Paying the Ferryman

by Jane A. Adams

  The scowl deepened, but Matthew, as the speaker had pointed out, was a local boy and the influence of his neighbours was still ingrained. He glanced back towards the house and then at the man who had spoken to him.

  ‘The kids weren’t there,’ he said. ‘Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but it looks like the girl took the baby and they got out when the shooting started. That’s all guessing and we don’t know.’

  Joey’s heart leapt and his throat tightened. Sarah wasn’t dead. Sarah got away!

  ‘There was blood,’ the police officer called Matthew continued. ‘So, we don’t know—’

  A collective sigh of relief transformed into a hiss of anxious anticipation.

  ‘Best thing you can do now is get yourselves fed back at the church and then, if you want to do something, they’ll be putting out a call for bodies to help with the search.’

  ‘Where and when?’ a woman demanded.

  ‘We’ll be using the church as an incident room,’ he said. ‘You’ll be told more in about an hour, I reckon.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Joey said to the old man; then he turned and walked swiftly away. There was a chance Sarah and her little brother were still alive. There was going to be a search. He could help. He could find her. She was going to be all right.

  He stopped in his tracks, the horror of it all suddenly overwhelming. His friend Tel, who lived in the next street, had texted him in the early hours.

  Something going on at Sarah’s.

  So the text had said.

  Police everywhere.

  So Joey had slipped from the house and run to Sarah’s place only to find that his friend was right. There were police everywhere. The street had been cordoned and some of the residents, those in neighbouring properties, evacuated while a search went on. He glimpsed armed officers, saw an ambulance standing with its doors wide; then the doors closed and it left, empty.

  And now he knew. Sarah’s mum and stepdad were dead. Sarah and her little brother were God knows where and the policeman had said … had said there was blood. Did he mean Sarah’s blood?

  Joey bent over, suddenly overcome by nausea and pure, cold sweat terror. He thought he was going to puke, but somehow managed to fight the cramping in his belly.

  He had to go home, tell his mum what was going on, grab some stuff and then join the search. She’d be mad at him for sneaking out, but she’d want to know what was happening and she’d understand.

  At least, he hoped she would.

  He tried to think if his dad would be home yet. His mobile phone told him it was after seven, so it was likely, but he might be lucky – maybe his dad had not come back off his shift yet.

  Joey sighed. He straightened up, the sudden cramps receding. He shivered despite the thick jacket. His legs and head and feet were freezing. Reluctantly, Joey headed for home.

  ‘Where the fuck do you think you’ve been?’

  So his dad was home then, Joey thought.

  ‘None of your fucking business.’

  A swift backhand aimed in the direction of Joey’s head. He ducked, but it still caught him a stinging blow on his cold ear.

  ‘Steve, please—’

  Joey’s mother stood in the kitchen doorway wringing a tea towel between her hands.

  Steve, please, Joey thought. When did his dad ever take notice of ‘please’?

  ‘I said where have you been?’

  ‘And I said it was none of your business.’

  ‘Talk to me like that, boy, and you know what you’ll get.’

  Joey knew all too well. But somehow knowing didn’t, couldn’t, change the way he behaved. Joey would not bow down to this man. Not any more.

  ‘Fuck you!’ Joey said. He leapt past his dad and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time and racing ahead of the steel hand grasping at his back.

  ‘Joey!’ his mother’s voice was pleading. Scared now, both for him and for herself.

  Joey felt a second or so of remorse, knowing what he was leaving her to face, but he pushed it aside. He was through the door just before his dad got to it. The bolt was drawn and the heavy chest of drawers slid into place as his father started bashing against the wooden panels.

  Joey was well practised in this scenario. He knew he only ever delayed the beating, never avoided it, but for now that was enough.

  He grabbed the backpack out of the bottom of his wardrobe. It was already partly packed. Joey kept it that way.

