The Finding

by Nina Bawden

  Above the screams of laughter, he could hear shouting. The fat lady from the coffee shop seized a boy by his shoulder, spun him around to face her, and gave him a clout that sent him reeling. “Anyone else want one?” she asked, glaring around her. “No, didn’t think you would. Clear off the lot of you, clear off home. If you’ve got homes to go to.”

  She turned to Alex. “Blimey,” she said, “what a sight. Here, let me get at you.”

  Her red face beamed down like a friendly sun. She brushed toads off his chest, off his forehead, picked several out of his hair. Then she took a piece of tissue out of her pocket and spat on it lavishly. She said, while she scrubbed him, “Well, I never did! Lucky I heard them. Though they were making enough noise, all that yellin’ and bawlin’. Didn’t mean much harm, I expect, just young hooligans out on the razzle, not enough between the ears, that’s the trouble. How d’you get mixed up with them, nice boy like you?”

  They had all disappeared. Beyond the street lamps, darkness gleamed in the rain. The empty bucket lay on its side and only a few toads were still visible, crawling on the pavement and in the gutter. Alex’s bag was there, but it was empty. His running shoes, his sweater, and his clean socks, rolled in a neat ball, lay beside it. Alex said, “They’ve stolen my Post Office Book and my calculator.”

  “Never mind, lovey, you’re not hurt, that’s the main thing.”

  “They hurt the poor toads.”

  “Don’t worry about them, my lovey. They’ll find a safe place. Nature’s clever that way.” She gave a final dab at his face and stood back to look at him. “There, you look tidy now. Pick your things up. I’m not much good at stooping, too thick round the middle. That’s right, fasten the straps up, now you’re sorted out nicely. Lucky old Poll came by. I expect those rascals have made themselves scarce but perhaps you’d better come to the station with me just in case.”

  She walked faster than might have been expected for a woman of her heavy build; so fast that Alex had to trot to keep up with her. Glancing sideways, he wondered how old she was. Her frizzy hair was mostly grey, but there were orange streaks in it. The skin of her face was unwrinkled, tight over her bones and smooth as a balloon full of air. Older than his mother, he thought, younger than his grandmother. He said, “Do you have any children?”

  “Bless you, no! Though I suppose I do in a manner of speaking. No kids of my own, is the answer. But that reminds me, I’ve got to call in at the market.”

  “Aren’t the shops closed now?”

  “Not where I live. They stay open all hours.” They had reached the Tube station. He followed her to the machines and stood beside her while she took coins from her pocket. She said, “Where d’you want to go, laddie?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She looked at him. He said, very fast, “Can I come home with you? Just for the night. I won’t be a nuisance.”

  As soon as he’d spoken he knew it was foolish. She would want to know where he lived, why he wasn’t at home this time of night; she might even ask for his telephone number and ring his mother and father. He waited for this to happen, a mixture of hope and fear churning inside him. But, to his amazement, she simply put another coin into the ticket machine. She said, “I daresay there’s room for a little one. And I could do with a spare pair of hands with my shopping.”

  Chapter 10

  Alex was so tired that he fell asleep in the train, his head on Poll’s comfortable shoulder. When she woke him and he stumbled up and followed her on to the platform and up the stairs to the street, he was still too sleepy to notice the name of the station. Out in the noisy main road, with lorries crashing past, throwing up dirty spray from the puddles, he realised that he had no idea where he was, in what part of London. He wanted to ask her, but she was forging ahead so fast, holding his hand and dragging him after her, that he had no breath to speak with. Most of the shops that they passed were closed, with dark entrances and shutters over the windows, but the supermarket was a blaze of light, loud with taped music and busy with people.

  Poll gave him a trolley. “Follow me along,” she said. “That’s the quickest way.”

  She threw in several bags of potatoes, three cauliflowers, apples, bananas, and so many loaves of bread that he didn’t bother to count them. She must have a lot of people to feed, he thought, and wondered who they could be if she didn’t have any children. She stopped at the meat counter, looked round her briefly, and said, “Quite a load in that trolley. Got some room in that bag of yours, have you?”

  His school bag was slung round his shoulder. She unfastened the straps, turned back the flap, and put a leg of lamb, a jumbo pack of minced beef and a chicken inside it.

