by Casey Watson
‘I take it you enjoyed that?’ I said, smiling, as I removed his empty plate.
Sam nodded and smiled. So at least he was trying. ‘It was lovely,’ he said. ‘Thank you. Sausage and mash and beans is my favourite.’
‘That’s precisely why Casey cooked it for tea, mate,’ Mike said. ‘And do you want to know why it’s so particularly delicious?’
Sam nodded.
‘It’s because of her secret ingredient,’ he told him. ‘Before she cooks the sausages she paints them with brown sauce. Clever, huh? Any chance of seconds, love?’
I was about to tell him yes (there is never a wrong time to have extra sausages available, obviously) but Sam cleared his throat and got in first.
But he wasn’t after sausages. ‘I thought what I want for my stars,’ he said. ‘Is that okay?’
That was so out of the blue that it caught me off guard. I glanced at Mike as I picked up his plate.
‘That’s brilliant news,’ Mike said. ‘You certainly earned them, kiddo, so it’s up to you. What would you like, then?’
‘Would it be okay if I have some pennies for them?’ Sam asked. ‘Only when I was at auntie Maureen’s she said it was my sister’s birthday in two weeks and I want to buy her a new dolly. Is that okay?’
I almost dropped the plates. Was this what it had all been about? God, how stupid was I? I’d imagined talk of his siblings might come up when he was at Mrs Gallagher’s, because how could it be avoided if he brought it up? And just because he never spoke of his brother and sister when he was with us didn’t mean he wouldn’t with her. And, of course, being back at home (or near enough) was bound to mean it – or, rather, them – would be on his mind. Bless him. Was that what all this was all about? Was it just sadness? Was it just him trying to process the reality that they were absent from his life? I made a mental note to call Mrs Gallagher in the morning and ask her what had been discussed and how it had gone. And another, to sit Sam down and properly broach it.
‘Oh, sweetie,’ I said, ‘of course that’s okay. And what a lovely thing to do.’ Another thought then occurred to me. A bit of a wild card, since it might not be agreed to. But something told me it would. And it definitely should. This child needed to maintain a relationship with his siblings. And doing so (I was on a roll now), now he was calming down significantly, might help all of their emotional recovery. ‘Would you like us to take you to your auntie Maureen’s when your sister will be there?’ I suggested. ‘So you can give her the dolly yourself?’
But Sam shook his head. ‘I’m not allowed to see her, so I’m gonna ask Sampson to take it to her. Can I have the pennies now to put in my special box in my room? Then maybe I can try to earn some more to go with them. I’d like to get her a nice dolly. A big one.’
‘Well of course you can, darling,’ I said, glancing again at Mike, who looked as surprised by this turn of events as I was. And was probably having the same thoughts. ‘How much do you reckon all those stars are worth, Mike?’
Mike left his seat and made a big thing of counting up the stars on the chart from where he was sitting. ‘Oh, wow,’ he said, when he was done. ‘I mean, there has to be five pounds’ worth on there. What do you think, Ty?’
‘For def,’ Tyler said. He winked at Sam. ‘Maybe six, even.’
I went to get my purse. ‘And I imagine you could get a beautiful dolly with six pounds.’ I dug out six pound coins and put them one by one in his palm, reminding him to take very good care of them.
‘I’ll put them straight in my box now,’ he said, ‘and I’ll guard them with some of my fireman trucks. Can I stay in my room and watch telly now, please?’
I don’t know what had brought on the breakthrough, but I was over the moon. Perhaps he’d just needed that couple of days to process his feelings. And had come to the conclusion that he could do something tangible to make amends for what had happened before. I didn’t know how his brother and sister spoke about him now – how they felt about their older brother – but I made another mental note: to find out. For the moment, though, I was just happy at this positive turn of events. Perhaps spending time with Mrs Gallagher had been the right thing after all. Perhaps it would prove to have been a key step on the road to healing. Even re-establishing contact, which I was even more determined to push for.
‘See,’ Mike said, grinning, once Sam had left the room. ‘I told you it would be okay, didn’t I?’
