The Art of Hiding

by Amanda Prowse

  Darkness drew in. ‘I know!’ She banged the table top. ‘Let’s play a game.’

  ‘I don’t want to play a game,’ Connor snapped.

  ‘Well, this is not about what we want, this is about staying focused.’ She thought it best to distract the kids from the events going on outside of the kitchen door.

  ‘Okay, I’ll start.’ She nudged Declan, who looked like he was a million miles away. ‘We have to go through the alphabet, taking turns to think of an appropriate lettered answer for our topic. So, let’s start with countries. A, America! Your turn Dec.’

  ‘B, Belgium.’ His voice was small.

  ‘I don’t want to play.’ Connor stared at her.

  ‘You just got a strike, two more and you are out!’ she yelled. ‘Try again. C,’ she prompted.

  ‘C, Colombia,’ he snarled.

  ‘Bravo! Colombia! My turn. D, Denmark.’

  Declan tapped the table, ‘E . . .’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘I can’t think of one.’

  She and Connor stared at him. ‘Okay, here’s a clue, Dec. You live there.’ She winked.

  ‘Egypt!’ he yelled.

  Nina’s laughter, in spite of the dire circumstances, was genuine. Her tears quickly pooled; she wiped them away with her hand. ‘Oh, Dec. I love you so much. Egypt! I wish we did live in bloody Egypt, far away from Mr Ludlow and his horrible helpers.’

  Even Connor had a slight smile on his lips. ‘Egypt!’ he muttered as he shook his head.

  An hour later she made her way out to the front of the house to check on progress. She heard Mr Ludlow shouting ‘Back her up!’ as one of the men reversed the lorry to the tuneless beep that accompanied the manoeuvre. He put on the brakes and jumped down from the cab to help his colleagues load the desks and the velvet sofas from the cinema room, along with three or four large mirrors.

  Nina pictured strolling through The Lanes in Brighton and coming across the antique shop, pulling a reluctant Finn through the door and leaving with their beautiful mirror, paid for and waiting to be shipped to their stunning new home. She felt like she should cry, but was too numb, too shattered to produce tears.

  Mr Ludlow gave her a leaflet, along with some flimsy duplicate yellow sheets – an inventory listing all the items they had removed – before doffing an invisible cap at her and shutting the front door behind him. She listened as the man driving her car over-revved the engine. It made her wince.

  She and the boys sat in silence. They looked around at the opened cupboards and disturbed drawers, the spaces on the floor where the dining chairs had sat and the bare counter-tops, stripped of all the things that made this room the heart of the house.

  ‘I think we should lock the doors and windows and all sleep together in my room, like we used to when you were little, Con, and Dec was a baby and Dad was away.’ She tried to make it sound like an adventure. ‘What do you think?’ she managed, thinking that the warm, safe space was the haven they needed. Connor nodded; with his laptop under his arm, he climbed down from the stool at the breakfast bar, one of two seats deemed either too insignificant in value to take or overlooked by the men who had ransacked their home.

  ‘But first, we are going scavenging! Let’s split up and take a room each and gather anything we can find that we can carry, and bring it in here to be packaged up. I’m sure those monsters must have missed some things. Who’s up for it?’

  The kids, buoyed up at the thought of the activity, ran from the room. Nina leaned on the wall and closed her eyes briefly, trying to steady her pulse. ‘Okay,’ she called out, ‘I’m going to take the dining room!’

  Their efforts gathered together a surprising haul: a carriage clock that had been secreted behind a wall of books, a chunky, vintage brass ink well and a silver letter opener, side tables, a large painting from the downstairs cloakroom, and any number of books. Nina ran her fingers over the objects and felt a slight lift to her spirits that these things would be salvaged from the greasy paws of the bailiffs.

  They went from room to room together, checking the windows and locking the doors, doing their best to ignore the bare walls, mantels and shelves now devoid of their ornaments, and the wall lights hanging over chunks of bare plaster where paintings had hung only an hour before. She simply drew the curtains, as if she could keep the world at bay, as if the damage had not already been done.

