The lifeguard sees him leave and raises his thumbs in question. Kit responds and sits down hard on my towel. It takes minutes for his hands to stop shaking and all the time he is calling me stupid and a dunce and a traitor and telling me I know nothing. When he stops, I give him the pendant and he balls it up, chain and all, and throws it hard so that it flies up and gets caught in the branches of the tree behind us, swinging and catching the light like an eye opening and shutting as it goes.
‘Come on then, let’s go,’ he says, a long time after the pendant stops swinging.
As we pass the WendyCarols they start laughing and Wendy calls out, ‘Hey, thanks for the lolly!’
‘You go on and get changed,’ Kit pushes me into the changing rooms, ‘I’ll see you outside.’ He turns back to the girls. I get changed slowly watching everyone who comes in carefully before poking my head outside to make sure Kit is already there.
When I reach him, he opens my hand and pours some coins into it before closing my fingers over them. The beginnings of a bruise show on my wrist.
‘When we get home, I’ll talk to Mum while you slip them back into her purse. You’d better not tell her about the pendants or we won’t be allowed out again.’
I reach up to kiss his cheek, and we walk home arm in arm, double stepping in and out of time as we go, the chain curled up inside my pocket.
Chapter Eight
1988
I curse as the salt slides out of the bag too fast and swamps the salt shaker like a shower of hail. I scoop it up with a teaspoon and wipe the counter down before turning to the pepper. It may not seem much of a job, working at the café, but it beats waiting at home for the next post to arrive. After the first week of waiting, I knew I’d go mad if I didn’t find something to pass the time.
‘I thought you were going to be a great artist,’ Eva flourished an imaginary paintbrush in the air when I asked her. She gave in anyway, as I knew she would. I’m not exactly out of sight working here, with customers coming and going all the time, but it gives me a chance to talk to Eva about what happened. Nothing to help with my search so far but a bit more meat on the bones of the Mace’s story.
The worst day is Friday when the café is quiet, and the hands of the clock barely seem to move. I screw the lid back on the last pepper shaker, and Eva grabs a couple to put back on the tables. I sigh as I bring the rest out.
‘All at the pub.’ Eva understands how this town works as only someone on the outside can. Matthew told Mum he couldn’t work out why Eva would stay in this town so long.
‘Thank God, she does,’ said Mum, ‘because I don’t know what I’d do without her!’
On my first day, Eva clucked and tutted over my shorts and the extra earrings but, apart from insisting I wear an apron to cover my knees, which I do most of the time, she’s been pretty decent and doesn’t try too hard to make me talk.
Mum would’ve been surprised to see Eva working in a café. She was her role model; she was kind and loyal, and she had what Mum called ‘a proper job’ that helped people. The thing is that Eva is still helping people, she’s just not getting paid for it. She always remembers to take a saucer of milk over for Hazel William’s hairy little terrier and turns a blind eye to the fact that she never pays. Since Alan Roberts’ wife died, Eva tells him she needs a few minutes off her feet so she can sit down and chat with him.
‘Awfully lonely, poor old dear,’ she’ll say to me out of the corner of her mouth on her way back to the kitchen.
‘Well, bless her, she hasn’t got a Mum,’ I hear her tell other customers when they look my way with their eyebrows raised. I don’t mind too much. This must be how those women Mum brought home felt when we were all sitting together around our kitchen table.
Kit found the presence of those women far less annoying than I did, but I guess, on some level, he must’ve known why she did it. Guilt is a powerful thing.
He keeps asking me if I know how soon the parole hearing is. He’s torn between not wanting to know what I’m hiding and hoping if he finds out, he can make me leave.
‘Soon, Christopher,’ I tell him, but he doesn’t believe me. When he’s not at work or running, he slinks around the house like a fugitive, hovering on the seats ready to take flight.
I walk over to clear an empty table by the window and look out on to the High Street. Eva told me the Walkers haven’t worked in the newsagents for years. I never imagined Debbie would leave here — her family have been part of this town since it grew up around the train tracks and lured families in from the land to the factories. My future is far away from here too, Debbie.
