Now it was over, and soon, if not sooner, it would be time for him to come back. Maybe the thought of breakfast would tempt him. If it did, he'd better be quick—she hoped he wasn't assuming she would stay home for him. She'd had a shower and was dressed, and once she'd finished writing to him she would head for work. She aimed her ballpoint at her last words, and enlarged the bulb of the p of "help" to engulf the full stop, and coaxed the t of "the" not to be a capital, and leaned on a dot after "police." Doing all that helped her think of more to write.
But I care about you more than I care about her, just in case you were wondering. If you've stayed away to make me see that, you didn't need to. Just so long as you've come back, and obviously you have since you're reading this, that's all I care about. Better be ready for me to raise my voice a bit when I see you, though. PLEASE STAY, THAT'S ALL. Don't go away again. Phone me at the shop to let me know you're there, then I can tell your father we know where you are so he can stop worrying about you when he's already got someone to worry about. You've made your point, all right? If you love us, and I know you do, you'll put us out of our misery.
Lots of love, you know how much if you let yourself,
Mum.
She considered adding kisses, but her message might embarrass him more than enough without them. When she read it through she found it almost too much herself. She could rewrite it if she was quick, she thought, and then she clicked the nib into the pen and stood up. She'd written what she felt. She pinned the three small square pages down with the phone on the hall table and made for the kitchen to wash her coffee mug. When she became aware of gazing through the window above the sink in search of anything she could watch to keep her at home at least a few moments longer, she took herself out of the house.
Car alarms were greeting their owners as the houses sent forth a selection of the people weekday mornings sent forth. In the park, beneath an increasingly translucent blue sky, boys of about Ian's age were demonstrating ways they behaved: smoking, arguing, walking with girls and perhaps even holding their hands, laughing as loud as they could. They made her want to hurry home to see if Ian was back. Once she was on the train, trapped on a seat by more and more people who also had to go to work whatever else might be happening in their lives, she wanted to be already at the shop, to be close to the phone if it rang—when it did.
Under Oxford Circus a violinist was performing a jaunty piece by Saint-Saëns, which might have cheered her if it hadn't been so distant it sounded deep in the earth. It sank away, and before she stepped off the highest escalator she couldn't hear it. She let herself be crowded up into the sunlight, where she felt as though she were leading half the crowd to the shop, outside which she halted and sucked in a breath that was bitter with a stench of petrol. Melinda was replacing the phone on the counter, and whatever she'd just heard had left her close to tears.
Leslie managed not to speak until she'd shut the door behind her. "What is it? Is it Ian?" she heard herself demanding, and perhaps worse still "Is it about him?"
"Why should it be?"
That was too harsh to be anything but a denial. "I'm sorry," Leslie said, rediscovering some gentleness. "What, then?"
"Sally's leaving me. I think there's someone else."
"Oh, Melinda. You too? Us and our partners." Leslie gave her an awkward hug that came near to squeezing out Melinda's tears, and dared to say "I'd move in with you to help you get over her if I was at all that way inclined."
"You stay how you are. I don't want to be one of the people who tried to screw up your life. I'd rather have you straight as you are. Take that how you like." Melinda raised a smile that left her eyes moist, and blinked. "Why were you looking like that about Ian? What's he been up to now?"
"Stayed out overnight because I made him feel I thought he might have done something to Charlotte."
"Anyone would have wondered that if they were you. It's the kind of thing we think even if we don't want to," Melinda said, and renewed her brave smile. "I shouldn't have bothered you with my love life when you've got your own worries."
"Don't fart at the mouth, Mel. I know we'll be hearing from him any time now. I left a note saying he had to call."
"I'm sure you'll see him before I see Sally," Melinda said, which dislodged two large slow tears. Leslie gave her another hug and had to dab at her own eyes, and then she and Melinda stared at passers-by to make them stop spectating. Leslie's tears were mostly at the realisation that secretly she hoped Melinda had spoken the truth. There would be plenty of time for the women to share a real weep once they knew Ian was safe.
FORTY-THREE
"This is Haven Home. Hello? Haven Home here. It's the Haven Home."
"Say, boy, who's this I'm talking to?"
"It's Terence."
"You the head honcho there, Teerence? You in charge?"
"I just live here. It's Mrs. Woollie's, but she never comes till ten. Mark's in charge till she comes. He's looking at something in the kitchen. Shall I get him?"
"Tell you who you get for me, Teerence. You know John?"
"Which John?"
"Hey, you said a mouthful. He ain't called John no more, right? Rub that out. The guy I need is calling himself Jack."
"Mr. Woollie?"
"What's that, boy? What the—what you saying?"
"You mean Mr. Woollie? That Jack. Mrs. Woollie's son."
"That's the guy, sure enough. Hold a moment. Hush now, little lady. Save it, okay?"
