The Finding

by Nina Bawden

  It didn’t work out quite like that. She had no time to comfort her mother, change her clothes or wash her hair. When her father came home at midday, Laura was on her knees in the kitchen, sorting out the junk at the bottom of a cupboard while her mother stood on the steps, scrubbing the shelves where the best china was kept.

  Dad stood in the doorway. He said, “What on earth are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” Laura said. “Turning out. Tidying. Don’t ask me why.”

  Her mother came down the steps, pushing her hair back. She said, “All that stuff was so filthy. I know we hardly ever use it, but I thought if I took it down and washed it and put it back, that would be a job done.”

  Dad looked at the dusty dishes, piled in the sink, on the draining board, on the table. “It’ll take a while, won’t it?”

  Laura said, “I’ll do it, Dad, I don’t mind. I wish you’d make her stop. Lie down, or something.”

  Her mother smiled. “She’s been so good, George. I don’t know how I could have got through the morning without her. Mother has taken Ellie and Bob. I had to do something…” She caught her breath and let it out in a small, shaky laugh. And then said, casually, as if it was nothing very important, just something she would quite like to know, “Have you found him?”

  Dad shook his head and she sat down on a chair. Her neck had gone red in patches and her mouth was fixed in a funny, stretched smile. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, dear.”

  She sounded so helpless and hopeless, it gave Laura a pain in her chest. She took her hand and patted it as she had planned to do before her mother had started on cleaning the cupboards. She said, “It’s all right, Mum, really. He’ll turn up, Major Bumpus says he’ll turn up as soon as he’s hungry.”

  “There was a storm last night,” her mother said. “It was raining.”

  “He’ll have found somewhere dry to sleep,” Laura said. “A bus shelter or something. Alex is sensible.”

  “Who’s Major Bumpus?” Her father sounded bewildered.

  “A friend of Gran’s. Her boy friend.” Laura giggled; the excitement that had been mounting inside her all morning made her feel weak and silly. “He’s gone with Gran to take Bob and Ellie to the Natural History Museum.”

  “You know, George,” her mother said. “I told you my mother had an admirer. Retired from the Army. She picked him up on the Fields.”

  “Met him,” Laura said. “Picked up, doesn’t sound nice. I told him Alex had got his Post Office Savings Book with him. When I found his key, I looked for the book. I guessed that he’d take it. I told you last night, don’t you remember? Major Bumpus said if Alex tries to draw out his money, the police will be able to find him.”

  “The police have got his Savings Book,” her father said. “A boy picked it up and handed it in.”

  “You mean, Alex lost it? He wouldn’t do that, he’s ever so careful.”

  “I know that,” her father said. His expression, the tone of his voice, held a warning. He said, “It was found in the City. Not far from the river.”

  Laura’s mother said, “No! Oh, no, George.” She stood up and moved towards him, hands held out in front of her like a blind person feeling the way, and he put his arms round her.

  “Hush,” he said. “Hang on, darling. Alex would never…”

  He looked at Laura, and stopped. For a second she felt cold, as if her veins ran with cold water. Then she said, furious because her father had frightened her, “Oh, you are morbid. Of course Alex wouldn’t jump in the river! I know what happened, I bet you! Another boy stole the book and got scared and threw it away. Or someone kidnapped Alex, and he dropped the book for a clue. Like you do in a paper chase.”

  Her father said, “Run along, darling, I’ll talk to you later.”

  Her ears sang with rage. “Run along, run along, why don’t you LISTEN? Mr Fowles hates Alex, he stands out there watching, he’s been horrible, and Alex was scared of him coming to get him because of the money, and he was scared about his real parents, too. But you don’t listen to him any more than you listen to me, and you don’t tell him anything, either, you just let him find out on his own. Serves you right that he’s run away, I wish I’d gone with him, though you love him more than you love me, so you wouldn’t care, would you?”

  They were looking at her, their faces so still that she couldn’t tell what they were thinking. Then her mother said, “I think we’d better ring the police about Mr Fowles, George. Once that’s done, perhaps the three of us can sit down and talk properly.”

