Mr Todd's Reckoning

by Iain Maitland

  What else can I do?

  I smile, followed by a warm, friendly laugh.

  And I start my story.

  “Once upon a time,” I say, “there were two scarecrows standing in a field at Mr McDonald’s farm. Can you remember what they were called, Lily? When I told you the story?”

  I look at her with a patient expression on my face. She shakes her head, puzzled.

  “The scarecrows were called Tommy and Tina. And their job was to keep the crows… all the birds… away from Mr McDonald’s… flowers… and corn… and… strawberries. You remember the story I told you, don’t you Lily?”

  She shakes her head again but relaxes now, expecting a story, and leaning back into her mother, who moves a little from one side to the other to get them both comfortable. I go on.

  “One day, Mr McDonald came out of the farmhouse and walked into the field where Tommy and Tina were standing.”

  (So far so good, she’s paying attention.)

  “‘Where,’ asked Mr McDonald, looking around, ‘are all my lovely flowers? My beautiful roses and my sweet tulips and my big yellow daffodils?’”

  “Tommy and Tina stood very still.”

  “‘And where,’ asked Mr McDonald, going very red in the face, ‘is all the corn that I was going to gather in with my tractor this afternoon?’”

  “Tommy and Tina did not move at all.”

  (She’s following the story. She’s forgotten all about the shelter. She has her thumb in her mouth now.)

  “‘And where are all the strawberries for my tea?’ shouted Mr McDonald, jumping up and down.”

  (I move the top half of my body up and down as if I am jumping and the little girl laughs and turns her face into Josie’s stomach, all of a sudden tired now.)

  “Tommy and Tina were as still as they could be.”

  “‘The rabbits have eaten all the flowers,’ said Mr McDonald. ‘The squirrels have eaten the corn. And I just don’t know who’s eaten all of my lovely strawberries! Was it you?’”

  “Tommy and Tina just stood there ever so quietly.”

  “‘Wait there,’ shouted Mr McDonald. ‘I’m going to get my axe from the shed and chop you into a thousand tiny pieces to put on my fire!’ And he hurried away towards the shed.”

  (The little girl laughs and looks at Josie, who smiles back at her and then at me. Adrian has his head down. I know he is embarrassed by me and the story I am telling and the lively way I am telling it. I have to, of course, to distract the child.)

  “Tommy looked at Tina. Tina looked at Tommy.”

  “They both turned slowly, as scarecrows do, towards the shed and saw Mr McDonald coming out with his big red axe.”

  “‘Run!’ they shouted to each other at the same time. And run they did!”

  (I lean forward towards the child.)

  “They ran across the field.”

  (I squiggle two fingers across the girl’s knees.)

  “They ran up the hill.”

  (I run my fingers a little way up the top of the girl’s left thigh.)

  “They ran down the hill.”

  (I run my fingers back down the girl’s left thigh.)

  “They swam across a river.”

  (I paddle my two fingers between the girl’s knees.)

  “And reached the other side.”

  (I move my two fingers onto her right knee.)

  “They ran down the train tracks.”

  (I run my fingers down her right ankle.)

  “And jumped down off the tracks.”

  (I put my fingers between her feet, flicking them back and forth.)

  “And hid. And kept very, very still and really, really quiet.”

  (I keep my fingers unmoving by her feet and look at her. She looks back, hanging on my every word.)

  I think, for a second or two, that I have made a fatal mistake. That I have drawn everyone’s attention back to the air-raid shelter. Where the scarecrows in my story have been hiding. Josie looks across at me, an encouraging ‘go on’ expression on her face. The little girl waits patiently. Adrian still has his head bowed in embarrassment. And then I suddenly see my way out.

  “As Tommy and Tina sat there, as quiet as they could be, they heard big heavy footsteps.”

  (I bang my fists on the ground.)

  “Boom, boom, boom!”

  (I bang my fists again, harder, one, two, three times.)

  “Boom! Boom! Boom!”

  (The little girl stares across at me, an excited-to-be-scared look on her face.)

