressed by his story, and his devotion to her, that for the first time in months, years even, she came out of mourning. She saw beyond the rags and the mud to the soul of the boy. His courage and his selflessness enabled her to see that life was worth living again.’

  I stop. Jez has stirred, his eyelids flicker a little, a small smile plays on his lips.

  It’s about three in the morning.

  ‘Jez. We need to go. You must stand up and come with me. Jez.’

  His face lights up, but he’s still confused, drowsy. He’s floppy, his limbs heavy. I make him put on his leather jacket and then Greg’s enormous anorak over the top, to protect it. I hold his elbow as we go downstairs. In the hallway I tell him to put up the hood and to walk alongside me. I open the door and he follows me to the courtyard. I lead Jez out into the night.

  ‘Hmmm. Air!’ he says. His words slur a little. ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you!’

  It’s been so long since he’s been outside he breathes in deeply, greedily. There’s a smell of seaweed, an anomaly of the river I love, the saltiness that washes up from the estuary and reminds you that the river runs into wild open oceans. Oceans that deliver to the river, carrying cargo from other worlds, fish to Billingsgate, silks to the East End, spices, fruits and vegetables, coffee, tobacco, cotton, tea and sugar. This river gives generously and takes greedily. I never underestimate it.

  Jez looks at me.

  ‘Cheers,’ he mutters. ‘Thanks. I’m sorry if I’ve been unhelpful at times. It was nice of you to have me.’

  I lead him across the courtyard towards the door in the wall. I’m on edge. I know that if he decides to make a run for it when we’re beyond the walls of the River House, I won’t have the strength to stop him. I have to rely on his drugged state and his new-found trust in me. Yet the fact he believes I’m about to drive him home stirs an uncomfortable feeling in me. I don’t like deceiving him. I’ve tried not to tell lies, and most of the time I haven’t had to. He’s believed what he wants to believe.

  I told Kit a lie the summer Greg stopped talking to me. The summer of the grand silence. When freezing me out was Greg’s way of punishing me for my frigidity. I hated telling it. But saying Daddy had lost his voice was preferable to admitting that he refused to speak to me, and by extension to Kit too. I did it to protect her.

  I let Jez think we’re going home, to protect him. I lead him along the alley. Horizontal rain stings our faces. Orange lights reflect upwards from the puddles underfoot. The river sighs impatiently down on the shore. Under the coaling pier it’s so dark, Jez reaches for my arm. I take his hand and he doesn’t try to remove it. So we continue, his hand sweetly in mine, through the chilly night to the garage doors.

  ‘You keep your car in here?’ he says, as I slot the key into the lock.

  I don’t answer.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Wednesday

  Helen

  Helen didn’t know what made her feel worse as she arrived home from work on Wednesday evening. The two backs that were turned to her as she pushed open Mick’s office door. Or the police car she noticed drawing up outside the front window a few minutes later.

  Maria and Mick were poring over the internet, reading the messages that had been posted on the Facebook page they’d set up. Accolades and messages and memories of Jez from friends and admirers they had not even known existed.

  ‘Hi,’ Helen said. They didn’t look round. ‘Honey, I’m home,’ she tried, a phrase she and Mick had used when they were first married in mock seriousness.

  Mick turned. ‘Helen, please, we’re busy.’

  He was interrupted by the doorbell. Helen went to answer it. It was about four thirty, the street lights had already come on.

  Inspector Hailey Kirwin was accompanied again by the boy who barely looked Barney’s age.

  ‘We’d like to ask you a few personnel questions,’ he said. ‘About the disappearance of Jed. Could we come in?’

  ‘Jez,’ muttered Kirwin leaning towards him, ‘and you mean personal questions, not personnel.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Helen said. ‘What do you want to know? Come in. Sit down, why don’t you?’

  She led them into the sitting room and switched on a table lamp before sitting down herself. She was buggered if she was going to offer them tea. She’d been about to open some wine.

  ‘If you could just run over everything from the moment Jez arrived to stay with you? We need to get a full profile of his relations with you and your family.’

  ‘OK, I’ll try. D’you want my husband and sister as well?’

  ‘Just you at the moment,’ said Kirwin.

  Helen shrugged. ‘Fine. Where shall I begin?’

  ‘From the moment he arrived. He came over for some interviews, is that right?”

  ‘Yes. A week ago last Friday.’

  ‘I understand he was thinking of going to sixth form college over here. So he’s still at school?’

  ‘Yes. At a lycee in Paris. He’s sixteen today. It’s his birthday.’ Helen paused as the poignancy of this hit her.

  Kirwin nodded . ‘Birthdays are always difficult,’ she said. ‘Take your time.’

  Helen smoothed down her skirt and took a deep breath. ‘I met him on Friday at St Pancras. I remember worrying as I waited under the international arrivals board, about how short and middle-aged I’d look to him.’ She smiled a rueful smile. ‘That seems such a trivial concern now. But he’s taller than either of my boys, even though he’s younger than both of them. I assumed he’d feel a bit awkward, we hadn’t seen each other for oh, about six months, so it was a nice surprise when he kissed me, French style, on both cheeks.’ She frowned at the police woman. ‘Is this the kind of thing you want to know?’