  Chapter 12

  Alex woke up inside a bright, dancing balloon; shimmering colours like splinters of glass in his eyes. The walls of the small room were covered with Dayglo posters; as he moved his head they seemed to move too; flash, and change colour.

  He tried not to look at them. He sat up, very cautiously. On the pillow beside him, in the narrow bed, there was a mane of red spiky hair. Its owner muttered and groaned and tugged the covers up higher.

  Alex needed to pee. He slid out of bed. He was still wearing his clothes. And not only his clothes, but his shoes. He wasn’t surprised by this; he felt much too ill. When he stood up, his head throbbed, his bones ached. He walked carefully to the door feeling breakable as an egg; one sharp tap and his head would crack open.

  Outside the door was a landing, bare boards and peeling paint, and several other doors, all closed. Luckily, the door to the bathroom was open. The bath had a grimy ring round it and a lot of dark hairs in the plug hole. The flush didn’t work on the lavatory. He pushed it up and down several times. There was a juddering thump in the pipes, but no water came.

  He went to the landing and listened. Someone was downstairs; he could hear the television. He looked at his watch, wondering what programme was on. It was five o’clock. There was no television at five in the morning. So it must be five in the afternoon. It seemed to take him a long time to work this out. Perhaps he was still asleep, dreaming. He pinched himself and it hurt, so he must be awake. He hadn’t had any breakfast or lunch. But he didn’t feel hungry.

  The television was suddenly louder. A door had opened downstairs and a black girl was looking up at him. His mind was still slow. He had seen her before, only she had been wearing something different. Not jeans and a shirt, but a pretty dress. Pretty dress. Pretty name. He said, “Petal!” and she smiled beautifully; dark, happy eyes gleaming.

  She said, “So you’ve woke up at last, thought you never would, got us quite worried.”

  There was a fat lady behind her with a round, rosy face. Poll, he thought, with relief. It was coming back now. She had rescued him from those horrible boys, brought him home with her. There was something else, too, something not so good, that he didn’t seem to want to remember. But she had been kind, looking after him, letting him sleep here, waiting until he woke up before sending him home to his mother and father…

  Poll said, “Got a thick head, I should think, poor little cocker. Get something inside him, Petal. I can’t stop, late already.”

  She went out of the front door and banged it behind her. Alex came slowly downstairs. “Where’s she going?”

  “Cleaning job, six to nine in the City. That’s where she picked you up, isn’t it?”

  She went down the passage. Alex followed her into the kitchen where the boy with the Here Comes Trouble Tee shirt and the big man called Samson were sitting with their feet on the table. The kitchen was small and very untidy; dirty dishes and pans everywhere. “What a mess,” Petal said. “Move your ugly great feet. The boy wants his breakfast.”

  Samson grinned. “You heard the lady, Jake. Move your plates of meat. Might upset our visitor’s stomach.”

  Jake didn’t move but Samson stood up, yawning and stretching, displaying a pelt of dark hair between his shirt and the top of his jeans. Then he pulled out a chair and pretended to dust it. “Sit yourself down,” he said, “What do you fancy?”

  Alex said, “I’m sorry, it’s a bit late for brea
kfast.”

  “Not in this house. Liberty Hall. What’ll it be? Smoked salmon? Caviar?”

  “Eggs,” Petal said. “Or there’s a bit of that chicken Poll cooked for supper.”

  Alex remembered where the chicken had come from. Guilt made him queasy. He said, “I’m sorry, I’m not very hungry.”

  “He’s sorry, he’s not very hungry,” Jake repeated. He swung his feet off the table and laughed in a sneering way, as if Alex had said something stupid.

  “Hair of the dog, then,” Samson said. “Got any tomato juice, pet? I’ll fix ’im a Bloody Mary.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Petal said. “That was wicked last night. I thought you’d put water with it. Leave him be, Samson.”

  Samson shrugged his vast shoulders. “Okay, if you say so, lady. Just trying to help. Not often we entertain famous people. I’m out of the habit.”

  “Cut it out, Samson,” Jake said.

  Petal and Samson looked at each other. Jake watched them both. He had very pale eyes, very bright, as if lit from within. Petal said, in a subdued voice, “Leave him alone, both of you. I’ll take care of him.”

