by Louise Beech
I know all about those first hellos. I’ve done it so many times. Going into a house and it’s all new people. Hello hello hello new people. Hello new toys and rules. Boring and annoying and they might be idiots. But Mum isn’t new to Paul. Just a half stranger.
Stay here, says Paul. Don’t go anywhere.
Where would I go?
He gets out of the car and knocks on the green door I recognise. Last time I saw it I was with Len. He’s from this Action for Kids thing and does stuff with me quite a bit. I took some flowers he let me buy at the corner shop.
Now Paul looks up the street and then at me and sort of smiles. It’s a smile that does something real weird to me. I kind of feel like you do when someone whispers you a secret and it’s the kind you don’t quite understand but you know you might one day. After a bit Mum opens the door. She doesn’t smile. She looks real shocked. All wide-eyed and open-mouthy. Then she steps back and puts a hand on the door like she’s gonna close it but Paul goes in and slams it.
I’m not sure what to do. Are they okay?
Anne always tells me if ever I come home and for some reason she isn’t there I should go to the neighbour and raise the alarm. But I’m not sure I need to raise any alarms. Maybe I’ll just wait a bit. Maybe Mum is nervous like I was when I saw her for the first time.
Yes I’ll wait a bit.
I tap my feet and shuffle about in the seat. Wish I had some paper and could draw for a bit. Drawing makes time go real fast. I remember I used to do it before I was at Anne’s when I lived in this crappy care home where they never had time to bother with you and we always had cold chips for tea and there was only one telly that the older kids watched and didn’t let us pick a programme. When I’m drawing, every line I do slows me down somehow. When the lines become something I breathe real calm. I don’t have to think words like fuck and wank. Then when I shade, my body warms up.
Maybe Paul has some paper in the car. Wonder if he’ll mind if I look? They’re still in the house. I look in the flap thing but there’s no paper just some sunglasses and a bag of mint chocolates (I get one) and some wires and one pen.
Maybe I should go and knock on the door?
I’m still trying to decide what to do when they come out of the house. My mum is first, holding Kayleigh’s hand. Mum’s face is red and wet. Kayleigh is pulling and crying. I do like my little sister but every time I’ve been to the house she cries and makes loads of noise. Makes me mad cos she’s lucky enough to live with our mum but she always messes about.
Paul comes out of the house now and gets in the car. He says we’re going somewhere together. All three of us.
I ask, what about Kayleigh?
She won’t be coming, he says.
Mum knocks on the neighbour’s door. A man with a tattoo answers and they talk for a bit and he nods and looks a bit worried and touches her hair and then takes Kayleigh inside.
Then Mum gets in the back of the car.
I haven’t seen her for a month. Last time when me and Len went she got all upset at my flowers. She sniffed loads and took them in the kitchen and put them in a mug with Simon Cowell on it. There were too many and they wouldn’t all fit in. She cut some shorter and put them in the sink. Mum’s house is always messy. I want to tidy it all for her. I want to pick it all up and get rid of the food wrappers and stuff. Can’t stand it not being finished.
Last time she sat on the same sofa as me for once. Mostly she sits on the floor and I sit with Len or Yvonne. But that time she got nearer and I liked it. She has freckles. Like me. I never noticed until then. Her hair has some bits of red in it too but I reckon she don’t like it cos most of it’s dyed blonde. She smelt odd, like the school PE changing rooms. But I didn’t mind.
Now she is too far away for me to smell her. She asks me if I’m okay and I say yes cos I am. I ask her if it’s good to see her old friend Paul and she says that he isn’t Paul, he’s Andy.
I’m all confused now.
She looks at Paul – no Andy – and asks him if I know. Paul – no Andy – says very firmly that I don’t and now isn’t the time. He says I am traumatised and she has put me through enough already and they will go to their old place and figure it all out.
I just want to cry. But I don’t. I never do. I squeeze my eyes like you do your legs when you want the toilet bad. The scars on my legs tingle when I get like this. Right now it feels like someone is rubbing gravel on them.