  She did up the straps again. She winked at him merrily. “There’s a good boy. Just keep right behind me.”

  There was no queue at the checkout. Poll plonked the things from the trolley in a pile on the counter. A pretty Indian girl rang them up. Alex put his bag on the counter and nudged Poll to remind her, but she paid no attention. The girl smiled at him. She said, “You look a tired little boy,” and gave him a bar of nut and raisin chocolate from a stand next to the till. She said, in a sweet, lilting voice, “I think your Mummie forgot you.”

  Alex felt his ears singing. Out in the street, Poll took the bag from him. “Too heavy for you,” she said, and slung it on her own shoulder.

  Alex clutched the sleeve of her coat. He stammered, “B-but you didn’t… I m-mean, we forgot…”

  She didn’t look at him. She said, “I’ve got those great boys to think of. Can’t feed them on taters and scraps. Got to keep their strength up.”

  She was charging ahead again, sturdy legs moving like pistons. Following her, Alex peeped nervously back over his shoulder, afraid that someone—the girl from the checkout, a policeman—would come shouting after them. He had carried the bag out of the shop, he had stolen. That was worse than telling lies to a policeman. He was an outlaw now, as well as a runaway.

  Bemused, heavy-hearted, he caught up with Poll. She gave him a quick smile. “Not much further now, lovey.”

  They crossed the road. Poll didn’t stop to look; she just put up a hand and a lorry stopped with a loud hiss of brakes. They turned into a dark street where most of the street lamps were broken and some of the houses boarded up, the front gardens full of rubble and rubbish. “Home Sweet Home,” Poll said, pushing open a rickety wooden gate and sidling past a big motor-bike that took up most of the narrow path. “The times I’ve told ’im to put it round the back in the yard,” she grumbled, setting her bags down and hammering on the door.

  A light came on in the hall. A chain rattled and the door opened. An enormous man filled the doorway. He said, “Forgot your key again, Poll? Late, ain’t you? We’re famished, waiting for dinner.”

  “I’ve got my key,” Poll said. “Just keepin’ you on your toes. And dinner’s when I say, not before.”

  The huge man looked down at Alex. “What’s this, then? Not our dinner, I hope.”

  “He helped me get it,” Poll said. “So be civil, if you don’t mind. Found him down the City. Not a night for a little lad to sleep out, I thought. He can bunk up with Bill.”

  “That’s all right, then,” the big man said. From his immense height, he grinned down at Alex. “Glad you’re not our dinner, I must say. Thought the old girl might’ve fancied a bit of boy stew.”

  Though this was meant to be funny, Alex was too tired to smile. Poll had disappeared somewhere. The man said, “Let’s go and find Bill then, young kiddo. Meet your sleeping partner. What’s your monniker?”

  “Alex,” Alex said. He hoped this was the right answer.

  “Right then, young Alex. I’m Samson. My old Ma was keen on the Bible. Bit of a fool name, just luck that I grew to fit it.”

  “How do you do?” Alex said. He was feeling so weary, suddenly, that everything seemed to be dancing around him. Samson said something that he couldn’t hear, and then Alex found himself lifted, cradled like a baby
against a broad, solid chest. Samson was carrying him, down the hall, into a hot, brightly lit room; a blazing fire in the hearth and shots and screams from the television. “Turn that down and clear off the sofa, you rank idle lot,” Samson said. “We got a visitor.”

  Soft cushions beneath him, faces looming above him. A black girl wearing a glittering dress, blue and silver; a man with a coxcomb of hair, stiff scarlet spikes sticking up; a skinny boy in a yellow Tee shirt that had Here Comes Trouble written in black letters across it. Laura’s friend, Carla, had a similar Tee shirt; when she turned round it said, Here Goes trouble. Laura had wanted one like it but Mum had said no. Why she had said no, Alex couldn’t remember. He wondered if the boy in the Tee shirt was Bill. He tried to smile at the faces but they swam out of focus, blurred round the edges, and the glaring light stung his eyes. He felt giddy, and sick. It would be dreadful to be sick in this strange house with these strangers watching, messing up their carpets, their sofa.