  “Mind you do, “Jake said. He left the kitchen, Here Goes Trouble on his narrow back.

  Before he followed him, Samson hugged Petal and kissed the top of her head. He winked at Alex. “Bit of all right, ain’t she, kiddo?”

  After he had gone, Petal didn’t speak for a minute. She poured a glass of milk, and cut a slice of bread. She cleared a space at the table and put the milk and the bread and a packet of butter in front of Alex. She sat opposite, watching him while he drank. Then she said, “There was a picture of you on the telly at lunchtime.”

  Alex swallowed a mouthful of milk the wrong way and choked. When he had finished spluttering, Petal said, “Run away from home, did you? What for? Did your Dad bash you up?”

  “Course not,” Alex said, shocked. “My Dad wouldn’t hit me.”

  Petal laughed. “Okay! I just asked ’cos that’s why I cleared off in the end. My Dad never could keep his fists to himself and he got so mad at me on account of the baby, I was scared he might hurt it.” She saw Alex look at her stomach and patted it fondly. “You didn’t think this was me, did you?”

  “You can’t tell with that floppy shirt,” Alex said. “What did they say about me on the telly?”

  “Just that you were missing, and showing your picture, and giving a number to ring. But Jake got the evening paper and that had a lot more. About your being adopted and inheriting money. Poll said…” She stopped. “Oh, never mind. You ought to eat something.”

  “I’m not hungry, I told you. What did Poll say?”

  Petal said, rather fast, “Poll’s been good to me. I got a job in a cafe but it was only temporary like, and I didn’t have nowhere to sleep. Then Samson came in for a coffee and we got friendly and he brought me back here. The thing about Poll is, she doesn’t ask questions.”

  She was frowning, her lovely eyes serious. She said, speaking more slowly and thoughtfully, “Samson’s all right, he’s a bit of a hulk, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Nor would Bill. He’s the punk. It’s Jake you need to watch out for. He’s young but he’s mean.”

  “Watch out for what?”

  Petal glanced at the closed kitchen door. She lowered her voice. “Jake can turn nasty. He pulled a knife on Bill yesterday, only a bit of an argument, but if Samson hadn’t come in he’d have cut him. That’s why I daren’t risk anything, see? I’ve got to think of the baby.”

  She looked at Alex, still serious-eyed; then smiled and patted his hand. “Don’t you worry,” she said, “he won’t touch you. Poll wouldn’t stand for that and Jake knows which side his bread’s buttered. But be a good boy and don’t cheek him or anything.”

  Alex had almost stopped listening. All he could think of, quite suddenly, was how badly he wanted to be back at home. He could hardly remember why he had left. Only twenty-four hours, but it seemed like years, as if the Alex who had packed his bags yesterday had been someone else; another and much younger boy. Since then he had stolen meat from a supermarket, got drunk on brandy, slept in his clothes. He longed to be safe at home where such things couldn’t happen. He thought—for the first time—Mum must be worried.

  He said, “Thank you for the milk, Petal. And please say thank you to Poll. But I think I ought to go home now. May I borrow your telephone?”

  She was staring at him. He thought that perhaps they were too poor for a telephone. He said, “I don’t know if I’ve got enough money for my fare. It was quite a long way, last night in the train.”

  She was still staring. He said “My Post Office Book got stolen last night, that’s the trouble. I thought, if I rang, my mother would come to fetch me.” His voice began to shake, he couldn’t stop it. “I wish Mum would come,” he said. “I wish she’d come soon…”

  He was afraid he was going to cry. He got off the chair and turned his face away. “Excuse me, I think I want to go to the lavatory.”

  Petal said, “You can’t.”

  “But I need to go.”

  “No, love, I didn’t mean that. Don’t you understand? Poll said, don’t let him go.”

  It was his turn to stare. She said, with a sigh, “Don’t look like that, treasure. No one’s going to hurt you. It’s just, Poll makes the rules, it’s her house.”

  “But I don’t want to stay. She can’t make me.”

