by Louise Beech
‘Back in Belfast,’ says Andrew. ‘He used to take her down the pub with him. She was thirteen but looked a whole lot older. Real pretty too back then. Had a sweetness that not many lasses where we lived did. He’d make some money letting his mates have a bit of a fumble with her in the toilets. She didn’t mind. Our Frances was quite wild anyway, liked the lads. Dad would give her pocket money out of it. Our two sisters, Janey and Margaret, were always a bit jealous that she got extra. Don’t think they ever knew why. When we all moved over here to live with me dad’s lot I suppose it carried on. Frances took charge though. Dad lost his job so to speak. She realised she could make more on her own. Got with some guy called Snake – really, that was his name, and trust me he was – and he got her hooked on all sorts. I mean, I can’t judge. But she’s my sister. My twin.’
Andrew suddenly looks half the age he did when they arrived, like a boy – like Conor, only with darker hair and sadder eyes.
‘She’s not into it like she was, but I think there’s a lot she hides from them nosy lot at social services, though. None of their fucking business. Stick with your paperwork and leave real living to the rest of us. It’s hard to break habits. Especially habits started in childhood.’
Bernadette knows how true this is. Richard is obsessed with purity, having watched his mother fervently praying to the Holy Mother every evening. Her own mother taught her to surrender all for the one you love. The dogmas of childhood stick, whether you believe in God or sacrifice or Muhammad Ali.
‘Poor Frances,’ says Anne. ‘Hardly had a chance in life. But she’s still young. Still got a chance to find happiness.”
‘What, round here?’ Andrew flings his arm out. ‘Yeah, right, with two kids she doesn’t have, one gone and one who likely won’t be with her much longer.’
‘Is your dad still alive?’ asks Bernadette.
‘Yeah. Somewhere.’ Andrew looks in the ashtray for another tab end. ‘Not seen him in a long time. Don’t want to. He disowned me first time I was inside. Bloody hypocrite.’
‘Does he see Frances?’ asks Anne.
‘No.’
Noise now invades the quiet; a phone rings in the hallway, shrill in the unfurnished shell. Andrew goes to answer it, closing the door after him.
‘We can’t stay here,’ says Anne. ‘We’ll have to let PC French know that he doesn’t know where Frances is. I really thought Conor would be here. This is terrible. It’s so late now – past nine. He’s never out at this time of night. I can’t bear not knowing if he’s okay.’
‘I know.’ Bernadette hates that there are so few words to convey properly what this pain feels like. Torn and broken and shattered hearts are just clichés; really the heart quietly aches in such moments.
She follows Anne into the hallway, where Andrew talks on the phone in a hushed voice, bent over as though to disguise further who it is. He covers the mouthpiece, says, ‘Will you at least let me know that you found the kid?’
‘Of course,’ says Anne, opening the door.
‘Is there anything at all you know that might help?’ Bernadette asks him.
Andrew sighs. Thinks. Shrugs. ‘What can I tell you?’ He pauses. ‘Frances said he’s a little fighter. Not that he’s bad and fights, but that he’s tough. Never let that fool you. The fighters are crying inside.’ Andrew goes back to his phone call as though they were never there.
Doncaster has been a dead end. There’s no knowing if Frances and Conor are still here or whether they’ve taken flight. No clues, no trail, no answers. They close the front door on the smell and emptiness.
The night waits.
In the car Anne calls PC French and updates her. While listening, Bernadette feels she’s flying above her own body. Up there, she watches herself and Anne, and feels sad for them. Sees Anne listen to whatever PC French is telling her, the lines on her tired face ones Conor might draw with love. Sees her hang up and close her eyes for a moment. Sees both of them sigh and then discuss the new information, as the night gets closer.
The Doncaster police are searching the area, since it’s where the last sighting of Conor was, but a search will continue in Hull. So PC French has told Anne they should just come back so Yvonne can go home.
In truth, Bernadette is relieved. There will be peace at Anne’s house. It’s the refuge Conor will return to when he can. He has to.
Anne starts the car. ‘I’m going to do something I haven’t done for years,’ she says. ‘I’m going to pray.’
‘It can’t hurt,’ says Bernadette.
Richard’s childhood means he often prays – not kneeling with rosary beads, but privately when he thinks Bernadette is asleep, words she can never make out.
When she and Anne arrived in Doncaster – only an hour ago – she was as hopeful as when she was a kid enjoying the adventure of arriving somewhere in the dark. Now the night is full of monsters again. Fathers teach daughters that life is about giving yourself to them. Strange women lurk in the shadows. Men take children. Husbands disappear.
‘Please God, bring Conor home,’ says Anne.
‘Amen,’ whispers Bernadette.
It’s a word she knows well; one Richard uses to bless a line of thought, one he got from his mother. As the car pulls away, Bernadette remembers a time he used it after saying he loved her, as though to cement the words further.
Two years after they’d moved into Tower Rise – when she still thought there might be children one day and that Richard protected her from the outside world the way a burglar alarm protects a house – a couple moved into the flat next door. They were young, not married, and happy to chat in passing on the stairs. They engaged in loud sex, which, since their bedroom neighboured Bernadette and Richard’s, meant many a disturbed evening.