I pull the damp cloth over the table top, and the door opens, setting the little bell pealing. When I straighten up, I am face to face with Neil. I jump back scraping my hip against the table.
‘Oh, look, somebody did give her a job!’ sneers the receptionist from the solicitors. Carol, was it? She clings to his arm a little tighter. I still can’t figure out why the sound of her voice bothers me so much. She looks down at the table I’ve cleared and points to a tiny smear.
‘You’ve missed a bit.’
One, two.
Neil waits for me to finish wiping without comment and then sits down beside Carol, picking up the menu and offering it to her.
Three, four.
It would feel good to shake out the cloth over Carol’s shiny hair.
Five, si —
I feel a touch on my arm and Eva steers me towards the kitchen at the back of the café.
‘I heard about that little incident,’ she says, nodding towards Neil. ‘Caused him a lot of ribbing in The Lamb. So, I’ll serve them myself because I’m not so keen on the old fisticuffs in here. Ruins the ambi-ance!’ She chuckles to herself as she goes, like a mad extra from My Fair Lady.
So what if people are laughing about him in the pub? It’s the least he deserves. Neil glances over, and I feel exposed standing between the tables, my legs still bare below my apron in defiance of the weather. I march into the kitchen where I wash up the pans noisily, clashing them together in the bubbles so I can’t hear anything from the café. When lunch is over and the flurry of kids wandering in after school to buy sticky buns and rock cakes has died down, Eva shoos me out.
‘Go on, get some air. You look done in.’ I feel an urge to bend down and kiss her, but I remind myself that she’s just nice to everyone — I’m not special. I hang up my apron and grab my jacket and bag and I’m out of there.
The breeze sends an empty crisp packet tumbling and jumping along the pavement in front of me like an inverted kaleidoscope of shiny coloured metal. I slip the jacket around my shoulders. Kit is going out for a drink after school today. He’s given up asking me to meet him, and I don’t feel like going back to the empty house yet.
Thank God, I didn’t tell him about the letter because it hasn’t been answered anyway. It means I’ve hit a dead end though and it’s only a matter of time before Kit works it out. Perhaps I should write again — there must be something he wants.
Eva says there are answers and there are answers and none of them will bring Mum back.
I walk past a group of kids lounging on the bench in front of the newsagents and duck into The Avenues for a change, the branches of the limes bare and jagged above me. Keeping Kit here if I abandon my search isn’t fair, but I can’t leave until I’ve found her. I’ve read Mum’s letter over and over and there’s one more place I can look, just as soon as I can bear to do it.
Ahead of me, I see the thin back of Michelle and lengthen my pace to catch up with her. She looks tired and pale and not at all comfortable in her oversized jumper.
‘Hey,’ I say.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she shifts the bag that is slung over her shoulder under her arm. ‘I know who you are now.’ Her tone is cool, and she doesn’t look at me directly. ‘Everybody’s staggered you’ve come back.’
Staggered? That doesn’t sound like a word Michelle would normally use.
‘Oh? Who�
�s everybody?’
‘Apparently, you were all over the papers for ages. My Mum says lots of people thought you were going to die.’
My hand flies to my stomach. ‘Lots of people got it wrong then, didn’t they?’ The windows of the houses on The Avenues glow with light, but the street lamps throw shadows across the road making it feel as if we’re on the border between two worlds. ‘Look, I really just wanted to ask if things are okay with you?’ Michelle’s face is pale in the failing light. ‘I mean, at school.’ I glance down to see if there are fresh bruises around her wrists, but they’re hidden inside the sleeves of her jumper.
‘’Course,’ she sticks her chin out, but again her eyes slide away before they meet mine. ‘You think I can’t handle boys like Danny? I’m not soft.’ She swipes at a wisp of hair that’s blown into her face. I’ve insulted her.
‘It’s just this town can feel a bit,’ I search for the right word, ‘unfriendly, sometimes.’
‘Not to me,’ she tosses her head back. ‘We’ve got friends here.’
