by Kate Bradley
I got in the passenger seat. I don’t pay to drive my own car, unless for fun. And until we get Destiny, there’s no fun for anyone. ‘So?’
‘They’ve left. They’re on the road.’
‘I know. Stupid.’ I turned to look at Gary, his annoying face, the deformed ear on his left side, the creases around his eyes from working too long in the sun. When I found him, he’d been working for a family of travellers. I set him free and now he works for me. ‘I meant, where are Jay and Ollie?’
Gary looked at his hands, turning them as if he could read the answer in his palms. ‘Sorry. They’re in the van. They’re still in the layby waiting for your orders.’
‘Good. Let’s get going. We need to follow Destiny.’
I loved the way the car purred into action. Despite Gary being a chuj, he has his uses and behind the wheel, he earns his keep. Back on the motorway, I checked on Destiny’s progress. ‘She’s still on the same road – she’s still going north.’
‘To Hull? She’s definitely going back home?’ asked Gary, wonder in his voice.
‘Just like a pigeon.’ Easy – we could pick her up there. I smiled, imagining her hair in my fists.
I messaged the boys so they knew which way to head, then turned the radio on. Despite wanting to kick back and relax, I kept flipping through channels looking for something I couldn’t find. I couldn’t settle. It was not having her close, I knew that. I hated losing and right now I felt like I was losing.
I checked my phone again, catching Gary’s glance at me. ‘Fuck off,’ I told him. Gary’s place was keeping his eyes on the road, not on me. The small circle that tracked Destiny was drawing closer to us. We were getting closer. ‘We need to cut our speed,’ I told him.
Ever obedient, Gary eased off the accelerator.
I sat back into the leather seat. I had to get her back, but I needed to be patient. I couldn’t risk a scene. Up until now, we’d never had a sniff of Old Bill involvement and I wanted us to stay clean.
I watched the cars on the outside lane overtake us. Something about that had always irritated me. I liked to be the fastest on the road, liked to feel the control, be in charge. And I had achieved that: I was the big man. I thought, oddly, of my dad and what he would say. He would be pleased. Impressed, even. I had money, I had the fear of my contemporaries. When I spoke, people listened. How many people could say that? I thought on this and realised it was better than this: when I spoke, people didn’t listen, they fucking did. What. I. Fucking. Asked.
But I still didn’t have Destiny.
I hadn’t solved that one. And that silly bitch had surprised me, I hadn’t expected her to do anything, to put Destiny in a car and drive her halfway across the country. I remembered the look she’d given me when I’d shown her my gun. The way she’d met my eye with a look I’d only seen in the psychopathic gun-and-drug-running gang leaders. That unshakable arrogance. That fuck you look. It was the look of the fearless. She’d raised her chin, and given me a fuck you stare despite the gun.
It occurred to me then that that teacher had something I had never seen outside of my work: she had the look of the insane.
Friday
18:00
George
George knew he was finished. He’d seen Jenni erratically change lanes, before losing her for good. He’d followed on, but he’d now accepted that she was gone – they both were. Now he had no choice but to return home. And what then? Phone Steve and admit the whole sorry truth? Or just slink off home to Sal and confess the extent of his failure and have her look at him with a pity that killed him only slightly less than Steve Wichard’s distain?
Either way, something was going to come of his ineptitude.
He glanced at the clock. He had a long drive home; he had time to think it over, before he could finally collapse into his bed.
He released his foot against the accelarator. He dropped below sixty. He wouldn’t even mind getting nicked for driving slowly – anything rather than arrive before he’d had a chance to do some serious thinking.
Whether he liked it or not, his life had changed today, forever. And if he wanted out of this situation with a modicum of self-respect, he had to think very carefully about what was the best thing to do from here on.
Friday
18:18
Jenni
I checked the clock and realised we’d been driving for three hours. In an hour, we would be there and I realised that it was unlikely that I would ever see Destiny again.
I had pulled into a layby to check my work emails and realised that no one had tried to contact me. Now it was Friday evening, no one would. Destiny had been missing from her children’s home for several hours and although the police must have been called, I wasn’t on their radar. How could I be so sure? Because two marked police cars and several grey, sporty saloon cars favoured by undercover traffic cops had passed me, and no one had pulled me over. Destiny’s disappearance either didn’t rank very highly or wasn’t being linked to me at all.
When I had googled children in care going missing, I read a social work article that suggested it was considered normal for them to go AWOL. A social worker had made it sound as if running away was an expected outcome for these children. Clearly, whatever action was needed to stop this problem wasn’t being taken. I glanced at Destiny curled into a ball and knew that her disappearance didn’t count as much as if she was a ‘regular’ kid, living in a regular semi, with a regular mum and dad. It didn’t seem right that vulnerable kids who’d already suffered so much trauma and neglect were almost expected to drift away from the care system, unnoticed. Yes, a call would be made somewhere, a report written and logged, but there would be no fuss in the press, no anguished parents making tearful requests for help and information, no public outrage or concern. Destiny would be allowed to break away from her path and disappear into the unknown.
