Lelic, Simon - The Child Who

by The Child Who (mobi)

  ‘I’m sure he was only . . . That he wouldn’t mind if . . . I’ll wheel it across for you, shall I?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Leo looked up from his desk, which had become home in his absence to nothing he recognised. ‘No, really. It’s fine. He lifted a ream of copy paper from his mouse pad.

  ‘Here. Let me take that at least. And these.’ Alan used the block of paper as a tray, stack-ing it with junk mail and discarded folders and uncovering, as he cleared the surface, a pic-ture of Ellie.

  They both saw it. They both stared. Alan made a noise like something in his throat had slipped sideways.

  The external line rang and Alan turned but John was quicker. ‘Corker and Copeland,’ he chimed, hunching as he spoke as though the atmosphere in

  the office were a squall. Leo, involuntarily, tensed. He watched for John to turn, to say, Leo, you need to take this, and for a smile to displace his discomfort. But, instead, ‘He’s in a meeting,’ John said, not even looking Leo’s way, and he offered, quite cheerfully, to take a message.

  Leo swallowed. He faced his monitor. For no other reason than to escape his reflection, he turned the computer on. Something clicked, whirred, and Leo was content while he waited just to sit. He felt his focus begin to smear and that was fine too because it meant the world, temporarily, softened.

  The machine chimed. It was waiting for his password. Leo allowed himself to be en-tranced for a moment by the blinking cursor, then reached one finger to the letter e. ‘Excuse me. Alan?’

  ‘Leo. What’s up, buddy?’

  ‘I was just . . .’ Leo pointed to his workstation. ‘I was looking for some files. From the Daniel Blake case. I thought I’d left them on my desk but . Would someone have moved them, do you know?’

  ‘The Blake case?’ Alan made a face as though Leo had lost his mind. ‘Is that why you’re . I mean . .’ He recovered himself. ‘Howard might have them. Or, um, Terry.’ He twis-ted away as he said the name, perhaps hoping that Leo would not quite catch it. He tipped his head towards Howard’s office. ‘Howard’s in with Jenny, running through some paper-work, but Terry – ’ he leant to see the clock on the office wall ‘ – Terry should be back any—’

  ‘Leo?’

  ‘Ah!’ said Alan, gesturing. He beamed at Leo and then sank into his chair, immediately busying himself with something – anything – from his in-tray.

  Terry was hauling at his scarf as he drew close. His head was set at an angle, in part be-cause the scarf seemed to be forcing it that way but as though he were wary, too, that Leo might be an apparition. He offered his hand, cautiously, and Leo took it.

  ‘Leo? What are you doing here? We thought you’d be . . . well . . .’ Terry’s eyes caught on something at Leo’s shoulder. Leo’s chair? ‘How are you though?’ Terry said. ‘And . er . . . Mandy? Your wife. How are you both coping? Have you heard any—’

  ‘We’re fine. Thank you, Terry.’

  Terry took a moment to consider Leo’s response. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘That’s . . . er . . .’ ‘I was just asking Alan,’ Leo said. ‘About the Blake files. I wondered whether you might

  know where I could find them.’

  Terry was halfway out of his jacket. ‘The Blake files?’ He glanced at Alan but Alan’s eyes leapt for safety. ‘They’re on my desk, Leo.’ Terry smoothed his jacket over his arm. ‘Most of them, anyway. The rest are with Howard.’ His tone was kind but overly so.

  ‘I see,’ Leo said. ‘May I have them back?’

  It was a joke, Terry seemed to think, with a punchline that had gone over his head. ‘Have them back?’ He turned to Alan, half laughed. ‘Why would you want them back?’

  Leo did not return Terry’s smile. ‘They’re my files. It’s my case.’ ‘But you’re . . . You’ve been . . .’

  ‘I’ve been gone a fortnight. Not even that. And the arraignment’s not until Friday.’ ‘Yes. But. Leo, I—’

  ‘There’s no reason for me to relinquish my responsibilities. I know the case; I’m up to speed. Unless there have been any developments I should be aware of?’

  ‘Well,’ said Terry, ‘actually . . .’ and then he shook his head as though to clear it. ‘Why are you here, Leo? I thought . I mean, this thing with your daughter . Shouldn’t you be . . .’

  ‘What?’ said Leo. ‘Shouldn’t I be . . . What?’

  Again Terry shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He gestured towards the door to the street, turned back with an upraised palm.