I wish I knew what to call Paul. I wish I knew what this is all about. I want to go back to Anne’s now. I want her nice sugary tea and some cake.
That’s what I say to them – I want to go home now.
Paul – no Andy – looks at Mum like it’s her fault and she says, Well, you took him, they’ll be after you.
I say that I don’t mind, I just want to know what to call people and then I want to go back home. Once I know what to call people I can try and fit in.
Paul says I can still call him Paul since I’m used to it. Not sure why he has so many names but I’ll stick with Paul. He says I can’t go back yet but I can afterwards. I’m not sure about afterwards. After what?
He tells me not to worry real kind.
I’ll try not to, I say. Where are we going?
Paul looks at Mum then like she has the answers. She says it’s up to him. Paul says to me that we’re going to a special place and when we get there he will tell me everything. He says I deserve to know everything. Everything is such a lot and I’m not totally sure I want to know it all.
Paul starts the car. I look back at Mum but she’s turned away towards the window. I bet she’s squeezing her eyes tight so she doesn’t cry. I want to tell her about my holiday surprise to make her happier but right now I don’t know if it would work. Paul drives off.
I wonder how long it’ll be until we get to this special place. I wish I could ring Sophie. Or Anne. Wish I had Bernadette’s number.
Mum and Paul don’t talk and I reckon it’s just cos I’m here. Adults always go real hushed and quiet when kids come in and you just know they were either talking about sex stuff or things they’re going to do that you won’t like. I want to ask how they know each other and what it has to do with me.
We leave the town and go back onto the motorway.
Wish I could draw right now. I like doing people best. Anne says my people are as good as ones in photographs. Don’t know how I do it just know that I do it best when they’re not there and I can’t see them. Anne says it’s maybe to keep all those people with me.
I drew Muhammad Ali for my Art project last term and they hung it in the school corridor. Wanted to bring it home but they wouldn’t let me. Did my head in. It was my picture. I won this big art competition once but I didn’t get to go to the awards thingy cos my brother died.
I ask if Paul has any paper and a pen. He tells Mum to go in his laptop case on the backseat and get out the big notepad. Then he gets the pen from the flap and gives it to me too.
Now I can shut out the motorway and the slow passing time and escape. It might not be as good as usual because of the car moving, but I’m relaxed now. I hardly even look at the paper. Sophie once asked how I don’t go over the edge. I laughed and said, What, over the cliff edge?
I draw her now. I do wavy hair and the mole on her neck and the top lip a bit thinner than the bottom one. I shade her eyelashes and eyebrows cos I don’t have no colours. My legs don’t hurt anymore.
Who’s that? asks Paul.
I tell him it’s my best friend and quickly say that I do have boys as mates too cos people always think you’re a weirdo for having a girl for a best friend. Mum is interested now. She says I’m real good. She asks if I can draw her and I say I did once at home.
Then I draw Anne. Makes me smile to do her short and easy hairstyle with jagged points and to sketch her laughy lines and her gold earrings. It’s getting darker now but I don’t need the light only the pictures in my head. I tell them this is Anne my foster carer. Mum looks at her for
a long time. They met once or twice already. She says she looks kind in the picture. Paul says that it’s a good job and looks at Mum in the mirror.
I think about drawing my brothers but it might upset Mum when George isn’t alive no more. Anyway I just don’t want to.
It’s almost totally dark when I get to draw Bernadette but it doesn’t matter because for some reason she’s the one that sticks most in my head. The lights at the edge of the road flash past us and make the paper look like it’s on fire. That makes Bernadette’s hair the right colour. I just wish I had some colours for her eyes. They are real green like those sweets in a Quality Street tin. I never have any sort of crayon or pencil to get that right. I always make her smile in my drawings. She doesn’t do it loads but I prefer her that way.
Mum has her eyes shut in the back but I’m not sure if she is definitely asleep. Paul looks at my picture when I hold it up. He has to stare for a while cos it’s dark. He says she’s pretty. Then after a while he asks who she is. I tell him she’s Bernadette and that she is like an aunt but even better. I don’t say that she’s like a mum should be cos I don’t want to hurt my mum’s feelings if she’s listening.