I had agreed that it might, and when I got up the next morning, I felt the same rush of optimism for Sam. There were many hurdles to jump still – not least, a second police interview – but this must surely open up a dialogue I was very keen to have and the re-establishment of some foundations for him.
It was in that mood that I started my day. Why wait for the weekend? Why not take Sam out shopping today? Starting with another special breakfast at my sister’s café. So, having seen Mike and Tyler off – both were out of the door at half past seven – I immediately headed upstairs to wake Sam up with a glass of milk, and to tell him about my – our – exciting plans.
‘Morning, sleepyhead!’ I called as I walked over to his bed. ‘Time to get up and washed and dressed. Guess where we’re going this morning?’
There was no reply. And no movement to indicate that he was awake. I put the milk on his bedside table and jiggled the mound under the duvet. It was then – in that instant – that the terrible truth dawned. I’d pressed down not on Sam, but on something softer and squidgier. And even as I whipped the duvet back and saw the pillows, I already knew. He’d outfoxed us all: he’d run away.
Chapter 22
Forget aqua aerobics. I should have spent my time doing yoga. Because as I dashed about, gathering evidence that Sam had done as I feared, I could have done with a yogic chant or two to help calm me down. Coat, boots,and baseball cap. Some items of clothing. The Spider-Man backpack. Two of the nests of counting things from the bottom of his chest of drawers. Plus the money from his pot, of course. That precious six pounds.
I dressed in a hurry, cursing myself for not having considered it. For being so blinded by my conviction that Sam’s ‘thing’ was to cling to me, I had never once considered what should surely have been staring me in the face. That Sam no longer trusted us to take sufficient care of him, to keep him safe, and had laid plans to take care of himself. No wonder he’d been so quiet and reluctant to communicate. He’d been too busy working out how.
I pulled a jacket on, grabbed my keys and phone, gulped down the last of my cold coffee and walked down to Mrs Pegg’s anyway. Despite the evidence to the contrary, there was still a slim chance that he’d simply decided to take Flame on a very early walk.
He had certainly, as I’d half-feared, taken Flame.
‘No, he’s – what?’ Mrs Pegg’s expression responded to my own straight away. ‘What’s happened? What’s the matter? He’s gone to walk him. I thought you were him, bringing him back. Didn’t you know?’
I couldn’t lie to her. ‘No, I didn’t. I thought he was still in bed. Did he say anything to you?’
‘I thought it was rather early,’ she answered. ‘But he said he had to walk him early because you and he were going out for the day. Oh God! Where’s he taken him?’
I could sense her rising panic. ‘Just to the park, I imagine,’ I said firmly. ‘I’ll head there now. I’m sure everything is going to be okay.’
She looked at her watch. ‘But he had his backpack. And he’s already been gone over an hour,’ she said. ‘Well over.’
I did some maths. So he’d snuck out before Mike had gone downstairs.
‘I’m sure I’ll find him,’ I told her. I didn’t know what else to say. ‘He’ll be down in the park, or the woods, I’m sure of it. He won’t have gone far. He’s just …’ I stopped. This was no time for speculation or explanation. ‘Please try not to worry,’ I said instead. ‘He loves Flame. He wouldn’t hurt him
in a million years. I know he wouldn’t.’
‘I’m not worried about that,’ Mrs Pegg said. She had an edge to her voice now. ‘He’s nine, Casey. He’s the one I’m worried about most.’
Duly chastised, I set off for the park, more in hope than expectation. And on the way, I phoned Christine, who immediately told me to log it with EDT – ‘in case you don’t find him,’ she added ominously, ‘and the police need to be involved’. But as she was in a traffic jam on the way to work, and the cars had started moving, she then had to ring off again, and could only promise to call me back as soon as she got there.
I promised I would call EDT, but my instinct was first to call Colin. Hadn’t he said he’d taken Sam to some ‘special place’ when they’d gone on their adventure? Where had that been? Was it walkable? If so, perhaps he’d gone there? Colin confirmed that it was, well, at least, just about, if Sam could remember the way. And since Sam didn’t know the area, and had proved himself to be a planner, it seemed my best course of action would be to get my car and head there.
