The Mountain in My Shoe

by Louise Beech

  And she’d thought nothing more about it, presumed he’d found the lost item in his office.

  ‘How do you know Richard?’ she demands now.

  ‘He should maybe tell you that,’ says Ruth, not unkindly.

  ‘Well, I have no idea where he is. Do you? Why were you with him last Saturday?’

  ‘I have to go.’ The woman called Ruth pauses. ‘When Richard comes back, get him to call me for the phone.’

  ‘No, you have t—’ But Bernadette realises the woman has gone. She redials but it goes straight to messages. What point is there in leaving one? What point is there in dialling again?

  ‘What’s happened?’ asks Anne, pushing her empty plate into the middle of the table.

  ‘I have no idea,’ says Bernadette. ‘Absolutely no idea.’

  Until this night her life has been simple, routine, monotonous. Only the two days when she sees Conor highlight her months with joy. But now a mystery; a woman.

  ‘Someone called Ruth has Richard’s phone,’ she says.

  “Do you know her?”

  ‘No.’

  ‘A work colleague, maybe?’

  ‘He’s never mentioned a Ruth. And she was too vague. And he doesn’t have a sister, like he told Bob Fracklehurst; neither of us does. It’s one of the things we had in common when we met – no siblings. Maybe she’s this Ruth. The woman with him on Saturday. Maybe he’s having an affair with her.’ Bernadette waits for feelings of jealousy to surface and is sad when they don’t. She hardly cares. ‘Whoever she is, Richard isn’t with her now. He’s still missing and I’ve no idea where.’

  On the table Anne’s phone vibrates and tinkles. She picks it up quickly, and nods and says yes, then asks Bernadette for a pen, and writes down some directions.

  ‘Andrew’s address?’ asks Bernadette when she hangs up.

  ‘Yes, and it isn’t far. We need to go back to Frances’ house and continue up and then go left at the top and straight along, and his street is the third on the right. I just hope Conor’s there.’

  As they rush back out to the car, Bernadette remembers last Saturday with him. In his own inimitable style, he explained how the narrator in the science show said that because every part of the universe was one during the Big Bang and because every point has been expanding away from this since, the centre of the universe is everywhere.

  He tugged on Bernadette’s arm before she left, and said, ‘The narrator is wrong though, isn’t he? The centre of the universe is me. Cos I’m looking at it.’

  Bernadette realises that this night, she is the centre.

  And she’s looking for everything.

  25

  The Book

  Hull Social Services Child Protection Service Assessment Report

  Date: 23/11/05 Case #: 876004644 Social Worker: Tracy Fenton

  Child D.O.B./Age Gender Race

  Conor Jordan 4 yrs. Male White

  Parents(s)/Caregiver(s)

  Name: Toni Wilkinson

  D.O.B. 28/10/1975

  Address: 34 Creston Garth, Hull

  Phone: No phone

  Employment: Unemployed

  Marital Status: Single

  Relationship: Foster Carer

  Reason for Assessment

  Conor was found by police to be outside of the carer’s home in the street late at night. Neighbours report that this often happens.

  Date Name Role Method of contact

  18/11/05 Tracy Fenton Social Worker Consultation

  18/11/05 PC Mark Cogg Police Officer on scene Phone call

  21/11/05 Conor Jordan Child Observation at foster home

  21/11/05 Toni Wilkinson Foster Carer Home visit

  21/11/05 Tom Lord Landlord Phone call

  22/11/05 Frances Jordan Mother Phone call

  23/11/05 Police Officer PC Mark Cogg Phone call

  Risk Assessment

  1. Child’s ability to protect or care for self.

  Conor is a four-year-old boy who seems to be growing and developing normally. He is of normal size and weight, with good coordination and a good vocabulary. He was able to answer the police officer’s questions with his name, and his foster carer’s name, but was unable to provide information about where she had gone. Although Tracy Fenton describes him as ‘bright’, at his present stage of development he is not capable of performing self-care tasks. Physically, Conor is coordinated enough to perform such tasks as opening doors, climbing over a gate, turning on an oven, and other activities, which could place him in danger. He is not capable of summoning adult help or of understanding the danger of leaving the home late at night.