  Samson said, “The kid’s all in. Anything left in that bottle? Best medicine I know of.” Other voices murmured above him. “Better ask Poll first.” “Get away, Poll don’t know everything. Course it won’t hurt ’im.” Then a warm arm was under his neck, lifting his head, and the black girl, kneeling beside him was holding a glass to his mouth. She said, “If you’re feeling queer this’ll settle you.” He sipped, felt his mouth burn, and gagged. The girl said, “Come on, treasure, only brandy, drink up for Petal.”

  A pretty name, he thought. She had a nice voice, too, soft and coaxing. He sat up a bit, gulped and swallowed. The brandy was fire in his throat but to please her he emptied the glass and almost at once he began to feel better, not sick anymore, only so sleepy that he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He tried to open them, fluttering heavy eyelids, but the room was spinning around him again and the sofa was rocking like a boat on the sea. He heard someone say, laughing, “That’s a right knockout you gave him, Samson. A skinful.”

  Then Petal said, close to his ear, “You’re all right, treasure. Just let go, off to sleep now.”

  And because she sounded so comforting and was holding his hand, he slipped into sleep as if rocked in a cradle.

  Chapter 11

  “I knew that he’d run away as soon as I found his front door key,” Laura said to her grandmother. “If they’d looked for him straightaway they might have found him. Instead of just saying he must have gone to see Willy, and waiting.”

  Her grandmother was breaking eggs into a bowl. She said, without looking up, “If you were so sure, why didn’t you say?”

  “I did, when they started to worry, Dad ringing the police and Mum saying he must have had some dreadful accident. Then I thought, if he’d just gone out, he’d have taken his key. That’s what I meant when I said that I knew. I mean, once I thought about it, I wasn’t surprised. It was as if I’d known all along, really.”

  “Oh, we’re all wise after the event,” her grandmother said—more to herself, it seemed, than to Laura.

  “If I’d told them to start with, they wouldn’t have believed me.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Don’t be silly, dear.”

  “That’s right,” Laura said. “That’s just what they would have said. Don’t be silly, dear.” She sniffed righteously.

  “Why did he run away?” Major Bumpus said.

  It was the first time he had spoken since Laura had burst into her grandmother’s kitchen. He had been sitting in the most comfortable chair, quietly listening. Now he fired this question so sharply that Laura felt herself stiffen. But it was only his manner. He was smiling and his eyes were kind. Laura smiled back and said, “You made me jump.”

  Her grandmother shook her head at him. “Don’t you bring your military habits into my kitchen, Monty! Especially if you want me to cook breakfast for you.”

  She was scolding him in a laughing way. “Sorry,” he said. “Thought she might know, that’s all. Seems a bright girl. Fond of young Alex. Nearer his age than we are. Didn’t mean to bark at her, Amy.”

  Though he spoke more gently, his blue gaze watched Laura intently. She shifted from one foot to the other.

  Her grandmother was watching her, too. She said, “There’s been a lot of fuss. About the inheritance.”

  “Fuss?” Major Bumpus said. “What kind of fuss?”

  Laura and her grandmother looked at each other. Both knew more than they wanted to say, Laura thought. She said, reluctantly, “Teasing and things. I teased him a bit.”

  Her grandmother nodded, and sighed. Then said, quite briskly and brightly, “That’s all it was, chicken. Alex took it the wrong way, I expect, but it wasn’t your fault.”

  She was being kind, comforting Laura, and perhaps herself too. But it made Laura feel worse. Gran didn’t know half of it! “I was horrid to him,” she said in a deliberately childish, sad voice, hanging her head.

  Major Bumpus said, “Boys have to learn to put up with a bit of teasing. Especially from their sisters. Had three myself, so I know.”

  Laura’s grandmother sighed again. “Alex is a sensitive boy.”

  Laura scowled. Last night she had felt dreadful; ashamed and afraid. This morning, coming downstairs to find her mother and father pale and swollen-eyed after a sleepless night, she had felt, suddenly, very angry with Alex. It was despicable to run away, making their mother cry, frightening everyone, punishing her because she had teased him. That was all she had done, just a bit of sisterly teasing. Major Bumpus was right, boys had to learn to put up with it. Alex was just being feeble, wanting everyone to be nice to him always. Feeble and spoilt, she thought, fuming. And now Gran was calling him sensitive!