  The devastation upstairs was harder to take. Bedrooms and studies were usually such private domains that to see the drawers emptied, wardrobes opened, beds pulled away from the walls and the dusty squares where computers and radios used to sit was truly awful.

  Declan went to his mum’s room while Connor went into his room. The sound he made was one that she would never, ever forget. It was part whimper, part sob, and it was the call of the wounded. ‘Oh no!’ he called out. ‘Oh no, no, no!’ he cried without restraint. The sight of his refuge, his personal space, so invaded was clearly hard for him to take. Nina rushed to comfort him.

  ‘Connor,’ she began, taking a step towards him.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ he snarled. His lips narrowed and his arm muscles tensed. ‘I hate you! Don’t you dare tell me it’s going to be okay, don’t you dare! I hate you! How could you do this to us? How could Dad do this to us?’

  His words hit her like punches. ‘Do you know what, Connor? I know you are angry and hurting, but guess what? I am angry and hurting too! None of this is my choice, none of it. And this feels like the time to remind you that I had no idea of the state we were in, none at all! You think this is fun for me? Watching everything we have built over the years be dismantled in hours? It’s a living nightmare!’ She felt a now familiar flash of anger towards Finn: if only he had told her, given her a chance to make a plan. ‘And to be honest, over the last few days, I am wondering who got the roughest deal. At least Dad had the full picture, but it’s me left here to deal with all this shit!’ She kicked the wall.

  ‘Are you saying you would have preferred to die too?’

  Her son’s words stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘No. No, of course not.’ She stared at her boy, remembering it was her job to try to protect him, and not allow Finn’s memory to be tarnished, knowing Connor’s own self-esteem in part relied on it. ‘I’m sure Dad did all he could to protect us for as long as possible.’

  ‘But he wasn’t protecting us, was he? He was lying to us! God, he was even suggesting we go to the Maldives for a holiday – how was he going to pull that off?’

  ‘Maybe he had a plan. I honestly don’t know.’ She shrugged, her words insipid to her ears.

  ‘Yep, he always had a plan.’ Connor squeezed his eyes shut. It killed her to see her son’s hero lose his cape. Connor opened his eyes and took a sharp breath. ‘Mum?’ He swallowed. ‘You don’t think he . . . ?’ He paused.

  The two exchanged a knowing look. The unspoken words ricocheted around the walls like stray bullets.

  ‘I think we have to plough on, doing the very best we can for Declan. He’s been through enough,’ she whispered.

  ‘What about me, Mum? What about what I have been through, what I am still going through?’

  ‘Yes, of course, you too. But don’t think you have the monopoly on hurt and disruption around here, because you don’t.’ It had felt better when thinking of him as an ally, but he wasn’t, he was her fifteen-year-old son. ‘I am so aware of how this has affected you and I wish with every fibre of my being that you weren’t going through it, that none of us were. It’s terrible for us all. And honestly, Connor, having those men in our home has felt like losing your dad all over again . . .’ She let this trail; there was no value in reminding him of the horror when it was still so raw.

  ‘I feel like I’m going to fall over, I feel like the world is spinning.’ Connor exhaled.

  ‘Because it is, Con, it is. And all we can do is hold on tight.’ She pictured her precious little marble nestling in the base of her handbag.

  Nina crept into her bedroom, restoring drawers that had
been pulled wide and shutting the wardrobe doors. She took the blankets and duvets and made a den on the thick carpet in front of the wide window that gave a beautiful view of the full moon that hung overhead. There was plenty of room for the three of them to sleep as they slumped down on the floor.

  ‘It’s like a camping trip,’ Declan managed, with a hint of enthusiasm that Nina envied.

  She kissed his forehead. ‘Yep. That’s what we are doing tonight, Dec, camping here on the floor, all of us together.’

  ‘I liked it when Dad took us camping in Wales, and that goat came into our tent and Daddy screamed.’ All were quiet for a second or so, picturing that day.

  ‘Mummy?’

  ‘Yes, love?’ she whispered, her vocal cords taut with fatigue.

