The Mountain in My Shoe

by Louise Beech

  Yvonne leans forward, says that Conor lived in a variety of homes before being placed with Anne five years ago, so he has some issues with security and gets quite clingy and attached to people at times. Bernadette hates how Conor is summed up in such broad strokes, like a bad drawing. They’re never going to find him if they go out looking for a caricature.

  What time is it now? Seven-forty. Is this how they search for lost children? Writing information in a report? Shouldn’t they be at train and bus stations, in shops and on the street, asking people, showing his picture, knocking on doors?

  ‘Have there been any arguments recently, either here or with other family members or friends? Any trouble at school?’

  ‘No,’ says Anne. She’s clearly losing patience with the interview and paces the floor. ‘Just the usual messing around at school. That’s nothing new, just attention seeking and totally understandable. Oh!’ Anne remembers something – they all sit forward. ‘God no.’

  ‘Tell us,’ says PC French.

  ‘Well, they were going to have a Stranger Danger talk at school today – it appears a man has been pulling up outside the school in a red car and talking to the kids. God, it couldn’t be that could it? No.’

  Bernadette puts her face in her hands. The thought that some stranger has him is unbearable. She runs to the kitchen and throws up.

  11

  The Book

  Hull Social Services Report – Lisa Donkin (Social Worker)

  Record of recent change of placement Child: Conor Jordan

  Date of Birth: 10/11/2001 Date: 15/07/2003

  It’s never nice picking a child up at midnight when it’s raining and he’s asleep and you have to settle him in a new place in a fold-up cot that smells foreign and wrong. This is the hardest part of being a social worker. But I always tell myself it’s harder for the child.

  I tried to keep you asleep when I carried you but you became distressed. You still have the black cat Maureen gave you and that gave you comfort. You had it clamped between your teeth and wouldn’t let go.

  We try to keep children in one secure place if we can. We hope when we set them up with a foster family that it will be until they’re adopted or go back to their own family home, but it’s not always possible.

  You had been with Julia five months so you were settling into life there. You had just begun calling her Mum – she tried to stop it but you heard a child in the street saying it to their mum and latched onto it. Mum, Mum, Mum, you said. Even to the lady next door.

  Even though you’d heard the word Dad too (Julia is close to hers), you didn’t pick it up. But I suppose you have at least some memory of your mum, while you’ve never met your real dad. Julia found it hard to hear you saying Mum. She didn’t stop you to be unkind, but to set you straight. Because one day you might live with your real mum.

  I know you’re going to be confused that there’s another ‘mum’ and another home. None of it was your fault. Jim Rogers insisted I include a report for you so one day you know this.

  Julia was a new foster parent, you were her first child and it didn’t work out. She didn’t want to do it anymore. This sometimes happens. It can be hard taking a strange child into your home. It’s not always what people expect. Everyone says it’s a good way to make extra money, but unless you do it to give a child a home and that’s the primary reason, you will end up regretting it. It takes a big heart and an open mind.

  The burns on the back of your legs were not your fault either.

  Here is what happened:

  You were playing in the kitchen while Julia was on the phone in the hallway. She said she had one eye on you and could see you through the door crack. But you’re an able and fast climber, Julia told us. It seems you got a hold of the kettle wire. Because it was a sunny day and you were only in a nappy the water hit your bare legs. It had only boiled a few minutes before, when she warmed a bottle for you. You wouldn’t drink your milk unless it was warm.

  Julia ran in when you screamed. She was upset she’d let it happen. She screamed for the neighbour and they got an ambulance. You had to stay in the hospital a few days because it was a second-degree burn and they needed to keep you hydrated and stop it from getting infected. The doctor said it might scar. I don’t know if it will but if it does you can read this and know what caused the redness on your legs. The kettle is what did it.

  And Julia didn’t let you go because she thought you were naughty or because you did anything wrong but because she could not forgive herself.

  She called my phone late one night, upset about it. She was close to walking away and leaving you in the cot. It wasn’t to be unkind but because she felt terrible about it all. She couldn’t cope. It’s hard for a parent or carer to look after a post-burns child. They need extra care for a while. She was sad at how you cried. She thought she was making it worse even though she did a great job of helping you heal.

  We had to intervene.

  So you’re with an emergency family now until we can find a more permanent place. There is still hope that your mum might get better, which means there’ll be one place you’ll live until you grow up. And maybe you’ll find out about your real dad. She’s trying. She won’t sign you over to be adopted, which is maybe because she can’t part with you permanently. But that means we can’t find you an adoptive family.

  In the meantime I will be doing my best to secure a home for you.

  PS – This info about being a Looked-After Child from Jim got lost, so I’ve stuck it back in your book.

  Placing a Looked-After Child (LAC) on a Care Order

  Under Section 31 of the Children Act 1989 the local authority can apply to the court for a child or young person to become the subject of a care order. Care orders can only be made by the court. When an application is made, the local authority must prepare a care plan for the future of the child.

  The court will only make a care order if it believes that it is better for the child or young person than not making an order. It can only be made on young people below the age of seventeen and cannot be made on a young person who is sixteen years old and married.