  ‘You think I should be out there?’ Leo said. ‘You think I should be checking the dustbins maybe? The gutters? You think perhaps I’ve been sitting on my arse for two weeks, catch-ing up on daytime television?’

  ‘No. Of course not. I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten about my daughter, Terry. I’m not here because I woke up this morn-ing and thought, wow, actually, it’ll probably all turn out fine. I might as well just head into the office.’

  ‘Leo. Look, I—’

  ‘I don’t need to be reminded. That’s all. Not every second. Not in every conversation I have.’

  ‘Please. Leo. If you’ll just—’

  ‘I’d like the files please, Terry. My files. Daniel is my client, my responsibility. I’m not just going to forget about him. Not now. Especially now. I mean, Ellie, she . .’ Leo’s voice faltered. Whatever he had intended to say, he could not bring himself to say it.

  The telephone rang. No one answered it.

  Someone coughed and Leo focused.

  ‘Terry. May I have the files. Please.’

  Terry ran his tongue beneath his upper lip. ‘I’m sorry, Leo. I can’t give them to you.’ He folded his arms – slowly, as though to temper the hostility of the gesture.

  Everyone in the office, Leo knew, was watching to see how he would respond. He tapped his fingertips against his thigh. ‘They’re on your desk. Is that what you said?’ He began to turn. ‘In that case, maybe I’ll just—’

  Terry seized Leo’s arm. His hands were in proportion to the rest of him but his stubby fingers had a strangler’s grip.

  ‘Leo. Stop. Talk to Howard. Okay? Let’s both of us go and talk this through with Howard.’

  Leo looked at Terry’s hand on his arm. He gave a jerk and recovered his shirtsleeve. He led the way.

  ‘Listen, Howard. Before Leo says anything, I think I should tell you—’ Their boss was seated at his desk. Jenny was standing at his shoulder, studying the same

  sheet of paper he was. Terry had blundered in without knocking but Howard’s surprise, on seeing Leo, cut him short.

  ‘Leonard,’ said Howard, raising his head.

  ‘Howard, listen I—’

  Howard held off Terry with a finger. ‘What are you doing here? What about your . . . Shouldn’t you be . . .’

  ‘Have they found her, Leo?’ said Jenny. ‘Did they catch him?’ Leo, from the doorway, looked at Jenny and his eyes, unexpectedly, stuck. He had never

  before noticed the resemblance. She was fair, like his daughter, and just as freckled. She was taller, slightly, and older, obviously, but she might have been an image of Ellie as, say, an undergraduate. The Ellie he would never get to see.

  He reached for something to hold on to.

  ‘Leonard? Are you okay?’ Howard rounded his desk. ‘Howard, listen. It’s ridiculous. He can’t possibly expect to walk in here and just de-

  mand—’

  ‘Terence! Please! Can’t you see the man is unwell?’ Howard drew closer. Jenny, as though startled by Leo’s reaction, wilted into the corner. ‘I’m fine,’ Leo said. He steadied himself. ‘I’m just . just tired, that’s all. I’m fine,

  really.’ He held off Howard’s outstretched hand. He stood straighter. ‘Would you like some water, Leonard? Or a hot drink? Some coffee maybe, or some—’ ‘No! Thank you. Really, Howard. I promise you I’m fine. I’d like to . I wanted . I’m

  here to talk about Daniel.’ He felt an urge to look again at Jenny but resisted. ‘Just Daniel,’ he said. />
  ‘Daniel? Daniel Blake?’

  Leo nodded.

  ‘It’s being taken care of, Leonard.’ Howard smiled. ‘Really, there’s no need for you to worry. You obviously have more important—’

  ‘It’s my case.’

  Howard looked to Terry. Terry looked knowingly back. ‘Of course it is,’ Howard said. ‘And you’ve done a fine job. But with everything that’s

  happened, no one’s expecting you to—’

  ‘Daniel is. Daniel needs me.’

  Howard’s smile began to fray. ‘Leonard. Really. Terence here has your notes, he’s famil-iar with the case.’

  ‘He has my notes. He doesn’t have my relationship with the boy.’ Terry grunted. ‘A good thing too,’ he muttered.

  Howard, caught between his two employees, seemed suddenly unsure of his bearings. He glanced about. ‘Let’s sit. Shall we?’

  No one moved.

  ‘I just need the files, Howard. I’ll catch myself up and then go and see Daniel this after-noon.’