  ‘Did you speak to Dad before he died? Did . . . did he say anything to you?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘No, darling. He was already gone by the time I got to the hospital.’ She gulped as the images of those moments came rushing back. Nina pictured the sheet-wrapped body on the trolley, remembered the iron smell of his blood that hung pungently in the air. When she lifted the sheet from his face, she saw the spread of purple bruise that swelled under his right eye, across his forehead and over the bridge of his nose. This man didn’t look like her husband, not really. He looked like he had been in a fight. A fight that he had lost. She had gripped the clear plastic bag in her hand that contained his watch, wallet, wedding and signet rings. It crinkled loudly as she bent over and touched her lips to his cool cheek.

  ‘I don’t want him to be dead, Mum. I want it to be how it was and I want all our things put back where they are supposed to be.’ Declan spoke loudly now as his tears raced down his face, his chest heaving.

  All she could do was hold him.

  ‘I miss my dad!’ Declan sobbed, ‘I want him back. I don’t like it now, Mum. I want my dad.’ He cried as he fell against her.

  She looked over at Connor, who stared, dry-eyed, up into the night sky.

  SIX

  Nina spent much of the night watching the boys sleep. If they woke upset or alarmed, she wanted to be awake to comfort them. At 2 a.m. she thought she heard noises downstairs and her imagination ran wild, picturing the ham-fisted removal men, returned and roaming the rooms, looking for more items by torchlight. The idea caused her pulse to race and a fine film of sweat to break out over her body. She slipped from her bedroom and tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen where she grabbed a left-behind butcher’s knife from the drawer. With her arm raised and teeth bared, she padded quietly from room to room, pulse racing, ready to lunge at whomever she found.

  There was no one, no sign of entry. With the knife still in her hand, she made her way back upstairs and opened the linen closet, the largest and most obvious place for someone to hide. Nothing. Lowering her weapon, she placed her hand on a wicker hamper inside. A memory sprang back to her. She remembered Finn giggling after a bottle of wine, telling her he had squirrelled away a thousand pounds, folded into sports socks in the bottom of the hamper. ‘For emergencies,’ he had whispered, showing her where it was hidden. She had thought him foolish, tutting at the cloak and dagger nature of his hidden treasure as they tumbled into bed. It didn’t seem quite so funny now. Lifting the lid, she dug beneath the sheets and found the sports socks, and there, coiled inside, was a roll of cash. Nina snatched it to her chest. Closing her eyes, she offered up silent thanks. ‘For emergencies,’ she whispered into the night.

  Nina slipped back into the bedroom. As dawn broke, it brought some clarity with it. It would only be more damaging to them all if they hung around and waited to be evicted from the house. They had to get out immediately, just pack up and go. But where?

  A thought came to her as she splashed her face with cold water and cleaned her teeth. Asking someone to put all three of them up for a while might be too much, but surely the boys’ friends wouldn’t mind having one of them to stay. She detested the thought of separation from her kids, especially when they were so bruised. The idea of not being able to keep an eye on them horrified her – but if it meant they got to stay in the area, giving her the breathing space to figure out their next move before school started again after the half-term break, then it might be worth it. Whichever school it was they would now attend. There was a lot to do.

  She wandered from room to room; the disarray hit her hard, leaving her winded but also determined. Bastards. She pictured Mr Ludlow sneering. Nina closed the kitchen door and dialled Kathy Topps’s number. She wandered the long, empty room, waiting, swallowing the nerves that filled her up and threatened to make her chicken out and end the call.

  ‘Nina,’ Kathy answered, as if she had half been expecting her call.

  ‘Hi, Kathy. I’m not disturbing you, am I?’ She closed her eyes, picturing the Topps family seated around a dining table that was paid for, enjoying an organic breakfast whilst chatting about the fun they would have over the holiday.

  ‘Not at all.’ Her tone was a little clipped.

  ‘How are you?’ Her voice filled the empty airwaves. It perturbed her; Kathy was usually such a chatterbox.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘This is a bit out of the blue, Kathy, but I was wondering if I could ask you a massive favour?’ She drew breath and rehearsed what she wanted to say in her mind: ‘Could I take you up on the offer of shared tennis lessons with Henry, and could Declan possibly stay with you for a week or two? Just while I put things in place, figure out our next move?’

