by Linda Green
‘What, now?’
‘Yeah. I have to. I have to get away from this.’
He nods and shuts his eyes. I go upstairs to our bedroom and pull on my tracksuit bottoms. I even remember to put on my sports bra before my top. I hurry back downstairs, past the open door of the living room, where I can see Alex sitting with his head in his hands. I feel like such a cow, leaving him like this, but I can’t stop here. If I stay here it will happen. I have to chase it away. I have to run as far as possible as fast as possible and I have to do it now. I grab my trainers, sit for a moment at the bottom of the stairs to do my laces, before opening the front door and stepping outside.
I start off walking, aware that I haven’t done my usual stretches, and build my speed up slowly. I don’t want to run in the streets anyway, it would only attract attention. Neighbours have probably seen me going out the front door as it is, no doubt wondering what the hell I am doing, just as Alex is. My pace quickens as I get to the recreation ground. I see the swings I have pushed Ella on more times than I care to remember, the slide she banged her head on once when she was little, the school that she should have started this week. I realise that I will not be able to stay in this village if she is dead. It would be like living on the set of her childhood, surrounded by her image at every turn. We will have to move, although I have no idea where to. That will be a massive hassle and Otis will hate it, which will make me feel really bad. And maybe it won’t make any difference where we are anyway; maybe I will still see her face on every swing, in every playground.
I start running. My body feels stiff. I can’t remember the last time I went five days without doing any exercise, probably not since Ella was tiny. I increase my stride and push harder. My heart quickens, my hair streaks back behind me. I run faster still. I like the way it is making me feel: pushing me, stretching me, forcing me to breathe hard. I run to the end of the rec, past the rugby club and out onto the lane. I am comforted by the sound of my trainers on the tarmac, pounding at a steady pace, relentless. I will keep on running, I will never stop. I simply will not let the events of this week catch up with me. If I run fast enough I might be able to make time go backwards, get the world to rewind, never take the call, never agree to let her hide again, never even go to the fucking park.
A Land Rover comes around the bend too fast. I catch the look on the driver’s face as she sees me: shock, terror, guilt, all jostling for position. I throw myself against the drystone wall. She manages to brake in time, shakes her head and lifts her hand in acknowledgement at me for a second. It was her mistake but she got away with it. Some people are not that lucky.
*
Alex is still sitting on the sofa in front of the TV with his head in his hands when I get back. The BBC News Channel appears to have moved on to something else but Alex has not. I sit down next to him. My body is damp with sweat but it is the hurt seeping from Alex’s pores which overwhelms me.
I stroke his hair. He looks up. For the first time I don’t see any hope in his eyes.
‘What’s he done to her, Lis?’
I look at him, knowing it is my turn to be strong.
‘He might not have done anything. He might not even be involved.’
‘But if he’s not, someone else is.’
‘Whoever it is she’d fight,’ I say. ‘She’d put up such a fight.’
‘I know. It wouldn’t help her, though, would it? Not against a bloke. When I think of how tiny her hand used to look in mine . . .’
I wrap my arms around him, feel his chest heaving.
‘Don’t push me away, will you, Lis? We’re going to need each other to get through this.’
‘I know. I just needed to get out. I feel like I’m suffocating in here sometimes.’
He nods. ‘Did it help?’
‘Only for a few minutes.’
*
I knock on Chloe’s door at lunchtime. I want to get her out of her room. I want to sit down for lunch as a family. What little family I have left.
There is no reply but I go in anyway. I thought it would be different when she came home from uni, that our relationship would start to heal as she tried on adulthood for size and cast off the teenage ‘I hate you’ persona. It hasn’t turned out that way though. Mainly because she still has a reason to hate me, and a bloody good one at that.
Her bedroom is white. Pure and sterile. You could perform surgery in there it is so clean. She lies on her bed reading John Green’s Looking for Alaska. She got into him by reading The Fault in Our Stars. I didn’t realise what it was about at the time. Afterwards, when I found her sobbing in a heap on the floor, I said I didn’t think it was a good idea for her to go and see the film. She gave me a look of contempt and went anyway, of course, with Robyn. Her eyes were red raw when she came home. I didn’t understand why she did that to herself but I knew far better than to say anything.