  The woman nodded. ‘Go on,’ she said.

  Helen thought for a moment. She remembered how she’d noticed his smell, of some kind of soap and how she’d thought of the sweaty pong of her own sons, which she put down to adolescence.

  ‘I must admit I realized, seeing him, that it’s no longer uncool these days for boys to care about their personal hygiene. It made me think my sons could try a bit harder. Oh, but I’ve always felt inadequate next to my sister. She seems to have done a better job than me as a mother.’

  Kirwin leant forward, ‘How do you mean, a better job? In what way?’

  ‘Oh, all sorts of ways. Jez only came over for a couple of interviews, but Maria had made him bring his guitar, and had packed several changes of smart clothes. I’d never have been so organized with my boys. Then I was worried I wouldn’t be able to t
hink of things to say to him in the car on the way home. You know, teenage boys – mine anyway – can be very monosyllabic. But Jez was – is – charming! Probably because of living with adults. Until recently he was an only child. His father has remarried and he has a little stepsister now but he doesn’t see much of them. Anyway, he was far more forthcoming than either of my children would ever be. Of course it makes you wonder if it’s your fault. It’s the lot of parents to blame themselves I suppose.’

  Helen looked at the police boy. But he’d turned to look out of the window, or maybe he was studying his reflection in the dark pane, and was pushing his pen down his sock.

  ‘Josh, I hope you’re taking notes,’ said Kirwin, and the boy started.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘So, you picked Jez up in your car?’

  ‘Yes. I was a bit annoyed that I had to pay the congestion charge. More with my sister than with him. I would have left my kids to get the tube. My sister’s more protective of Jez than I ever was of my two, but perhaps it’s because he’s her only one.’

  ‘Would you say then,’ said Kirwin, ‘that he isn’t streetwise? That he might not have known how to look after himself in London? Just a thought.’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Helen. ‘He’s certainly a little naïve. On the way home he realized he hadn’t got any English money! I had to stop at the bank, find somewhere to park, take him to the bureau de change. It wasn’t his fault, if anything, it was my sister’s. Given that’s she’s so protective, why hadn’t she given him cash when he left? But yes, I’d say he’s used to having things done for him. Lacks street cred. Since you ask.’

  She paused.

  ‘He might be rather mollycoddled, but he’s well liked. Adored even! My boys, the band, his girlfriend obviously, they all idolize him. Though my kids described him as something. What was it? That’s right. They said he was “whipped”.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It means eager to please,’ Josh interjected, tuning in at last.

  ‘Yes,’ said Helen. ‘Apparently he doesn’t like to say no to his girlfriend. To anyone probably. He likes to please. He’s polite. That’s the phrase they use apparently. Whipped. Funny.’

  ‘We spoke to his girlfriend. They’ve been together for a while.’

  ‘It’s rather sweet. They’ve kept in touch since he moved to Paris.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Oh. It must be two years now. My sister – his mother – is working over there, in the suburbs. She’s in fashion.’

  ‘And he was planning to come over here for sixth form?’

  ‘Yes. He applied to two music courses. One of the colleges is the same one my son has applied to. They were both going for the same course. Down here in Greenwich. They won’t both get in. There are hardly any places. Barney might have stood a chance if it wasn’t for Jez. But Jez is much more musical. And my sister pushes him. He’s dyslexic but it doesn’t affect his playing. If anything he seems to be more creative as a result.’

  ‘You say people idolize him. Were you conscious at any time of his receiving unwanted attention from anyone?’

  ‘What do you mean?

  ‘He didn’t mention anyone? He wasn’t worried about anything?’

  ‘No. Nothing. You could ask his girlfriend, she’d probably know more.’

  ‘And you didn’t at any time fall out with either Jez or his mother during the week he was here?’

  Helen shifted in her seat. Was she walking into some kind of trap here? She could murder a glass of wine. She’d had a long day at work and she couldn’t help thinking about Maria and Mick at the computer together. Was she mistaken or had their thighs been touching? The more she thought about it, the more sure she felt that they had been leaning up against each other when she’d interrupted them just now. It was mad, but the thought grew in her so she could think of nothing else. Logically she knew the anxious feeling in her belly should spring from the worry over Jez. So why did her mind keep pivoting back to Maria and Mick?

  ‘Helen. I’m sorry, but we do need to clarify this. Was there at any time an argument between you and your sister, or you and her son?’

  Helen looked at Kirwin and shook her head.

  ‘Just that moment in the car, when I stopped for his money. I wanted to get back and it meant we were running late. But otherwise no.’

  ‘Were you angry with him? Might he have felt in the way? That he was upsetting you or your family?’