Now I’m tired. Now I want to close my eyes too.
Paul asks if he can keep the pictures and I say he can. I ask if it will be long until we get where we’re going and he says no. I guess soon I’m going to know everything. Anne says you learn a new thing every day.
What a day this is going to be then.
24
Bernadette
The house where Frances lives is dark; there’s no evidence of lamplight between curtains to give hope of anyone being home and no sound from a TV soap opera or clattering pots disturbs the night. The front grass needs cutting and the bins are stained with food. With a little care it could be lovely.
Anne knocks on the dark-green door, and they wait.
Bernadette likes the small house. Tower Rise is a huge creature in comparison – in their flat she often feels it’s digesting her. But in a house like this she might feel safe, calm, complete. She might hang Conor’s paintings and drawings on walls. She might travel and return to a place that is hers alone.
‘What should we do now?’ wonders Anne when further knocking is met with silence. ‘I’m sure Conor’s been here. What do you think?”
Bernadette agrees. She is about to suggest they try knocking on other doors in the street when the one next door opens and a middle-aged man looks out. Behind him, the sounds of children and dogs and a washing machine form a chaotic background music.
‘You looking for Fran?’ he asks, gruffly. His T-shirt is stained with something dark brown and his muscled arms are tanned and tattooed. A blonde woman, whose lower body is a snake, spirals seductively about his left bicep.
‘Yes.’ Hope is shrill in Anne’s voice. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘Who are you?’ he asks, suspicious.
Anne goes to the fence that divides the gardens. ‘I’m her son’s foster carer.’
The man lights a cigarette. An Alsatian thrusts its dirty head out between him and the doorway and barks at them; the man’s immediate response is to lash out with his foot and kick the animal back inside, growling, ‘Get in, you bastard!’
Bernadette fears how he must treat the children she can hear arguing over a games console.
‘Fran said coppers might come looking,’ he says. ‘Not talking to no cops.’
‘We’re not police,’ says Bernadette. ‘We’re looking for her son. We just want to take him home.’
‘When did she talk to you?’ asks Anne. ‘Why would she think the police might come?’
‘I saw her about an hour or so ago, maybe longer. She went with the kid you was just talking about.’
‘Conor?’ Anne smiles, looks at Bernadette. ‘What did she say?’
‘She asked me to look after Kayls.’ He flicks ash onto the street. ‘All she said was that Andy had turned up and they had to sort something out. Don’t know who the fuck Andy is. Might be a punter, might be a boyfriend. So she goes. No idea where. The kid was in the car.’ A child starts crying in the house and the dog barks again. ‘For Christ’s sake!’
Before Anne or Bernadette can ask any more questions he goes in and slams the door.
‘Andy,’ says Anne. ‘Frances’ twin brother is Andrew.’
‘I remember reading that Frances lived with him briefly,’ says Bernadette. ‘That it wasn’t a suitable place for a child. I think that was when Conor first met her and it didn’t work out.’
‘What shall we do?’ asks Anne.
‘Surely we need to go to wherever Andrew lives now,’ says Bernadette.
‘PC French said he just got out of prison so that could be anywhere. I should let her know Conor isn’t at his mum’s. She’ll be able to tell us where Andrew lives, won’t she? Let’s get in the car and call her.’
In the car Anne turns the heater on full. Bernadette realises how cold and hungry she is. The last thing she ate was a ham sandwich at about one; how long ago that seems.
She hopes Conor isn’t hungry; that someone has thought to feed him. His huge appetite never fails to surprise her. They have eaten burgers at some fast-food place for a treat and he asks for more fries, saying his belly is telling him it needs them. She always gives in – knowing he’s playing her a little. Who could not?
But Bernadette’s hunger can wait. They have a good lead now.
