“We’ll stand out like a sore thumb if we go there,” said Dorothy. “It’s the sort of place where people stare at strangers.”
The howling wind whipped at their faces, and they clutched at their hoods. A great gust nearly blew them both over, and they sat down for a while in the meagre shelter of a deformed gorse bush, bent permanently against the force of the wind.
“Let’s go back,” said David eventually. “We can go down by the difficult route. Even if they are still around they won’t know about it. They’ll only know the obvious route, over the railway bridge.”
They peered round the edge of the bush. All they could see was sky and sea and the wind-battered green of the cliff top. The town was back there somewhere behind them.
“But what do we do when we get there?” said Dorothy. “We can’t knock on Mrs Jones’s door. We might be seen. It’d be risky for her and Paul.”
“Her number’s on my mobile, but she’ll be scared stiff if she hears the abductors are here. It’ll bring it all back to her – about Maria, I mean.”
“Let’s try Miss Clements first. She might be better by now.”
“Unless, of course, she’s in cahoots with the Mag’s men. There was something fishy about all that ‘being ill’ business.”
They were silent for a while. The wind screamed, piercing the shelter of the gorse bush and spitting spiteful shards of icy rain into the backs of their heads.
“We’re going to die of exposure if we’re not careful,” shouted Dorothy over the roar of the gale. “Let’s go back. At least there are shelters on the prom. After all, ‘Life is full of risks, dear, is it not’, as Miss Clements would say.”
David laughed and stood up, pulling Dorothy up after him.
“I doubt she’s ever done anything as exciting as taking a risk in her life,” he said, “unless, of course, she is really an infiltrator. Let’s go before we freeze to death.”
*
The rain had stopped and the wind had died down. As David and Dorothy came over the cliff towards the town, they stopped for a moment to take in the mid-morning scene that lay before them. The promenade was busy with people walking dogs, pushing prams, jogging, or just leaning on the railings and looking at the sea.
“I’m not going to let them drive me out of this place,” muttered David, forgetting the misery of his wet clothes and sodden shoes for a moment. “Look how alive it is! It makes me feel alive too.”
“Me too,” shivered Dorothy, “but I feel pretty dead at this moment.”
When they reached the prom, David fished in his anorak pocket for his phone.
“Let’s try the house,” he said. “If Miss Clements answers, I’ll cut off, just in case. If Miss Marilyn answers, I’ll ask if it’s safe to come back.”
There was no answer.
“Perhaps they scarpered,” he said. “If Miss Clements is genuine, it must have been really scary for them. Worse than for us, because we’re used to people like that, and they’re not.”
They sat in a shelter to eat Miss Marilyn’s sandwiches. It was impossible to relax. Dorothy finished her sandwich and stood up. “They might not be looking for us here,” she said, brushing crumbs off her legs. “If Bernie managed to get away, he’ll have told them he last saw us going up the cliff.”
“Yeah. They’ll look for us over the other side. We could risk going up to the castle and perhaps sleep in that tower tonight. We’ll just have to sit in a café or something in the meantime, to get our clothes dry.”
*
By six o’clock, all sense of caution had vanished. The evening wind was gathering strength. Their clothes had still not dried out despite a visit to the public library, a stroll inside various shops, and sitting in a café. They went past the castle to the south end of the promenade, and down some steps to the harbour.
“We’ll go back to the castle if we don’t find anything here,” said Dorothy.
Boats with cabins were all locked up, but they found a rowing boat covered in a sheet of tarpaulin that flapped in the wind.
David pointed. “Look, the cover’s loose. We could get under it, and spend the night in there. It’d be out of the wind at least, which the castle won’t be.”
“No. If the tide goes out, the boat will go down with the water and we won’t be able to climb back up.”
They wandered around to see if there was anything more promising. It was difficult to appear nonchalant while they were both shivering with cold and half-expecting to see the Magnifico’s men pop out from every corner, but they did their best to stroll along as though they didn’t have a care in the world. They tried the doors that were set into the harbour walls, but they were all padlocked. A tramp was already settling down for the night against one doorway, spreading out his bits of cardboard and sacking.