  2. Child’s mental health.

  Conor is described by Tracy Fenton as being shy at first with new people but warms up quickly and then gets very clingy. His foster mother describes him as a helpful child but very needy and demanding. Information from the police officer at the scene indicates that Conor exhibited signs of severe distress. Mild symptoms of stress were observed when the foster home was visited.

  3. Child’s behaviour.

  Conor’s foster mother described him as a handful and stated she did ask her own mother a few times for help following the placement. He is her second foster child. He is the only one at the residence currently.

  4. Severity and/or frequency of neglect.

  Conor was discovered by police in the street in a rough neighbourhood late at night. Information from the landlord and locals indicates Conor has been left home alone on at least one other occasion.

  Additionally, the foster carer said she doesn’t like cooking and sometimes Conor just eats a banana for his breakfast. She stated, ‘we eat’, but gave no description of what foods are available, who prepares Conor’s meals or how regular meal times are for him. The foster carer’s mother said she worried about whether adequate food was provided for Conor.

  5. Location of injury.

  There were no injuries reported or observed.

  6. Condition of home.

  PC Cogg said the house was messy, with clothing strewn about and pots in the sink, but did not have any rubbish lying around, etc. He said the child’s room had toys on the floor but there were sheets on the bed and only a slight odour of urine. Overall, he was not concerned about the living conditions in the house. However, PC Cogg indicates there is more than minimal drug-related activity in the area, which may present additional dangers to Conor when he is home alone.

  Tom Lord, landlord, said that Ms Wilkinson (foster carer) moved into the house in early 2004 and he did not know her very well. He said he had received numerous complaints from other renters about the number of men coming in and out of her home at all hours, making noise and frightening other residents. He said he reported a party to the police and then ‘things settled down for a while’. Mr Lord said he was worried about the boy living in a home with rough-looking people hanging around.

  Police took Conor into protective custody and he was placed in a care home at 1:00 a.m. Foster carer Toni Wilkinson was interviewed.

  7. Caregiver’s alcohol and drug use.

  Toni states she drinks only ‘a little bit’ and describes this as ‘socially’. She admits drinking wine when Conor is present, approximately once per week. She said this drinking occurs with ‘a few friends’ but denies there are parties. When told that the police had been called to her home because of a loud party where Conor was present, Toni replied, ‘coppers have a cocky attitude’ and stated, ‘Conor was fine’.

  8. Caregiver’s parenting skills.

  Toni’s parenting skills appeared sufficient that she was able to foster children. When assessed she presented well, background checks were clear, home suitable. Toni describes leaving Conor home alone as a mistake but expresses no empathy for him waking up alone in the house or concern about what could have happened to him. She showed no understanding of the child’s limited capabilities.

  9. Caregiver’s supervision of children under age ten.

  PC Mark Cogg stated that Conor was
located outside in the street. Cogg said the boy was crying and said he was looking for Toni. He had a black-and-white stuffed cat in his arms. The child did not know where she was, when she left or when she was coming back. He was unable to give any information about how to locate Toni.

  Toni said her mother was on her way to care for the child, ‘as soon as she finished doing her fake tan’. Toni said she had counted on her mother to stop over within a short time after she had left. Toni provided her mother’s phone number. Toni said she left between 11:00 p.m. and midnight. Toni said Conor was asleep when she left and admitted her mother had not yet arrived. Toni said she went to ‘pick up some people’. She said she had not planned to be gone long and estimated she had been gone less than one hour. The call to police was received at 11:15 p.m. Toni said that leaving Conor home alone was not something she does routinely but she did not deny that she has done it before.

