by Linda Green
‘I don’t want to play any more,’ the child whines.
‘Well you won’t get better if you don’t practise.’
‘When’s Otis coming for his lesson?’
‘He won’t be coming any more.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m too busy looking after you.’
‘But I want him to come. I want to see Otis. And Daddy will bring him and he can take me home afterwards. I want to go home now.’
I sigh and shake my head. ‘This is your new home, remember?’
‘I don’t want to live here.’
‘That sounded rather ungrateful, you know. You’re very lucky that I’ve taken you in when no one else could look after you. Often children get put in a home if their parents aren’t fit to look after them.’
‘Like Little Orphan Annie in the film?’
‘Yes, just like that.’
Her face brightens for a second. ‘Will I get a dog called Sandy?’
‘No, of course not. That would hardly be fair on Melody, would it?’
She shakes her head.
‘What I’m trying to make you understand is that you should count your blessings. I’ve given you a lovely home to live in, lots of toys to play with, and I’m taking you on holiday.’
She is quiet. Thinking for a moment.
‘Will Grandma take Otis on holiday and get him new toys?’
‘I don’t know. She might not be able to afford it.’
She fixes me with a look. ‘Do they have donkeys where we are going? Can I have a donkey ride?’
I stare down at the child looking up at me expectantly. Smell the salt in the air. Feel the unwelcome sensation of sand between my toes.
‘Why of course they do. Don’t you remember Ted?’
The child looks at me blankly.
‘He’s your favourite donkey. He’s chocolate-brown and all the others are grey. You picked him out especially. You give him sugar lumps. The man lets you. Remember how you hold out your hand?’
She hesitates before slowly extending her arm.
‘That’s right. Hand flat, fingers straight. The opposite of what we do on a piano. And then he comes and takes it from you.’
‘Does he bite?’
‘No. Of course not. I wouldn’t let you do it if he did. It tickles. You said it tickles and his muzzle feels all soft and velvety in your hand.’
The child smiles at last. A small uncertain smile but a smile none the less.
‘Now,’ I say, ‘why don’t I go and get you a drink and then we can go upstairs and start packing?’
The child nods. ‘Ribena. Please can I have a Ribena?’
‘Of course you can,’ I say, smiling back. I go to the kitchen and get one of the little cartons which the shopping man delivered yesterday. I wonder again whether he glimpsed the child. Maybe he told someone back at the depot. Perhaps they check people’s orders to see if they’ve bought anything unusual. It would all come up if they did. The Magnums, the SpongeBob Squarepants thing. The Ribena. Maybe we need to go away before Saturday. Friday, if I can find somewhere. The cottage brochure usually has quite a few places which start on a Friday, I will have a look later. I need to get away. I’m not sure I can face being in this house on Friday.
I go back in. The child is staring vacantly out of the window. I pierce the carton with the straw before handing it to her, reminding her not to squeeze too hard as she takes it.
‘The shopping man brought some crumpets too.’
I wait for the shriek of delight but it does not come. She nods solemnly. Her mind appears to be somewhere else entirely.
I walk out into the hall. Matthew’s photos line the walls. He tries so hard to keep me going, to spread joy when there is none. To fill the house with good memories when the floorboards creak under the weight of the bad.
I go to the bread bin, get out the crumpets and turn on the grill. The flame roars and then quietens as I adjust the knob. I turn towards the fridge to get the butter out and almost bump into her. She shuffles out of the way only to stand right in front of the cutlery drawer, where I am going next.
‘Run along and play,’ I say. ‘Go and find Melody. I can’t have you under my feet in the kitchen.’
She goes without a murmur. I don’t know what has got into her. I thought she would be excited about the holiday. I sigh and busy myself with the crumpets, pour the child a glass of milk.
‘Your snack is ready,’ I call out once the butter has melted sufficiently. She doesn’t come. I am reminded that six days ago she practically snapped my hand off. I call again. Nothing. I go out into the hall. She is sitting on the front doormat with a leaflet in her hand, silent tears streaming down her face. I see the West Yorkshire Police logo. I rush forward and snatch the leaflet out of her hands. MISSING is emblazoned across the top, along with her name and a large photo of her.
‘Where did you get that from?’
‘It came through letter box.’
‘Yes, well you shouldn’t have picked it up.’
‘It’s got my picture on it.’
‘It was meant for me.’
‘Why has it got my picture on it?’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘It’s got my name on it and it says I’m missing.’
I look up at the ceiling. I’d been hoping she didn’t know the word. Wouldn’t be able to read it.
‘You said you didn’t know your letters.’
‘I see them on lamp posts with the doggy pictures. Mummy said it’s when doggies get lost and they’re trying to find them.’
My mouth feels dry. I stare at the floor, unable to look her in the eye. It is all unravelling. Falling apart around me. I wish Matthew were here. He would help me find some way out of this mess.