I sit on the corner of her bed. She looks up at me. I know what she is asking without her having to say a word and I shake my head. She closes her eyes for a second as if giving silent thanks.
‘It might not have been her, you know,’ I say.
‘Always look on the bright side, eh?’
‘It’s true. Just because they’re looking, doesn’t mean to say it was her.’
She rolls her eyes.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I’m not a kid, you know. You don’t have to try to protect me like you’re doing with Otis.’
‘We’ve got to keep hoping.’
‘You’re sounding like Alex now.’
‘Well, he’s right.’
‘So why did you go for a run earlier?’
I sigh. ‘I’m not saying it’s easy, I’m just saying we’ve got to try.’
‘Yeah, because everything might turn out OK. She might just have gone off with her fairy godmother to Disneyland.’
‘Please don’t, Chloe. Not now.’
‘Why, because it hurts? Well, welcome to my world. What took you so long to get here?’
‘Look, I know this is hard for y—.’
‘No, you don’t. You have no fucking idea at all.’
She picks up her book again and pretends to start reading. Her eyes are so moist I’m not sure she’ll be able to make out any of the words. I want to say something, the right thing. But I don’t have good form on that, especially not with Chloe. So I stand up and say, ‘Lunch is downstairs if you want it,’ instead.
*
We have barely finished lunch when Tony arrives, still in his overalls.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘Lunch hour. Boss says to take as much time as I want.’
‘Can I get you a brew, Tony?’ asks Claire.
‘Nah, you’re all right.’
Tony has never been known to refuse a cup of tea in his life. Claire gets the message and goes off to join Alex in front of the TV.
‘Any news?’ he asks.
I shake my head.
‘Fucking pervert. Should never have been allowed out for whatever it was he did in the first place.’
‘We don’t know it’s him.’
‘Well there’s not exactly a long list of suspects, is there?’
‘He’s got an alibi. His mother says he was at home.’
‘And you buy that, do you? Look how many times Mum covered up for me when I was in trouble.’
‘That’s cos she’s soft and for some reason she thought the sun shone out of your arse. But you know she wouldn’t have covered up for something like this.’
Tony shakes his head and looks at me. ‘You can’t go on kidding yourself. I know it’s hard but you’ve got to face up to what’s happened, Lis, we all have.’
‘So you think she’s dead, is that what you’re saying?’
Tony shuts his eyes and shuffles his feet. ‘Well it’s not looking good, is it? She’s been missing five days and not a single sighting until now.’
‘Maybe someone’s got her locked up some
where.’
‘Yeah, maybe. But I tell you this, if that bastard Taylor knows what’s good for him he’d better spill the beans pretty sharpish.’
*
I have just got out of the shower the next morning when Claire rings.
‘No news,’ she says, knowing better than to start a phone conversation with me with anything else. ‘We’re still holding Taylor but we’ve got absolutely nothing on him. There’s something I need to tell you, though.’
‘Go on.’
‘Someone put a brick through the window of Taylor’s house in the early hours. His mum wasn’t injured – she was asleep upstairs – but she’s pretty shaken up. We’ve sent officers round there now to take a statement.’
‘Oh Jesus.’
‘I’m really sorry, Lisa, but you probably know what I’m going to say next.’
‘You think it’s one of us.’
‘No, but it’s going to be the first thing the investigating officers ask me when they get back. Do you think Tony might have . . . ?’
I sigh. ‘I don’t know, Claire. I don’t know anything any more. But just give me half an hour if you can and I’ll find out.’
*
I park outside Mum and Dad’s house and call Tony on his mobile. I feel bad doing it because I know what he is going to think the second he sees my name come up on the screen, but I don’t want to knock and have to do this in front of Mum and Dad.
