Lullaby

by Claire Seeber

  He looked at me, very direct, and I saw the little yellow flecks in his hazel eyes. ‘I don’t know, Silver. It’s so hard to say.’ I thought of Robbie’s recent behaviour. ‘There was no doubt he was in a bit of a mess. But suicidal—I don’t know.’ It made my belly hurt. ‘I think—I like to think I would have known.’

  ‘He always was a waster, though, your man there, was he not?’ Mickey chimed in. ‘Once a junkie always a junkie, don’t they say?’ He took a big swig of his fiery drink.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I was astounded, ‘but that’s hardly fair. You never even met him, Mickey.’

  ‘Thank God,’ he muttered into his drink.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing. Forget it. I’m sure he was a grand guy. Just decided to steal our son, that’s all, your man there.’

  ‘Mickey,’ I stood up, fists clenched, ‘if you’re looking to apportion blame, it was your bloody ex-wife who took our son. I don’t for one minute think Robbie was involved until later.’

  Silver seemed slightly uncomfortable now.

  ‘You don’t, do you?’ I looked at him.

  ‘It does seem unlikely, kid— Jess,’ he pulled himself up. ‘We questioned Robbie extensively, Mr Finnegan, before he ran off with Maxine. I don’t think it was until he got involved with her that he had anything to do with Louis’s disappearance, and I think that was only an unfortunate coincidence. We did go down a dead-end with Robbie’s unfortunate friend—“General” David Ross—but it came to nothing. Well, nothing to do with Louis, anyway.’

  I shivered. Silver shot me a quick glance and ploughed on. ‘The two things we’re trying to ascertain right now are—’ absent-mindedly he took his gum out and rolled it between his fingers ‘—at what point Maxine entered Agnes’s pay, and whether there was any foul play over Robbie’s death.’ He chucked the ball of gum in the leather bin; it landed with a small splat. Mickey winced; Silver went on regardless.

  ‘Don’t get upset by this, Jessica.’ I steeled myself. ‘But it seems that Agnes worked on Maxine by telling her you weren’t a—a fit mother. That you might have been—abusing Louis in some way.’

  ‘I was what?’ I couldn’t believe my ears. Then I thought of that hideous first week again, when Maxine had first arrived, of all my guilty nightmares about that fall. Even so, I couldn’t believe that Maxine would have believed Agnes’s lies.

  ‘Plus Maxine was furious that you implicated her boyfriend Gorek. So that all meant Maxine’s guilt was absolved a bit.’

  ‘So much for staff loyalty,’ joked Mickey.

  I glared at him. ‘All right, darling,’ he said softly, taking my hand. ‘I’m only teasing.’

  ‘I know it’s tough to hear, but Agnes was obviously a very desperate lady.’ Silver looked at me. ‘Look, forget about it. We all know it’s complete crap. I’m more concerned with how they met. Would Maxine have had any opportunity to meet Agnes before Louis disappeared?’

  ‘Mickey?’ I looked at him accusingly. It was strange—almost like I was seeing him for the first time. He pushed his dark floppy locks back with long fingers, apparently exasperated.

  ‘I was hardly in contact with my ex-wife before all this happened,’ he snapped, and then he caught my eye. ‘I wish I knew more, honestly,’ he said. ‘But I don’t.’ He squeezed my hand now. I fought the impulse to move away, to move towards Silver, sitting in the dusky light that sliced the room in two.

  ‘I mean, it was only that once that I saw Agnes. When she came to the office to sign some papers.’ Mickey clutched at his skull suddenly. ‘Jesus. God, my head aches. I still get these terrible pains, you know. You should excuse me—it makes me a bit ratty,’ he explained to Silver. ‘Getting a check-up tomorrow, you know.’

  Silver nodded. ‘I’m sure it’s been very hard for you, losing so much memory.’ He stood up and shook his trousers out a little. The creases were razor-sharp as ever. The vanity of the man, I thought, with affection. ‘I can’t imagine it really. Anyway, I’ll let you know what we discover as we progress.’

  Don’t go, I screamed inside, but what I actually said was, ‘I’ll see you out.’

  ‘Cheers,’ said Mickey, and he raised his glass in the other man’s direction. ‘I do appreciate all your help, mate. For getting Louis back. We owe you one.’ Then he wandered over to the stereo and whacked up the music that still played softly in the background.