‘Your mother has told the police you are missing to cover up the fact that she has been a bad mother and lost you. They think someone naughty took you.’
She wipes her nose on the back of her hand.
‘The naughty boys?’ she asks. ‘Do they think the naughty boys took me?’
‘Yes. Yes, they probably do.’
‘Are you going to take me back now?’
‘Of course not. You know I can’t do that. Your mummy isn’t capable of looking after you. Anyway, we’re going on holiday. We’re going on Friday instead of Saturday.’ We’ll leave early, very early. She might even go back to sleep, which would be a blessing for the journey.
‘I don’t want to go on holiday. I want to go home.’
The silent tears become an audible sob.
‘Enough of this nonsense,’ I say, handing her a handkerchief from my pocket. ‘You can’t keep getting upset over this. You live here now. It’s for your own good. You know it is.’
‘Someone might find me. Someone found one of lost doggies when it went missing. A white one with a black patch over his eye. Mummy showed me a picture in paper.’
‘No one’s going to find you. And even if they do, you won’t be able to go back to your mummy. They won’t let you. Not when they find out what a bad mummy she is.’
She stares at me, tiny daggers stabbing at me from the corners of her eyes, then in an instant she leaps up off the mat and reaches up for the front-door handle. I lunge forward and grab her hand, pulling it away. She couldn’t reach it anyway but I put the chain across just in case.
I bend down and look her in the face. ‘Now, we’ll have no more of that nonsense, thank you.’
She cowers back against the door. I mustn’t lose her trust, I know that. I try to soften my face a little.
‘Let’s go and have that crumpet, shall we?’
She stares up at me, her eyes moist, and walks slowly through to the kitchen, her head hanging. I pick up the flyer, fold it in half and tuck it away in the magazine rack.
As I turn I catch sight of Matthew watching me. ‘We’re going away on Friday,’ I say to him. ‘All of us together. I’m going to start packing later. Yo
u can help me if you like.’
He smiles back at me and nods. He is a good boy, Matthew. Always such a good boy.
Matthew
Monday, 25 August 2014
Sparrow has dumped me. Dumped me for good, not like just a falling-out or something. She didn’t get the grades to get into Leeds (which is probably my fault cos she was with me when she should have been swotting and I feel really bad because I got the grades to get in and she didn’t) so she went through clearing and the only place she could get was at Lancaster Uni so she took it and told me we could still see each other at weekends and I told her we couldn’t cos Mum will go ape if I go away when I haven’t seen her all week, especially when she’ll know who I’d be going to see. And Sparrow just lost it and said that I had to choose between her and my mum and if I couldn’t stand up to my own mother then I obviously didn’t love her as much as I said I did. I told her I couldn’t do that. I told her I loved her more than anyone in the world but I couldn’t hurt Mum, not after everything she’s been through. Sparrow said she’d had enough of it, all the creeping around and secret meetings over the summer when Mum was off work (she hasn’t been back to our house since the hair thing, she couldn’t really). She said she’s not going to spend the rest of her life living a lie and if I was so ashamed of her that I couldn’t tell my own mother then it was over.
And the worst thing of all is that she’s probably right. I mean it is pretty pathetic and it’s not as if I’ve got anyone else to blame apart from myself. If I’d confronted Mum about the hair thing instead of buying into her control shit, then maybe none of this would have happened. I mean Sparrow still wouldn’t have got into Leeds but it needn’t have mattered – plenty of other people carry on seeing each other when they go to different unis. It’s just that plenty of other people haven’t got a mum like mine. It’s like she doesn’t want me to grow up, like she needs to control every aspect of my life. And I know she’s had a crap year and all that stuff but it’s not fair giving me this guilt trip. Neither of us have ever mentioned the hair but it’s like it’s hanging over us all the time. I know she’s disappointed in me and she thinks I’ve let her down but I just don’t get how she thinks I’m supposed to live the rest of my life just being the dutiful son and never going out with anyone or going anywhere outside a twenty-mile radius of the house.
She doesn’t understand how much I love Sparrow and there’s no point me telling her cos she’d just say it was teenage stuff and I should be concentrating on my degree course not throwing my life away for some girl. But she’s not some girl. She means the world to me and I can’t bear the thought of existing without her. I can’t even think about going to Leeds now, I mean what’s the point?
And the worst think about it is it’s all my own fault and I wish I could just tell Mum to fuck off and let me live my life but I can’t cos I’m not sure she could take it right now, not after everything that’s happened.
She’s still so fucking uptight all the time and we still never mention Dad and she doesn’t even talk about Grandma much now she’s gone. It’s like her life’s got smaller and smaller and it’s just me and her and she’s the puppeteer and she’s pulling my strings. I think she gets off on it sometimes, I really do. Having this control over me, knowing that I can’t say anything to her because if I do she’ll bring up the whole hair thing and that will be the end of our relationship.