‘It’s OK. There’s no news,’ I say as soon as he answers, ‘but I need to talk to you. I’m outside. Please come down quietly and let me in.’
I get out of the car and walk over to the front door wishing I didn’t have to ask this and suspecting I already know the answer I am going to get.
A few moments later the door opens. Tony is standing there in his boxers and a T-shirt.
‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he asks as I step inside.
‘I was hoping you were going to tell me that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Someone put a brick through the window of Taylor’s house early this morning.’
‘Good for them.’
‘Don’t play games, Tony.’
‘You think I fucking did it?’
I gesture to him to lower his voice. ‘Last time I saw you, you were mouthing off about how he should never have been let out of prison.’
‘Well, yeah, don’t mean to say I’m going to go and brick his house, does it?’
‘Are you saying you didn’t do it? Only the cops are going to be turning up soon and I want to know before they do.’
‘They think it’s me?’
‘Well you’re a pretty obvious suspect.’
‘I’m surprised it was just a brick, to be honest. Would have thought someone would have petrol-bombed it by now.’
‘Don’t piss me about, Tony.’
‘You’re the one who came round here accusing me of summat I didn’t do.’
‘I’ve only got your word for that, haven’t I?’
‘He didn’t do it, Lis.’
I look up to see Dad standing at the top of the stairs in his dressing gown.
‘How can you be so sure of that?’ I ask.
Dad hesitates and walks a few steps down towards us.
‘Because I did it,’ he says.
I stare at Dad as he walks down the stairs, struggling to take in what he has just said.
‘No, you didn’t,’ I say as he reaches the bottom and stands in front of me and Tony. ‘You couldn’t have. You don’t even know where he lives.’
‘I asked around,’ says Dad. ‘It weren’t hard.’ His face is serious. He’s not mucking about. He actually bloody did it. I shake my head and turn to Tony.
‘Did you know about this?’
‘Course I didn’t fucking know about it. I’d have gone with him if I had.’
‘That’s why I didn’t tell you,’ says Dad. ‘It wouldn’t have been fair on your mother.’
‘Oh, so it’s all right for you to get yourself banged up but not him, is it?’ I say.
‘Well someone had to do it, and I’d rather it was me than him who got done.’
I shake my head. ‘You didn’t have to do anything. You could have just left it alone.’
‘How? How could I leave it alone when Ella is missing and this fucking pervert isn’t telling us where she is?’
‘We don’t even know it was him.’
‘Course it was him. And I am not having him sitting there, laughing at us, while the cops are diving in bloody lakes for my granddaughter.’
‘Vince, what’s going on?’ I look up. Mum is standing at the top of the stairs in her nightie, her hair messy, her eyes wide with dread.
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘It’s not Ella.’
‘Well what’s all the shouting about? Why are you here?’
‘You’d better tell her,’ I say, turning to Dad.
He looks down at his feet for a moment before looking at Mum. ‘I put a brick through Taylor’s window, that’s all.’
Mum stares at him, a frown creasing her forehead.
‘When?’
‘Early hours of this morning.’
‘But I didn’t hear a thing.’
‘I was hardly going to wake you before I went, was I? See if you’d make me a packed lunch for the journey.’
Mum sits down on the stairs. I can see her hands shaking. ‘But why, Vince? Why would you go and do a thing like that?’
‘Because it needed to be done.’
Mum shakes her head. ‘I don’t understand. Was anyone hurt?’ She looks at me as she says it.
‘No. His Mum was sleeping upstairs. She’s pretty shaken up apparently.’
‘I’m not surprised. You must have put the fear of God up her, Vince.’
‘Good.’
‘What do you mean, good?’ I ask.
‘I wanted to do that. That way she might stop lying to protect that fucking toe–rag of a son of hers.’
‘Oh Jesus.’ I roll my eyes. ‘How could you do something so stupid?’
‘I was doing it for you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So how do you work that one out?’