  ‘Oh,’ Silver said, turning back to Mickey at the door, calmly raising his voice over Maria Callas. ‘I thought you’d be interested to know, we just tracked down the guy who attacked you in Bermondsey the night Louis disappeared. Kelly’s bringing him in as we speak, I hope.’

  Mickey looked steadily at Silver, who looked steadily back. Then Mickey smiled. ‘That’s great,’ he said, ‘well done. Sort the bastard out. And it might fill in some gaps for everyone, I guess.’

  ‘Might do,’ said Silver, ‘you never know. Bye for now.’

  Mickey raised an indolent hand as I followed Silver’s shadow down a hall that sparkled again with Jean’s polish, my bloodstains gone forever.

  ‘Well, thanks,’ I said uselessly, hanging behind Silver. ‘Thanks for everything. I don’t know what I would have done—well, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know. And you’re very welcome. I knew we’d get him back. I’m just sorry it took so long.’ He turned to open the front door. I felt something was about to finish, something I didn’t want to end.

  ‘Oh, I brought you this,’ he said, turning back to hand me a scruffy bit of paper. It was rather stained and dirty, folded many times. It had those tiny little squares on it; looked like it had been torn from a French exercise book.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A note to you. From Robbie.’

  My heart twisted painfully. ‘Oh God.’

  ‘We found it in Agnes’s stuff.’

  ‘Have you read it?’

  ‘I had to, kiddo, I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’

  ‘Unfortunately, it still doesn’t solve the suicide riddle—it’s so ambiguous. But—it might make you feel better. Well, a bit better, anyway.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I muttered, staring down at the folded scrap. ‘I might even have to start liking the police now, mightn’t I?’

  ‘Well, yes. That was the other thing.’ His hand was on the latch now.

  ‘What was?’

  ‘I did a bit of delving, about your dad.’ I felt the colour flood my cheeks. ‘I just wanted to know what it was we did—the police did—that had so upset you. I didn’t think you were ever going to tell me. And I just want to say, now I know—I’m truly sorry. It must have been very hard.’

  He didn’t know the half of it. I tried to smile. ‘It was. But it’s over now. It was a long time ago. I’ve got to move on. I’ve known that for a while really.’ Determined not to cry, I stared down at my feet, and then suddenly I felt his hand upon my chin. My stomach did a slow somersault. Gently, he lifted my face to meet his eyes.

  ‘And I also want you to know that I reckon you did brilliantly, kiddo, these past few weeks.’

  Oh God, don’t leave me, I prayed silently, but on the outside I just blushed. ‘I don’t think I’ve cried so much in years. Like a bloody—I don’t know. Like a silly old weeping willow, I’ve been!’

  ‘You had a lot to cry about. And you’re pretty tough, I’d say. In a good way.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you hardly met me at my best. I’m sorry if I was, you know, a bit—stroppy sometimes,’ I said, scuffing my bare foot against the doormat. My toenails needed painting.

  ‘Sometimes?’

  I looked up quickly; saw he was teasing. Sort of.

  ‘I wish—’ I stopped, glanced quickly over my shoulder. The sitting-room door was still shut. Silver followed my gaze, then looked into my eyes like he was searching there for something.

  ‘You wish what?’ he prompted quietly.

  ‘I just wish—’ I whispered ‘—well, perhaps you know.’ My face was on
fire.

  ‘Yes, Jess,’ he said, and his thumb shifted very gently against my jaw, ‘I do know. I really do.’

  Silver leant down and kissed me gently on the mouth. And then he was opening the door, and walking down the path, and whistling softly, opera it sounded like, something more jolly than bloody suicidal Tosca though. When he got to the end, to the garden gate, he looked back. And then he was gone, and I was alone with Mickey and Louis, in Agnes’s old house.

  Like a squirrel hoarding stolen nuts, I took the note up to Louis’s room and sat on the little sofa to read it while he slept. Robbie’s pen must have run out halfway through, and the last bit was written in pencil so faint I had to hold it above Louis’s starry nightlight to even see it. My brother’s voice echoed down the years, through the scrawled words, the dreadful punctuation, and I imagined him sat all louche beside me, smoking roll-ups, his trainers filthy, twisting his earrings as I read.

