Cold Hearts

by Malcolm Richards

  She had dreamt of her mother last night. In the dream, she was a girl again, and her mother was dancing with her in the garden, spinning her around the apple trees until they were both dizzy and their bellies hurt from laughing. When she’d woken in Daniel’s living room, she’d wondered if the dream had actually been a childhood memory. But she could not recall her mother ever dancing with her like that. Not once.

  A high-pitched howl drew her back to reality. A little girl had tripped and landed face down on the grass, and was now dribbling saliva down herself as she wailed for her mother. Emily watched as the woman swept up the child in her arms and cooed soothing words into her ear. When it was clear words weren’t going to work, she carried her distraught daughter towards the ice cream van, which was stationed at the edge of the park.

  Emily followed them with her eyes. Her heart missed a beat.

  Approaching the play area, were a woman and her young son. They moved slowly, cautiously, as if desperate to go unnoticed. Emily swept up her phone and checked the photograph on the screen.

  It was her.

  Anya Copeland stood in front of her, maybe thirty metres away. But this was not that same healthy-looking woman whose smiled exuded confidence on Emily’s phone screen. This woman was thin and tired-looking, with taught shoulders and a firm grip on her son’s hand. Josh. He was squirming, desperate to be set free so that he could swing and slide and climb and jump.

  Anya stooped to whisper in her son’s ear. She straightened up again and looked around the park. Emily dropped her gaze to her book. She glanced up again, in time to see Anya release her son’s hand, then tense her body as he went barrelling forwards.

  Something extraordinary happened. Whichever direction Josh moved in, the other children shifted in the opposite direction. It was like watching opposing magnetic forces bouncing off each other. And it wasn’t just some of the children that were reacting. It was all of them. One or two even left the play area to seek out their parents’ protective arms.

  Emily’s gaze darted from Josh to his mother, who watched him like a lioness watching her cub, but who also seemed keenly aware of the reaction he was causing among the other children. And somewhere, beneath that almost aggressive expression, there was sadness lurking in her eyes. Her only child had been made an outcast.

  Aware that she was watching Anya without discretion, Emily sank back on the bench and picked up her book. She resorted to glancing up every ten seconds or so, watching Josh empty the slide and the spring horses, then look longingly at the see-saw. Emily switched her attention to Anya, who remained at the edge of the play area, ready for battle, determined not to make eye contact with the other adults. But the other adults weren’t interested in her. Their attention was fixed on the space between Josh and their children. If the distance closed, the parents would immediately spring up, ready to sweep their children to safety.

  As she watched Josh resign himself to playing alone, Emily felt an aching deep in her chest. What were the other children sensing about this boy that she could not see? The woman who’d reported seeing Anya had described how Josh had bitten her daughter. Had these children also had their own encounters with him? Emily watched him move away from the see-saw and return to the sandpit, where he scuffed his shoes through the yellow grains. Was there such violence hidden inside that tiny, sad frame? The expression on Anya’s face told her that, yes, there was.

  Two more minutes passed. Josh gave up on the sandpit, on the hope of being accepted by the other children, and returned to his mother. He pointed towards the ice cream van. Anya nodded, then held out her hand. Together, they walked away. A chorus of sighs floated over the play area. Emily felt the ache in her chest grow deeper.

  Putting her book away, she stood and brushed out the creases in her clothes. Then, willing her heart to calm itself, she made her way towards Anya Copeland.

  What do I say? There were many ways she could introduce herself, but perhaps only one that would stop Anya from running. And Anya would run; she was sure of it. She’d been running since Max Edwards had died. And now, Emily was hopefully about to find out why.

  She came closer, watching as the ice cream vendor leant through the window and handed Josh a vanilla cone. Anya paid the man, took Josh’s free hand, and led him away.

  Emily was ten feet behind them. She could hear Josh humming in between taking bites of ice cream. She could see the way Anya was looking left and right, pulling her son along a little too quickly. Emily moved closer, veering to the left until she was walking alongside.

  She drew in a breath. It stuck in her throat. Say something.

  “Anya Copeland?”

  It was as if Anya had been skewered by icicles. She froze on the spot, eyes widening, breath expelling from her mouth. Her head turned towards Emily. She pushed her son behind her back.

  “My name’s Emily Swanson, and...”

  Anya backed away, eyes darting to the sides, skin paling despite the sunshine. Behind her, Josh stumbled and tripped, but managed to hold onto his ice cream.

  Emily did not follow. “Please, Anya. I don’t mean to scare you. I’m not from Valence if that’s–”

  In one fluid movement, Anya swung Josh to her side, swooped him up into her arms, then began hurrying away.

  “Please, Anya!” Emily called behind her. “I want to help you!”

  Anya did not look back. She tightened her grip on her son, causing him to complain.

  “I’m here because of Max. Because of what they did to him.”

  Anya came to an abrupt halt. Josh stared over her shoulder at Emily, then took a bite of his ice cream.

  Emily took a step forwards.

  “I want to help you,” she repeated. “Whatever Valence Industries have done, I want to undo it.”

