If only Dorothy were here, she’d know how to put things properly.
“Oh, and one more thing,” she added. “Both of them were probably brought up in a commune, so perhaps it’s nothing to do with genes after all – just brainwashing. Goodness knows what we’d have ended up like if we hadn’t escaped.”
She stopped. What on earth was she rabbiting on about? The Magnifico didn’t exist, so who was he to tell Aunt Sarah that comforting wasn’t allowed? She tentatively put her hand on David’s shoulder. He didn’t shove her off, and she slid both arms round him and held him tight.
It was a nice feeling. How on earth could this be wrong? For several minutes, they clung to each other. She could feel the tension draining out of him. When he lifted his head the blue line round his mouth was fading, and the colour was returning to his cheeks.
“Well,” he said at last. “One thing’s certain, I definitely disown them both.”
He sat up. “Anyway, we’ve caught her! I’ve been so full of myself and my stupid genes, I haven’t told you. We caught the Ginger Witch – that Sandra Williams.”
“What?” Lucy gasped. Joy, amazement and incredulity surged through her. Then her skin prickled as she listened to the details of Isobel’s visit, the syringes, Mr Lovett’s instructions, Peter Pan’s arrival and finally, Beverley’s phone call.
She sat silent with shock. Dorothy and David would be dead by now if Isobel’s plan had worked. The sense of loss was too horrible to contemplate.
“How could they do this to us?” cried David. “Their own children – anyone’s children! We’d done nothing to harm them.”
Lucy had no answer.
David rubbed his ankle and stood up slowly.
“I must ring Dorothy to tell her I’m alright. I should have done it as soon as I came in. She’ll be worried.”
Lucy tried to smile. “See?” she said shakily. “You care how she feels. Compassion!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Miss Clements arrived home mid-morning in a taxi. Donald wagged his tail and shuffled up to her, and turned round and round, making little whining noises. She picked him up, with great difficulty, and clasped him in her arms.
“My poor Donald,” she puffed. “Did I give you a nasty fright leaving you on your own like that? Goodness, you’re heavy.” She put him down and took off her coat and said briskly, “I’ll make us all a nice fluffy cheese omelette for our lunch, because Donald loves that, and then we’ll think about what sort of cake I should make for tea. I’ll do some scones, and Lucy, if you would be so kind, I’d like you to go down to the shop and get some double cream.”
“There wasn’t any money in the housekeeping drawer for the eggs and milk,” said Lucy, “but I used some that Beverley had given me.”
“Oh, I wonder what happened to it. I must have put it somewhere safe. Never mind. I’ll pay you back, dear,” said Miss Clements. “Here, take my purse and the shopping bag with you, and perhaps Donald would like a little walk to the shop and back.”
She didn’t question David’s presence in her house, remembering with embarrassment that she was the cause of his having to flee on the Friday. She had handled things badly with that Miss Morris, and it would be distressing to dwell on it.
“It is so pleasant to be home, is it not?” she said.
David was rubbing his ankle with some liniment he’d found in a kitchen drawer. Wishing that it really was his home, David agreed that it was very pleasant but, he said, he had to go back to the other house. He told her that Miss Morris had been caught, and he had to say goodbye to Mrs Jones because Beverley was coming to take them all back to secure care in London. He would bring Dorothy and Paul up to the big house later to pack their things, and Beverley would pick them up from here.
“Well, I don’t want to go,” said Lucy when she came back from the shop. “I don’t want some other secure care. I feel secure here. Now that they’ve caught her, they’ll be able to track down Father Drax, and all the danger should be gone.”
As soon as they had finished their omelettes, David left for the little house in town, and Lucy went up to Miss Marilyn’s sitting room. The laptop and the folder were exactly where she had said they would be. It was amazing how Miss Marilyn could remember where anything was in all that chaos of documents and books, and scraps of paper. Taking care not to touch anything else, in case it was in a specially remembered place, Lucy put them in a plastic carrier bag and left them by the front door ready for visiting time.
Miss Clements took some fairy cakes out of the freezer and put them in a Tupperware box for Miss Marilyn. “These will have defrosted by the time you get there,” she said. “They don’t take long.”
*
Lucy carried the box of fairy cakes upright in one hand and the plastic carrier bag in the other, and went up the hill to the hospital for the afternoon visiting time. She hoped nobody would ask why she wasn’t at school. Miss Marilyn’s eyes were fixed anxiously on the door when she arrived. Her mouth was pursed and twitching round and round. Her leg had been lowered to a lying position, and she was propped up in the bed.
“What a relief!” cried Miss Marilyn. ”I thought you’d never come!”
“It’s only just visiting time,” said Lucy. “I’m not late.”
Miss Marilyn wasn’t listening. She leaned over to take the plastic bag out of Lucy’s hand and pulled it up onto the bed.
“Dare I hope you’ve brought the right one?” she muttered as she emptied out the bag. She shoved the laptop to one side, and opened up the file, and rifled through pages of notes and cuttings and photocopies.
Lucy put the Tupperware box on the bed, and sat down and waited.
“It’s all there.” Miss Marilyn was smiling.