‘So can you give me directions?’ I asked Colin.
‘Wait for me,’ he said instead. ‘I’m only twenty minutes away from you. I’ll head there right away.’
Since I was already in the park now, I did a circuit of it anyway. And since others were too, I asked three people if they’d by any chance seen Sam and Flame. No one had, as I now expected, because the reality was sinking in now. If Sam’s intention was to leave us, why on earth would he go there? But why take the dog?
For protection, Casey. Get with the frigging programme. Plus a few scraps of clothing, and the six pounds we’d given him. To start the fantasy life he’d already sketched out to me – to live in a big, golden castle on a hill, wasn’t it? And have a dog just like Flame, to protect him from all the bad men who lived in the woods.
Did he really think six pounds would be enough to start a new life together? Possibly. How would he have any sort of real grasp of money? What I grasped, however, was the extent of his planning. He at least knew he’d need money, hence all the stuff about the dolly. Which made me wonder anew about what had happened at Mrs Gallagher’s. Perhaps his little sister hadn’t even been discussed. Perhaps Sam had come up with that all on his own, to throw me off-track so that he could implement his plan. It had worked.
Colin was already parked outside when I ran back up my street towards home. And I wasted no time going indoors. Simply jumped into his car and, as we set off again, ran through the events of the last twenty-four hours with him.
‘Sold us all a dummy, then,’ Colin observed as we headed off down a lane.
‘Or perhaps we’re the ones who were the dummies here,’ I told him.
It wasn’t a long drive. No more than ten minutes had passed before Colin indicated, and pulled off the lane onto land that I’d passed many times. But that still represented a substantial walk for a small boy.
We’d pulled in at an opening between two high beech hedges, now dense with their distinctive lime-green spring finery. I recognised it but, had I not, the council had kindly provided information – former wasteland, that had once been the grounds of a ruined country house, it was in the process of being turned into, or at least heralded as, a ‘a place of natural beauty’. A stream had been uncovered during the ground working stages and the photographs on the surrounding billboards depicted it, bubbling gaily, surrounded by sculptured greenery, an ‘eco’ visitor centre, various benches, and a picnic area, complete with brick barbecues, all set among pretty glades of mature trees. It was a picture of serenity that was so perfect and idealised that it couldn’t help but grate against my current state of mind.
‘In here?’ I asked. ‘You took him into the building site? Were you allowed to?’
‘No, Casey, not the building site,’ Colin explained as we continued to drive, now down a tree-lined dirt track. ‘There’s no building going on yet, not that I can see, anyway. Though there could be elsewhere,’ he said, as we suddenly emerged into the light again, now in what looked like the grounds of the house that once stood there. All I could see was a low fenced-off ruin, and further away, unfenced, the remains of a couple of outbuildings.
‘There,’ Colin said, pointing. ‘That’s where I brought him. Fifty pence says he’s somewhere in there.’
I realised that a part of him was enjoying our small adventure. Which at first I mentally berated him for, but then did a backtrack. This, after all, was the side of his job that knocked the hours in the office, form-filling, into a cocked hat. Till such time as he seriously believed Sam was lost and in danger, why on earth wouldn’t he enjoy it? Or, if ‘enjoy’ wasn’t the right word, then at least find it a bit thrilling. And that he would find him here, he seemed to be in no doubt.
He parked up just by the fence that bordered the house itself, a short walk from the outbuildings, which could only be reached by ground too rough and lumpy to risk taking the car. ‘Over there,’ he said, nodding straight ahead, towards a big old shed, as he yanked up the handbrake. ‘That’s where we holed up for a bit and hid’ – he smiled sheepishly, but not that sheepishly – ‘in case there were any dark forces hunting for us.’
I arched my eyebrows and shook my head – his confidence was contagious. And it did seem a very likely place for Sam to run off to hide in.
‘Fingers crossed, then,’ I said, climbing out of the car, and stepping down onto muddy mush, grateful that I’d chosen trainers over sandals.
