by Sue Margolis
“Isn’t that all the more reason to have a conversation about what happened between you—to tell her you’re sorry?”
“She knows that. When I was in hospital, I told her it wasn’t my proudest moment. What more does she want?”
I take a deep here-goes-nothing breath. “Edith, do you love your daughter?”
She bridles. “What sort of question is that? Of course I do.”
“Then tell her.”
“I’ve left her the house and all my money. Isn’t that enough?”
“Does she know that’s what you’ve done?”
“She’ll find out as soon as I’m gone—as soon as she sees the will. I didn’t even split it with her brother. Not because I don’t like him, you understand. It’s because he’s wealthy and doesn’t need it. Meanwhile I’ll thank you not to tell her what I’ve done.”
“I won’t. But you should. Just let her know you love her and that you’ve provided for her.”
“You know the problem with the world today? Feelings. I blame Princess Diana. Nobody in this country had feelings before she died. Now people are hugging and emoting all over the place. Even footballers do it. In my day we didn’t have to tell people we loved them. They knew it.”
“Well, Ginny doesn’t know it. Far from it. Speak to her. Please. I beg you. For both your sakes.”
Edith hands me her cup and saucer and informs me that her tea is lukewarm. “It’s your fault it’s gone cold. Forcing me to listen to all this nonsense.”
“I didn’t force you. If you’d asked me to leave, I would have gone. That makes me think that deep down you don’t think what I’m saying is really nonsense.”
“If it’s not too much trouble I would like another cup of tea. Maybe Emma could bring it to me this time. She’s much more agreeable.”
“I’ll ask her.”
“Very good.”
As I turn to go, Edith calls after me, “Your grandson will come home. Don’t give up hope.” She offers me the glimmer of a smile. The old lady appears to do feelings after all.
Back in the kitchen Ginny asks what took so long. “Has my mother been lecturing you about the country going to the dogs because there are too many immigrants?”
“Actually we talked about Sam and she told me not to give up hope.”
“For once I agree with her. Please don’t despair.”
I realize I don’t have the energy to start helping with the cleaning. I know it would take my mind off things, but since Sam disappeared I’ve been sleeping in fits and starts. I’m all in. Ginny says she can see the exhaustion in my face. She tells me to go home to rest. She wants to get me a taxi, but I’m determined to walk. I don’t want to rush back to the confinement and fear—the sodding cups of tea.
• • •
I’m a few yards from my front gate when I see him. At least I think it’s a him. It’s getting dark, so I can’t quite tell. The person is sitting on the garden wall, short legs swinging, sneakers hitting the brickwork. For a second I think it’s Sam and my heart jolts. I start running toward him. Then I notice his posture, the shape of his head. “Seb? Is that you?”
He jumps down from the wall, looks at me, but doesn’t say anything.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing sitting out here in the cold?”
“Is it true that Sam’s run away?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“It’s all my fault. I lied. I’m so sorry. I should have owned up. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Sam will be all right, won’t he?”
“Whoa, Seb, calm down. What’s going on? Are you saying that you stole the iPad?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
CHAPTER
twenty-one
I make Seb hot chocolate and we sit at the kitchen table while he says—in fits and starts that I sometimes strain to hear—what he’s come to say. Mum and Constable Lisa are in the living room, watching one of the soaps. When he’s finished, he begs me not to call his mother.
“Let me tell Granddad first. He’ll understand better and then he can help me tell Mum.”
“But your mum doesn’t know where you are. She’ll be worried.”
“No, she won’t. I told her I was going around the corner to Granddad’s. She lets me go on my own ’cos it’s so near.”
I phone Mike, and ten minutes later, he’s ringing the doorbell.
“It’s only Mike,” I call out to Mum.
“What does he want? After what he did, I don’t know how he’s got the cheek to show his face here.”
I poke my head around the living room door and tell her she doesn’t have to say hello.
“Too right I’m not saying hello.”