Good gracious, thought Lucy, she’d smiled two days in a row.
“You don’t need to stay. I’ll get started straight away.”
“Miss Clements came home today,” said Lucy. “She sent you up these fairy cakes.”
Miss Marilyn pushed the box to one side.
“She’ll probably come up to see you, when she’s settled back in again.”
“Tell her not to bother,” said Miss Marilyn.
She already had three sheets of notes spread out on the bed, and was mumbling to herself as Lucy said goodbye.
*
Beverley arrived at the big house that evening. The car pulled up outside on the double yellow lines. Beverley climbed out and her heels click-clacked up the path.
“They’re not here, dear,” said Miss Clements. “They’re all down with Mrs Jones. Her husband was all agitated and had a turn or something, and fell down the stairs. You’d think she’d want them all out of the way at a time like this, but no, they all insisted on being there. She sent for Lucy because he was calling for his daughter, and Mrs Jones thought it might help. I gave Lucy a cake to take down. Food can be such a comfort, can it not?” She smoothed her apron down over her stomach.
*
“We’re not leaving Mrs Jones,” said Dorothy when she opened the blue front door to Beverley. “She needs us here. The doctor’s been and he said there’s nothing he or the hospital can do, and the best place for him is at home either in bed or, if he prefers it, in his comfy chair.”
Mr Jones was in his chair in the front room. Lucy was sitting on a stool next to him, holding his hand. He seemed to have shrivelled, and she was no longer afraid. His eyes were closed, but every now and then a faint smile would light up his face and he would whisper, “That’s my good girl, my little pretty, my Maria.”
“Right,” said Beverley, briskly, but in slightly lower tones than usual. “I’m off to my hotel, and we’ll have to sort this out tomorrow.”
Dorothy held the front door open.
“Won’t last the night, if you ask me,” whispered Beverley hoarsely as she went out.
*
Evan felt very comfortable. This chair had always been his favourite. Dear me, that was quite a fall, but here he was, all in one piece – just sleepy. No pain, nothing, and the two most beautiful faces in the world floating in and out in front of him. He must be the luckiest man alive. His eyes wanted to close, but he wouldn’t let them. No way! Gwen, his beloved, was asking him something. He could see her lips moving but couldn’t quite catch what she was saying. For some reason his own words wouldn’t come out so he smiled and she smiled back, the love of his life. It was nice to feel drowsy. Maria was still there, holding his hand. She’d been away, he couldn’t remember where, and now she was back. Something about a dog. His lips were dry. “My Maria.” Had he said it out loud or was it just in his head? He wasn’t sure.
*
Beverley informed them that they were allowed to remain in Wales for an extra fortnight, so that they could attend Mr Jones’s funeral. They were to stay in Miss Clements’s house, and someone called Peter Pan would be keeping an eye on things. There would be no need to go back to school after the holidays, because they would be in London for the rest of the academic year.
Lucy went up to the hospital every day, and came back each time with instructions to look for a particular book or document, or to bring up the battery charger for the laptop. Miss Marilyn described the whereabouts of each item, in its obscure hiding place, with meticulous accuracy, and Lucy never ceased to be astonished at the contrast between the orderliness of her brain and the disorder of her room. Her final instruction was to take the laptop back to the house and print out a lengthy document, in its entirety, and to bring it back with a large envelope which would be found in a cardboard box under the bed.
David knew how to use the printer, and the mission was accomplished.
“Sit there while I check through this,” said Miss Marilyn, when she was handed the printed pages. Lucy sat for some time and then went over to chat to the woman in the bed opposite. She was in the middle of an informative conversation about gallstones when Miss Marilyn called her back. She was looking pleased.
“It’s an excellent piece of work, though I say it myself.”
“That’s good,” said Lucy. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to come again because it’s Mr Jones’s funeral tomorrow, and then we go back to London.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Miss Marilyn was putting the document into the large envelope and addressing it with a typed sticker. “I can buy a stamp here, and use their post. I’ll get this off tomorrow.”
“Well, goodbye then,” said Lucy.
“Goodbye.”
As Lucy left, Miss Marilyn was checking the address on the envelope, and looking very satisfied.
*
The funeral was over, and the children were sitting round Gwen Jones’s kitchen table. Neighbours had called in for a cup of tea and some of Miss Clements’s cakes. Now, everyone had left, and the children had washed up the cups and saucers, and put them away. Gwen sat upright in her chair, as always, and the signs of exhaustion in her face had slightly softened. Paul climbed onto her lap and covered her face with kisses.
Lucy watched him, thinking sadly that she would never be able to do that. Something inside her would always hold her back. Aunt Sarah’s voice was clear – Demonstrations of affection weaken you, and lead to favouritism, nepotism and corruption.
Gwen smiled at them, over Paul’s head. “I’ll go back to work,” she said.
They looked at her in astonishment.
“I know I look old to you, but I’m only fifty-five. That’s young these days. There’s plenty of go in me yet. I stopped nursing when Maria died, because I had to look after poor Evan, but that was only a few months ago, and they’ll probably be glad to have me back. They’re always short-staffed. I’ll go up to the hospital tomorrow and find out if they need me. If not, I can always get work in a care home.”