  He grabbed a thick sweatshirt and a few other bits he thought might be useful to him and then opened the window and stepped outside. They had a flat roofed kitchen extension at the back of their house and so did their neighbours, and this had been a regular escape route for Joey, even though the neighbours objected loudly – though only when his dad wasn’t in earshot – and his dad was wise to it now. Joey could hear that he’d abandoned the assault on the door and was now thundering down the stairs ready to intercept his son. He burst out into the yard just as Joey crossed the boundary between the houses and then leapt down into his neighbours’ garden. He could hear his mother screaming and his dad’s threats, but Joey knew he wouldn’t be followed once he’d made it past the gardens and on to the allotments beyond. His dad, for all his vice-like hands and fists like hammers, was also fat and slow. While it was true the extra weight put power behind his fists it also prevented him from running much more than the length of the yard, and for that Joey was grateful.

  Joey finally paused once he’d put the allotments and a couple of streets between himself and his parents. He turned then and headed back towards Sarah’s street, pausing to call at Tel’s house.

  ‘So, what’s going on?’ Tel demanded. Joey could see Tel’s mum hovering in the background, also anxious to know. He spoke to both of them, glancing at Tel’s mum from time to time, hoping such inclusivity would earn him some breakfast and a chance to get warm – it often did; Tel’s mum knew all about the Hughes family.

  ‘Sarah’s parents. They’re dead,’ Joey said.

  ‘Dead? You’re sure?’ Tel’s mother asked, her face reflecting the horror and doubt Joey himself had felt.

  Joey nodded. ‘They brought out body bags. Two of them. The neighbours say they heard shooting.’

  ‘Shooting? What, guns? Here?’

  Joey nodded again.

  ‘And what about the children?’ asked Maggie, Tel’s mum.

  Joey shook his head. ‘No one knows. The policeman said they weren’t there.’

  ‘Well, thank God for that!’

  ‘But there was blood.’

  ‘Oh, good lord.’

  ‘They’ll be looking for volunteers to search. Everyone’s meeting at the church. St Barts. The policeman said it would be a … an incident room.’

  Tel’s mother made up her mind. ‘There’s tea in the pot and there’s bread for toast. Grab yourself something, Joey, while I get some warmer clothes on. Then we’ll all go down. The more people volunteer, the better, I reckon.’

  She paused as she passed Joey and inspected the blackening bruise on his ear and head. ‘You need to report that bastard,’ she said. ‘I don’t care if he is your father, you don’t report him, Joey Hughes, and I damned well will.’

  Joey believed her. He also believed that his dad would just be able to talk his way out of it, like he always did, like all the times the police had come when neighbours reported Joey’s mother screaming, only to find themselves scuppered by her lack of cooperation. He’d heard that the police could now prosecute even if his mum didn’t want them to, but he only half believed that. None of the officers that had turned up at their door so far had managed to make any fucking difference.

  Tel’s mother often said he could come and stay with them, but if he did then his mother really would be alone and he couldn’t bear that. He knew what would happen to her.

  Tel’s mum had once said that Joey’s mother was an adult, that she needed to think for herself and ask for help. That Joey couldn’t be responsible for a woman who should
be responsible for herself.

  But Joey knew he’d not been supposed to overhear that conversation. That she’d been angry on his behalf and just let rip. He felt no ill will towards Maggie for it, even though it did prove to him just how little she really understood.

  He knew his way around Tel’s kitchen though, finding a mug and pouring himself some tea, adding three sugars while his friend operated the toaster.

  ‘Your dad was home, then,’ Tel said.

  Joey shrugged. ‘One day I’ll kill him,’ he said, and Tel just nodded.

  ‘You want jam on your toast?’ he said.

  TWO

  A large crowd gathered inside the church. The WI had convened and were serving tea and a local bakery brought fresh bread that more volunteers were turning into toast. Joey and Tel followed Tel’s mother into the throng. Maggie left them for a moment while she found out who was in charge and what was going on. She returned a few minutes later holding three mugs of tea.

  ‘Someone’s coming to speak to us in a few minutes. They’re bringing the search dogs in and going to divide the volunteers into teams. Thank the lord it’s stopped raining,’ she added. ‘Last night’s weather was vicious for a while.’

