Secrets and Scandals in Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  Zac slumped against the wall of the station. Now what? He couldn’t go home – he had no way of getting in. He’d have to wait till the morning and catch the first train. But by then it would be light and there’d be more people about and he was more likely to be recognised on CCTV, and there be more chance of getting nicked travelling without a ticket. And furthermore, there was a chance – admittedly a slim one – that his parents might find his note before he caught the train. This was a disaster.

  A sudden hot gust of wind came out of nowhere and whipped up the dust and a few scraps of litter. It swirled around before subsiding. Then came a distant rumble of thunder and another gust. As Zac leaned against the wall of the station and tried to work out his best course of action, the gusts began to morph together into a breeze, a breeze which strengthened and chilled by the minute. Zac looked at the sky and saw the stars begin to be extinguished as the clouds gathered; there was a storm coming. How long it would take to develop properly and how bad it might be were questions Zac couldn’t even begin to answer but he was pretty sure that, at some time during the night, it was going to pour down.

  Zac walked away from the station – he had to find somewhere to spend the night. He needed to get undercover or risk getting soaked through. As if to emphasise things there was another flickering flash over near the horizon and then a while later a low grumbling rumble. To his left was the building site. Surely there had to be a way in and once there he would be able to find no end of places to hunker down, out of the storm. He walked along the perimeter fence, glancing up at it, trying to judge if he could scale it, but it didn’t look that strong and he didn’t want to bring it down and risk not only a fall but also make it obvious that someone had broken in. He grabbed the fence and shook it to gauge its strength. The section in his left hand sagged and moved away from the section in his right. The breeze block into which the fence uprights were inserted was cracked right through, allowing the panels to move. Zac gave the breeze block a hefty shove with his foot and the uprights parted company further. There was now a definite gap. Zac hunkered down and looked at it and decided he ought to be able to squeeze through it. Maybe there was a God.

  *

  Alfie was woken by the storm. He didn’t mind thunder; Megan had once told him it was the people who lived on the stars playing bowls across the sky and he quite liked that idea. When they’d lived in London they’d once gone to a bowling alley and he remembered the rumble of the balls as they’d rolled towards the pins and the crashes and bangs of the falling skittles. And the fun they’d had, and the burgers they’d eaten. Yes, bowling was good. He felt wide awake as he sat in his bed and pulled his curtains back so that he could see the flashes of lightning better, although the sky was quite light so it wasn’t as spectacular as some storms he’d seen. He pressed his nose against the pane to see better and spotted his digger in the middle of the lawn. And then the rain started.

  No! Dougie shouldn’t get wet, Mummy said so. Mummy said his paint would go funny and peel off.

  Alfie clambered out of bed and went downstairs. What with the dawn light coming through the windows and the occasional flashes he could see his way quite well. When he got to the kitchen he dragged a chair across the back door, clambered on it and used both hands to turn the big old key in the door. Then he jiggled the bolt under the lock till it slid back. Climbing off the chair again he pushed it backwards before he turned the handle and opened the door.

  With the door open a waft of cool air rushed into the house along with the rushing, hissing sound of the downpour. Alfie stood in the doorway watching the curtains of raindrops as they got swished around by the swirling breeze. He wasn’t so sure about rescuing Dougie now – he was going to get cold and wet. As he lingered on the threshold he noticed the rain start to ease off slightly. Maybe he’d wait another minute or two. He pottered back into the kitchen, found his wellies in the utility room and stuffed his feet into them. He returned to the doorway. The rain was definitely lighter. He sat on a chair, stuck his thumb in his mouth and, with the door open, watched the storm ease off. Slowly the torrent of falling water moderated and the cacophony of the storm lessened to be replaced by the sound of a blackbird singing its heart out. Suddenly sunshine burst out from behind the cloud, casting long shadows across the garden and lighting up all the raindrops.

  Alfie scrambled off the chair and went to the door. Everything sparkled, including his digger. He went outside to collect it.