She looked at them fondly. “As for all of you, it’s back to school! You’ve missed a lot, but you’ll soon make up for lost time if you work hard. And, Dorothy, you’ll probably be allowed to come back in May to do your exams, so perhaps they’ll let you stay with me while you’re here. I’m sad that you’re going back to London, but I’m sure you’ll be allowed to visit me sometimes.”
“Can I stop calling you Mrs Jones now that Mr Jones isn’t here?” asked Paul. “Miss Wyn Lloyd says you’re my nain.”
Gwen’s eyes filled with tears. “Of course you can. You all can.”
Paul turned to the others, proud to be able to demonstrate his superior knowledge. “It’s spelt n a i n,” he said, “but you say it like the number nine and it means ‘grandmother.’”
Lucy liked that. She didn’t think she would ever be able to say ‘grandmother’ without remembering how she had once thought Gwen was a trap.
“Yes, well, Nain, once the next lot of trials are over, we want to be allowed to come back here to live,” said Dorothy. “Then I’ll get a job and look after us all.”
“And we’ll get an education and good jobs and buy our own house and be safe!” chanted Paul.
“We’ll be safe sooner than that, I hope,” said David. “They’ll track down Drax now, unless he really is abroad, and then that’ll be the end of it all, and we should be OK.”
“Oh! By the way,” said Dorothy. “You’ll never guess who I saw in town today – that creepy Robin. Yuk!” She shuddered. “He was coming from the station. He saw me too, and came over and asked how I was.”
“What did you say?” asked Lucy anxiously.
“I just said, ‘Very well, thank you,’ and walked away. To make sure he didn’t follow me, I went through a shop on the high street and out through a storeroom at the back.”
David groaned, “Let’s hope he’s nothing to do with the Mag. I don’t think I can bear any more frights at the moment. We need time to recover from the last lot.”
Dorothy changed the subject. “We have to go back to the big house now,” she said, pushing back her chair. “Come on, everyone. Miss Clements will be waiting.”
“Would you like one of us to stay, Nain, just to keep you company for tonight?” asked David.
“No, cariad. Thank you. The funeral’s over, and I must start as I mean to go on.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dorothy was right. Miss Clements was waiting for them with a great feast for their last night. There were flowers in the centre of the gleaming mahogany table, the cutlery shone and the best crystal tumblers sparkled.
“Only one more day,” she said, “and then goodness knows what they’ll feed you on in London. Make sure you stick to proper food – you should be safe with French or Italian.”
They ate in silence. The thought of tomorrow weighed upon all of them. No one had told them where they would be staying, and there was always the possibility that they would be separated or constantly moving from one foster home to another. Miss Clements had gone to so much trouble with the food, thought Lucy, it was really sad not to be able to enjoy it. She was trying to think of some sort of conversational topic when the phone rang and made them all jump.
David answered it. “Yes, she’s here,” he said, handing the receiver over to Dorothy. “It’s Mr Lovett’s secretary,” he whispered. “She’s putting him through to you. It must be really important for them to be working so late. Perhaps they’re going to let us stay here.”
Three interested faces were turned in Dorothy’s direction.
“You may prefer to take this call in private,” said Mr Lovett.
Dorothy tensed up. What bombshell was going to be hurled at her now?
“It’s OK,” she said. “I can talk to you here.”
“We have some news for you.”
The others watched Dorothy’s face anxiously.
“We’ve managed to obtain a lot of information from some of the aunts who used to work in the
Drax commune.”
“Yes?” said Dorothy. He was speaking incredibly slowly, she thought. The suspense was horrible.
Mr Lovett was trying to think how to put his news. His voice was less fruity than usual. “I’m afraid it’s a bit late in the day now, because she’s in an old people’s home, and of course one never knows how the elderly will react – or youngsters for that matter – though I don’t think that she is elderly – especially if they have dementia.” There was a pause. “So I don’t want to raise your hopes.”
For Bag’s sake, thought Dorothy. He’s a lawyer. They’re supposed to be articulate.
“Who’s in a home, Mr Lovett?” she asked rather sharply. If David or Lucy had been as dumbstruck as this, she would have told them to pull themselves together. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We’ve followed up some of the information we’ve been given, and we’ve found that you have a grandmother.”
Dorothy gasped. Her head flushed hot and the room spun round.
David jumped up, shoved a chair behind her legs and pushed her into it. He caught the phone as it was falling from her hand.
“Are you there?” Mr Lovett’s voice was calling from the other end.
“She’s here, Mr Lovett,” answered David. “She’s just had some sort of a turn, but she’ll be alright in a moment. Can I help?”
“Well, it’s supposed to be confidential, but it obviously isn’t going to be if you’re all there together, so I might as well tell you. We’ve tracked down her grandmother in an old people’s home in South West London. If you have a piece of paper handy and a pen I’ll give you the address, and when Dorothy’s recovered, she can ring me to say what she wants to do about it.”
David remained calm. There was a notepad on the mantelpiece with a pencil attached. He wrote down the address and thanked Mr Lovett politely.
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