Though Bernadette smiled while trying to sleep through the moans, saying they were just youthful and full of vigour, Richard pulled the covers over his head and said that no one respected the sanctity of marriage anymore, and that some acts were private, meant only for the ears of those involved.
In the morning he pushed their bed against the opposite wall.
‘That surely won’t make much difference,’ said Bernadette.
‘It will,’ insisted Richard, and Bernadette should have left the matter there.
Instead she said that the bed wouldn’t look right on the fireplace wall as it would have to go in front of it, or next to it, which would be too close to the window’s icy draught.
‘Do you want to listen to their sex acts?’ asked Richard, pausing by the bedhead.
‘Well, no,’ said Bernadette. ‘Of course not. But I just think the bed will look stupid there.’
‘Stupid?’ Richard repeated the word in a way that made all others insignificant. ‘What I’m doing is stupid?’
‘No, not you.’ Bernadette would soon learn to not use such words, that Richard had been bullied by classmates for years and was particularly sensitive to them. ‘I meant … look, it doesn’t matter. I’ll help you with the bed.’
Bernadette moved to help Richard but he took hold of her arm and said, ‘Why must you question me? Use words like stupid? Why can’t you just be with me?’
‘I am,’ insisted Bernadette.
Later Richard would insist through tears that it was the angle of her arm and the nearness of the thick, oak bed frame and the moment and not knowing his own strength. Bernadette would agree, would say it had been a clean break, thankfully, that the pain had been bearable and she knew it was an accident. To the doctor she simply said she had fallen. A plaster cast for six weeks meant no bathing or showering or washing pots, and a husband who tended to her every need.
When it was removed life went back to normal as though the injury had never happened. Sometimes, when she looked at her once again perfect arm, it was as though it never had.
‘I love you,’ Richard said when he first saw the white plaster cast. ‘I love you. Amen.’
Anne says it now too: ‘Amen.’
Amen t
o the night.
Amen to bringing Conor home.
27
The Book
SCHOOL REPORT
Year Group: Year 1 Teacher: Mrs Sowden
Child’s Name: Conor Jordan Date of Birth: 10/11/2001
Literacy
Conor needs to be reminded to listen during group discussions. When concentrating he makes valuable contributions. He has a tendency to veer away from the issue and bring alternative information into the conversation, which is his ‘news’. Conor’s writing has improved and it displays greater control. Letter formation is coming on.
Numeracy
Conor can grasp new concepts. He can add and subtract within 10, though he needs reminding to look more carefully at the signs. He has difficulty with time and money, but we will work further on this. He can describe properties and positions using everyday language. He needs to be reminded not to shout out. He is restless at times.
Science
Conor has trouble using simple scientific language to explain his findings. He finds it difficult communicating his results in simple graphs and charts. He is keen to talk but not about the subject in question. However, in our work about light and dark he named a number of light sources, including the sun, and recognised that dark is the absence of light. He enjoyed this topic particularly.
Art and Design
Conor has made superb progress in this area. He enjoys using a variety of materials and techniques. He always has interesting ideas. Most of all he likes to draw or paint. When he has access to paints or pencils he sits still and never interrupts or chats over others. It is often hard to speak to him at these times since he is so absorbed. His artwork is exceptional for his age. He is definitely gifted.
History
Conor has enjoyed listening to and discussing stories from the past, such as that of Guy Fawkes. He is starting to display a sense of chronology by placing events and objects in order and using everyday language about the passing of time. He has a very good understanding of how and why people’s lives have changed. He often talks about his own life in such a way.
General Comments
Conor is bright and likeable but has struggled at times to adapt to life at school. He has trouble with group work and wants to do things his own way rather than the way that works for everyone. When mixing with others he is very keen but at times overbearing. A few early incidents, where the scars on the backs of his legs were revealed during play, resulted in his being picked on. The school counsellor, Kate Sharpe, will have a few sessions with him next term.
Targets for Next Year
Conor needs to listen better in class.
Conor needs to make sure he does his homework.
Conor needs to consider others when working in a group.
Teacher: Mrs Sowden Headteacher: Mr Grimshaw
Date: 21/12/2006
*Please see attached letter from Art teacher, Mrs Connelly.
I felt it important that I draw your attention to Conor’s superb artistic skills. As a new pupil, he is a joy to witness. Whatever materials we use, he fashions something outstanding. But most wonderful of all is his drawing ability. I understand he has lived in a variety of places and I wonder if this escape in his art is a way of coping. In which case, as a lover of art, too, I urge you to make sure Conor has plenty of materials at his disposal and plenty of quiet time to develop his talent. In my fifteen years as a teacher he is, without question, the most gifted artist for his humble five years that I’ve had the pleasure of teaching.
Sincerely,
Mrs Connelly
28
Conor
Something strange wakes me up. It’s a song. Is it the radio? It goes Nah Nah Nah Nah Hey Hey. I know it. Then Mum talks and I remember where I am. I fell asleep in Paul’s car.