  ‘Silly, Dougie,’ said Alfie. ‘You’re not allowed out in the rain, Mummy said. You’re not like the big diggers.’ He picked up the heavy Tonka toy and carried it back into the house where he put it by the Aga. ‘You can dry out here,’ said Alfie to his toy.

  He gazed at the open door and at the early morning light. He knew it was early – too early to go and wake Bex, and Lewis wouldn’t want to play. He could go into the sitting room and watch the TV or... or he could go and see the real diggers. No one would know.

  Alfie went to the door and out into the garden then he walked around the front of the house. He tried to open the gate but it was bolted fast, so he squeezed between the bars. The main road was completely empty – not a soul around. Further up the high street a cat trotted across the tarmac but that was the sole sign of life. Alfie hitched up his pyjama trousers and set off up the road.

  He was tired when he got to the building site and his feet hurt. One of his wellies was rubbing a blister on his heel and he was cold too; his pyjamas were only made of thin cotton. He walked past the station and over to the building site where he hung onto the fence and gazed at the diggers. There were only a couple that he could see and they weren’t doing anything. His little excursion, which had seemed a good idea, was turning into a rubbish outing. He wanted to be back home but the only way was to walk and his foot was really sore and he was cold, and miserable and hungry. A tear trickled down his face.

  *

  Olivia had been lying in bed, wide awake since the storm had struck, worrying about their future, about selling the house, about Zac, about the state of the world, about everything and anything and she’d seen the dawn break and the sun rise and, although it was far too early to be up and about on a Sunday, her hand ached and she wanted a painkiller. On top of that, she also wanted a wee and a cup of tea. Beside her Nigel was snoring as if he didn’t have a care in the world. How could he, she wondered, given that many of her worries were as a direct result of what he’d done? She sighed. Blame and recrimination weren’t going to help.

  She slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs. As she reached the ground floor, Oscar got out of his bed, shook himself vigorously and trotted over to her, his claws click-clacking on the floorboards. She patted him and he accompanied her to the kitchen where she fed him a couple of gravy bones while she made her tea. She picked up her mug and carried it back to her room, Oscar following her.

  ‘Do you want to see Zac?’ she asked the dog as they got to the landing. ‘Go on then.’ She opened the door to her son’s room. The curtains were drawn back and the room was tidy. Really? Zac? This wasn’t like him.

  Then she saw the bed was empty. There was a note on the pillow.

  The hand holding her mug slackened and tea dribbled, unnoticed, onto the carpet as Olivia made her way into the room and picked up the note. Shakily she put her mug down on the bedside table, sank onto the bed and began to read.

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  I’ve decided that the only way to make up for all the shit I’ve caused you is to go away. Please don’t look for me, you’ll be better off without me. I’ve left my mobile so you can’t contact me and I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be fine where I am going.

  Not worry? She was beside herself already. And, that phrase ‘better off without me’... he wasn’t... he couldn’t be planning...? Dear God, no. She read on.

  I know you know about the drugs but you need to know that it was me that stole the ring as well as money from your purse. It wasn’t Amy.

/>   I’ll be alright and one day I’ll make it up to you both.

  No, that didn’t sound like he was thinking about suicide. But even so...

  I love you and I am so sorry for being a disappointment.

  Zac

  xxx

  Tears rolled down Olivia’s face and her hands shook as she lowered the sheet of paper onto her lap. Unsteadily, she got up and went to her own bedroom.

  ‘Nigel.’ Nothing. ‘Nigel!’ She pummelled his shoulder

  There was a grunt and a snort and he rolled over.

  ‘Wha...’ Blearily he opened an eye. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Seven o’clock. Zac’s gone.’

  ‘Seven? What?’ Nigel still sounded dopey.

  ‘Zac’s gone.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘Gone. Run away.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’ He was wide awake now.

  ‘Jesus, Nigel, would I joke about something like that?’ She thrust the note under her husband’s nose. He took it, sat up and read it.

  ‘Drugs?’ He looked horrified.

  Olivia nodded.

  ‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because Zac told me he was going to stop. I knew you’d be angry and would yell at him but if he’d really did stop there was no need for the row.’

  Nigel’s hand clenched, crumpling the note. ‘I had a right to know. I am his father,’ he shouted.

  ‘I think I had a right to know about your gambling but you didn’t tell me about that till you were so far in a corner you had no way out,’ Olivia shouted back.

  Nigel stared at her. ‘Has he stopped – the drugs, I mean?’ He sounded sulky.

  ‘Yes. It was one of the reasons I got him Oscar, so he had something to focus on, something to do. It made him get out in the fresh air, do some exercise, stop him lying around in his room smoking weed or snorting ketamine or whatever his substance of choice was.’

  Nigel shook his head. ‘And you’re sure he’s gone? Sure he’s really left?’

  ‘Nigel, you’ve read the note. Do you think he’d have written that if he was going to play hide and seek?’ Worry was making her snappy and shrill. ‘I’m going to phone the police.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘No, in a couple of days. Of course now.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nigel looked at his wife. ‘Where do you think he’s gone?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  Olivia walked around the bed to the telephone on the table by her side. She picked it up and dialled 101. ‘I’d like to report a missing person...’

  51

  Bex rolled over and looked at her clock. Half seven – that was a nice lie-in. Alfie must have been tired because generally he’d have woken her up ages before this. She could hear the TV downstairs; presumably the boys were watching cartoons. She stretched luxuriously and then swung her feet out of bed. She padded downstairs and into the sitting room.

  ‘Morning, Lewis. Sleep well?’ She looked around the room and saw that Lewis was on his own. ‘Alfie not awake yet?’

  Lewis shook his head, his eyes glued to the shenanigans on the screen.

  ‘I’m going to make myself a cup of tea. Do you want anything?’

  Lewis shook his head again.

  Bex pottered into the kitchen and saw the back door was wide open. She froze. Burglars? Then she saw Dougie sitting by the Aga. It definitely hadn’t been there last night when she’d gone to bed. She went into the garden and called her son’s name. Silence.

  Maybe it had been Lewis who had opened the door. She dashed back into the sitting room.

  ‘Lewis, have you been outside this morning?’

  Lewis sighed heavily and turned around. ‘No.’

  ‘What about Alfie?’

  ‘I’ve not seen him.’

  Bex took the stairs two at a time and charged into her youngest son’s room. His bed was empty. Her heart began to hammer wildly and it wasn’t from the exertion of racing upstairs. She went onto the landing.

  ‘Alfie? Alfie? ALFIE?’

  Megan came down the attic stairs, yawning. ‘Bex?’

  ‘The back door’s open and I can’t find Alfie.’ Bex turned and raced back downstairs and called for her son in the garden again. Megan followed her. ‘Not again,’ she said.

  Bex couldn’t trust herself to answer. Her anxiety was making her very close to tears.

  Megan raced to the front and checked the gate. ‘The gate’s still bolted,’ she reported to her mum. ‘He’s got to be here, somewhere.’

  Megan returned to the house and went through every room while Bex searched the garden, looking behind all the shrubs in the herbaceous border.

  After ten minutes of scouring the whole place they met in the kitchen. ‘I’m going to ring the police,’ said Bex.

  *

  ‘And have you got a recent photo?’ said Leanne Knowles.

  Olivia stood up and walked across to a side table under the big window where she picked up a photo frame, took the back off and extracted the picture. She passed it to Leanne. ‘There. It was taken at Christmas this year.’

  ‘Any reason why he might have left?’

  Olivia picked up the rather creased note and handed it to Leanne. She read it in silence then said, ‘That pretty much explains it. Get out before he’s found out.’

  Olivia nodded.

  ‘OK. So, what do you think he might have been wearing?’

  ‘Hard to say. I’ve gone through his wardrobe and there’s a grey hoodie missing and some jeans – black ones. And his trainers. And he’s taken some food – a few tins, some fruit, a couple of pies. Not much.’