  “‘Where are you?’ shouted Mr McDonald. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are!’”

  “Tommy and Tina did not move. They were very, very scared. Of Mr McDonald. And of Mr McDonald’s big sharp axe.”

  (I pretend to swing an axe around and above my head. The young woman squeals and pulls the little girl tighter. Adrian sits there furious, wishing I would stop.)

  “‘Where are you?’ shouted Mr McDonald again. ‘I’m going to chop you up with my axe into a hundred pieces… a thousand pieces… a million pieces… a billion, trillion pieces.’”

  “Tommy and Tina held their breath as the farmer was very, very close.”

  (I look at the little girl, suck in my breath and hold it, moment after moment, for as long as I can. I can see her tense, holding her breath too. I let mine out in a long spluttery shudder and then draw it back in as noisily as I can. I wait, sensing Adrian’s shamefaced tension, and then continue.)

  “Boom! Boom! Boom!”

  “Tommy and Tina sat there shivering with fear.”

  “Boom, boom, boom.”

  “They could hear Mr McDonald moving away, further and further from their hiding place.”

  “Boom, boom, boom.”

  “They could hear his footsteps moving into the distance.”

  “Boom… boom… boom.”

  “Tommy and Tina breathed a sigh of relief… He’d gone!”

  (The little girl breathes out and relaxes, cuddling into Josie. Adrian looks at me at last. It is a steady, sour look that unsettles me. I have not seen such a look before. I try to ignore it as I go on.)

  “Tommy and Tina looked at each other. They both knew the farmer would come back on his way home to the farm. ‘Run!’ they shouted to each other. ‘Run! Run! Run!’ And they got up and ran and ran and ran just as fast as they could and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran one more time and they were never ever, ever seen again… they lived happily ever after in a field on another farm far, far away for ever and ever.”

  I sit back, satisfied with my story. No more talk of scarecrows in the air-raid shelter now, that’s for sure! I smile at Josie and Lily and they smile back all big and warm and friendly. I ignore sour-faced Adrian. There is another silence, but a more companionable one this time; my story has broken the ice with Josie and Lily.

  “Josie? Lily?”

  A loud, angry, bellowing voice. We all jump.

  Leon is here.

  FRIDAY 28 JULY, 2.54PM

  Josie is up, grabbing her bag, pulling the girl into her arms, and running towards the air-raid shelter.

  Adrian is slow to react, knocking over a beaker and then treading on it as he stands up.

  I am quicker, surprising myself, running after the young woman and reaching her as she puts her left foot on the first step down.

  I tug her back by the shoulder, and she turns and looks at me as she steadies herself, mistaking the expression on my face as the same fear as hers.

  “Not here,” I gabble, “… no exit… the garage is… safer.”

  She follows me as I hurry back to the garage, open the side door and the four of us, Adrian a few steps behind, stumble inside.

  I push the door to, just slightly ajar so I can hear outside.

  We stand there breathing heavily.

  Trying to listen, to hear this Leon.

  He is out in the road as far as I can tell, walking up and down, to and fro, shouting out their names one after the other a
gain and again. Off his head, I assume. Drugged up, a mix of rage and insanity. He knows they are here, somewhere. His woman. His child. His wounded, bestial pride. This side of the road, maybe. Inside one of six, eight, possibly ten houses. Yelling their names, to scare them, to try to get them to come out.

  How long will it be?

  Before his drug-raddled fury drives him to force his way into each house in turn.

  And when will he get to this bungalow?

  I move to the garage door, can hear him now further up the road to the left, up the hill. Not so far away that I cannot hear his cries of “Josie” and “Bitch” and “Whore” and “Slut” as he stands there demanding she comes out.

  “We should phone the police,” says Adrian quietly to Josie. “Anonymously,” he adds.

  She shakes her head. “He’ll go,” she answers, “when he doesn’t get a response. He’ll go and cool off somewhere. We just have to wait.”

  Josie bends to cuddle and say a few quiet words to the child. She looks up at Josie with her big eyes and nods her head.