  ‘Do they know … anything?’

  ‘No, not really. Apparently there was some blood on the back gate, but most of it was washed away by the rain.’

  ‘They’ll be frozen,’ Joey said. ‘Maggie, can’t we just get started? Get out there?’

  ‘And do what? Look, sweetheart, I know what you must be feeling, but we’ve got to wait, let them organize us. We’ll do a better job if we all work together.’

  ‘I should have started looking for her last night,’ Joey said angrily. ‘I could have found her.’

  ‘You didn’t know Sarah and Jack were missing last night,’ Maggie pointed out.

  ‘Look,’ Tel added. ‘Last night you thought they were both dead. Or might be.’

  Reluctantly Joey nodded. He clasped his mug tight, not sure he wanted more tea but grateful for both the warmth and something to hang on to. He kept one eye on the door. Not really expecting his father to show up, but you never really knew what that man might do and Joey was always on watch. Always trying to keep one step ahead.

  ‘If I can have your attention, please.’

  A man had taken up position in the pulpit. He didn’t look very sure of his right to be there, Joey thought. He was a big man, broad and bear-like, with hair that reached to his shoulders and a curling beard. He didn’t, to Joey’s eyes, look like a policeman. He was surprised to find that he recognized the man, though he had never spoken to him. Sometimes Joey went to a youth project set up on wasteland a couple of miles down the road. They had trials bikes there and Joey had started to learn. He’d seen this man chatting to some of the older members, helping them work on the bikes, sometimes even wielding a spanner himself. He hadn’t realized this man was a police officer.

  Tel had recognized him too. ‘That’s that older bloke from down the club.’

  Joey nodded, not sure what he felt about that.

  ‘My name is DI Steel and, for the moment at least, I’m in charge here. Thank you all very much for turning out.

  ‘Now, I know there are a lot of rumours flying about, so let me tell you what we know. At about three thirty this morning there was an incident at number twenty-seven Hughenden Road.’ He paused and pointed in the approximate direction of the street, just in case anyone should be in doubt. ‘We’re still trying to piece together what happened, but at about three thirty neighbours reported shouting and arguments, and a few minutes later they reported hearing what sounded like shots. Two, and then two more. A fifth shot was fired outside the property, by which time neighbours had called the police.

  ‘My colleagues arrived to find two people shot dead within the property. We believe them to be Victor and Lisanne Griffin. I’m sure they are known to some of you.’

  ‘And the kids?’ someone in the crowd demanded.

  ‘As I say, we’re still trying to piece together what happened, but we think Sarah Griffin and her little brother, Jack, somehow managed to get out of the property and that the final shot was fired at them as they escaped; we believe that one or both of them was hit. We’ve had people out searching the alleyway behind the house and the field beyond but, frankly, the pouring rain and the dark haven’t helped. So far, we’ve not found either of them.

  ‘Our priority, now, is to get people out there looking. Now you all know the area better than most of my officers do, so …’

  Tel, Maggie and Joey found themselves assigned to a team of twenty, headed up by an officer with a very large dog. He led them down the narrow path that ran behind Sarah’s house and through a gap in the hedge that the farmer used to get his tractor into the field.

  Maggie had vouched for both of the boys. Taken charge in such a way that the police seemed to assume that they were both hers. Joey got the impression that really no one cared. Someone had asked their ages, checked that they were both sixteen, and Maggie had fudged her reply, then hustled them away before further questions could be asked.

  They were here to look for Sarah and little Jack. That was all that mattered.

  Slowly they spread out and began to move across the sodden field. Eyes down and in close formation. Joey kept thinking about her. Seeing her face, remembering the first time he had seen her and how he’d felt. It was like being hit between the eyes by something hard and heavy. Something hard and heavy that burned its way in. She wasn’t like the other girls. Her skin was the colour of milky coffee and her hair, slightly crinkly and very full, was tied back off her face in a red band.