“It’ll have to be the castle,” said Dorothy. “The shelters on the prom would be too obvious.”
They went back along the promenade, and wandered through the streets until they found a fish and chip shop, and settled themselves down in the furthest corner, away from the door. At last, they felt warm.
“It’s so good,” sighed David. “I nearly thanked the Mag for fish and chips.”
“We’ll stay as long as we can,” whispered Dorothy. “I wonder what time they shut.” They ordered cups of tea and drew out the drinking process, until a group of Friday night revellers burst in. The place suddenly became crowded and there weren’t enough tables.
“Let’s go before we’re joined by those drunks,” said David. “I can’t drink any more tea, and we need to hang on to what’s left of our change. If we’d been thinking straight we’d have brought the housing fund.”
They pushed the door open against the wind and made their way towards the castle.
“We’ve got more money somewhere,” said Dorothy, “but Miss Clements can’t remember where she put it. She said it’s in a safe place, and it’s all ours when she finds it.” She was still wondering if Miss Clements had really been ill last night, but it seemed shameful to think that someone who had always seemed so kind might have betrayed them.
The tide was high, and huge waves thumped against the promenade. Spray flew up and caught them both, soaking their partially dried-out clothes. They found their tower and checked that there was no one around to see them. Pulling their hoods close to their heads, they lay on the stone floor, out of the wind, and snuggled as close together as they could.
“I wonder what Lucy’s doing at this minute,” muttered David.
“Settling comfortably into a nice, warm hotel bed, I expect,”
They were quiet for a while, but they couldn’t sleep. The cold seeped through their clothes and into their bones.
There must be a better place than this, thought Dorothy. Perhaps they should risk using one of the shelters on the prom. She dismissed the idea. That Bernie, or anyone else lurking around in doorways, would spot them straight away if they ventured into the streets at this time of night.
What would Aunt Bertha think of her now?
“I have a very important job for you,” she had said. Well, that important job was to look after David, and she had failed. She had let Aunt Bertha down as well as David. If she’d not gone on and on about running away all her life, he’d be safe now – still in the commune, probably, if it hadn’t been closed down.
She wondered what had happened to Aunt Bertha after the night of the fire. Tears trickled silently down her cold cheeks as she remembered how kind she had been to them both while they, with the carelessness of children, had never thanked her. When they had their own house, they would track her down and look after her, and treat her like a queen.
“Do you think Lucy’s alright?” whispered David after a while.
Oh, for Bag’s sake, thought Dorothy. “Of course she is!”
“I should have given her my mobile number. It didn’t o
ccur to me, because we’re always together. I haven’t given it to you either, come to think of it.”
“Well, we can’t do anything about it now,” Dorothy snapped. She immediately felt ashamed, and her voice softened. “There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be alright. She’s got a hotel room and hotel food and, ugh! Beverley. So she’s fine. Go to sleep.”
David tried to picture the sweetness of Lucy’s smile, but all he could see was the tension in her face when he’d left her in London. If only he’d hugged her harder, she might have hugged him back. He smiled to himself. If he’d hugged her any harder he’d have squeezed the life out of her, she was so fragile. Dorothy was right. Lucy would be OK. She might look frail, but she was tough.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucy lay in bed unable to sleep. Only a few more hours till tomorrow, yet it seemed a thousand years away. At least Beverley had emerged from her sickbed, so she wouldn’t have to travel down with that po-faced Margaret.
Beverley had appeared while Lucy was having her room-service supper of salmon and salad.
“I must be better,” she’d said, plonking herself down on the bed, “because what you’ve got there looks very nice.”
Lucy had offered her some.
“No, thanks. I’ll ring down for something when I get back to my room.” She’d been feeling quite pleased with herself because her trousers were less tight when she put them on this evening. She’d probably lost a couple of pounds, so every cloud had a silver lining.
“Off tomorrow at crack of dawn. Straight down, drop you off, and straight back again. Pete has to be back with the car for a late afternoon job.”
*
Lucy fell asleep eventually, and was woken after two hours to the sound of Beverley banging on the door and telling her to get her skates on.