  Jessie,

  I don’t know what to write really. You know me, always crap with words. I suppose—all I really want to say is how sorry I am. What a mess. I expect it’s hard to believe, but I swear I had no idea that Maxine was mixed up in all this. When I came down here with her, I thought we were just getting away from that bastard boyfriend of hers, away from shitty London. You must have realised I owe a bit of cash—I’m sorry about all that General stuff too. I’m gonna clean up my act. Anyway, we get on okay, you know, me and Maxine. I swear I didn’t know that Louis was anywhere around—when she suddenly turned up with him a few hours ago I got a nasty shock. I phoned you straight away—I tried you a few times, I swear that too. It’s like Max doesn’t know what she’s doing either, though I expect that’s no consolation to you. I think someone else is giving the orders, but I haven’t worked out who yet, and she won’t say. I’ve told her that I’ve rung you and she was pretty pissed off but I don’t care. I think someone might have told her some bad lies about you. I’m sorry, Jess. I really am.

  Max’s gone to get some nappies and stuff before we drive home to you. I’ve made her leave Louis with me. She didn’t want to but I said she weren’t going to take him anywhere without his uncle now. He’s wicked—dead cute. Looks like you. And a bit like Dad (poor bugger)! I think he quite likes me too. He keeps smiling at me—though he did puke his milk all over my jacket. I’ll send you the bill, ha ha. I wanted to spend a bit of time with him now cos I’m going to have to leave him on your doorstep with this note. I don’t fancy facing the pigs now. Not after this. Sorry.

  I’m sorry about the car too. It’s a good drive, though, you flash cow! I said you landed on your feet, didn’t I—I always knew you would. I’m glad, though. You deserve it.

  God I feel sleepy now.

  There was a small doodle here of a cartoon Robbie lying in bed with lots of ‘Zzzzz’ above his snoring head. It made me smile through my tears. My little brother could have been so good at so many things if he’d really wanted to have been.

  I should be more honest, shouldn’t I? That’s my new resolution. Okay then—I’m a bit fucked. One last time, and then a new start. I swear.

  Oh God. I wiped my eyes fiercely on my sleeve.

  It’s really weird being here—I think we came here with Mum and Dad, didn’t we? Maxine said Leigh brought her here, which was weird. Do you remember dropping your Mr Whippy on that geezer’s head, down the beach-stairs? That bald bloke? What a wicked shot! I’ve never laughed so much in all my life. I’ve never laughed again that much anyway, not that I can remember, now I think about it. That’s a bit sad, isn’t it? We did have a laugh, though, didn’t we? You and me? That’s what I told Maxine. Am I rambling? My bloody pen’s running out now…

  Found a pencil. It’s a bit blunt. By the time you’ll be reading this, I’ll be long gone, and you’ll have Louis back. Please just know I’m sorry I let you down again. I know you always believed in me. I fucked it up, though, didn’t I? Royally, as Dad would have said.

  Please tell Mum and Leigh I’m sorry too. Give Louis a kiss from me. And warn him not to turn out like Uncle Robbie, or I’ll come and get him!

  All my love, Robbie xxx

  I just sat there in the dark, clutching the letter to my chest, an eight-year-old Robbie next to me in the shadows, my baby brother, playing Donkey Kong, his fluffy parka hood like a halo round his tousled head; my dad beside him ringing horses in the paper, sucking his stubby pencil, whistling ‘Wild Thing’, feet up on the coffee table. My flesh-and-blood baby asleep across the room, breathing deeply. Breathing safe at last.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The police returned my car, so I drove over to see my mum at Leigh’s, and I took Louis to try to cheer her up. I took Louis everywhere these days; we were inseparable. As I drove down the dual carriageway, I kept checking that he was really there, constantly looking over my shoulder in wonderment, to say hello. I swerved so often and so unnervingly that eventually I had to stop it before we crashed.

  One look at my mum’s ravaged face, though, one glance at the overflowing ashtray and the large gin glinting beside her in the dying light, and I realised this battle was one I’d never win. The air was thick with fag smoke and a grief so palpable it almost trickled down the walls. She barely registered a chuckling Louis. Nothing was going to shake her from her sorrow. I showed her Robbie’s note, but it just made her purse her lips against yet more tears, and then light another fag.