It’s dark still and I don’t know how long I’ve been out. Hate that. So many times I’ve woken up in a different place and had to figure out why I’m there. I’ve learned to wake up real fast when I need to. I do now. I look at Paul driving and then at Mum talking on the phone. She’s saying she will be back later and then she hangs up.
The song that woke me was her ringtone. It’s a song by this girl band and Sophie loves it, but I can’t remember the name.
Mum shuffles around like she wants to get out or something and says real angry to Paul that she should really call the police and say he’s abducted us. He’ll go to prison then and what will he do about that? It’s not a very nice thing to say. He didn’t force me in the car and he’s been dead nice to me. Nicer than lots of people I’ve known. She’s probably just annoyed cos she wants to be back home. Maybe she’s missing one of her favourite TV shows. I know I hate missing Doctor Who.
Paul smiles and says in his calm slow voice that once they hear that she left Kayleigh with a neighbour she’ll lose the only child she’s managed to keep so far. That’s mean too. I don’t like him dissing Mum. I’ve punched Stan Chiswick before for saying that kind of stuff. But there’s no point me even trying to hit Paul. He’s like a great big mountain and I’m just a tiny pebble. I reckon even Muhammad Ali would back down from a man twice as big.
Mum doesn’t argue anymore and I’m glad. She sits back with her arms crossed and looks out the window. Paul just drives. I want them to get along. Hate arguing. Get a real twisty feeling in my belly when people do.
I see the Humber Bridge and realise we’re heading back towards where I live. I love seeing the rows of lights. They’re like lines of tiny spaceships. If we go out for the day Anne always says we’re nearly home when we see them. But I don’t reckon we’re going home now. I don’t think Paul would pick Mum up and then take us to Anne’s.
Should I ask? Will they start disagreeing again?
Before I can, Mum says she hasn’t been here since then. She doesn’t say what then was but Paul looks like he knows. I think they keep forgetting I’m here. I’m used to it. People always do.
Paul says, Well, I have – I’ve been up this end lots, but not to the place we’re going.
I wonder if I’ve been? I wonder where it is?
I need the toilet again and don’t know if there will be any when we get where we’re going. Should I ask if we can stop somewhere before? Paul was nice earlier and got me a burger too. Mum should be nice cos she’s my mum. I touch the ninety-six pounds and forty-two pence I’ve got in my pocket and think of the holiday I want her to have. If Paul wasn’t here I’d definitely tell her about Bournemouth, but I want it to be just us. So she notices me.
Then I remember ringing Sophie earlier. How much did I spend? Forty pence? So I guess I’ve only got ninety-six pounds and … two pence now.
I do need the toilet.
Paul says there are some where we’re going.
Good.
Wonder if there’s food too. My belly is rumbling big style. I always think of Bernadette when it happens cos she never minds if I have two desserts or more when we’re out. One time I had burger and chips and ice-cream and milk-shake and a cookie. She’s ace.
We’re driving through the city now. It’s cool to be out at this time. Hull Fair will be coming soon. That’s what I think of when I see the lights from the pubs and shops. I go on all the scary rides at the fair and never get sick or scream. Last year they said Mum might be able to go with me but then she couldn’t and I never found out why. Maybe this year I’ll go with her.
I might ask her later.
Wish I could ring Sophie one more time. Tell her where I’ve been and everything. It feels like loads of stuff has happened since I spoke to her. Plus she will totally keep it all secret. If I knew where we were going I’d tell her and she could sneak out the window and share this adventure. I bet tonight will end up being the latest I’ve ever gone to bed. Maybe I won’t even get to bed.
At the big gold statue of the man on the horse, Paul turns towards the water. I know where we’re going. I love this place. The Marina.
Me and Anne come here sometimes to watch the boats.
I love the tinkling sound the ropes make against the masts. It looks mega at night. The water is like a black mirror and the lights in it go all wobbly. They’re red and blue like a flag.
Now we drive past the water though and go along a cobbled street and park outside the Minerva pub. It says so on a huge sign thing. It’s one of those olden days kinds, not the ones that have flashing lights and spinning balls.
Paul turns the car off and we just sit there.
I can see all the way up the river. I wonder how far away the other shore is. How long would it take to swim to it?
Mum says, Well, now what? We’re here. Is that it?
Paul turns and asks what she means. He tells her she should think about it. Think about how she had no right not to tell him afterwards. To somehow find him and tell him.
They’re talking like people do in those serious dramas on telly. Anne likes them. The characters all talk real weird. Say stuff about dignity and equality and what’s right. I sigh super loud and Paul seems to remember me. He ruffles my hair and says to Mum that I never asked to be born. More serious drama talk. How can you ask to be born? Paul says he will see if they’ll let me go to the toilet in the pub and tells Mum to wait there for us.
We get out and it feels really cold after the car. The pub is cosy though. Paul says something to the man at the bar and he lets me go to the toilet. When I come out Paul is sitting at a table looking all sad or something. Like Anne does when she sits in the kitchen and works out her money. He doesn’t look up for a bit. I wait. When he sees me he says I can’t stay in here cos I’m just a kid but I should look at the place cos once upon a time my mum and him liked it. It’s got really tiny rooms and fishing pictures everywhere. Guess they love all that kind of crap.