  “Stupid,” she said. “That’s what he is. Stupid.” A thought came to her, ringing clear in her head. “Running away because of that nasty photographer, because he was scared that Mum would be angry if his picture got in the papers. I mean, that really is dumb!”

  Her grandmother said, “Laura! Do you really think that was the reason?”

  “Why not?” Major Bumpus said. “Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings. Not that Laura here is a baby, of course.” He leaned forward in his chair and bobbed his head at her; a quaint, courtly little bow, as an apology. “But perhaps she’s hit the nail on the head. He seemed a manly little feller to me. Not the sort to bolt after a few sharp words from his sister. But if he thought he’d upset his mother, well, you know, that’s a different kettle of fish altogether.”

  He looked from Laura to her grandmother with a pleased smile. “There,” he said. “That’s the answer.”

  “Oh, dear,” Laura’s grandmother said. “I don’t know…”

  “Take it from me, Amy,” Major Bumpus said. “A boy has a very special feeling for his mother. I know that I had a very special feeling for mine. I’d have cut off my right hand rather than hurt her.”

  Laura saw doubt in her grandmother’s face. She said, “Alex was scared Mum would be angry. He really hates it when she’s unhappy.”

  “Natural,” Major Bumpus said. “Boy-like.”

  “If you tell your mother that, Laura,” her grandmother said, “I think that I’ll never forgive you. Don’t you see, Monty? It would be dreadful for her to think that Alex ran away because he was afraid of her.”

  “Not afraid of her, Amy,” Major Bumpus said. “Afraid of distressing her.”

  “It comes to the same thing. Laura, you promise me, won’t you?”

  Laura stared in amazement. Gran sounded so anxious. She said, “I don’t see why you mind so much how Mum feels when you’re always quarrelling. And she did keep on about how awful it was, everyone knowing. It’ll be worse than ever now, won’t it? I mean, there will be more in the papers, now he’s gone missing, and Dad said they were going to put his picture on television this evening. On the news. In case someone’s seen him.”

  “Your mother won’t mind that kind of publicity,” Major Bumpus said. “As much and as soon as possible. Don’t want the trail to get cold. Strike while th
e iron’s hot. Though I should think the young shaver will turn up any minute. Boys are fond of their stomachs. Back as soon as he’s hungry.”

  “He can buy food,” Laura said. “He’s got his Post Office Savings Book. It’s got twenty-seven pounds in it.”

  “Ah!” Major Bumpus said. “Excellent! The police will get on to the Post Office. He’ll be picked up soon as he tries to draw his cash out. So don’t you worry, young lady.”

  “Don’t worry your poor mother, either,” Gran said. “About that photographer, or anything else you happen to think of. Just tell her that I’ll be over in about an hour and take the little ones off her hands for the day. Major Bumpus and I thought we might take them to the Whale room at the Natural History Museum. Would you like bacon with your scrambled eggs, Monty?”

  “They’d rather see the dinosaurs,” Laura said.

  “Dinosaurs, whales, we can see the lot,” Major Bumpus said heartily. “D’you want to come with them, young lady? More the merrier!”

  “It’s very kind of you,” Laura said. “But my father has gone with the police to help look for Alex and I think someone ought to stay with my mother.”

  She gave her grandmother a withering look. Gadding about, when she ought to stay at home, worrying! Run across and see Gran, Laura darling, her mother had said. She’ll be so upset. But here she was, not weeping and wringing her hands, but dressed in a pretty silk blouse and skirt, her hair neatly curled, cooking bacon and eggs for the Major! A pleasant sizzling came from the stove. Laura said, “Mum couldn’t eat any breakfast. I think I’d better go back now and make her some coffee.”

  She was pleased with this last remark. She hoped it would make her grandmother feel guilty. All the same, she was quite glad that Gran would be out of the way. It made her more important. She would be the only one to look after her mother, hold her hand when she cried, persuade her to eat a piece of toast with her coffee, tell her the comforting things Major Bumpus had said, answer the telephone. A television team was coming early this afternoon and Mum and Dad were going to send a message to Alex and ask anyone who might have seen him to get in touch with the police. They might even put her on television, Laura thought, and all her friends would be able to watch her. She wondered if Mum would notice if she put on her new jeans and lace blouse. Perhaps she could wash her hair…