And that was what she was doing now. But at least she wasn’t alone. At least she had me to keep her safe as she changed the path of her life. And after me, she would have her aunt. I hoped her aunt would be able to give her the safety and support that Destiny deserved. I thought of the clothes I’d bought – it was the closest I’d come to feeling something real. And I liked it. I decided to leave my number with her aunt. I would contribute towards Destiny’s financial needs. I had no one else to support; I would support her.
Decision made, I wanted to reach out and pat her, to somehow transfer my concern and support with the briefest of contacts, but it was important to do that and keep a professional boundary.
I realised that Destiny was fiddling with her phone. ‘Are you texting someone?’
‘I texted my aunt, but she hasn’t answered yet.’
‘But she is expecting you?’
‘Yes. She wants me to come – it was her idea.’
‘Then don’t worry,’ I said automatically. ‘It’ll be fine.’ But now I wondered – what if her aunt wasn’t there? I’d been expecting a drop and run. I expected to be at home tonight, waking up to my usual Saturday of silence, running, lunch, then weights, before an evening swim.
I decided not to consider alternatives at the moment: Destiny needed me to be positive. I searched for something cheery to say, but found nothing.
Instead, I decided to try again to find out more about her. It seemed the time to ask the question I was desperate to know. ‘You said you’ve run away before. When was that?’
Destiny stopped flicking through her phone. ‘I’ve run away lots of times.’
‘Why?’
She looked back at her phone. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, ‘I always run.’
‘Always?’
‘I used to stay with foster families when I couldn’t stay with my mum. But . . . it changed.’
‘How?’
‘I was only allowed to stay in children’s homes. I hate them.’
‘Are the staff . . .’ I didn’t know how to ask. ‘Are they . . . unkind?’
&n
bsp; ‘You sound like you’re trying to ask if they fiddle with me.’
Pause. ‘Do they?’
Destiny sighed and looked out of the window. The rain slashed against the windscreen. It was a question she wasn’t going to answer. We both listened to the slish slish of the beating wipers, both locked in our own thoughts.
I tried another question. ‘When was the last time you ran away?’
‘I don’t come from round here. I shouldn’t even be here. Is that running away?’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Where we are going.’
‘Why did you move?’
She turned to look at me with those big eyes full of . . . something. ‘I didn’t want to move. They made me.’
‘The men from the van?’
She shook her head. ‘Social services.’
‘But why? I don’t understand.’
‘They told me they’d run out of suitable placements.’
‘Run out? Sorry, Destiny, I don’t understand, but I want to. Do you mind talking about it?’
She gave a small shrug. ‘I’ve been to lots of foster families and it always goes wrong. I know that sometimes it’s my fault. I can’t ever believe that it’s going to go right. It never has, so . . . ’ She shrugged again. When she next spoke, her voice sounded different, with a bayonet’s edge to it, that I’d not heard before. ‘But most of all, it’s the foster parents’ fault. Some of them are so,’ she made a noise like an attack. I kept my eyes on the road, not wanting to give away my surprise.
‘So, when no one else would take me, they put me into the local children’s home. The last time it went wrong, they said I set fire to another girl’s duvet.’
‘Did you?’
‘It’s complicated. But after that, it was someone’s bright idea to think about a managed move. They thought I should be out of the area. So some boy who lives down your way, now lives in my hometown, and I get to live in Hastings. I don’t even like Hastings.’
I thought of the crumbling Victorian properties that lined the promenade. The fish and chip shops and arcades. The smell of frying doughnuts. The relentless beat of the steel-grey Atlantic waves. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
‘They take my life and treat me like a budget cost,’ she said, her voice sounding bitter.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Swaps are arranged so no one loses out in their budget. I cost the council money.’
I wasn’t sure what to say about it – because I believed her take on it. ‘Maybe this is an obvious question, but are you saying you don’t like anything about where you are? What about our school?’
‘I want to go home. That’s why I run. Wouldn’t you do the same?’
She looked at me with huge blue eyes, and I stared too long trying to understand what she was feeling so that a car beeped me as I nearly edged out of the lane. I yanked on the wheel.
‘Don’t worry, Miss, I’ll get away from you too.’ She laughed a high, tinny sound, a thin attempt at humour to lighten the difficult mood.
I didn’t judge her for her jab at me. I was more surprised to hear her laugh – I’d never heard her laugh before. There was a lot that I had never heard Destiny do that I heard the other kids do all the time: I’d never heard her swear, gossip, laugh, answer back, jump, run, yell, push, shout or joke. She would shrink silently into any space with a stillness that belied her age. It was as if she was constantly working to make herself invisible. I’m ashamed to admit it but if she hadn’t been so unusual – her IQ and being in care – then I probably would never have even noticed her.
‘I don’t understand, Destiny. Are you running from or running to?’
‘No one has ever asked me that.’ She ran a careful finger across her forehead to clear her heavy fringe from her eyes. ‘I run from.’