‘That’s nice,’ I reply as evenly as I can. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you home.’
There’s a sleek moon in the grey sky and the cars driving past have their headlamps on. The lights reflect unevenly in the light drizzle that’s falling around us and it feels peaceful as we walk together. When Michelle says she wants to go on alone, I watch her turn into the network of roads towards The Coppice and wonder where she’s heading. Probably just killing time, like me.
I know that feeling well and walk home slowly, allowing the damp to settle around me like a cloak.
The heating comes on with a sigh early this morning, and the radiators groan and tick as the water creeps along the old pipes. The sound wakes me as the old metal complains and rubs against the floorboards and through the walls. I slip a jumper over my pyjamas and sit on the window seat wiping scattered peepholes in the condensation. Kit’s still in bed. I can hear the steady shushing in and out of his breath through the door as I look out into the dark. When I finally hear the milk float, I go downstairs and make myself tea, enviously leaving Kit to sleep, although I know his nightmares stole the early hours from him.
When it looks like he’d sleep in past registration and morning assembly, I take him some tea.
I’m back downstairs alone when the post arrives. The brown envelope is addressed to me. I turn it over and freeze when I see the HMP return address stamped on the back. The sound of Kit crashing down the stairs jolts me awake. I just have time to shove the envelope into a pocket before he reaches me.
‘Thought I heard the post,’ he says, looking at the front doormat. I fight the urge to check the envelope isn’t poking out of my dressing gown.
‘Didn’t hear anything,’ I turn away so he can’t see my face. If anyone knows when I’m lying, it’s Kit. ‘Shall I make you some toast?’
‘Nah, late for a staff meeting. I’ll grab something later.’ The door closes with a crash behind him, and the house falls silent.
I fumble taking the envelope from my pocket and prop it on the meter cupboard to read the return address again. Something hard in the pit of my stomach stops me from tearing it open right then. He knows we’re back now. He’s made me wait for this reply, taken control, and that’s a message in itself. If I could pretend we’re safe here before, I can’t now.
If I’d told Kit already, I wouldn’t have to open it on my own. I wish there were someone else I could ask to read it for me and tell me what it says.
I decide to get dressed before I open it, and then decide to walk to the café so I don’t have to read it on my own. I push it into my bag and walk into town with my jacket pulled tight across my chest and one hand holding my bag shut with the envelope buried deep inside. Whatever it says, it’s bringing the day closer when I need to tell Kit that I wrote that letter.
The sudden cold brings everyone into the café in a rush, filling it with hot breath that swirls each time the door opens. The queue moves briskly as we serve tea in Styrofoam cups and bacon sandwiches wrapped up in greaseproof paper. The tables fill up for cooked breakfasts as soon as they empty and the coffee percolator bubbles continuously in the background. It’s nearly lunchtime before I can take a break.
I pull my jacket around my shoulders and walk out, smack into the icy air. My head aches so much I collapse on to the bench outside to tear open the envelope. I place it on my lap and open out the sheet of paper inside, keeping my hands as far inside my sleeves as I can.
I don’t recognise the handwriting. It’s a scrawled mess as though it was dashed off in haste, even though he’s had weeks to reply. I twist the paper from side to side to make out the words.
My Dear Little Robyn,
So you’re back now? I’ve been wondering how long it’d take you to write. As I don’t care much for reading, I’ve sent you a visiting order.
Come and ask me your questions face to face, like a grown up. And bring me that trinket I left with you, you know the one. You should’ve given it back when I asked for it.
Or you can wait until I’m out, won’t be long now — definitely by Christmas my solicitor says.
I’ll be able to come and see you myself then, now I know you’ve come home.
’Til we meet again,
Ray
I think of the wooden babies in the top of the box under the stairs and all the other things wrapped up underneath them. Things he gave me. I know exactly what he wants to see.
My fingers are numb and won’t do what I want, and the sheet of paper slips from my hand. A black glove catches it, and then there’s a policeman standing before me.