  From her spot in the corner, Jenny took a step towards the door. ‘If it’s okay with you, I should probably . .’ She pointed out her escape route but hesitated and lost her opportun-ity.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Howard,’ said Terry. ‘Just tell him. Can’t you?’ Leo glared. He turned to Howard. ‘Or if it’s a question of time. If you think we should

  try for a deferment . . .’

  ‘Deferment? Christ, Leo, what the hell do we need a deferment for!’ ‘The Crown would agree,’ said Leo, ignoring Terry and facing his boss. ‘Surely. Given

  the circumstances.’

  ‘That’s not the point!’ Terry, too, appealed to Howard. They might have been advocates in a courtroom, their boss the sitting judge. ‘Howard. Really. Don’t you think—’

  ‘Enough!’ Howard raised his hands, lifting his palms close to his ears. ‘Gentlemen, please. That’s quite enough.’ He glared at Terry and only reluctantly, it seemed, addressed Leo. ‘Leonard. Listen. Things have moved on. Surely you can understand that. Your pri-ority now should be your family. Don’t worry about Daniel Blake.’ He attempted another smile. ‘It’s being taken care of. Terence here—’

  ‘Terry doesn’t give a damn about Daniel! If it were up to him, the boy would have been strung up by now in his cell!’

  Terry brandished a finger. ‘Now wait just a minute—’ ‘Terence is a professional, Leonard.’ Howard’s expression set stern. ‘As, may I remind

  you, are you. There is no need for acrimony, particularly given that Terry has acted entirely properly since assuming your responsibilities. The boy’s parents are happy, the barrister’s happy, even your psychologist—’

  ‘Karen? You spoke to Karen? And Dale. You spoke to Dale?’ Leo swung his ire from Howard to Terry and back again.

  ‘Someone had to,’ Terry mumbled and Howard stung him with a look. ‘Naturally we did,’ Howard said to Leo. ‘The arraignment, as you know, is on . . . Let’s

  see . . .’

  ‘Friday.’ Leo and Terry spoke as one. They exchanged scowls. ‘Friday. Exactly. So obviously we didn’t have time to—’ ‘What about Daniel?’ Leo interrupted. ‘You said his parents were happy, that Dale was

  happy. What about the client?’

  Howard was content, this time, to let Terry answer. ‘The client,’ Terry said, emphasising the word just as Leo had done, ‘is happy enough

  too. I saw him this morning. That’s what I wanted to say to you,’ he told Howard. ‘He’s given me my instructions. He couldn’t have been clearer. He’s happy, finally, that someone has spelled out to him exactly what’s at stake.’

  Leo faced him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Terry splayed his hands. ‘Just what I said. I’m not going to start criticising, Leo. Not

  given what’s happened to your kid.’

  ‘Don’t let it stop you, Terry! Criticise away, if you feel the urge!’ ‘Gentlemen! Please! Let’s try and keep this amicable, shall we?’ Leo glared and Howard recoiled. Leo might have said something too but Terry’s words

  finally resonated. ‘What instructions? What did you do, Terry? What did you say to him?’ His parents are happy. The barrister’s happy. Even Karen . . . ‘Terry? Answer me. What did you tell Daniel he should do?’ Terry, though, did not reply. His expression said enough.

  He had not planned to be here. He had been awake from three and in his car by five and here, from seven, only by an accident of his subconscious. For some time he had sat, in the cinch of his seat belt and with the engine mumbling, until he had overcome his reluctance to test the silence. At first it had been consuming – overwhelming, almost – but it fissured after a moment and the world outside became audible through the cracks: the sleepy groan of the sign on the roadside wall of the pub; gulls or gannets, not yet in full voice but clearing their throats once in a while as they sketched shapes against the pallid blue sky; the river, beyond the bank bordering the car park, bloated from the rain and spilling itself either side. And the cold. Leo could hear it, somehow. Scratching its icy fingers against the windscreen and beckoning him from the waning warmth of the car ’s interior.

  He released his seat belt, let it slide across his chest. He tugged his woollen hat below his ears and searched the car seat next to him for his gloves. Beneath the maps and the flyers and the half-eaten sandwiches wrapped in foil, he found only the left. The right was not on the floor either, nor tucked down the side of the seat, so Leo settled for wearing one.