I leave her to the TV.
“You were quick,” I say to Mike.
“What’s going on? What has Seb told you?”
“I think you should hear it from him.”
Seb is staring into what remains of his hot chocolate. He’s too embarrassed to look at his grandfather. Mike pulls out a chair and sits down next to him.
“Come on, Seb. Whatever it is, you can tell me. Now, then … what’s all this about?”
Seb carries on staring into his mug. “Sam didn’t steal the iPad. I lied. It was the Cakes.”
“The who?”
“School Mafia,” I volunteer. “Orlando and Hugo Cake. They’re twins. Dear little chaps by all accounts, who—inter alia—go around the school demanding money and threatening to hurt kids who don’t pay up.”
Mike is almost laughing. “Oh, come on … they’re ten. I’d get it if this was some deprived inner-city school, but—”
“Granddad, you have to believe me. It’s been going on for months. They’re doing it to a few kids. I’ve been stealing money from Mum’s purse.”
“What? How much?”
“I dunno. Sometimes they only want five pounds. Sometimes it’s ten. If I don’t give them what they want, they say their brother Alex will beat me up. He’s in the senior school. He’s fourteen. I’ve seen him a few times. He’s huge.”
Mike’s lips are pursed. His right hand is a fist. “Bloody thug … if I get hold of him … So—what’s the story with the iPad?”
“It’s complicated.”
Seb explains that the Cakes stole the iPad and hid it under Sam’s bed for fun.
“For fun? Surely it would have been more fun to keep it, get their brother to sell it on eBay and cut them in on the deal.”
“You don’t know how much they hate me. It’s because my mum’s famous. They’re jealous. They told me to lie to Mrs. Gilbert and accuse Sam of stealing the iPad because they knew how upset I would be. They said they wanted to watch me cry like a baby. After I told Mrs. Gilbert, I did cry and I threw up. I could hear the Cakes laughing. They thought it was hysterical. I know I shouldn’t have lied, but they said if I didn’t, their brother would get me. Later on, they said the same to Felix. Getting Sam into trouble was just a bonus. They’ve enjoyed every minute.”
Mike looks at me. “It’s so twisted. These Cakes are bloody psychopaths. I can hardly believe that at their age they managed to come up with something so despicable.”
“I’m not sure they did,” I say. “If you ask me, it was the older brother egging them on. This Alexander is the real psycho. He’s the one getting his kicks. His little brothers are just pawns.”
“So, has this brother ever hurt you?” Mike says.
“No. But the twins have. They’ve beaten me up twice when I’ve refused to give them money. Felix has been beaten up once. They pick on us because they think we’re goody-goodies who won’t fight back. I’ve tried fighting them, but it’s two against one.”
“But you must have been covered in bruises. How come your mother didn’t see?”
“They were on my body, not on my face. I never showed her.”
Mike is grimacing. “I don’t understand. Why on earth didn’t you report them when they started demanding money?”
“I was
too scared. They said their brother would kill me. I thought about telling Mum, but you know what she’s like. She would have made a huge fuss—”
“Too damn right she would.”
“But that would have made it worse. Nobody wants their mum fighting their battles—and especially not my mum. She’d have written about it in the papers or wanted me and the Cakes to do something stupid like go on TV to talk about bullying. Then I really would be dead.”
“And you’re telling me,” Mike says, “that the school knows nothing about this?”
“They know the Cakes are bullies, and they just tell us to keep away from them. Sometimes they get sent to S.J. And there’s this counselor woman who comes to the school to talk to them about their behavior, but it hasn’t done any good. And they never have enough teachers on duty during recess—especially at lunchtime. Me and Felix got beaten up in the toilets. The teachers never check in there.”
“Christ Almighty. And for this your parents pay. How much are the fees at this bloody school? It’s despicable. You could have ended up in hospital.”
I touch Mike’s arm. “Take it easy. I’m sure Claudia can handle the school.”