‘Thanks,’ I say, sticking out my hand without looking up, but, instead of returning the letter, the policeman sits down on the bench beside me. I straighten up when I see it’s Neil.
‘Jesus,’ he says, ‘you’re shaking.’ He pulls the jacket tighter around me, and the trembling gets worse. I shake him off.
‘Thank, God. I thought you were going to faint. I’m terrible with fainters.’ He cracks a smile, but I can see the frown he can’t hide underneath. He looks down at the paper in his hand. ‘Does Kit know about this?’
I reach to grab the letter back, but he pulls it out of my reach. ‘None of your business! Give it back.’
‘Hold on a minute,’ Neil folds the letter. ‘How did he know you were here?’
I shrug and put my hand out. I want to read it again, in case I’ve missed something.
‘You wrote to him?’
‘Bloody hell, Neil. Give me my letter, and piss off!’
Neil takes the envelope from my other hand and puts the letter back inside. ‘I bet Kit doesn’t know you wrote to him, does he?’ My fists ball up, but Neil looks ready for me this time. ‘Jesus, Robyn, you’ve got to tell him.’
Hot tears boil out of my eyes. I can hear myself shouting and sobbing at the same time, and I don’t care. It’s not like anyone else cares either. Neil just keeps sitting there, like a muppet, taking it calmly as if my feelings are worth nothing.
‘I just want to know where she is.’ I cross my arms over my stomach, when I’m all emptied out. ‘Why doesn’t anybody understand? I — I have to put it right. All of it.’
Neil doesn’t reply straight away, and then he turns to look me in the eye.
‘I was thinking about what you said about me running away. You know, about me being too slow.’ He turns the envelope over and over in his hands. ‘I know I let you down, I’m sorry. I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do.’
I can’t speak. He must sense that because he starts talking as if we are just sitting on that bench chatting. He talks about that day, about how Kit was afterwards, about the rains washing away the dam at the park. He keeps on talking while my breathing steadies, and, when the tears stop rolling down my face and start to dry, he stops.
‘I just want to find her,’ I sniff eventually. ‘Can’t you help me? There have to be police files on it or something?’ He doesn’t answer but pat
s my hand and waves to someone in the café.
Eva pokes her head out. ‘Are you alright, Robyn?’
‘No, she isn’t, Eva. Not at all.’
She comes over and puts an arm around me. ‘And what on earth has a nice boy like you done to cause all these tears?’
Neil shakes his head at her, ‘Not me, Eva.’ He squeezes my shoulder, even though I try and twist out of the way. ‘I’ll pick you up when the café closes, Robyn, and we’ll put our heads together, shall we?’ I put my hand out for the envelope, but he ignores me. ‘First, we need to talk to Kit.’
He lifts a hand to Eva and turns and walks away, his head down.
‘Now, now,’ she fusses, ‘let’s get you cleaned up and maybe a nice hot cup of tea. Wonder where we can get one of those around here!’ She pushes me firmly back into the warmth of the café.
‘That family took it especially hard after you all left,’ she tells me, watching Neil stop to chat to the driver of a car that’s pulled up alongside him. She closes the door so that the little bell jangles.
Eva had a lot to say about the letter, most of it about how it affected Kit, so I stopped listening. Then she brushed my hair and made me wash the salt from my face. When Neil appeared at the door of the café at the end of my shift, she sent me off saying, ‘You of all people, Robyn, should know that honesty is the best policy.’
Neil doesn’t speak as we walk along the High Street. He’s changed out of his uniform, and I can see the buff edge of the envelope poking out of his jeans pocket. Gusts of wind lift my hair around my shoulders as though I’m unravelling.
‘Don’t tell Kit, please,’ I break the silence. ‘He doesn’t understand.’
Neil stops and faces me. His bulk blocks the wind and for that moment I feel like I’m standing in the eye of a storm. ‘It’s not about understanding, Robyn — it’s about safety. Not just yours, Kit’s too.’
But what can he do to us really? He’s locked up and we’re not children anymore. I roll my eyes, and Neil turns. The wind hits me in the face again.
A Little Bird Told Me Page 11