  Mr Lord, the landlord, said two weeks ago he discovered the door to Toni’s house was open and he went inside to see if everything was all right and found Conor sitting on the floor watching cartoons. He called out for someone who might be with the boy, but no one answered. Just as he was about to call the police Toni came home carrying a bag of food and said she had run out for milk. Mr Lord said he did not report the incident because he felt sorry for the young woman.

  Brief Summary of Risk and Supporting Information

  At the time of the reported incident Conor was in significant danger, having been left home alone late at night and discovered in a dangerous situation on a busy street. Conor has been left home alone before and Toni takes no responsibility for leaving the child unsupervised. No information was provided by Toni that indicates Conor will be appropriately supervised in the future if returned to her care.

  Despite Toni’s initial strength as a foster carer she has few positive supports for her role as a carer now. While she says she has friends, she is resistant to giving much information about these friendships and the facts do not confirm her claims of support from these friends.

  Toni’s recent association with a known drug dealer also causes concern and needs to be explored fully. It is Tracy Fenton’s opinion that, even with improvement in terms of the concerns listed above, it won’t be possible for Conor to remain with Toni. He will remain in a temporary care home until a new foster carer is found.

  Child Protection Team Staffing Date: 28/11/2005

  Case Decision

  Services Required

  Note – Conor’s father’s identity is unknown.

  26

  Bernadette

  During the short drive through the deserted Doncaster streets Bernadette and Anne try to recall what they know of Andrew from Conor’s Lifebook. It isn’t much. Just that he’s the only sibling Frances still sees and that neither of the twins has found adult life easy. Both have surrendered to bad behaviours, behaviours that perhaps have provided escape. Bernadette recalls a letter to Conor from his Aunt Rhona, in which she describes Frances as a sweet, sweet girl, and says Conor should keep that in his heart when thinking of her.

  They pass Frances’ darkened house. Bernadette wonders if she has ever woken one morning and wanted to pack her favourite things in two bags and escape. She wonders whether Frances likes to read and dreams of travel and sniffs the air in a new place; if she still thinks she might make something of her life.

  Andrew’s house is its twin: dark, uninviting, unkempt, with bulging bins and dirty windows. Like Frances’, his grass needs cutting.

  ‘Please God let them be here.’ Anne doesn’t sound optimistic as she parks the car and they get out.

  The house glares, its top two windows frowning eyes that dare them to approach. Bernadette does, more boldly than she intends. She knocks. Hope sinks with each unanswered rap, like dropped conkers lost during a schoolyard game.

  Then suddenly the door opens.

  ‘What?’ demands a black-haired, topless man, who blinks like they’ve just woken him. There is a resemblance to Conor – something in the eyebrow shape, the eye slant.

  ‘Andrew?’ asks Anne, nervous.

  ‘Who wants to know?’ Like Frances, his voice hasn’t lost the Belfast twang; the t comes out more like a d.

  ‘We’re looking for Conor,’ explains Anne. ‘Is he here?’

  ‘Conor? Our Frances’ boy?’ The antagonistic attitude evaporates a little. ‘Why would he be here? I’m not allowed to have him, am I? Never even met the bugger properly.’

  Bernadette steps back and Anne puts a steadying hand out. We’re not going to find him. The thought comes hard, like the Ali punches Conor mimics when they’re at the park and there’s a sports club or soft play area. Cheese threatens to resurface.

  Anne asks Andrew if they can come in a moment so Bernadette can sit down. Reluctantly he steps back to let them through.

  ‘It’s a mess,’ he says. ‘It’s not my pad – it’s Bill’s. Just ignore him. He won’t be conscious till tomorrow.’

  The place smells of strong cigarettes and old beer. A cider-yellow hallway leads into a barely furnished lounge, where someone sleeps beneath two coats on a floral sofa. Bernadette sits on the only other chair. The stench is all that exists. Someone hands her a chipped glass with brown liquid in and encourages her to drink, which she does. Whisky; it reminds her of after-dinner Christmas drinks as a child when she’d smell it around the table and smile up at her father.

  She wishes there was more.