  To make a care order, the court must be satisfied:

  That the child concerned is suffering or is likely to suffer significant harm.

  That the harm, or likelihood of harm is attributable to:

  The care given to the child, or

  Likely to be given to him if the order were not made, or

  The care not being reasonable, or if

  The child is beyond parental control.

  Once a care order is made, the local authority obtains parental responsibility. The child’s social worker will update the care plan and ensure that it is subject to review as required by legislation, regulation and departmental policy and procedure.

  Note from foster carer Julia Stevens

  15th July 2003

  Dear Conor,

  I am so sorry. I am so sorry. Your lovely. I hope you will be happy. I am so sorry.

  Julia

  12

  Bernadette

  Bernadette grips the sink and waits for the nausea to pass. For a split second she recalls the sickness she felt that one, brief, happy moment. Anne is behind her, saying that Conor would never get into a car with a stranger, that she has warned him over and over never to.

  PC French comes into the kitchen, shaking her head. ‘No, no, the man outside the school in the red car – we arrested him this morning. So he can’t have taken Conor.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say then?’ demanded Anne.

  ‘It’s fine,’ says Bernadette. ‘She didn’t have chance.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said PC French. ‘The man outside the school had learning difficulties and was more a nuisance than a threat. He’d borrowed his brother’s car and kept asking for the library.’ She pauses. ‘Are you okay?’

  Bernadette nods, drinks some water, and they all resume their places in the living room.

  ‘Has Conor’s birth mum been co
ntacted?’ asks PC French. ‘All friends and family?’

  ‘She’s the only person we can’t get hold of,’ says Yvonne. ‘We should try again.’

  ‘Yes,’ agrees PC French.

  Yvonne goes into the kitchen with her phone. Bernadette wants to wrap her arms around Anne, who suddenly looks about half the size she was when Bernadette arrived. The fire is dying again but Anne seems no longer to care. The room cools. The calm from everyone doing what they should be has faded. The questions continue.

  ‘What’s Conor’s relationship with his mum like?’

  That’s something that can’t be summed up here. Bernadette doesn’t want to listen to them paint a lazy picture, using jargon like difficult background and emotional issues.

  ‘Probably not the kind of relationship you or I have with our mothers,’ says Anne, and this is the truth, succinctly put. ‘Frances … she has problems.’

  ‘And what about the relationship with his dad?’ asks PC French.

  ‘Sadly,’ says Anne, ‘there isn’t a father. I mean, well, of course there is, it’s just that Frances has never told anyone who he is. She’s referred to him – said something about him giving her a false name and not being sure of his identity. So I’m afraid there’s no relationship there.’

  Yvonne returns from the phone and shakes her head to let them know there was still no answer at Frances’ house.

  ‘So do you think Frances is the key?’ asks the policewoman.

  ‘Possibly,’ says Yvonne. ‘It is curious that she’s not in. She has a young daughter so she can’t have gone far.’

  ‘We’ll need her address – it’s somewhere we should go first. I’m nearly done here and then we can implement a search. I just need a photo, preferably as recent as possible. And tell me, does he have any distinguishing marks?’

  Anne says she will find a photo and goes upstairs. Yvonne describes the burns that Conor has up the back of his legs, scars he is self-conscious about and reluctant to reveal. His school was approached and asked that he be allowed to wear jogging bottoms rather than shorts for PE, even in summer. Bernadette always thought this was merely drawing more attention to the scars, that his black-trousered legs next to rows of skin ones would cause more issue. But Conor told her once that at least they didn’t know what was underneath and that he could invent some brave story in which he was injured while saving a cat from a tree.

  ‘He’s left-handed,’ says Bernadette. ‘That’s quite unusual.’

  ‘I mean the obvious things,’ says PC French. ‘Things that might make him stand out.’

  ‘I think he’ll stand out,’ says Bernadette. ‘He’s not of this world, as my mum used to sometimes say.’

  PC French uncrosses and re-crosses her legs.

  Anne comes back into the room with a photo, which she gives to PC French, and a miniature metal Doctor Who Tardis tin, rusting at the corners. Bernadette recognises it; it’s Conor’s savings tin. He’s been putting away every bit of money he gets, whether for Christmas, birthdays or for washing Anne’s car. Anne shakes it – nothing.

  ‘It was full last night,’ she tells PC French. ‘His money is the only thing that’s gone. He had about ninety pounds, I think. What does it mean?’

  ‘It could be a good sign,’ says PC French. ‘It rules out that he’s lost or has been abducted. If he took his money this morning then he was intending to go – we just need to find out where.’

  Bernadette thinks of how she hid the book among all her others. Where would Conor go if he didn’t want to be found? Where would he feel that he fit in perfectly? Is there such a place?

  Or what if he wanted to be seen?

  ‘Do you have any idea what he was saving for?’ asks PC French.

  Anne shakes her head. ‘He just said it was for a rainy day. God love him. It’s what my mother always says. Put your pennies away for a rainy day. He used to ask why we don’t need money when the sun’s out.’ She begins crying again and Bernadette hugs her.