  ‘Mum.’ I took her hand. I noticed with a jolt it was starting to look old, the skin turning soft and wrinkled on the back now. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum. I don’t—I can’t say I know exactly how you feel,’ I felt the dull pain throb beneath my ribs, the pain that had been there since Robbie died, ‘but I’ve got a pretty good idea.’ Losing my brother was bad enough. The idea of losing my child sliced me to the bone.

  ‘What did I do wrong, Jessie, eh?’ She looked at me and I saw the unshed tears glinting in her eyes. ‘I let you all down, I know that now. I wasn’t much good as a mother.’ She took a deep drag of her fag, the lines around her mouth creasing deeply as she did so. ‘I’ve known it for a long time. I messed it up.’

  ‘You didn’t, Mum. You did your best.’ She probably had at the time.

  ‘Did I?’ She looked at me with gratitude. ‘I did, didn’t I? I did try. It’s just—your dad. It was quite hard, you know. Coping with all that.’

  And I knew the truth; knew however much I’d loved my dad, how hard it must have been to be married to him.

  ‘I should have told him to go a long time before the end. I should have told him to sort it out. Only—’ She almost smiled. A wistful, almost dreamy look crossed her face. ‘There was something about your dad, you know. Something about Roger—something I never could resist.’

  I thought about Mickey and me, how hard I’d fought the attraction back at the start; how I’d fought and failed. I squeezed her hand—my mother’s ageing hand.

  ‘Oh God, I loved your dad. And I know you understand that. Always were his little favourite, you were, Jessie. You and your mad curls.’ I searched her face for the old resentment—but it wasn’t there today. She stated it like fact. She swilled the remains of her gin around the glass, staring into the mists of time. ‘I can see you now, you three. You were beautiful kids, really gorgeous. I was so proud of you, you know.’

  I was surprised. ‘Were you? You never really showed it.’ Not to me, she hadn’t.

  ‘No, and I should have done. Too wrapped up in your dad. God, he was the death of me.’ The living death of her. She dragged hard on her cigarette, like it was her very last lifeline. ‘I was too hard on you, Jess. I know that now. Perhaps you reminded me of myself—’

  Oh Christ. I really hoped not.

  ‘You know, I see you now with Louis, and Leigh with the girls, and it seems like it was only yesterday you three were small, and I think, God, where has the time gone?’ Her face crumpled like an old paper-bag. ‘And oh, God, my little boy. Oh God.’ Those tears spilt over now, those huge unshed tears, track
ing down her sun-leathered cheeks. ‘I can’t—’ a shudder of despair racked her thin frame, ‘I just can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe I’ll never see him again. My little boy.’

  I clutched her hand tighter. ‘I know,’ I whispered. ‘I can’t either.’

  We sat there in silence, and I watched the ash from her cigarette grow into a curving arc until Louis let out a sudden squeak from the centre of Leigh’s sheepskin rug, shaking the soft bear he was holding so the bell rang inside its tummy. The baby crowed with delight at his own genius and shook it again before offering it to us.

  ‘Da,’ he said profoundly. My mother looked at him. She gave a great sniff and then she stopped crying.

  ‘Come here, darling,’ she crooned, holding out her arms. Louis stared up at her very seriously, his little moon-face rapt with concentration. Then he toppled onto his front and pulled himself towards his grandmother, crawling commando-style.

  ‘You know, Mum, if it hadn’t been for Robbie, we might never have got Louis back. In the end, it was him who saved the baby.’ I watched my son’s gargantuan effort to cross the rug; the solemn commitment written across his small smooth features, his solitary tooth all pearly white and lonely in his bottom gum. I held back my own tears. I’d known my little brother would come good eventually.

  ‘That’s right, isn’t it? Isn’t it, angel? Your Uncle Robbie saved you.’ My mum scooped the baby up into her arms, jumping him up and down on her knee until Louis gurgled with laughter again and clapped his hands. I resisted the urge to snatch the poisonous ashtray out of his grasp. I should just let them be for a while—the baby a tonic for my tragic mother.

  Leigh was washing up in her immaculate white kitchen, Capital Radio droning blandly in the background. Her marigolds whisked around the sink, flashing like small pink seals in the sea of suds.

  ‘All right?’

  ‘Getting there, you know.’ I helped myself to a Jammy Dodger from the tea-tray.