Hector accompanied the latter part of this with a smile wide enough to expose his gums and a stare that peeled the skin back from his eyes, but Charlotte carried on emitting sounds not far short of mirth at the voice he was having to use. Any other time he would be happy to make her laugh; why had she withheld it until she might be overheard? Didn't she understand how she was endangering herself, or did she expect to be saved if she revealed she was there? She was sitting on the fourth stair up, more than close enough for him to grab, but he didn't want any upset when he had another way of solving the problem of her, or at least of postponing the solution. He let the fingertips of the hand that wasn't holding the knife outline the knife for her playmate, who was sitting as he'd been told to sit with his legs on either side of her, to see. "Quieten her down, son," Hector whispered, pressing the mouthpiece against his heart. "You know there's nothing to laugh at right now."
Ian learned forward and clasped the girl's shoulders. "No point in pissing him off," he murmured.
Her face convulsed at the bad word, and then appeared to begin to relax. Either he'd impressed her by wording it like that or the message conveyed more to her than it had to Hector. For the moment Hector couldn't ponder that, not when he'd come near to betraying himself on thinking Terence had identified him. He stared at Charlotte until her mouth sank inward, and then he raised the phone. "You still there, Teerence?"
"I've been here all the time. What was I hearing?"
He'd overheard Charlotte's stutters of hilarity or Ian's voice, Hector thought, glaring at his charges. "I dunno, boy. What you reckon you heard?"
"Some machine going bumper bumper bump."
"Must have been in your own head. I guess you need to see the doc to check you ain't got too much blood pressure."
"Is that what it was? Thanks. I will."
Terence was as suggestible as ever, Hector saw. He might have enjoyed amusing himself at Terence's expense, but Charlotte looked in danger of another fit of mirth. "So you got Jack Woollie there?" he said.
"He doesn't live here."
"Guess I never said he did. Hangs out there, though, ain't that the truth?"
"Sometimes."
"Like right now, boy?"
"Not yet. I expect he's still at Mrs. Woollie's, being a writer and not having to get up."
"When you looking to see him?"
"Not today. He said he was going to try and do a bit of a book."
"Gonna stay at his momma's, is he? Why don't you give me her number."
"I
t's up here on the board."
It sounded as if Terence assumed that was all he needed to say, and Hector felt his limbs growing stiff with frustration, not least because Charlotte was clutching her mouth with a hand that looked less than capable of restraining whatever it was doing its best to hold in. He was reminding himself not to raise his voice by the time Terence read him the number. He was in the midst of scribbling it on the pad with the pencil when Terence said "Who do you want me to say you were if he comes?"
"Hold everything while I get this written down. Matter of fact, why don't you tell me again to make sure." While Terence repeated the number Hector finished transcribing it and thought of a name for himself. "Tell him Mr. Dadd was asking for him."
"Dadd."
"That's the tag, sure enough. Hush her up now, boy. Give her a hand if hers ain't enough."
"I didn't catch that."
"Be glad you didn't, Teerence. Just tell Jack Woollie Mr. Dadd that he's been speaking to is gonna be in touch. Tell him it's a proposition we gotta keep between ourselves."
"Is it about his book?"
"Mebbe so. Hey, Teerence, didn't I just get through saying it's between me and him? Tell you what, you give him the message if you see him and we won't stop you thinking you helped with the book. Mebbe you'll see your name in print if you do like I say."
"I've been in the paper," Terence said, with some pride but also a hint of unease that showed Hector it was time to end the conversation. He put an end to Terence without moving his gaze from the pair on the stairs. Ian hadn't helped Charlotte cover up her mouth, but if Jack should hear her, surely that would impress on him the importance of obeying his father. Hector dialled the digits that masked his number and then rang the one Terence had given him. "That ole magic coach is gonna be here 'fore you know it to carry you away," he told Charlotte in the voice he seemed unable for the moment to abandon. He stared at her to warn her not to laugh so loudly she would be audible outside the house, but she took her hands away from her mouth without releasing a sound. Perhaps his words had silenced her. Only the ringing of Adele's phone was to be heard: no voice, neither the one he wanted nor the one he was glad not to hear.
"Guess that ole coachman jest stepped out. Guess mebbe he's watering them hosses." He saw Charlotte's face writhe, trying to fix on the reaction she thought he wanted, and above it the boy gazing so blankly at him that Hector came close to fearing he'd lost the power to make anyone laugh. The boy was attempting to undermine his confidence, that was all.
Everything had been going right for Hector until the children had turned up. He'd been watching for John from the alley behind the houses when he'd heard the woman calling from her window that she and her husband would be away for weeks. Hector's keys had still fitted the locks at Woollie's yard, and better yet, he'd found a pane of glass already cut to the size the woman's kitchen door took, standard as it was. He'd had to hide just twice from nocturnal strollers on his way with the pane from the yard to the house, but it seemed he'd hardly secured his refuge when he'd heard Charlotte crying out for peace.
He leaned against the wall beside the phone, wishing he'd thought to bring a chair while it had been dark enough for him to risk fetching it. He would have if the boy's presence hadn't given him too much to be aware of. He stared at the children until the boy's expressionlessness spread to the girl's face, and then he picked up the receiver and poked the redial key. The bell was waiting all by itself.
He let it ring until a robot woman cut it off and told him to try later. She was there next time he rang too. He was giving John a chance to return from wherever he'd gone and get rid of her when he saw Charlotte's mouth begin to work. "You itching to whisper something to me, babe?" he said.