Seb wants to know if his mother will be suing S.J. Mike says he wouldn’t be at all surprised.
“Good. S.J. bloody deserves it for not getting rid of the Cakes.”
Seb is trailing his finger through a drop of spilled hot chocolate, spreading it over the table. “Now everybody’s going to be angry and hate me.”
Mike puts an arm around him and says nobody is going to hate him. “I just wish you’d trusted an adult and spoken up. Then these boys and their brother would have been dealt with. We wouldn’t have let anybody hurt you.”
“You say that, but you don’t know. Adults can’t be there all the time. You have no idea how scared I was.”
Mike calls Claudia while I relay the news to Constable Lisa and my mother. Mum calls the Cakes evil and sick—just like the Nazis. Constable Lisa barely raises an eyebrow. She says she could tell me stories that are far worse—and not all from deprived inner-city neighborhoods. “That bloke who wrote Lord of the Flies knew what he was talking about.”
When Mike comes off the phone from Claudia, Mum makes no attempt to come and say hello to him.
“So, how did Claudia take the news?” I ask him.
“She didn’t say much. I think she’s in shock. She wants me to drop Seb home.”
He turns to his grandson, who’s putting on his coat. I bend down and give him a quick hug. “Seb, thank you for owning up. I know it was hard, but you don’t know how important it is. You’re a good kid and you’ve been very brave.”
“No, I haven’t. I’m a coward. I should never have lied. And now Sam’s missing, and it’s all my fault. What if something really bad happens to him?”
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t. Please don’t be too hard on yourself. You were scared. Fear often makes us do the wrong thing.”
• • •
Bernie calls first thing the next morning to find out how Mum’s doing and to tell her he’ll go out looking for Sam again today. This time Mum won’t hear of it. “You need to rest. You’ve done enough. Leave it to the police now. They know what they’re doing. Meanwhile I don’t know how to thank you. You’re a mensch, Bernie, a proper mensch.”
Once again, he offers to come and keep her company, but she tells him she prefers to worry alone. He makes her promise to call if she needs anything.
Around eleven, Mike stops by. “Mind if I come in? I just wanted to give you an update.”
Mum is in the kitchen, so I take him into the living room. He sits on the sofa. For a second, I dither about where to sit. After last night I feel close to him again. Part of me wants to sit next to him, to kiss and make up. But I choose an armchair.
Mike says that according to Laurence, Claudia is roaming around the house stony-faced. She can’t bring herself to speak to Seb.
“It’s Laurence who’s consoling him… . God forgive me for saying it, but I think her main concern is how all this is going to affect her career. What does it look like, a child expert whose kid allows himself to be bullied and beaten up because he can’t confide in his mother? The way she sees it, she’s been made to look a complete fool.”
“Not a fool—just fallible, like the rest of us. It will do her good.”
“I’m inclined to agree.” He leans forward. “So in the end you and I were right about our boys. They’re both good kids. I shouldn’t have judged Sam the way I did… .”
“OK … before you go on … I need to tell you that it wasn’t just you who judged him. I have a confession. Once Felix accused Sam, I found myself doubting him, too. When we got home after the meeting with Mrs. S.J., I practically accused him of stealing the iPad. It’s the reason he ran away. Me losing faith in him was the final straw.”
“But it was the logical thing to think. We all thought it. You can’t blame yourself.”
“But I do. I think I always will.”
He looks at his watch and says he has an interview to do in town. “But I’m more than happy to cancel it if you’d like me to stay and keep you company.”
I tell him it’s probably best if he goes. “I’m afraid you’re not in Mum’s good books. If you stay, there’ll be an atmosphere. I’m not sure I could cope.”
“So long as I’m back in your good books.”
“Let’s talk … as soon as this is over.”
“Sure,” he says, clearly worried that I haven’t quite forgiven him—which I probably haven’t. But right now I can’t give my relationship with Mike any more thought. My grandson is still missing. He could be dead. Sam is all I can think about.