Anne finds the card with PC French’s number on and dials. Bernadette watches a too-thin dog search through overturned rubbish on the street and listens to Anne tell the police officer what they’ve discovered. She can tell that PC French has said again that they really could use the Lifebook, because Anne lowers her voice and says, ‘Well, that can’t be helped. It will turn up, I’m sure. And if you need to ask us what’s in it, anything at all, we can tell you.’
Bernadette realises how useful the book would be. It paints such a full portrait of Conor. It could certainly give his life so far to the police. But what can she do? She is sure Richard must have it, and until she finds him, no book.
When she hangs up Anne says, ‘PC French is going to get Andrew’s current address and call us back. They have to provide one when leaving prison. She thinks it’s close to here so it’ll be a lot quicker for us to go there than them. Shall we find a café until she rings back? There’s not much we can do until then.’
Anne drives slowly up and down the unfamiliar streets until they spot a corner pub with parking at the back. Inside they pick a table by a small fire that does not warm or brighten quite like the one at Anne’s house did. Despite being past eight-thirty the place is almost empty; the only other customer is an old man reading his paper at the bar. Anne orders sandwiches and brings back crisps and lemonade.
For a while the two women sit in silence.
‘Thank you for being my friend,’ says Bernadette quietly.
‘There’s no need to thank me for that,’ says Anne. ‘I’ve hardly been any sort of friend, have I? We see each other briefly twice a month. Talk occasionally on the phone. Circumstances have just thrown us together, haven’t they – and I’m glad. I should thank you for being Conor’s friend.’
The barman brings two plates of cheese sandwiches, each decorated with limp lettuce.
‘I need to do it,’ says Bernadette, nibbling some of the crust.
‘Do what?’
‘Ring Richard before we find Conor.’ Bernadette swallows a gulp of pain with her bread. ‘We have no idea what … well, what state the poor little lad might be in. So I should call Richard before we leave and see if he’s home. If not, try his mobile. Tell him everything. Well, some of it. That I’ve left at least. And tell him we really need the Lifebook if he has it. That he’s going to have to get over being annoyed about me and hand it over.’
Anne nods and passes her phone. The grated cheese feels like worms in Bernadette’s throat. She struggles to swallow, to think of her home number. When she ma
nages, the sound of ringing mimics her heart’s beat. Bernadette imagines the sound at Tower Rise, rudely disturbing the dark silence. Then there’s the click and her own voice saying, We’re sorry we can’t take your call, but if you leave a message we’ll ring as soon as we return.
As soon as we return – Richard hasn’t returned. If he had he would certainly answer before the machine. Now, almost three hours after his usual arrival time, Bernadette feels sick. Something must have happened to him and, if it has, is the Lifebook okay? People are irreplaceable but so is that book. Documents and letters and photos that exist nowhere else might be gone forever. Conor’s history might be erased, creating a question mark for his future.
‘No answer?’ asks Anne.
‘He can’t be at home,’ says Bernadette. ‘I’m concerned now.’
She dials the long-memorised mobile number, waits for it to connect and listens again to a ring tone.
After a while he answers. Bernadette’s heart contracts, with relief and with panic. Richard doesn’t speak but she hears a gentle background hum.
‘Richard? Are you okay?’
‘He’s not here,’ says someone who isn’t Richard; a female someone.
Bernadette moves the phone away from her ear as though it will change everything. Like it might cancel the words. Cut off the strange woman saying them. Is this the ‘sister’ Richard took to Bob Fracklehurst’s home?
‘Who are you?’ she demands.
‘What’s it to you?’ asks the woman.
‘Why do you have Richard’s phone?’ demands Bernadette.
‘He left it here on Saturday.’ After a pause the woman asks, ‘Are you Bernadette?’
‘How do you know me? Or Richard? Who are you?’
The woman sounds tired – or maybe the connection is bad. ‘I’m Ruth. I’ve had his phone all week. I’ve been waiting for him to call.’
Has Richard really not had his phone all week? Bernadette tries to think back to each morning. Warm realisation surfaces like excess acid; he hunted for something when packing his laptop bag on Monday. Bernadette had asked what was wrong. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’s at work.’