  His voice had risen to a shout. She said, “Ssh…” and looked at the door. “Oh, come on,” she said. “It’s not so bad here. What’s your hurry? We’ll play a game if you like.”

  “I don’t want to play a game. I WANT TO GO HOME.”

  The door was flung open. Jake said, “Can’t you keep the brat quiet?”

  He came into the kitchen, thumbs stuck in the waist of his jeans, swaggering, grinning.

  “He’s upset,” Petal said. “He wants to go home.”

  “I heard. What’s he want to go home for? Ran away, didn’t he?”

  “I changed my mind,” Alex said.

  Jake put his grinning face close to Alex. He said, “Want me to change it back for you?”

  Petal said, “Stop it, Jake. He’s Poll’s business, not yours.”

  Jake ignored her. He brushed Alex’s cheek with his fingers. “Pretty boy, aren’t you? I expect your Mum and Dad want their pretty boy back. So you’d better behave. Or I’ll spoil your looks for you.”

  “Where’s Samson?” Petal said.

  “Out. Takin’ the air. What d’you want him for?”

  “Nothing. Just wondered.”

  Jake laughed. “Bill’s not here either, in a manner of speaking. Wouldn’t wake if you put a bomb under him.”

  Petal said, “Shall I make you a coffee, Jake?”

  He looked at her, his light eyes expressionless, for what seemed a long time. There was nothing so frightening about Jake, Alex thought, those threats were just boasting. All the same, he held his breath until Jake began to smile slowly. He said, “Okay, then. Black for me, good and milky for my young brother here. We’ll have it in the front room, just the two of us. Have a bit of a chat, no sweat, just sort things out nicely between us.”

  Chapter 15

  It was eight o’clock in the evening when Mr Fowles came. Laura had been helping her father put Bob and Ellie to bed and by the time they came downstairs he was standing in the living room, in his raincoat, clutching his cap to his chest like a shield. Laura’s mother said, “George, you’ve met Mr Fowles haven’t you?” Her voice was a whisper with an edge of fear to it.

  Mr Fowles said, “As I told your good lady, Sir, I’d have come before, only I was detained at the police station.”

  He licked his hare lip and grinned nervously. “I think I satisfied them that I had nothing to do with your boy’s disappearance. I haven’t come to intrude on your grief, but to make an apology. I said a few things to the lad that I shouldn’t have said. I was fair put out at the time, but that’s no excuse.”

&nb
sp; “You frightened him,” Laura said. “He was frightened.”

  “That’s enough, Laura,” her mother said. “Please sit down, Mr Fowles. We think we know now why Alex ran away. It wasn’t your fault. It’s kind of you to come.”

  “Just to show respect,” he said. “Offer my condolences. A terrible thing to have a child missing.” He sat, dangling his cap between his spread knees. “I want you to know that I don’t bear him any malice. Nor you, either.” His tone, which had been lugubrious, sharpened suddenly. “My quarrel is with the boy’s grandmother. Though this isn’t a time to go into that.”

  Laura’s father said, “Would you like a drink, Mr Fowles? Beer, or a glass of white wine? No trouble, my daughter will get it.”

  Trying to get rid of me, Laura thought. But to her satisfaction Mr Fowles said, “No thank you, I never touch liquor on principle. Nor coffee or tea. All harmful stimulants. An insult to the body. In any case, what I’ve come to say won’t take long. Not a social visit, if you understand me.

  He fell silent, twirling his cap, his eyes on the ground. At last he said, “I want you to know my position. I was riled to begin with. Wouldn’t you be? If you’d looked after someone’s affairs as long as I have, filled in her tax forms, seen to the house repairs, tried to take care of her, you’d have to be an angel not to resent it.” He laughed suddenly. “Pardon the pun. Mind you, I can’t say I liked my old auntie. It was duty begrudged, and she didn’t like me. Not educated enough to suit her! In fact, now I’ve gone off the boil a bit, I reckon she did it to spite me. If she hadn’t left her money to the boy, she’d have cut me out somehow. I’ve no claim that would stand up in court my solicitor tells me, so I’ll make no more trouble. You’ve got enough as it is.” He shook his head solemnly.