by Mark Timlin
And I thought I was cynical.
Margaret McGann offered me a cup of tea from the huge enamel pot that sat on the top of the stove. I accepted gratefully. It was strong and sweet, just the way I like it.
‘So where do you think they are, Margaret?’ I asked, when she placed the thick, white china mug in front of me and accepted a cigarette from my packet. ‘Our daughters.’
‘God knows, Nick,’ she said. ‘If I had a clue I’d tell you. Judith’s always on about her daddy the private detective. She’s got a scrap book full of clippings about you.’
I didn’t know that.
‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before you turned up to try and find her,’ she went on.
‘That’s why I’m here,’ I said. ‘I thought I might be able to help.’
‘You trust the coppers about as much as I do, is that what you mean?’
I pulled a wry face. This woman was no fool. ‘That’s about it,’ I agreed. ‘But I could use some help myself. I don’t really know where to start. Not up here.’
She stubbed out her cigarette in a ‘Glasgow Smiles Better’ ashtray. ‘I don’t know where they are, Nick, as God is my judge. If I did, do you think I’d be sitting here greetin’ into my tea?’
I think she meant crying.
‘I didn’t even know what to tell the police. They must think I’m a shocking mother. Not that they think much of any of us round here. And my Gordon – my husband. If you could call him that. He was always in and out of the station. Drunk. Not that the kids have ever been in trouble. Not up until now that is.’ And her face dissolved into tears again. ‘What kind of mother doesn’t know where her daughter is?’ she said through sobs.
I left my chair, went to where she was sitting, knelt down and put my arms round her shoulders.
‘Exactly the same as Judith’s mother. She’s as much in the dark as you are. She thought Judith might be with me.’
‘In London?’
‘That’s right. My wife’s down there at home now, just in case Judith gets in touch.’
She dried her eyes on the tea towel I handed her and I went and sat back down again.
‘I heard all about your wedding. Judith was so excited,’ said Margaret McGann.
‘I know. So was I.’
‘That’s good.’
All this was very nice, but it wasn’t going to get baby a new bonnet.
‘Does Paula have a boyfriend?’ I asked.
‘No one special. She knocks about with the lads from the estate, but she wants someone better. Not that I blame her, mind. If I’d’ve had any sense I would have got someone better myself, and not ended up here bringing up four bairns on my own.’
Then I asked the question that I didn’t want to ask. ‘What about Judith?’
Margaret McGann looked at me and laughed. ‘Lord no. Judith was an innocent, Nick. Compared with my girl anyway. No. She has more sense. She wants a career. To move south and catch a boy with some brains himself. The lot round here are as thick as planks. The ones from the estate and the ones from the posh end.’
I had to smile at the way she described Laura and Louis’s neck of the woods.
‘Do you mind if I have a look at Paula’s room?’ I asked.
‘Paula’s and young Maggie’s you mean,’ she said. ‘They share.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Course you can. It’s upstairs. I’ll show you.’
Which she did. It seemed to be a typical teenager’s bedroom. Untidy. With clothes, tapes, magazines and school books everywhere. And posters of current pop stars on the walls.
‘The police have been through the place twice already,’ said Margaret McGann. ‘They found nothing.’
Nor did I.
We went back downstairs and Margaret McGann made me another cup of tea, we smoked two cigarettes each and I left. I walked back past the three kids who were still leaning against the fence, who studied me again like the strange species I must have appeared to them, and in the direction that I thought Laura and Louis’s place was. When I was half a street away from the McGann house I heard someone call my name and I looked round.
It was Clare and a couple of her pals. Girls of about the same age, all dressed in similar, baggy, brightly coloured clothes, where a big feature was a baseball cap worn backwards.
I waited until they caught up with me.
‘How ya doin’?’ said Clare.
I shrugged.
‘This is Dottie. This is Maria,’ she said, introducing her pals, but not indicating which was which.
I nodded at them.
‘We wanted a wee chat.’
‘I’m listening,’ I said. There was something up, and I wanted them to tell me what, without any prompting.
‘It’s about Judith and Paula.’
I said nothing. I gathered it was. I just looked from one of them to the other and finally back to Clare.
‘We . . . er . . .’ she said.
Fuck this, I thought. It was like drawing teeth. ‘You know something,’ I said. A statement, not a question.
‘Mebbe.’
‘Like what? And if you do, why haven’t you told the police, or Mrs McGann? You saw the state of her in there just now.’
‘We daren’t. If Paula found out . . .’ She didn’t finish the sentence.
‘She’s tough, is she?’ I asked.
‘You can say that again, Mister,’ said one of the other girls. Dottie, I think. I wasn’t sure.
‘A nutter,’ said the other one, who must have been Maria.
‘And she’s with my daughter.’ I was beginning to get angry. Angry and scared for Judith’s safety.
‘You don’t have to worry about her,’ said Clare. ‘Paula wouldn’t let anything happen to Judith.’
‘They’re best mates,’ said the one I thought was Dottie.
‘She looks after her,’ said the other one.