  Her mum was white, she told him, her dad mixed race. Dual heritage, she called it, with a sly grin that told him she didn’t really think labels said very much. And she had these deep, dark eyes that sparkled when she laughed, and she blushed so dead easily, pink colouring the coffee cream of her cheeks.

  He hadn’t expected her to take much notice of him. He was just another awkward teenage boy, a year above her in school and distinguished neither by academic ability nor sporting achievement; not even geekiness. He was just …

  Nothing …

  At least that’s what his dad kept telling him.

  But Sarah didn’t see it that way. This last year, after he’d finally summoned the courage to talk to her, she had become almost as close to him as Tel was. Soon she was even closer than Tel had ever been, and friendly enough to his oldest friend for Tel never to feel left out. Or at least not often.

  And Sarah understood what he was going through with his dad. She’d been there. She’d seen it for herself, before her mum had done something about it.

  ‘Vic’s all right,’ Sarah said. ‘I like him. Love him, I guess. He’s been a good dad and Mum’s been happy. He’s great with Jack. Just so … gentle.’

  Sarah valued gentleness, Joey thought. What other people might think was soft and soppy, Sarah liked because she’d seen so much of the other. The violent, the cruel, the hurting and the hitting, and Joey knew where she was coming from. He just wished his mum would do what Sarah’s had done and get them both away.

  ‘Any idea what we’re looking for?’ Tel asked as they paced in line across the sodden field. Above them a heavy sky threatened another downpour.

  ‘Anything that shouldn’t be here,’ Maggie said. ‘Any trace of Sarah.’

  ‘Have they checked the barns?’ Joey asked, looking across at the farm buildings across the fields.

  ‘I think they did that first,’ Maggie said. ‘But if she was hurt, well, that seems a long way for her to go. And she had Jack with her. He’s no light weight.’

  Joey looked at his phone. It was almost nine o clock. That meant wherever she was she’d probably been there for the best part of five hours.

  ‘She’ll be frozen,’ Joey said. ‘And Jack. He’s just so little. They’ll be wet, and—’

  Maggie laid a hand on his arm. ‘Look how many people there are out
looking for her,’ she said. She pointed towards the other groups stretched out across the fields, moving slowly in long lines.

  ‘We will find her, Joey.’ She reached out and embraced him in a quick hug. They moved forward, Joey trying to focus on the ground beneath his feet, constantly distracted now by the other searchers, by the sight of the police officer with the dog. They were moving across the field at a diagonal to the main line, the dog with its nose down, the officer following at the end of a very long lead. Had it found something? Joey couldn’t tell. Abruptly the dog changed direction, tracked back across the field, then turned again and stopped dead, hovering at a clod of mud. Then it lifted its head and sat down. The policeman held a large paper bag in his hand. He opened it and lowered the open bag towards the dog. It sniffed, then took off again, casting back and forth across the field.

  Joey glanced back towards the houses. He could see Sarah’s gate. Would she have come across here? Joey wondered. Across this way? If she’d come from her house, wouldn’t she be closer to the field edge?

  He watched the policeman and the dog again, willing it to pick up a scent. Closer to the wood and the barns another dog cast back and forth across the field, a line of searchers following behind.

  ‘Are you sure they checked the outbuildings on the farm?’ Joey said again.

  ‘Joey, they’ve checked, and I’ve no doubt they’ll check again. She can’t have got far.’

  ‘Not unless someone took them both,’ Joey said, the possibility dawning on him for the first time. ‘What if they were taken? What if they weren’t, and the police think they were and so don’t look in the right places?’

  Maggie hugged him again. Maggie probably hugged him more than anyone, Joey thought. Anyone except for Sarah, and that was different. ‘No one is going to stop looking,’ she said. ‘We’ll all look and look and look again. Sarah and Jack will be found.’

  ‘I love her,’ Joey said, so quietly that Maggie almost didn’t hear.

  ‘I know you do,’ Maggie said. ‘And Sarah knows it too. She knows you’ll come for her.’