‘I know this place,’ I told Colin and I joined him in traversing the rough ground that separated us from the huddle of sheds and barns. ‘This land was turned over to allotments for a while years ago – look, you can still see the odd leek sprouting up. My dad had one for a bit. There’s a stream just behind. I used to come down with a bucket and fill his water butt from it. I think at one stage it was privately owned, but they never managed to get planning permission. I think it’s just been left to rot since. I didn’t even know you could still get to it.’
‘I doubt you could,’ Colin said. ‘Not till the council bought it back, anyway. And it’s good that it’s going to be developed into a park now, rather than yet another sprawling all-too-soon-to-be-grim sink estate.’
For a moment, I was surprised that someone so young could have such strong opinions about local town-planning decisions. But I checked myself. Of course he would. He was a social worker, wasn’t he? So he knew more about such things than many of his age. Saw rather too much about what ‘sink’, in this case, meant.
It also reminded me – and him too, I think – why we were there. To find a boy who wanted only to live somewhere better, somewhere safer, even if it was a landscape that existed only in his imagination.
And he was here. I knew immediately, because we suddenly heard ‘woof!’. And a dog woof, rather than a boy’s woof. I was certain it must be Flame, who’d heard us coming. And though this was immediately followed by ‘shh!’ – this definitely human – within a minute we had come around the back of the largest of the sheds, to find both boy and dog, sitting by the stream.
‘There,’ I whispered. ‘Do you think he’ll run off if we shout to him?’
‘I doubt it,’ Colin said. ‘We’ve effectively cut him off. Unless he makes a break via the water, that is.’
I felt the tension leave my shoulders. Felt them slide down a little. But, in its place came a great rush of compassion. Sam cut such a forlorn figure, sitting cross-legged on the ground, with one arm round Flame’s shoulder, keeping him close. As if Flame wouldn’t want to be close; he was a dog after all. And Sam now his ‘pack’, who he knew to keep safe.
‘Come on,’ said Colin. ‘Let’s just go and say hello, shall we?’
And as we hiked across the once-tended ground – full now of ant hills, earth and rubble – Sam heard us, then saw us, but, thankfully, didn’t bolt. Perhaps because he knew us, perhaps because he deemed it pointles
s. Perhaps because, and this seemed likely, given how far he’d come, he was just too exhausted.
‘Oh, sweetheart, I’ve been so worried,’ I said as we approached. ‘You’ve had us worried sick. How are you doing? You okay?’
I crouched down beside him. Though Colin had more practical help to offer. ‘Here,’ he said, producing a paper bag from his jacket pocket. ‘Half a steak slice. Still warm. Go on, get that down you.’
Sam took it, uncurled the bag and inspected the contents. Then took the pastry from the bag and divided it in two, giving half to Flame, who fell upon it with much happy tail-wagging as Sam began nibbling the edge of his half.
To say I was moved would be like saying Riley was ‘slightly pleased’ last year, when, after six months of dieting, she managed to get into her old prom dress.
I therefore took Colin’s cue and sat as Sam was, cross-legged, and we waited for him to eat his impromptu breakfast before trying to get him to speak.
It didn’t take long, but there were many crumbs, which he seemed anxious to deal with first. Only then did I attempt to engage him.
‘Sam, sweetheart,’ I said once he was done, ‘what’s all this about, love? Can you tell us?’
I could see he’d been crying, but he was resolutely dry-eyed now, as if he’d tried crying on for size enough to know it was pointless. ‘Sam?’ I tried again. ‘Sam, it has to be something. Is it the bad man you’re scared of? If you don’t tell us, love, we can’t help you, can we?’
Sam looked straight at me. ‘You can’t help me. No one can. I told you.’
‘But sweetheart, we can. We are. I told you. You’re safe now. Me and Colin –’
‘No I’m not!’ his voice was shrill now. ‘You sent me back there!’
I reached out a hand to him, but Flame intercepted it, and licked it. Keep going, Casey, it seemed to say. You’ll get there.
‘I didn’t, sweetie. Honest. Yes, I took you to your auntie Maureen’s and I know you found that difficult. And if I’d had half a brain cell I’d have never let you go there. Not when it’s made you so frightened and upset again. That was the very last thing I wanted. But –’