  ‘OK, I’ll start by circulating this to all our units in the area. We’ll contact the Missing Persons’ Bureau and I’d suggest you’d get hold of all his mates and see what they can do with social media.’ Leanne’s radio crackled into life. ‘Excuse me,’ she said to Olivia.

  She walked outside to take the message.

  ‘A missing person had been reported,’ she was told.

  ‘Yes, I’m on it. I’m with the family now.’

  ‘Another one.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A five-year-old. Reported by his mother, Mrs Bex Millar of The Beeches. Two kids from the same town. As far as we know there isn’t a connection, although Mrs Millar’s oldest child does know Zac Laithwaite but the missing boy, Alfie Millar, has gone wandering through the town before on his own.’

  ‘OK, I’ll go there straight from here. Can you get another officer here to stay with the Laithwaites? Oh, and I want any CCTV camera footage from last night reviewed.’

  Leanne returned to the house. ‘We’re on the case and we’re going to look at the CCTV footage. I’m sure we’ll have Zac back in no time. I’ve got to go to another incident but a case officer is being assigned to you and will be here shortly. Try not to worry – I know it’s easy for me to say but in the vast majority of cases we find the kids very quickly.’

  Olivia, white with anxiety, nodded.

  *

  Zac woke up from a short and uncomfortable doze and was, for a second, disorientated. He was cold and stiff and his shoulder ached from sleeping awkwardly. He took in his surroundings: the rough concrete he was lying on and the unplastered brick wall a few feet away – ah yes, a half-built house. Slowly, easing his aching joints as he moved, he sat up and yawned.

  Running away, he decided, sucked; so did being homeless, but at least he’d found shelter and had been kept dry when that storm had finally struck. And now he was hungry, he was bursting for a pee and he needed to get to the station to find a train. He stumbled to his feet and brushed cement dust off his jeans. He already looked a mess and he’d only been gone one night. He ran his tongue over his teeth and wondered if his breath smelt. He tugged on the zip of his rucksack and picked out a pork mini pie which he ate in a couple of bites. He washed it down with a swig from his water bottle, almost choking as the bubbles went up his nose, then he put the bottle back in
his bag and zipped it up.

  ‘Time to go,’ he said to himself. He wondered when the next train was as he went through the gap in the wall that one day would be the front door. He then picked his way across the detritus of the building site, the broken bricks, the empty cement sacks, the puddles in the uneven ground, to the newly built road that snaked past the houses. He found a thicket of undergrowth that had yet to be bulldozed or landscaped and had a swift pee into the bushes. He was glad he only needed a pee – he didn’t fancy doing the other out in the open, although he’d better get used to living rough, he told himself as he did up his flies and set off again. He ducked behind some garages as he neared the show home and then raced along behind a row of terraced houses, worried that someone from the developers might be around to see him even though he knew it was unlikely, this early on a Sunday morning. He got to the gap in the fence and glanced around to make sure that he wasn’t being observed. Quickly he slipped his bag off his shoulder, shoved it through and then crawled after it. He breathed a sigh of relief that he was back on the public highway and couldn’t be done for trespass. He picked up his kit and began to walk towards the station. Further along the pavement he could see what looked like a bundle of clothes and contemplated his mother’s likely reaction if she knew someone was fly-tipping. He then wondered if his mother had found his note yet and felt a pang of guilt because he knew what angst it was going to cause.

  Zac approached the bundle and he could now see it was no such thing, but a small child dressed in pyjamas and a pair of wellingtons. He ran the last few steps, hunkered down and tentatively put his hand on the boy’s face. It was warm. He was asleep not... Zac felt relief wash through him.

  The kid opened his eyes and looked up at him. Zac thought he looked vaguely familiar. Maybe he’d seen him around the town – after all, Little Woodford wasn’t a big place.

  ‘Hey, buddy,’ said Zac, gently. ‘What are you doing out here?’

  The kid’s lip trembled and tears welled up in his eyes. ‘I’m cold and I’m hungry and I want to go home,’ he wept.