Her mouth wavered open, and the tip of her tongue risked venturing around it as though seeking the shape of a word. Perhaps it was remembering a taste, because she admitted "I'm hungry."
"No remedy for that right now, babe. Gonna have to wait just like the rest of us."
"There's stuff in the fridge," Ian said, not nearly quietly enough.
"You already told me that once, boy. Guess you better make sure I hear less of you. I saw in there, babe, and it ain't much. Anyway, you should have asked when we were there."
"But I'm hungry now."
"Can't do anything about that now it's light. Reckon you'll survive. I've gone longer without rations, and look at me," Hector told her, cocking his head and giving her a wide-eyed smile. Despite his efforts she seemed determined not to cheer up—he thought the boy wasn't letting her—and so he said "Wait till the coach comes to take you out of the woods. You won't be hungry once you get where you're going."
In fact he had no idea where he would have John take them—time enough to decide that once he made sure John would come when he was called. He watched Charlotte's face sink into a resignation unsteadier than he would have preferred, and then he redialled. The bell... the robot woman. He slammed the receiver down and saw Charlotte think better of pleading. Maybe it was the toilet this time, but could she really want to go again or was the boy causing her to think she did? She'd become far more trouble since the boy had intruded—Hector had been on the very edge of singing her to sleep when the boy had disturbed her, and because of the boy he'd had no sleep himself. Could the boy have devised a means of communicating silently with her? Was that why she was threatening to grow restless? Maybe his legs were exerting pressure on her sides, conveying a coded message to her or just ensuring she didn't nod off. Hector took hold of the receiver and jabbed the button, pretending to be intent on the phone while he watched for the slightest secret movement of the boy's legs. The intolerably familiar bell rang twice, twice more, and Hector's prickly eyes had just glimpsed a minute shifting of the boy's left leg when John's voice said "Hello?"
"John Woollie."
"Excuse me, who is this?"
Hector had failed to relinquish his American accent, to his own amusement now. "You mean you or me, boy? Who you figure you're talking to?"
"That's what I asked."
"Try Mr. Dadd. Know me now?"
"Mr—"
"Your dad," Hector would have said through his teeth if he'd had any, his lack of all the sleep Charlotte's playmate had stolen from him leaving him very little patience. "What's wrong, boy? Forget I was alive?"
"I was wondering where you'd got to. Are you going to want to speak to my mother?"
"No way. You and me, that's the whole team."
"Are you saying you don't want her to know about you?"
"She ain't gonna be no help to us. Got her hands full with folks that are mad enough to need her."
"Then you'd better give me your number. She could be back any minute and I'll have to ring off."
"Cute, boy. Very cute. Don't try to be no cuter," Hector said, glaring at the children. "If you have to cut me off you wait there till I call back."
"Suppose she answers?"
"Then she ain't got no reason to think she's stopped being a widow, right? Nobody knows except you, ain't that the truth?"
"Sure."
The word was heavy with resignation, and at once Hector knew why. "You been trying to tell folks about me, ain't you, boy."
"After you said I hadn't to?"
"Guess you figured you didn't have to do what your dad says since you left home and tried to kid everyone you weren't my son. Only you found out nobody believed you, right? Nobody believes I ain't dead, and I reckon if you tried to tell anyone they thought it was one of your stories. Thought you'd run out of bogeymen to make up."
"You're your own invention, sure enough."
"Didn't I just say not to be cute?" Hector found himself as unable to stop glaring at the children as he was to abandon the accent, but they deserved to feel he was warning them—the boy especially did. "Best keep me to yourself from now on in," Hector said. "You've a good reason, better believe it."
John wasn't so quick with an answer this time. After quite a pause he said "What's that
?"
"You'll see when you get here."
"You want me to come to you."
"Sounded like I said that to me."
"Sure I will. Just tell me where."
"Not right now, boy. Not till I need you to pick me up and a couple of babes."
"Babes," John said, and even more incredulously "Women, you mean."
"Ain't none of them things here, no. Not that kind of babe."
John was silent long enough for his voice to fill with dread. "What in Christ do you mean, then?"
"Hey, boy, no need for that talk. Never raised you to make free with the Lord's name. Mebbe writing them books of yours got you too fond of the devil. I'll let you hear what kind of babe," Hector said, and pointed at Charlotte. "Seeing as how you're itching to talk, say a word for John. Just one word."
Her teeth squashed her lips together, and he thought she was so confused she would only cry, which would do fine as long as she stopped when she was told. This time there was no doubt, however, that he saw the boy send her a message, pressing his legs against her sides as if to squeeze out the word she released. "We—"
"That's perfect. Hush now," Hector said, covering the mouthpiece and scowling at the boy to ensure he helped to quieten her. Only when she pinched her mouth shut with a finger and thumb did he speak into the receiver. "Hear that, did you, boy? Hear the little pig going wee? She'd like to go wee, wee, wee all the way home."
"I don't know if I heard anyone. Let me again."
"Not so cute as you think you are. You heard sure enough. Don't want her upset, do you? You know how that upsets me."
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