‘Because they never manage to find you anywhere that’s been any good?’ I picked my words with care. I didn’t want to cause her any pain but I wanted to know. I was potentially sabotaging my life: I deserved to know why.
She shrugged a small movement. ‘There was a nice family once. I lived with them when I was six until I was nine. It was good. The best bit was they had another girl; she was called Charlotte. I had a sister.’ She said it again, but this time she whispered it: ‘I had a sister.’ When she spoke again, her voice was hard and firm. ‘I used to miss them a lot.’
‘Used to?’
‘I don’t miss anyone now.’
I felt so bad for Destiny. It must be awful to hurt for someone who was never coming back. ‘What happened to them?’
‘Dad – I mean Ed – got a job at an IT firm in California. They wanted to adopt me, take me with them, but it wasn’t allowed.’
‘Why not?’
‘My real mother wouldn’t allow it.’
Quiet, meek Destiny hissed like a provoked snake. I nearly tried to frame this as a positive thing: Isn’t that a good thing that she didn’t want to lose you? But with venom like that, I didn’t try. ‘But you wanted to?’
‘Badly.’
‘So they left?’
‘They didn’t want to. They would’ve stayed. It wasn’t easy for them. Ed had been made redundant and the job he’d been offered was great. To stay would mean that they didn’t have any money. But I know they would’ve for me. I know it.’ She bit at her nails. ‘One night I came downstairs and found Mum crying. By then I knew what was going on, as I’d had to have meetings with my social worker. They had asked me what I wanted, and then they asked Simone. Simone is my biological mother. It went to court. I couldn’t sleep the day after the trial and came downstairs and found Kay and Ed in bits again. I think they were fighting, but . . . well, not with each other, more in that way that safe married couples fight with the other as a way of fighting with themselves, outing that struggle that they feel inside, you know?’
In her pause, I tried to absorb the idea. How could this young girl, only fifteen, be able to make observations about grown-up relationships when I was forty and couldn’t make them myself? I shifted in my seat, discomforted by my blindness.
‘Simone told the court that she didn’t want me to be with them any more. She thought we were getting too close. Even though I was told that I had to leave them, it wasn’t until I saw Kay crying that I realised – she was the best mum I ever had When I left their house, I think I died a bit inside.
‘Oh, Destiny. I don’t know what to say.’
She shook her head, and I could see, even in my peripheral vision, that she was unable to speak.
Destiny and I were the same: we had both lost our mothers.
Then I realised: no we were not the same. Destiny had lost two.
Friday
18:29
George
George allowed himself to cry. It felt good. Big heaving sobs not fitting for the proper Yorkshire man he was, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t the knowledge that at some point, he was going to have to give up and head home, that was causing the tears. The joke of it was that the only person who had caused any alarm, was him. Steve Wichard would’ve rung his mobile when he was established as properly late and had found it off. He would’ve rung the school, who would’ve have confirmed him as having left the premises, his signature in the signing-out book. And maybe they would’ve rung Sal.
He didn’t know much about Jenni because she made sure she avoided getting into any personal conversation with anyone, but he knew she lived alone. From what he’d learned from social services, Destiny disappeared every weekend anyway, so perhaps their concern was minimal.
All the time that he followed them he had so many questions. Where were they going and why? Was he doing the right thing? What would he say to Jenni when he saw her?
He had tried to do the right thing, he had. He’d tried to make the call to the police without pulling over – because surely it was all right to make a call when you were driving if it was an emergency and how could he risk losing them? – but the p
hone had instantly died. Then the agony of realising that he only had a standard charger with him – after all, he had thought that he was going to be sitting in Steve’s office where that would’ve been fine. He didn’t like mobile phones enough to have an in-car charger. Besides, when did he need to charge his phone in the car? He never went anywhere. No one ever called him. He never needed to call anyone. Until now.
The low buzz of concern that he hadn’t called the police eventually became a deafening chorus. He’d searched the laybys for call boxes but he hadn’t seen any. Now he would have to do that when he got home. Normally, he loved the weekend. The opportunity to dress in garden clothes and to spend the time with a trowel in his hand, the smell of soil in his nostrils. Saturday morning was a visit to the garden centre; Sunday lunch was either with one of the children and grandchildren, or lunch out at a National Trust property. But that wouldn’t be happening this weekend. He’d have to give a police statement, he knew that. He’d also have to answer questions to the board.
But that wasn’t why he was crying. He was crying because he knew he was never coming back from this. He’d had the think he knew he needed, and whether he liked it or not, he’d had to accept that all arrows pointed to his career now being over.
All he had to do now was to turn off at the first services and be seen to take action. He would call the police. He would give as much information as he could over the phone. Then he’d call his wife, who by now would be worried about where he was. His stomach burned when he thought about what she might have been thinking. Recently, he’d been close to the edge and he knew that her imagination might have taken her to places she hadn’t needed to go. But he was a solid man, a Dales man. He could weather storms if he needed to. He knew what he valued, and he loved his wife and family.