I see Dad swallow, his face contorted. ‘Because I can’t bear to see you suffer like this. Because same way Ella’s your little girl, you’re still mine and I know that might sound soft or whatever but it’s true. I’m supposed to protect you but I didn’t, did I? I didn’t protect Ella either. I’m supposed to be head of our family and I’ve let you all down. I lie in bed every night feeling so bloody useless and hating that there’s nowt I can do and then this happened and I realised I could do summat to help. I just wanted to try to make it better, to make him say where she is, like. Put you out of your misery and get our little princess back, even if she’s not even alive any more. I wanted to get her back for you.’
A solitary tear rolls down Dad’s left cheek. He wipes it away but not before I see it through my own tears. I step towards him and he throws his arms tight around me, squeezes me harder than is comfortable as he sobs great, big Yorkshireman tears on my shoulder. And right now I hate this world. I hate God or whoever it is who’s in charge, who could do this to a grown man. I hate the man who called my mobile in the park, the people writing horrible things about us on Twitter and Facebook and most of all the man who took Ella and took away our lives in the process.
I can hear Mum crying on the stairs behind me. I look up to gesture Tony to go to her but he is already there.
‘She’s gone, hasn’t she?’ asks Dad when he finally looks up at me.
‘Yeah,’ I whisper. ‘I think she has.’
*
I am still there when the police come and arrest Dad on suspicion of causing criminal damage. I think Claire has had a word with them after my phone call because they knock very politely as if they are collecting for charity, not about to arrest someone.
And they have done what I asked and sent an unmarked car. The officers
are still in uniform and no doubt some of the neighbours will talk anyway but it makes it a little easier for Mum.
I step forward and kiss Dad on the cheek before he goes. He clings on to my hand, his eyes looking like they have been punched into the back of his head.
‘Sorry,’ he says.
‘Don’t be a daft bugger,’ I reply.
Mum sits on the stairs with Tony. I am not sure she has moved from that spot since she broke down, and for once she doesn’t seem to care that she is in her nightie and hasn’t done her hair. I think it is the first time in my life I’ve known her allow strangers to see her without make-up on. It doesn’t matter any more. The same way the weather doesn’t matter any more, or that someone forgot to get the milk, or what we are having for dinner later, or that the garden gate needs oiling. None of it matters or will ever matter again.
18
Muriel
‘No. It’s a G. Come on, you know that. Where are you today, dreamland?’
The child looks down and swings her legs from the piano stool. Her fingers appear stubbier than I remembered. Certainly when compared to Matthew’s. She is not concentrating. To be honest she seems incapable of concentrating. I start to wonder if she has that attention deficit disorder that so many children seem to have these days. I’ve always thought it was poppycock. Giving a medical name to what used to be known as downright disobedience. Maybe they have a point, though. Perhaps the genes have mutated and there is a generation of children who simply can’t physically sit still for five minutes. I remember when I went on a school trip with The Grange last Christmas. Admittedly Jack and the Beanstalk in Halifax wouldn’t have been my choice of theatre experience, especially not with a cast of talent-show and reality-TV people I had never heard of. But the fact was not one of the children was capable of sitting still for the duration of the performance. Umpteen toilet visits, complaining when their sweets and ice creams had been eaten, talking and fidgeting throughout the whole thing. And these were children from good homes. I dread to think what other children would be like. I told Mrs Cuthbertson straight afterwards that I wouldn’t be accompanying them there again. As it happened, I left not long afterwards anyway. It wasn’t my doing. I didn’t see what the problem was, but Mrs Cuthbertson was always very touchy about parent complaints. One over-sensitive child says something to a parent and the next I knew, she was calling me into her office for ‘a word’. I didn’t give her the satisfaction, mind. Told her I was taking early retirement before she had the chance to say anything. She said she totally understood in the ‘difficult circumstances’, that she was surprised I hadn’t taken the decision sooner. She even had the gall to try to pat me on the hand as I left her office. Not that I was having any of it. The fact is several of the children from The Grange still come to me for private lessons, so she didn’t manage to turn all the parents against me. Not everyone believes the gossip you hear in the playground.