The journey back seemed interminable.
“Timbuktu at last,” said Beverley with an elaborate sigh of relief. “Why does everything have to be so far away? And tractors holding us up on those bendy roads. It shouldn’t be allowed.”
Pete put Lucy’s bag on the pavement in front of the big house, and Beverley climbed out to stretch her legs.
“We’re running late, so I won’t come in. Miss Clements is expecting you. Old Lovett rang her on Wednesday, and I left a message on her answerphone before we left. I must say you’ve been a good, brave girl, just like the judge said. Let’s hope you won’t be stuck here for much longer.” She gave Lucy a peck on the cheek.
“We’re not stuck,” said Lucy. “We like it here. For us, it’s the hub of the universe.”
“OK, that’s good. Each to their own. Ta-ta then. God bless. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Pete leaned over and opened the passenger window. “Buck up there, Sugarlips. We ain’t got time to kill.”
“Just coming.” She climbed back in, waggled her fingers at Lucy, and the car drove off.
Lucy picked up her bag and hurried through the wrought-iron gate. Miss Clements would have prepared a nice little lunch especially for her, and the others would be excited to see her when they got back from school. Her heart soared. She brushed past yellow forsythia and evergreens that still bore their scarlet berries. Little leaf buds sprouted on the shrubs, and primroses peeped through the grass on the tiny front lawn. Spring meant happiness, and tears came to her eyes at the thought of seeing Paul again.
For some reason, the side gate was locked. That was odd. It was never locked because it saved Miss Clements having to open the front door to them when they came back from school.
Lucy stepped into the porch and pulled the front doorbell. She could hear it clanging away in the hall. There was no answer, so she knocked and flapped the letter box. Donald started barking at the back of the house, but nobody came. This wasn’t right. There was usually somebody in, even if it was only Miss Marilyn. Donald stopped barking, as though he was listening, and she called his name through the letter box. The barks began again, and turned into yelps and howls.
Perhaps there was someone outside in the back yard. Leaving her bag in the porch, Lucy hurried round to the public footpath that ran uphill to the left of the house, and leaned perilously over the wall. She peeped down into the yard. There was no sign of Miss Clements or anyone else, and the back door was shut.
Her heart missed a beat and then fell into a dive as she noticed the top rung of a ladder leaning against the wall. Just like London, she thought grimly. There was no need to wonder what it was doing there, because she knew immediately. A ladder meant escape. Something had happened to her family. She swung her leg over the wall. The ladder tipped slightly sideways. She shifted her weight and descended cautiously.
As she landed Donald shot out of his dog flap, beside himself with excitement. He ran round and round in circles, and jumped up to lick her face. She pulled him to her.
“Why are you so pleased to see me, Donald?” she asked. “What’s happened? Speak to me.”
The back door was locked. Lucy bent down and peeped through the keyhole. It was empty, as she knew it would be. The key was always kept on the draining board when the door was locked, so that burglars couldn’t reach it. No problem. She knew where the spare key was kept. The door to the storage shed was wide open. That too was odd. Miss Clements always kept it shut. Lucy peeped inside. There was no window, and it was dark and spidery. She tried not to breathe in the smell of damp as she reached up and lifted the key off its hook.
It was rusty and difficult to turn, but to her relief the door opened, and she and Donald stepped into the kitchen. As she stood at the sink and washed the rust off her hands, he waddled straight over to his water bowl. It was empty. So was his food bowl. It was obvious he’d been on his own for some time. Lucy gave him water and he drank loudly. She found some cooked chicken in the fridge, and hoped it wasn’t too old. It would be awful if she gave him food poisoning. He gobbled it up and then settled down in his bed, keeping one eye open and fixed on Lucy.
The house felt eerily deserted. Lucy couldn’t even hope that Gladys might turn up to do the cleaning, because she never came on a Friday. Moving silently, she looked into the downstairs rooms and then crept up the stairs to the top floor. Donald followed her. As soon as she saw that Paul’s bed was unmade her stomach started churning. Dorothy and David hadn’t made their beds either, and drawers had been left open, with clothes spilling out onto the floor. The housing-fund box was on top of the chest. Lucy checked inside and counted the money. It was all there. Wherever they had gone, David and Dorothy would have had little, or nothing, in their pockets.