  The air, unexpectedly, was still. The sign continued to creak and the treetops continued to lurch but where Leo had stopped the car he was sheltered from the wind by the walls of the pub. It was as cold as he had feared, however, and he drew the zip of his anorak tight to his chin. He checked about, as though uncertain in which direction to walk, though he had known what route he would take, really, the moment it had registered where he had arrived. He drove his hands deep into his pockets and crunched across the gravelled car park in the direction of the river.

  He suspected he was being watched. Not because he felt it, in the hairs on his neck or otherwise, but because it was inconceivable his presence was not being tracked. He had seen her every day, the landlord had said. Every school day, at least. From his morning spot by the window in the kitchen, he noticed everything that passed his pub between just gone sev-en until just about nine. Which was not a lot, as it happened. And if he had noticed Felicity on the day she was killed – if he knew, as he did now, that he had been the last person, but one, to see her alive – how could he fail to be watching on every day that followed?

  Leo wondered what the landlord – Lodge? Loach? – would be thinking of him if he were watching. Whether he would assume Leo was a journalist, slower or more persistent than all the others, or some morbid breed of tourist, of which he had no doubt also seen plenty. Leo

  glanced towards the building, to the windows most likely to belong to the kitchen, but he saw only blackness cast back; the glint, on the upper floor, of the freshly dawned sun.

  He turned his back to the pub and crossed the footbridge, his heavy winter boots unleash-ing what felt like a localised earthquake. On the far side he turned south, just as Felicity had, but hesitated when he reached the stile. Beyond, the path tapered and curved out of sight. It was the same mix of mud and grit as the ground on which he stood but somehow the space beyond seemed a different country. It was as though the stile were a border; a crossing into somewhere wild. Although if Leo had learnt anything in the past few weeks it was that such clear delineations, in this world, did not exist.

  With his ungloved hand, he grasped the post, in the same place Felicity would have had to grasp. He stepped and hoisted his leg and dropped down onto the other side. He tugged at his coat where it had ridden up and, wincing against the headwind, trudged on.

  He was looking for his daughter. It was what he told himself. Because it was logical, in a way, that of all places he should be looking here. He was being punished – Ellie was
– for what Daniel had done to Felicity. Was it not reasonable, then, that he should look for parallels, for clues in Felicity’s fate as to Ellie’s? Felicity was found along this stretch of river, not far from where Daniel had caught up with her. She was killed at this time of day and her body discovered almost two weeks after she went missing, just as two weeks had passed since Ellie’s disappearance. There had been a search, for both girls, that at first had yielded nothing. The parents had been through denial, anger, desperation, grief. So it was time. Wasn’t it? According to the rules by which Ellie’s abductor was playing, the game was up and Leo had lost. Ellie had. Leo knew that already and yet he did not – which was why he was here, now, tracking Felicity’s path in search of his daughter.

  Not logical, then. Not remotely. But even with such a brittle thread he was able to bind what Daniel had inflicted on Felicity with what was being done to his daughter. And was that not, after all, the real reason he was here? To assuage his guilt. To displace it with an-ger. To cast Daniel in the same light as the man who had taken Ellie and excuse his failure to face up to the boy he had once considered his ward. Because if Leo had been wrong to feel sorry for the boy – if he accepted that he had been wrong – how much easier would it be to accept that the fate awaiting Daniel was right?

  He was looking for his daughter. It was what he told himself. It was true because it would always be true and if there was a chance he would find her then that was all the logic, brittle or otherwise, he needed.

  He saw nothing. The riverside, unsurprisingly, was deserted. But it was not quite so cut off as Leo had expected, even this far from the city centre. There was road noise, for in-stance, faint but incessant. And on the hills to the north, buildings were visible: student dorms, mainly, with only the majority of the windows shrouded. There were dog tracks in the mud; horse prints, too. People used this path, though perhaps less these days than be-At a bench, Leo paused. He did not sit but read: that Tom had ‘fucked Natasha’, that ‘ex-stacy’ ruled, that Exeter was a ‘shitwhole’, that Plymouth FC played like ‘flids’. The bench was a noticeboard, though most of what was written, to Leo’s eye, was undecipherable. He imagined Daniel seated sideways, scratching some remark on the plasticised wood. Al-though, given the boy’s state of mind, a comment seemed somehow too constructive. There were gouges – chiselled scores that seemed estimable only by their depth – and these were more likely to have been Daniel’s work. Perhaps that was what he had been doing, here,