  “If you call the police,” I say quietly, more of a whisper, “he’ll tell them Josie’s name and that policewoman or that policeman will put two and two together and come here.”

  “And you wouldn’t want that, would you?” says Adrian, who glares at me with what looks like anger. “Would you?” he repeats, louder.

  I hold his gaze, defy him, go to answer calmly and reasonably, but this Leon calls out again and this time, this time, it sounds as though he is directly outside, by the edge of the driveway.

  “Lil… y,” he calls out this time in a sing-song voice. “Lil… y.”

  A pause.

  “Daddy’s here. With a birthday present for you. Come and see.”

  “Birthday?” I ask.

  “Last month, six weeks ago,” the young woman replies.

  I nod, looking at the little girl, who seems excited but confused.

  There is a silence outside as if this Leon is listening, waiting for something to happen.

  I am hot, have been so hot in this weather. But I feel a trickle of sweat running down my back. A sense of fear. The breaking of the front door at any moment.

  I cannot bear it much longer.

  The sense of dread.

  That everything is circling around me.

  And then, as suddenly as he came, he is gone, at least for now, further down the hill to the right where I hear him repeating his plaintive cries of “Lil… y… Lil…y.”

  “What will he do next?” I ask Josie.

  She stands up, releasing the child, and answers with a shrug, “He’ll hang around for a while, I guess, see if any of us come out. Then he’ll pass out on a bench or in a park. He’ll be back round at my place this evening, forcing his way in.”

  I nod, thinking, working through the options. She and the child and Adrian won’t go back there. No chance of that now. I can’t have a fuss made, though, calling the police, anything like that.

  And if her place is left untouched, this Leon will simply keep roaming back and forth between here and there until he sees one of them. God alone knows what might happen then.

  But if her place is emptied – stripped bare of her belongings – he may just think she’s moved away. Been rehoused. He may then not come here again. And it will give them – the three of them – time to find somewhere else.

  “While he’s here, round here, go and get their belongings,” I say to Adrian. “Cut along the train track to the top and then come out and get yourself a taxi. Bring the stuff back here later. Get the taxi driver to come up on the drive and into here and through this way so you won’t be seen.”

  He stares at me with such a look. I thought he would be grateful, appreciative. I don‘t know what he’s thinking, nor what to say. He has always been a thoughtless, worthless boy.

  She answers, saying she has her keys in her bag and a ten-pound note for the taxi. Before she opens it, she leans forward and puts her hands on the top of my arms, one to the left, one to the right, and holds me tight. I don’t know what to do.

  She kisses me, missing my cheek as I move my head slightly and her lips touch the side of my mouth.

  She whispers, “Thank you.” I imagine her, suddenly, saying, “I love you” in the same, slightly husky voice.

  And I do not know what to say for the moment as I am moved by her words and actions.

  The little girl smiles up at me as if she knows I have done a truly wonderful thing and she reaches out her hand. We turn and walk, hand-in-hand, out of the garage and towards the bungalow. Josie follows, arm-in-arm, with Adrian. It is a marvellous, magical moment.

  If only Adrian wasn’t so sour-faced and sulky, we would be the perfect happy family.

  The four of us.

  Maybe just three.

  FRIDAY 28 JULY, 3.08PM

  Inside the bungalow, I let go of Lily’s hand and she and Josie lead the way into Adrian’s bedroom. Adrian follows them as I move down the hallway to the front door to look out for Leon. I stand there, sweating away and watching the road.

  All clear. To the left and to the right.

  But he is there somewhere, nearby.

  And Adrian needs to get out and away without being seen by him.

  I step back, out of sight, as I see the two fat slobs who live next door coming along the pavement, carrying stretched and sagging plastic supermarket bags full of cheese quavers and orange fizzy drinks and God-knows-what junk foods. I notice, and I have seen this often when I have investigated husbands and wives, that they are remarkably similar in appearance.