  PC French closes the report with the finality of a fairy-story ending. ‘I know that was slow and difficult, but it will help. I think someone should go to Frances’ home, and someone else should stay here in case he returns. I’ll get back to the station and we’ll coordinate a search of the local area.’

  ‘I can stay,’ says Yvonne, ‘answer the phone, wait and see if Conor comes back.’

  ‘Well, should I stay too? Or go?’ wonders Anne.

  ‘I don’t drive.’ Bernadette feels inadequate.

  Anne nods. ‘Why don’t I drive and Bernadette can come with me? She’s one of Conor’s favourite people. No one knows him like she does.’

  ‘Perfect,’ says PC French. She gives them her number, says they should contact her for anything, no matter how small. ‘I’ll get back. He’ll turn up, you know. Most kids do after a few hours, just tired and hungry and tearful about causing so much trouble.’

  ‘I just had an idea about what might help you,’ says Yvonne as PC French heads for the door. ‘Conor’s Lifebook.’

  ‘His what?’ PC French pauses by the lamp as though she’s under interrogation.

  ‘It’s quite a new thing,’ says Yvonne. ‘It’s a book for LACs – sorry, that’s our term for Looked-After Child. All the adoptive or foster parents and social workers and carers write things in it. So the child has memories and a record of important life events when they grow up. Conor has one. We’ve all written in it over the years. I think his mum has as well. It’ll have everything you need to help with the search. Anne probably has it here. Don’t you, Anne?’

  Bernadette drops into the chair with a sickening plunge. She knows that soon they will all turn to her, that Anne will be eliminated when she tells them she passed it over on Saturday, and they’ll be left with Bernadette as a suspect.

  She looks at Anne’s bookshelf, lined with DVDs and photo albums and paperbacks, half wishing the Lifebook to be there. Suddenly – like that effect in movies where the camera zooms in on the character’s face while pulling away from the background – Bernadette wonders if she actually did put the book on her shelf at Tower Rise.

  Was it ever even there to go missing?

  She definitely had it when she was last with Conor, having borrowed it from Anne to write up their recent trip to Ferens Art Gallery while it was fresh in her mind. Now, thinking back, she doesn’t recall even writing that memory up. No, her hands have never recorded those words.

  ‘I gave it to Bernadette,’ Anne is saying. ‘She often takes it to write in after she’s taken Conor out.’

  The Lifebook was in Bernadette’s bag when she took Conor for a burger on Saturday. She wouldn’t have taken it out. He knows it exists but Anne thinks it’s best left for when he reaches eighteen, so he hasn’t read it. Some Lifebooks are written with a child in mind, tame and using carefully chosen verbs and kind adjectives. Some of Conor’s book is like that – some not. So Bernadette was careful to keep her bag shut. But did he look in it when she went to the toilet?

  Did he take his book? Is it possible?

  ‘Do you happen to have it with you now?’ asks PC French. ‘It might help.’

  ‘No,’ Bernadette says softly.

  ‘She wouldn’t,’ says Anne. ‘It’ll be at home. We can get it and drop it off at the police station on our way to Conor’s mum, can’t we?’

  ‘I…’ Bernadette shakes her head.

  ‘What is it?’ asks Anne kindly.

  ‘I don’t have it. I don’t think I know where it is.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Yvonne frowns.

  ‘I mean … look, I had it. Definitely on Saturday with Conor. And I always put it on my bookshelf in a certain place. But when I went for it earlier today it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. I really just don’t know.’

  ‘Do you think there’s a chance Conor has it?’ asks Yvonne.

  ‘No. Maybe. I don’t know.’

  ‘What if he does?’ asks PC French. ‘Could it have a bearing on why he’s missing?’<
br />
  Yvonne sighs. ‘Well, maybe, if he read it. There are some quite traumatic life events recorded there. We didn’t want him to have it until he’s fully grown up and more able to deal with it all.’

  Bernadette wonders why people always think you can deal with trauma just because you’re grown up. Doesn’t the child live on inside you? Then she thinks of Conor’s words the last time she saw him, the profound things he said that separated the before it from the after it.

  ‘You have no idea where it is?’ asks Yvonne. ‘That’s quite a problem.’

  ‘I’ll find it,’ insists Bernadette, and Anne nods, trusting her.

  On Saturday Conor sat with Bernadette on the wall outside Anne’s for a bit, until her taxi came. He’d been talking all afternoon about this programme they’d watched in school, where a scientist was looking for the smallest thing in the universe. Conor was fascinated. Said this thing was so small that no magnifying glass could see it. It was string-shaped and stretchy, like the elastic band that held all his pens together, and the universe itself had started that way long ago.

  ‘Like the smallest thing has become the biggest thing ever,’ he said, bouncing around while still sitting down. ‘So, like, if that was you I could hide you away in my pocket and you’d still be the biggest thing I have.’

  Bernadette choked back tears. This was his way of expressing love without using the actual words. And yet she hid him away in her pocket. She met him in secret, like he was something illicit, wrong, forbidden. For a long time Bernadette had been feeling more and more guilty about this. She was angry that she’d given everything up for Richard, quite happily and willingly. Now she felt sick.