  She waited, holding her breath. Children’s laughter floated on the breeze. Slowly, Anya turned around. Her eyes, which were dark and haunted, fixed on Emily.

  “It can’t be undone,” she said. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and splashed on the asphalt, where the sun greedily lapped it up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The flat was small and cramped. Furniture and toys that once filled a house were now wedged into just three rooms. Sat on the sofa in the kitchen/living room, Emily watched Josh watching TV. Anya brought over two mugs of tea, and held out a plate of sandwiches to Josh.

  “Here. Go and watch your show in the bedroom.” There was no malice in her words but no warmth either.

  Josh remained seated, transfixed by the kids show, which was painting the television screen in frantic colours. Anya picked up the remote and switched off the TV. Josh blinked, then emitted a disapproving grunt. He looked up, one eye beautiful and cocoa brown, the other an unnerving milky blue.

  “Please, Josh. Do as I say. And put your glasses on.”

  Climbing to his feet, Josh heaved his shoulders, snatched his glasses from his mother’s hands, then shot a glare at Emily as he stomped into the bedroom.

  Anya closed the door behind him, and hovered for a few seconds until she heard the bedroom television burst into life. Then, she sat on the other end of the sofa and looked around the cramped space.

  “I had to get rid of the armchairs. No room.” She turned to Emily. “But I suppose you’re not here to discuss the expense of London living. What do you want to know?”

  Emily took a deep breath. “As I said, Diane—Mrs Edwards—she hired me to find out what happened to Max.”

  “And you went to all that trouble to find me just on the off chance I might know something?”

  A look passed over Anya’s face that was somewhere between doubt and suspicion.

  “The night of the gala,” Emily said. “Max went up to his hotel room at around ten. You left shortly after. But you didn’t go straight home.”

  “Someone’s been doing their homework.”

  “You were seen coming out of the lift. Upset.”

  “What can I say? I don’t like parties.”
<
br />   The women stared at each other. Emily hadn’t expected such a prickly conversation. She could see that choosing her words would be like choosing where to step in a minefield.

  “Ms Copeland... Anya... What happened that night? Did you and Max–”

  Anya’s eyes flashed with instant anger. “Did Max and I what? Have an affair? Is that what you’ve come here to ask?” Laughing, she shook her head. “You’ve been talking to Charlie Jones.”

  “I have, yes.”

  Anya was quiet, the lines on her forehead growing deeper with each passing second.

  “Nothing happened between me and Max,” she said, at long last. “Despite what the rumour mill at ECG would have you believe, I had no interest in becoming one of his extramarital affairs. I’m not in the habit of breaking up marriages.”

  Emily had a sudden memory of Diane Edwards asking about Anya. The way she had carefully chosen her words, had winced as she’d waited for Emily’s reply—it was clear now that she’d known, or was at least suspicious about her husband’s infidelities. “Max told you about his affairs?”

  Anya cocked her head, listening for activity in the bedroom. “He told me about lots of things.”

  “His alcoholism?”

  “Yes. We spent many hours working side by side. We became close. Especially when... But I didn’t sleep with him.” Anya looked to the other side of the room, as if a memory lingered there. “I thought you said you were here to help me, not interrogate me.”

  “I am, but I need to know all the facts.” So, Max and Anya had not been involved in an affair. But Emily had other, more pressing questions that needed answering.

  “Why were you upset?”

  “Pardon?”

  “At the gala.”

  Anya’s eyes darted back and forth. Her body tensed.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Anya, please.”

  Silence fell over the women. Cartoonish music floated out from the bedroom.

  Trying a different approach, Emily said, “What do you know about Tetraethyl lead?”

  Anya’s jaw tensed, but she remained silent.

  Enough of this, Emily thought. “Miss Copeland, since I’ve been looking into the death of Max Edwards, I’ve had my home broken into, I’ve been followed. One of the people I’ve been working with, Evan Holt, is dead. The police will say it was an accident, but you and I know better, don’t we?”

  “Evan Holt?” Anya’s eyes were round with fear.

  “Yes. You know him?”

  Getting up, Anya hurried into the kitchen area and peered out of the window into the street below. Beads of sweat were forming on her brow.

  “How did you get here?” she said. “Were you careful?”

  Emily nodded. She had planned her journey in great detail, and had constantly looked over her shoulder. “No one followed me.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Anya turned back to the living room, her face pale and sickly. Emily was losing her already.

  “Please, Anya. If you know something, I can help you.”

  “You can’t. No one can.”

  “I know that Valence Industries are producing and exporting TEL to developing countries. But I also know Max arranged to meet with Evan Holt to give him evidence of something worse. Evan may be gone, but I’m working with another journalist who can help to expose whatever it is Max found. What did he find, Anya?”

  Anya shook her head, over and over. “I can’t.”

  “People are dead! Max, Jason Dobbs, Evan Holt, God knows who else. You’re the only lead we have left.”

  Tears splashed down Anya’s face. “Is that all I am? A lead?”

  “Of course not,” Emily said, her voice softening. “But without you, we have nothing. Max, Jason, Evan—their deaths will be meaningless.”