  ‘Why the hell would you think Conor’s here?’ asks Andrew, lighting a tab end from the overflowing ashtray.

  ‘He’s been missing for about five hours,’ says Anne. ‘It seems someone picked him up from school and took him to Frances’. Her neighbour says a man called Andy went there and took her and the child.’

  ‘Frances has never called me Andy,’ says Andrew.

  ‘Maybe the neighbour got it wrong.’ Anne takes the empty glass from Bernadette.

  ‘Maybe. But if Frances told him she went with Andy, she wasn’t talking about me. And as you see, Conor ain’t here. Search the place. I’d love to have the kid over but they won’t let me. I’ve never even met him, at least not to talk to. Not properly. Not met none of her lads. Only Kayleigh. Little George died and I’d never even set eyes on him. Went to the funeral of a kid I’d not seen. Even wrote in some damned book thing after we buried him. Conor and Sam were there but I never got close to them. Them bloody nosy social workers didn’t think I should. I’m not suitable apparently. Criminal record and all that. What’s worse – kids living with strangers or a family who love them but made a few mistakes?’

  ‘I’m Conor’s foster mum,’ says Anne, her voice low but firm. ‘I was a stranger at first but I assure you I’m not now. He’s loved at my house. He’s been with me five years.’

  Andrew studies her, dragging deeply on the cigarette. ‘Maybe so, but it’s a known fact that kids is best with family.’

  ‘Look then, we have a common purpose,’ she says. ‘To find Conor.’

  ‘Well, you lost him,’ snaps Andrew. ‘Not me.’

  He has a curious tick where he blinks three times in quick succession at the end of a sentence. His long eyelashes remind Bernadette of butterfly wings flapping in a panic. Is he nervous? Emotional? She hasn’t met Frances and wonders if they look alike. She has seen photos in Conor’s Lifebook but of course that isn’t like meeting someone in the flesh – expressions and ticks and mannerisms make a person. These are the things Conor somehow captures when he draws.

  The outsides of Frances and Andrew’s houses are alike. Do twins naturally look for the same traits in people, places, and things? Why are Andrew and Frances so close to one another but seemingly far apart?

  ‘Look,’ says Bernadette, feeling a bit stronger now. ‘No one lost Conor. He didn’t come home after school and we just want to find him. Where would Frances go? Who might this Andy be? Has she mentioned him before?’

  Andrew laughs, but not like he finds it genuinely funny. The pers
on under coats on the sofa snorts and turns over.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ asks Andrew. ‘He’s likely a punter. A trick. You know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘I don’t,’ says Bernadette. She notices Anne looks as though she does.

  ‘You don’t?’ Andrew’s butterfly eyelashes flap again as though caught in a storm. ‘I’m surprised. She obviously knows.’ He points to Anne. ‘That interfering social worker – what’s her name? – she probably does. Frances is a prostitute. A hooker. A woman of the night. Whatever you want to call it.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Bernadette. There doesn’t seem much else to add.

  ‘I always wondered,’ says Anne. ‘I mean, I maybe knew. No one told me. It’s not written anywhere. But some of the things Yvonne said over the years … and some of Frances’ entries…’ Anne pauses. ‘It’s very sad.’

  ‘It’s just life,’ says Andrew. He stubs out his cigarette. ‘It’s not right if she’s taken the kid off with some punter though. He might have forced her – maybe she owed him something. Wish I could tell you who he is or where they went, but I can’t. Did anyone call her mobile? Her work one.’

  ‘I doubt that’s the number the police have,’ says Anne. ‘Have you got it?’

  ‘No.’ Andrew sits on the arm of the sofa. In the grim light his pale face appears moonlike. The place is unusually quiet; no heating clicking on and off, no fridge humming, no life.

  ‘How did Frances get into it?’ asks Bernadette, gently.

  ‘Our father,’ says Andrew.

  Bernadette looks at Anne, and sees in her face that they both heard correctly.

  ‘Your father?’ Bernadette repeats, perhaps to delay the inevitable horrible truth.