‘And besides,’ said Clare, ‘the coppers and Mrs McGann won’t pay.’
‘And I will.’
All three smiled. Little bitches. I clenched my fists until the nails bit into my palms. I felt like clouting all of them. But what would have been the point? I unclenched my fists and spoke softly. ‘And what’s to stop me going off and telling the coppers what you tell me? And who told it to me? And telling Paula later on, when they find them?’
If they find them, I thought, and my blood ran cold.
‘Because your Judith says you’ll never break a promise. Never,’ said Clare.
‘I haven’t made any promises.’
She shrugged and said, ‘OK, girls, let’s go. Neighbours is on soon.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said.
She smiled at me, like an angler getting a bite.
‘How much?’ I asked.
‘Promise first.’
I felt stupid.
‘Go on,’ she insisted. ‘Promise.’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘That you won’t tell anyone what we tell you, or who told you it.’
I hesitated. It was a hell of a promise. But one I had to make to find out what they knew. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I promise. Now will you tell me?’
Clare held out her hand.
‘How much?’ I said.
She shrugged.
I reached into my back pocket and took out some notes. I offered her a tenner.
She gave me a look of pure contempt. ‘Between three of us,’ she said.
I added another ten.
The look she gave me then was only slightly less contemptuous.
I separated a fifty-pound note from the rest and said, ‘That’s it. I don’t even know if what you’re going to tell me is the truth.’
‘We wouldn’t lie,’ said Clare. She sounded offended at the very idea. I’ve found that the younger generation do, even when they’re extorting money from you.
‘Course not,’ I said.
She reached out for the fifty and I pulled it back. ‘Tell me first.’
‘You
might diddle us.’
I shook my head. ‘No I won’t,’ I said. ‘I promise.’
‘OK,’ said Clare.
‘So?’ I said.
‘There were these people. Hippies. Ravers.’
‘New Agers.’ Dottie.
‘Travellers.’ Maria.
‘They came up from Glastonbury, stopping at festivals on the way. There’s this sacred mound just outside of town by the sea. They said they wanted to commune with nature.’
‘They had an old coach with a rainbow painted on the side, a little bus, and some cars.’ Dottie.
‘They were real grungy.’ Maria.
Clare shot her friends a look. ‘They camped out for a couple of nights just up the road. There’s an old sports ground there. It was the only place where people didn’t chase them off. Paula met them at the post office when they were cashing their giros. They invited her to visit. We all went. For a laugh.’
‘Including Judith?’
Clare nodded.
‘Paula thought they were great.’
‘Free spirits.’ Dottie.
‘And they invited us all to go with them when they left.’ Maria.
‘And Paula and Judith went?’ I asked.
‘That’s right,’ said Clare. ‘Judith wouldn’t let Paula go on her own.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
The three girls looked at me.
‘They could be anywhere,’ I said.
‘No,’ said Clare. ‘They told us where they were going. The hippies.’
‘Where?’
‘Banbury.’
‘Why Banbury?’
‘There’s another festival there next weekend. Some old band from the sixties. Fairport something.’
‘Convention?’ I asked.
‘That’s right. They reckoned they’d be there today or tomorrow. Wednesday at the latest. There’s a campsite, but the travellers aren’t welcome, so they said they’d camp close by and bunk in for the music.’
‘You should have told the police,’ I said. ‘You’ve caused a lot of upset by keeping quiet. A lot of time and money’s been wasted.’
‘We’re telling you now,’ said Clare.
‘And if they’ve come to harm?’
She shook her head. ‘It’d take more than that lot to hurt Paula. They’re just people. Families. Wee children.’
‘They were nice,’ said the one I think was Dottie. ‘Kind, gentle. They didn’t mean anyone harm. They didn’t have much, but what they did have they shared with us. Food, cigarettes.’
‘Drugs?’ I said.
The three girls didn’t answer, just kicked the toes of their oversized trainers on the kerb.
‘They were OK,’ said Maria hotly.
‘But not everyone they meet will be like that,’ I said.
‘That’s why we’re telling you now,’ said Clare. ‘We got a bit worried. With Mrs McGann so upset and you coming all the way up here.’
‘Well I’m glad of that at least,’ I said.
‘But we know they’re OK,’ said Maria.
Clare shot her another look.
‘How?’ I asked.
Clare’s tongue flicked over her lips.
‘Clare,’ I said.
‘I got a telephone call this morning, after me mam went shopping.’
‘From Paula?’
She nodded.
‘Where is she?’
‘On the road.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘She didn’t say exactly. Somewhere down south.’
‘Is she all right?’
Clare nodded.
‘And Judith?’
‘She’s fine too.’
‘Thank God for that.’ I wanted to say more. To give the three of them a bawling out for not speaking up before. But once again, what would have been the point? These kids were at an age when responsibility is just a word in the dictionary, and loyalty to your friends and not grassing them up is much more important than what your parents or the police think. What could I say? I’m not the most responsible person in the world myself. But Judith is my daughter.
‘Have they got any names, these hippies?’ I asked.