  Helen paused. She wondered if she should mention losing her temper with Jez on the Friday he disappeared. How his brilliant playing made her tell him he was thoughtless. But that would mean mentioning yet again how inadequate she felt compared to her sister. Or worse, that she was hungover. She would sound neurotic and irresponsible.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It was a minor irritation. And overall as I say, he is very welcome here, everyone loves having him, I’m sure he knows that.’

  ‘One more thing then. You say you saw Jez after returning from a half day at work on Friday morning?’

  Helen blinked. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And, you have people who can verify that for you?’

  ‘No one else was at home when he left.’

  ‘No. I mean that you went to work on Friday morning?’

  Helen found herself nodding in spite of herself. There was time, surely there was time, to concoct a story. To get someone to cover for her. After all, it wasn’t as though she’d been doing anything that bad. It wasn’t as if she was hiding something criminal.

  ‘You work . . .’ Kirwin looked down at her notebook. ‘At the teachers’ centre in Newnham? You run courses, is that right? On behaviour management for classroom teachers?’

  ‘Yes. I’m an advisory teacher,’ Helen said. ‘It means I’m peripatetic. But yes, based at the teachers’ centre.’

  ‘And you were at the centre last Friday?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Helen before she could stop herself.

  ‘Thank you. That’ll be all for now.’

  ‘You don’t want to talk to Mick? Or Maria?’

  ‘We had a chat with your sister earlier. And with Mick. However, we may need to discuss the family liaison officer. It’s been nearly a week now and we like to make sure families of missing children are properly supported. We’ll be in touch.’

  Helen watched the car disappear down Maze Hill and then went back to Mick’s study. The two were no longer there, the computer’s screensaver flickered blue and purple. She went to the kitchen.

  Was today the same as every other day or was it different? It was as if she’d never seen her own kitchen before. The winter pansies on the windowsill, the box stuffed with pamphlets about films and plays they’d never get round to going to. The shelf of chipped mugs. She needed to replace the vase of chrysanthemums she’d placed on the table. They were wilting already. Everything shimmered in and out of focus. She must be ill. Perhaps she needed some paracetamol. Perhaps she needed a large gin.

  Mick came in and rummaged in the freezer.

  ‘So, Maria needed help with the Facebook page?’ Helen said. He didn’t notice the challenge in her eyes, the accusation.

  ‘What? Oh, no, I wanted to help.’

  ‘I don’t get why you’re taking it all on your shoulders!’ But Helen did know why. It was so he could impress Maria. She was certain now, and couldn’t contain herself. ‘I never noticed Maria being helpless before. Why d’you have to pay her so much attention?’

  ‘Helen, what is this? I just want to do all I can to find that boy. He’s been gone five nights now and you don’t seem to give a damn. I suppose you’ll be wanting this?’ He put a bottle of wine on the counter in a coolwrap.

  As she reached for the bottle and a glass, the doorbell rang. Mick went to answer it. Helen looked through the kitchen door to see Alicia approaching her down the hallway. She looked dreadful, thinner than ever, with spots beginning to appear on her forehead.

  ‘Come in, Alicia,’ Helen said.

  ‘Yo
u haven’t heard anything?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘Sit down, darling. What would you like? You look as if you need a drink.’ Helen pointed at the wine, and Alicia shook her head.

  ‘I don’t touch alcohol,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea though. I walked here through the tunnel and I’m knackered.’

  ‘I’ll make you one.’

  ‘I thought someone ought to just drive about and look out for him,’ Alicia said. ‘It takes so long on foot. And it’s freezing out there. I thought I’d ask you if you’d done that yet?’

  Maria, hearing voices, came into the kitchen.

  ‘Alicia wants to go and look for Jez,’ Helen told her. ‘She wants us to get the car out and just drive around south London until we find him. I think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘I’ve tried everything else,’ said Alicia. ‘But I’m not giving up.’

  Helen was sure she saw Maria’s lip curl when Alicia spoke in her rather high-pitched south-east London accent.

  ‘That’s the police’s job,’ said Maria. ‘We are more useful here, keeping an eye on the Facebook page. Answering calls.’ She looked up at Mick who nodded.

  ‘What can I get you, Maria?’ he asked.

  She looked at Helen’s glass of wine.

  ‘Nothing alcoholic. I need to keep a clear head. Just in case.’

  ‘Go to the sitting room and I’ll bring you a cup of tea. I’ve lit the fire.’

  Alicia raised her eyebrows as Mick followed Maria out of the room and Helen pulled a face as she handed Alicia a mug of sweet tea. She found something strangely comforting about the girl’s presence.

  They sat down at the kitchen table and Helen drank her wine while Alicia talked and ate digestive biscuits. She told Helen how she’d kept in touch with Jez on MSN since he moved to Paris. How well they got on. How easy to talk to he was, for a boy.

  ‘I know she’s your sister,’ Alicia said, ‘and I don’t want to be mean, but Jez’s mum’s weird. And she doesn’t like me.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Helen said. ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘She never asks me anything. It’s odd because I’m into art and it’s what Maria does, sort of. And Jez as well, he’s like, my mum’s too pushy. She’s a snob. She wants him to be the best at everything. It’s too much pressure.’