  Nina opened her mouth to speak, but Kathy broke in. ‘I can save us both a lot of trouble, Nina. I can guess at the favour you want to ask, and I’m afraid the answer is no. And frankly it’s made me feel most uncomfortable that you would even consider asking. It’s not the done thing.’

  ‘I . . .’ She screwed her face up in confusion.

  ‘Are you going to force me to say it?’ Kathy asked.

  ‘Force you to say what?’ To Nina it felt like they were having parallel conversations.

  ‘Money, Nina! You are obviously after money.’ The woman let the accusation hang in the air.

  ‘No . . . I . . .’ She tried to form a response. Her childhood had taught her that to ask for money was shameful; to ask for help, a job, a hand, was one thing, but money quite another. Nina felt her cheeks flame at the suggestion.

  Kathy spoke quickly, condescendingly. ‘The Kings Norton community is a small one and people talk. Jayne Rutherford’s sister-in-law works in the accounts department and, well, let’s just say that people are aware of the situation.’

  This was her worst nightmare, to be spoken to like this by Kathy and to know that her peers were discussing her, judging her, as not quite good enough, failing, as if she were once again the girl in the shoes that didn’t quite fit. Nina found her voice. ‘I don’t know what people have been saying—’ she began, before Kathy interrupted.

  ‘Primarily that you can’t pay school fees and the boys are having to leave.’ Her diction was sharp, each word like a dagger that cut.

  Nina felt anger rising. How could she contain the gossip before it got back, unfiltered, raw and accusatory to Connor and Declan via their friends, before they had a chance to fully process their situation and before she had come up with a strategy? ‘I can assure you that is not entirely true and I am absolutely furious that the school thinks it’s okay to give out such private information about its pupils. It’s unbelievable.’

  ‘You are probably right, but I think the implication is that the boys are now ex-pupils,’ Kathy pointed out.

  ‘Do you know what, Kathy? I expected better from you. I was calling to see if Declan was still invited to join Henry for his tennis lessons.’

  ‘Well you can forget that.’ Kathy cut her off. ‘I was thinking it might be good for the boys to form a friendship for the new term, but there’s very little point if Declan isn’t going to be there. You know what Kings Norton boys are like. A very close bunch. Outsiders are not their first choice.’

/>   ‘God, Kathy, what a horrible, horrible thing to say to me. My boys have been at that school since they were three years of age, they are not outsiders!’ She felt the blood rushing to her face. ‘You brought my boys home on the day their dad died, you came to his bloody funeral, hugging me, offering condolence while drinking his wine! I can’t believe this. Do you really think that bankruptcy and tragedy are contagious? Is that what you are worried about?’

  As Kathy drew breath, Nina interjected. ‘You know what? You can shove your tennis lessons up your arse, Kathy. Declan would rather do anything than play with Henry, the unsporting little shit.’ She hung up and stared out over the pool. Her body shook with adrenaline and something close to triumph.

  She thought about Joe Marsh-Evans, a little boy in Connor’s class who had left school suddenly and without explanation when they were about five. What had she done? Called Joe’s mum to see if they were okay? Enquired as to his whereabouts so he and Connor could still be friends? No. She had simply crossed him off the invite list for Connor’s birthday party. She thought about Joe, possibly for the first time since he had left, and felt a wave of sickness. It crystallised a thought in her mind: not only how she needed to raise her kids to show kindness to others, but also that no matter what, and no matter where, she and her boys would stick together as outsiders to face what may come.

  The boys had come down from their rooms to the kitchen. Nina banged the counter, making them both jump. ‘Okay.’ She drew their attention and tried to sound assertive. ‘Firstly I think you should stay home today and we should use the time to make a plan.’ She spoke loudly and positively, hoping that might be infectious. She didn’t want the boys at the rumour mill of school. ‘I have been thinking a lot over the last few days and spent most of last night mulling over our options. And I think we need to leave Bath and go somewhere new. Start over.’ She indicated the French doors at the back of the room, as if the future beckoned on the other side of the swimming pool, and in a sense it did.