‘Eno was the boss,’ said Clare. ‘He’s a ginger nut with dreads.’
‘And there was Spider. She’s his girlfriend,’ said Dottie.
‘Anyone else?’
‘Max, Mechanic and Noddy,’ said Clare.
‘Charming,’ I said. ‘Is that the lot?’
‘There was a few more,’ said Clare. ‘But we never knew their names.’
I nodded.
‘So what will you do now?’ she asked.
I looked at my watch. ‘I’ll go back to London, then go to Banbury and meet these travellers. I want to see the people who took Judith away from her mother. And meet Paula while I’m at it. She sounds like quite a character.’
‘Aren’t you going to tell the coppers?’ asked Clare.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ve promised, haven’t I?’
The three girls grinned in unison. ‘Can we have the money now?’ said Clare.
I nodded, and passed over the Nelson, which Clare had the cheek to put up to the light to see if it was genuine. Then the three girls ran off in the direction they’d come from and I resumed my walk back to Louis and Laura’s place with a lot on my mind.
I found the house easily enough and Laura opened the door at my ring. She was smoking again and led me into the lounge, as Louis had called it, once more. He was nowhere to be seen. I sat on one of the armchairs and she sat on another. She looked just as stressed out as when I’d left.
‘Did you see Mrs McGann?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘What did you think?’
‘I think she’s very upset.’
Laura made a hissing sound between her teeth as she blew out smoke. ‘Upset,’ she said. ‘She’s upset.’
I could see that she was close to tears again and I knew I couldn’t not tell her what Clare and her mates had told me before I went back to London. It would have been too cruel. But on the other hand I didn’t want her blabbing to Old Bill. I had an appointment with the New Age hippies, or whatever the fuck they called themselves, and it was a date I wanted to keep without the company of any coppers.
‘Laura,’ I said, then noticed that Louis was standing in the doorway, staring at me.
Laura looked up when I said her name, then noticed Louis too.
‘What?’ she said.
I imagine she meant me, but she might have been talking to Louis. Anyway, he ignored her and continued screwing me hard.
‘Am I in your chair?’ I asked him.
‘They’re all my chairs,’ he replied.
So that was the way it was.
I looked back at Laura. ‘Can we go for a drive?’ I asked.
‘What?’
‘A drive.’
‘Where?’
‘Just around,’ I said. ‘I want to see the area.’ It was a lie. I had a destination in mind, but I didn’t want Louis to hear.
‘I suppose,’ said Laura. ‘Where are my car keys, Louis?’
‘Usual place,’ he said. ‘On the hook in the kitchen.’ And he turned and walked off.
Laura looked at me and shrugged, got up and left the room. She returned a minute or so later pulling a hip-length jacket over the sweater and skirt she was wearing and said, ‘Ready?’
I nodded, stood up and followed her out to the front of the house, where she unlocked the doors of the Golf GTI with a little electronic gizmo.
I got into the passenger seat and fastened my seat belt and she got in behind the wheel and did the same.
‘So where to?’ she asked, as she fired up the car and the engine caught with a throaty roar.
‘Is there an old sports ground round here somewhere?’
She looked at me in amazement. ‘How do you know about that place?’
So it existed. That much was true anyway. I wasn’t sure if Clare and the girls hadn’t bee
n winding me up for the fifty quid.
‘I heard about it,’ I said.
‘It’s horrible. It’s where the courting couples go to park.’
‘So that lets us out,’ I remarked. ‘Can we go there?’
She shrugged, stuck the VW into gear and took off with a rattle of gravel on the undercarriage of the motor.
The sports ground was about three miles up the road, where the houses thinned out and the country began to encroach. Laura turned off the main road at an unmarked track and the Golf lurched up the rutted lane with branches rubbing the flanks of the car. After a couple of minutes she turned through a gateless gateway and we were there.
The sports ground was overgrown and surrounded by unhappy-looking trees. In one corner was a once white, half-collapsed, graffiti-scarred pavilion. Laura drove to the centre of the field and stopped.
‘Why are we here, of all places?’ she asked.
I took out my cigarettes and offered her one. She accepted, and I took one myself and lit them both with a cheap Clipper lighter I had in my pocket. I slid down the electric window of the Golf my side to let in some warm air and I told her what Clare, Dottie and Maria had told me.
She listened, holding the cigarette between her fingers, not smoking it, until there was an inch of ash at the end that fell on to the floor without her noticing.
‘Why the hell did they tell you,’ she asked when I’d finished, ‘and not me?’
‘I paid.’
‘So would I have done.’
‘Maybe they were frightened to tell you. They knew you’d go straight to the police.’
‘The Wicked Witch of the West,’ she said. ‘That’s what they think I am. I told you that.’ And she started to cry again.
I took the cigarette from her and threw it and mine out of the car and held her for a moment. It was strange. I hadn’t held her for years. In fact, I bet you could count the times we’d actually touched on the fingers of one hand, since she’d slung me out of the house all those years ago.
‘Jesus, Nick,’ she said into my shoulder. ‘How did it all end like this?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It just did.’