I have no idea what I’m going to do, no idea at all. I’ve lost the person I love most in the world and the only way I can get her back is to stick the boot into my own mother. What kind of choice is that? I mean it’s no choice at all.
I keep texting Sparrow and telling her I love her but she isn’t returning my texts and she won’t take my calls and she probably hates me. Actually hates my guts and never wants to see me again. And I’m so weak and pathetic I can’t do anything about it. I’m going to be trapped here for the rest of my life. I don’t even want to go to Leeds now. I mean I know it gets me out of this place but all I’ll be thinking the whole time is that Sparrow should be there with me and what’s the point without her? There’s no fucking point at all.
The only thing I do know is that I love Sparrow right now more than I have loved anyone in my entire life and that I will never love anyone else. And somehow I’ve got to find a way to make her see that.
19
Lisa
I bring Mum back to our house when she is dressed. She had offered to look after Otis for us today but to be honest I think she is the one who needs looking after. Besides, I don’t suppose it will be long before the press are back outside her house and I don’t want her to have to face that on her own.
She did at least manage to put on a little bit of make-up, saying she didn’t want to scare Otis. Alex takes her through into the living room and sits her down with a cup of tea.
‘Why does Grandma look so old today?’ asks Otis, coming through to the kitchen.
‘She’s tired, love,’ I say. ‘And worried, like we all are.’
‘Where’s Grandad?’
I sigh, unsure of what to tell him. It will be all over the media soon and when Otis goes back to school he is going to hear about it, so it’s probably better he hears it from me.
‘Grandad’s at the police station, love. He did something he shouldn’t have done and he’s gone to say sorry.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He smashed the window of a house where a man lives. He was angry at him because he thought he might know where Ella is.’
‘Where is Ella?’
‘We don’t know, sweetie. That’s why the police are talking to this man, to try to find out.’
‘Why might he know – was he playing hide-and-seek with her?’
I hesitate. It is hard to know how to respond to that. Right now Otis’s innocence strikes me as about the most beautiful thing in the world and I don’t want to be the one to destroy it.
‘He lives near the park, and he might have seen where she hid.’
Otis pauses, you can almost hear the cogs going round in his head.
‘Is Grandad going to get in trouble for breaking the window?’
‘Yeah, he is.’
‘Will he go to prison?’
I shake my head.
‘Why not? You always tell me people who do bad things have to go to prison.’
‘He’ll have to go to court, love. He’ll probably get fined and have to pay for the window to be replaced.’
‘He won’t do that again then, will he?’
‘No,’ I say, managing a half-smile. ‘He won’t.’
*
Claire arrives shortly afterwards; even she looks drained now.
‘Sorry,’ I say as I let her in. ‘We’re not exactly making this easy for you, are we?’
‘Not your fault,’ she says. ‘Anyway, I do need to talk to you both.’
I glance at Alex, unsure what she is going to throw at us now.
‘Do we need to sit down?’ he asks.
‘It might be best.’ We do as we are told and go through to the kitchen. Alex holds my hand under the table.
‘We’re about to release Taylor. A man came forward who was at Ogden Water last Friday with his daughter. To be fair she does look quite similar to Ella and the dad was the right sort of height and build as Taylor – a bit older mind.’
‘So Taylor wasn’t even there?’
‘No.’
‘And his mum wasn’t lying about him being in all afternoon?’
‘No, it seems not.’
‘Fucking hell,’ I say, putting my head down on the kitchen table. I don’t know whether to feel relieved that they aren’t going to find her at the bottom of Ogden Water or angry for being put through all of this. I realise I still have hold of Alex’s hand, which is gripping mine tightly. I sit up and turn to him. His face is pale, and there are tears coursing down his cheeks.
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘She’s not there. He hasn’t touched her.’ He pulls me towards him. I
’m vaguely aware that Claire is leaving the kitchen.
*
A bit later, when we have had a chance to get ourselves together, she comes back in quietly and puts the kettle on before turning to us.
‘We are going to have to charge your dad with criminal damage, I’m afraid. We’ve taken a full statement and we’re going to drop him off home soon.’
‘Does he know about Taylor?’
‘Not yet. I thought you’d want to tell him yourself.’
Alex puts his arm around my shoulders. ‘You didn’t think it was Taylor, did you? Not even at the beginning.’
‘I had my doubts.’
‘Why?’
It is Claire’s turn to sigh. ‘I can’t tell you the background but let’s just say we had every reason to believe his mother.’
‘Is she OK, his mum?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, just shaken up really. Very upset. She knows they’re going to have to move, what with all the media attention. We’ve advised them to stay with friends out of the area tonight, for their own safety.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly. ‘It’s all a bit of a mess, isn’t it?’
Claire nods.
‘So where does this leave the investigation?’ asks Alex.
‘Pretty much back where we were before, I’m afraid. No positive sightings, nothing on CCTV, but we’re still sifting through all the information that’s come in. It’s not like we haven’t got other possible lines of enquiry.’