• • •
Constable Lisa went home late last night to get a few hours’ sleep. Now she’s back, playing cards with Mum. I ask her if the police have been able to get a message to Abby and Tom.
“I don’t know. The last I heard they were still having technical problems. But they will.”
“This is ridiculous,” I snap. “What technical problems? The truth is, nobody cares. Nobody’s putting themselves out.”
“Come on, Judy. You know that’s not true. We care. We’ve got officers out looking for him. Everybody cares. You’re saying that because you’re worn-out.”
I take a breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I am worn-out. The thing is, I just don’t know what I’m going to tell his parents. I’m not sure I can face them.”
“Maybe you should leave that to us.”
I’m so beside myself with guilt and shame that I’m starting to think that I might have to.
The morning crawls by. Bernie calls again. We run out of tea bags. Mum pops to the shop on the corner. I put a wash load on, then mop the kitchen floor and clean the bathrooms. I discover a pile of ironing that will keep me occupied for another hour. Mum says she’s going to bake a cake for when Sam gets home. I almost tell her not to bother.
After lunch—toast and more tea—Constable Lisa gets a call. Every time her phone rings or she gets a message on her radio, I assume Sam’s bloated body has been found floating facedown in the river.
“OK, roger that. I’ll pass on the news.”
“What?”
“He’s been found.”
“Alive?”
“Very much so. He’s exhausted, but fine.”
Mum starts shaking and sobbing. Her hand goes to her mouth. “Thank God. Oh, thank God.”
I want details. Where was he found? When? How?
Constable Lisa says he spent the entire time riding the tube. Somebody found him about an hour ago, asleep on a train at Tottenham Court Road, and reported it to the transport police.
I can’t shout or jump for joy. All I feel is quiet relief. Mum and I sit together on the sofa, holding hands as we let the tears roll. Even PC Lisa starts crying. I’m guessing that in her job, it doesn’t always end like this.
“But I don’t understand,” Mum says. “He’s been on the un
derground all this time and nobody noticed? How does that happen? How could people not wonder about a nine-year-old child all on his own—particularly at night?”
“Maybe they didn’t think he was alone,” Constable Lisa says. “You know what people are like. They walk around, lost in their own thoughts. They don’t pay attention.”
Another call comes in to say that Sam has been taken to St. Thomas’ Hospital. But only as a precaution. The police are sending a patrol car to collect me and take me to him. I ask Mum if she wants to come, but she says it would be too emotional. “You go. I’m going to call Bernie and ice that welcome-home cake.”
As I climb into the police car, the lovely copper says: “How’s about we have some fun and I blue-light you there?”
He turns on the siren, too. Then he hits the gas. I keep thinking how much Sam would love this. The way the traffic parts verges on the biblical. We careen across red lights, drive on the wrong side of the road, headlights flashing. I can’t stop laughing. It’s the thrill. More than that, it’s sheer, joyous release.
The doctor who examined Sam says he’s hungry and a bit dehydrated, but apart from that he’s good to go. I should let him eat what he likes for the rest of the day and make sure he gets plenty of fluids.
Sam is waiting for me in a cubicle in the ER. A woman police officer is with him. He’s sitting on the edge of the examination couch, legs swinging, and wolfing down a cheese and tomato sandwich. He’s also messing around with a pair of police handcuffs. He looks up at me the moment I walk in. I take in the filthy hands and matted hair, the shamefaced expression.
“Hi, Grandma.”
“Hi, you.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” the police officer says. “Bye, Sam. Good luck.” She relieves him of the handcuffs and offers him a smile and a wave. “And remember—no more running away when things get tough.” She turns to me and says how glad she is that it all worked out. Then she pulls back the curtain and is gone.
I hold him so tight he says he can’t breathe. I kiss him, tell him I love him, that it’s all OK … that Seb has admitted he lied. I explain about the Cake twins.