  Anya slumped against the kitchen sink. “Don’t you understand? Hurting him was their way of keeping me quiet. If I help you, they’ll kill him. They’ll kill my boy!”

  The bedroom door opened. Josh appeared in the crack and stared at his mother. Anya quickly wiped tears from her face.

  “Go inside, Josh. Everything is fine. Go on. Go eat your sandwiches.”

  Josh remained in the doorway a few seconds more, then retreated. Anya returned to the sofa and perched on the edge. She looked exhausted, Emily thought. Like a woman who hadn’t slept in months, who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Emily wanted to take her hand and tell her everything would be all right. But she would not make any promises that she didn’t know she could keep.

  “What did they do to your son?”

  Anya wiped more tears from her eyes. When she spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

  “The day of Max’s funeral, I decided to stay away. Not because of the rumours, but because I was terrified. What happened to Max, then Jason... I knew I would be next. It was just a question of when.” She clasped her hands, but they continued to tremble. “I was planning to run. To take Josh and go anywhere they couldn’t find us. I was busy packing up the house. I’d told him to stay indoors, to stay where I could see him. I must have turned my back for a second and ... he was gone.” Anya paused to fight back fresh tears. “I started to panic, running from room to room, calling his name. But he wasn’t in the house. He was outside. He must have sneaked out to play in the back yard. I found him on the ground, covered head to toe in ... dust. It was everywhere—his hair, on his skin. And he was having some sort of seizure. By the time the ambulance came, he’d stopped breathing.” Anya stared at Emily in horror. “My son died. They resuscitated him, but ... just for a minute, he was dead.”

  Emily was shocked. “What had they done to him?”

  “They’d poisoned him.” Anya’s eyes grew very dark. “The dust he’d been covered in—it was lead dust. They must have been watching us, waiting for him to come outside.”

  Emily couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Were Valence Industries monstrous enough to do this to a child? Of course they were. She needed only to think about the millions of children who were being slowly poisoned every day from the effects of TEL, while Valence sat back and made their fortune.

  “Anya, I’m so sorry. But Josh recovered? He’s all right now?”

  Anya laughed. Her shoulders sagged. “How long were you watching in the park? He’s different now. And I’m not talking about the physical damage he’s been left with—the blindness in his left eye, the failing kidney—I’m talking about his behaviour. When Josh was born he was such a good baby. He slept through the night, was always smiling, always healthy. Right through nursery, people were always commenting on what a polite little boy he was. So friendly and sociable with the other kids. Now, those other kids are scared of him. Their parents too. They’re afraid of my son.

  “The doctors say the lead got into his nervous system. It damaged his brain. He was a smart boy before, but now everything’s difficult. He forgets things. Sometimes I have to remind him what order to put on his clothes. He gets so frustrated with me.” She smiled, but there was no joy in it. Only failure. “He has outbursts so violent that even I get afraid of him. His own mother. Those children in the park, he’s hurt so many of them, but their parents won’t call him on it. They can’t, you see. Because how terrible it is for a single mother like me to be struggling with a child with such needs. I wish they would. I wish they would shout at him to stop. Or shout at me. Because he knows, you see. Josh knows he’s different now. He knows the other children are afraid of him. That their parents are too. Can you imagine how that must make him feel?”

  Her voice faltered and Anya fell silent.

  Emily’s heart ached. She reached out a hand toward Anya, then drew it back.

  “Anya, I need to know what happened. I need to know what you know. What Max knew. We need to stop Valence from hurting anyone else.”

  Anya stared at her hands, which now hung limply over her knees. “It won’t undo what they’ve done to my son.”

  “No, it won
’t. But we have a chance to stop them doing the same thing to millions of other children.”

  Anya sat still for a long time, tears escaping from her eyes.

  “Now that you’ve found me, I’ll have to move again.”

  She looked up, staring intensely at Emily as if she were trying to see inside her mind. Then, resistance crumbling, she slowly nodded.

  “Valence Industries know it’s a matter of time before the public find out about TEL. They know that the public will react as they should—with shock and outrage. They also know that it will probably hit their shares as well. But you have to remember that Valence is a multibillion-dollar company. Their hands are in everything—chemical processing, fuel, oil, household cleaning, beauty products. A few disgruntled shareholders and a public outcry might bruise their reputation temporarily, but they don’t care. What they do care about is the money they’re making from TEL. And they know that it’s not going to last forever. At some point in the not too distant future, those developing countries will come to their senses and ban the stuff. Or so you’d hope...”

  “Hope? Surely if they knew the damage it’s doing...”

  “That’s just the thing,” Anya said. “The majority of people in those countries don’t have a clue about the damage being done to their kids because Valence are working really hard to keep them in the dark.”

  “How?”

  Anya looked away for a moment. “If you’ve done your research, you’ll know how passionate Max was about the environment. About the job he’d been hired to do. But he quickly realised that sustainability in Valence’s eyes isn’t about protecting the environment. It’s about saving money. When Max found out Valence were exporting TEL, he was furious. He went straight to Jonathan Hunt and threatened to go to the press. Hunt’s response was to create the Clean Water Project and put Max in charge.”