It was clear that something was terribly wrong. None of them, even Paul, ever failed to make their beds and tidy up. It was ingrained in them. Such a lapse would have been unheard of in Father Copse’s house, and in the communes. Orderliness reflected purity of soul.
If only she’d caught one of those buses to Victoria! She could have outrun that Margaret easily, and been home by the evening.
She sat down on the edge of David’s bed to calm the pounding of her heart. A discarded shirt lay on the floor, and she could see that his bag had gone. Had he been abducted? That couldn’t be right, because he wouldn’t have had time to take his bag. Also, Miss Clements and Miss Marilyn seemed to have gone as well. Even the Magnifico’s agents, with every abducting skill in the world, would have difficulty in taking three youngsters and two women in their forties, all at the same time.
Nor could they have run away, reasoned Lucy, because Miss Clements would never have left Donald on his own. They were bound to come back soon, she told herself, because of Donald. They must have just popped out, telling him they’d be back in a minute, and then got held up. But that didn’t explain why the children’s rooms were in a mess and why their bags had gone.
The house felt big and lonely. Lucy went down to the first floor. The corridor to the back bedrooms was forbidden to the children, but she tiptoed
along, consumed by a sense of guilt and fear of being caught. She put her ear to the first door on the right and listened. There wasn’t a sound. She peeped cautiously into a sitting room, cosy with a sofa and armchairs, and immaculately tidy. Knitting books, and recipe books, and travel books on Greece were propped up neatly in descending size between two elephant bookends on a side table, and the pot plant they had given Miss Clements was on the mantelpiece. But it wasn’t just one room. Towards the rear, there was a bedroom. Its floor and an adjoining bathroom were strewn with shoes and woolly cardigans that she recognised, and nightdresses and slippers. This obviously belonged to Miss Clements, and she must have left in a hurry.
Down the left-hand side of the corridor was another sitting room. Here, the floor was completely obliterated. Recognisable contents of open drawers spilled out to mingle with scattered papers and files, precarious stacks of books, computer equipment, and tangled wires. There wasn’t even a tiny space for Lucy to put her feet. A door at the far end of the room stood wide open, and she could see through it to a mess of clothes and shoes, more books and papers, and the tumbled sheets and pillows of an unmade bed.
Her heart was thumping and her throat was tight as she went back down to the kitchen. She felt oddly alert. There could be no doubt that everyone had left, and had done so in a hurry. She tried to tell herself she needn’t feel afraid for herself as long as she was in this house. It was a safe house. But she was terribly afraid for the others, especially Paul.
She thought fleetingly about ringing the police, but knew she could never do that. It was a police infiltrator who had returned Dorothy to the commune when she ran away last year. As for Social Services, she couldn’t ring them. One of their infiltrators had grabbed David from the police station after the fire. Both he and Dorothy had ended up in the disposal cells, and would be dead by now if Lucy and Paul hadn’t reached them just in time. Suppose there were police infiltrators here, or social workers, just waiting for her phone call? She couldn’t take the risk.
Mr Lovett had given David his phone number, and she realised now that she too should have made a note of it, even though she didn’t have a phone. What a fool she was! She crossed the hall to the dining room and checked in the note book that Miss Clements kept next to the phone on the mantelpiece. The butcher’s number was there, and Mr Nicholas’s and there was someone called Mary. In fact, the little book was full of names in a haphazard non-alphabetical muddle, but there was no mention of Mr Lovett, or Beverley, or even Gwen Jones. Maybe they were supposed to be confidential or something. Lucy felt a prick of irritation. Miss Clements seemed to have a fuzzy view of life, except where it related to food. Aunt Sarah would have had everyone’s numbers set out efficiently in an accessible place. If they were confidential she would simply have told Lucy not to look, and that the Magnifico would be watching if she disobeyed.
The Big House Page 15