  They are both dark and intense-looking and short and stocky, maybe 5 foot 2 or 3. I would guess that both would tip the scales in excess of 16 or 17 stones. They are husband and wife but could, to be frank, be brother and sister, if not twins. They are both from Norwich originally, I believe, and that sort of thing is quite common there, of course.

  I see, as her breasts swing slowly back and forth, that she is not wearing a bra under her dark blue T-shirt. I imagine, for a moment, what she would look like topless and whether, when they are shouting and singing loudly in their back garden, she is half-naked at these times. I contemplate this as the slobs turn into their driveway and out of sight.

  “I’m going now,” says Adrian, walking up behind me.

  He is so close that, if I turn, I will collide with him.

  I stand there, my back to him, not wanting him to see my arousal.

  Adrian takes another step towards me; we are almost touching. He drops his voice, so that Josie and Lily cannot hear, and says, “I want you to wait here.” He says forcefully, “By the front door. For 15 minutes. Can you do that, wait here?”

  Taken aback by his sudden show of authority, his big-man approach for Josie, I nod my reply. His proximity, and I can feel him brushing against my back, makes me feel uncomfortable.

  “I am going out the back way. I have my mobile phone. I want you to wait here for 15 minutes. Check your watch.”

  I do, making a show of it.

  “Yes,” I reply, “15 minutes.”

  The boy is scared, expecting this Leon to reappear at any moment.

  He has 15 minutes to get away.

  I need to be careful that this Leon does not see me, my presence, my watching, giving the game away.

  I turn, to say something, to ask Adrian what he wants me to do if I see Leon. But he is already walking down the hallway. He stops, puts his head inside the bedroom door to say something, goodbye I assume, to Josie and Lily. I turn away, watching the road again.

  A steady flow of traffic up and down.

  One or two people passing by, a boy on a bike. A group of stupid, giggling girls. An old woman with her shopping trolley. Mrs Gibbs, I believe. Her son was a tax dodger; taken to court and fined. I’d have sent him to prison. Teach him and the other cheats a lesson.

  No sign of Leon, though.

  I stand here, waiting, and it strikes me suddenly that this is the wor
st thing I could do. Leon knows they are here somewhere. But he does not know where for sure. If he comes back down the road, he will shout and curse and call out, but, in broad daylight, with people coming and going, I do not think he will do more than that. If the bungalow appears locked and empty, he will simply pass on by.

  Unless he sees me standing guard.

  Then he will come striding up the path, shouting in my face, jabbing his finger in my chest. “Where the fuck is Josie?”

  They might make a noise inside and then we are all done for.

  I turn and walk back down the hallway. I stop and look into Adrian’s bedroom. Josie is stretched out on the bed, her head on Adrian’s pillow, the child’s head resting on her bare stomach, her knees raised and her legs slightly apart. I cannot help but look and imagine. I am not sure whether to speak as they look as though they are both asleep or close to it. I think Josie is trying to act calm to soothe the child; not that she seems all that aware of what’s going on.

  I imagine Josie lying there naked.

  And what I would like to do.

  If the little girl was not there.

  I decide to get a glass of cold water from the kitchen and to spend some time in my room, with the fan on, thinking about things. Josie, maybe. I may, in fact, have a little rest for an hour or two, as I think Josie and Lily are doing, until Adrian returns with their clothes and belongings and we can regroup.

  Or perhaps I might wake Josie early.

  See if the little girl wants to sleep on.

  Josie and I can spend some time together.

  As I move into the kitchen, I reach for a tumbler from inside a cupboard and go to the sink to run cold water from the tap. I have to run it a while for it to go really cold. Next to the sink, I have a row of squashes: orange, summer fruits (for Adrian) and Ribena. They do the Ribena in a sugar-free version these days – for fatty diabetics – but I much prefer the original. It has a nicer taste. I pour a thick inch of Ribena into the glass and, having run the tap for another minute or two, I top it up with cold water. Lovely.

  As I lift it to my lips, I look out of the window.

  I see Adrian, his back to me.

  He has forced open the air-raid shelter door and now, as I watch, he steps inside.