by Maria Hoey
The day Oliver went missing it had rained heavily all morning. It was two days after the incident with the handbag, which apparently we were all to pretend had never happened. Certainly that was how Violet-May and Rosemary had behaved the following day and it seemed Grace was in agreement with this strategy. I had begun telling her how badly I felt on her behalf but she had stopped me with a frown, and said that it was all forgotten now.
“But she shouldn’t have spoken to you that way!” I said.
“Some people set more store on their belongings than others,” said Grace evenly. “And that’s their prerogative.”
I felt almost reprimanded and said no more. If she chose to defend Violet-May’s behaviour then let her, I thought. But I had made a point since, whenever I had the chance, of being cool with Violet-May.
That afternoon, I was at my desk writing when the door to the study opened and Violet-May came in.
“Is Oliver here?”
“Oliver? No, he isn’t,” I said shortly.
Then I turned and saw the expression on her face.
“What’s up?” I said.
“He’s missing,” said Violet-May.
“Missing? For how long?” I closed down my document and got to my feet.
“I don’t know exactly.” Violet-May ran a hand through her hair distractedly.
“Doesn’t Rosemary?” I asked as I followed her from the room.
“No, Rosemary had a bad headache and Oliver was making it worse – he’s been grizzly all morning. So I offered to look after him while she went for a nap. Grace hasn’t been here this afternoon.”
“Yes, he’s been unwell for a while, hasn’t he?” It struck me that she might be finally feeling guilty for her behaviour over her precious bag. Then I realised that Oliver must have gone missing on her watch. “So what happened then?”
“Well, but he got worse and worse so I gave him a spoonful of Calpol and put him down in his cot,” she said as we made our way down the narrow staircase to the second-floor landing. “I checked on him after an hour or so and he was fast asleep so I left him sleeping. But he’s not there now.”
“You mean he got out of his cot? Well, don’t panic, he’ll be somewhere in the house. Have you checked with Rosemary? Maybe she heard him and took him in with her?”
“Rosemary was the one who told me he wasn’t in his cot,” said Violet-May impatiently. “She came down while I was on the phone to Calvin. I told her I’d put Oliver down but when she went up to get him, he wasn’t there.”
“How long were you on the phone to Calvin?” Her rich, if the internet was to be believed, and soon-to-be ex-husband.
“I’m not sure.” She glanced over her shoulder and grimaced. “When Calvin calls me he’s inclined to go on and on and on, trying to wear me down so I’ll give in and go back to him. I’d say it was at least twenty minutes anyway.”
“Right, well, we’ll just have to search the house – he has to be somewhere.”
“What do you think we’ve been doing?” said Violet-May. “We’ve already checked every room on the first floor. Rosemary is downstairs now, checking the rooms on the ground floor. I suddenly thought of you and hoped maybe Oliver had climbed up here.”
“In a house this size there are plenty of places for a little boy to hide – we’ll find him.”
“I know that,” said Violet-May but I was aware of her unease and I found it infecting me too.
We had reached the first-floor landing and I glanced through a window as we passed. Rain slanted in the wind and the garden was a green blur behind the wet glass.
“There’s no way he could have got out, is there?” I said.
Violet-May turned and looked at me. “No, no, I don’t see how he could have,” she said but there was nothing reassuring about the way she said it.
“No,” I said quickly. “It’s unlikely – he’s probably –”
I broke off as Rosemary came rushing toward us.
“Have you found him?” said Violet-May.
“You mean you haven’t either?”
I read mounting fear and anxiety in her eyes and in the taut set of her mouth.
“Then where is he?” she said.
“He’ll be hiding somewhere in the house, Rosemary, thinking it’s a game,” I said quickly. “We’ll just have to go through every one of the rooms with a fine-tooth comb. Why don’t we start on the second floor, all three of us together and work our way down?”
“Thanks, Kay,” said Rosemary absently. She brushed past us, back toward the second landing, calling to her son as she went. “Oliver! Where are you, Oliver? Don’t hide from Mummy now! Oliver! Oliver!”
I looked at Violet-May. “She could do without this,” I said.
Violet-May said nothing. She was staring after her sister, an unreadable expression in her eyes.
I hurried after Rosemary, then glancing back saw Violet-May standing where I had left her.
“Aren’t you coming?” I said, and she moved then, as though I had woken her from a trance, and hurried after me.
Between us we searched every room on the second floor, calling out the little boy’s name repeatedly as we went.
At one point, I heard Violet-May’s voice calling enticingly, “Oliver, Oliver, come and get some sweetie raisins!”
Remembering how he loved the treat, I followed suit.
“Look what I have for Oliver!” I cooed. “I hope I find him soon or I’ll have to give all the sweetie raisins to Caroline.”
But there was no responding cry, no little boy came running to grab his sweetie raisins and, as we moved through the house from top to bottom, I felt a rising sense of panic.
Finally, as we all came together once more in the hallway, Rosemary said urgently, “He’s not here, we’ve looked everywhere but he’s not here. So where is he, Violet-May, where’s my baby? You said you’d watch him but you didn’t. You didn’t and now he’s gone. Where is he, Violet-May, where’s Alexander, where is he?”
At the sound of her dead brother’s name, I felt a sickening lurch in my stomach. I stole a glance at Violet-May. She was staring at her sister but I couldn’t read her expression.
“Look,” I said, partly to break the awful tension of the moment but also because it was what I believed now, “unlikely as it seems, Oliver may have got outside.” I deliberately laid stress on the little boy’s name. “So I think we should start searching the gardens.”
“How could he have?” said Rosemary. “All the doors are shut. He can’t reach the lock on the front door even climbing up on something. And it’s the same with the back door.”
“No, but he can reach the one on the side door, through the butler’s pantry,” said Violet-May quietly. “I’ve seen him try to open it before.”
“Yes, standing on something,” I said. “But if he’d got out that way there’d be a chair or something pushed up against it and there isn’t, is there? The only way he could have got out that way would be if the door had been left ajar. Does anyone remember leaving it ajar?”
“Did you?” said Violet-May. “I know I didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t,” I said. “I’ve never gone in or out that way.”
“This is wasting time,” said Rosemary. “For all we know, it was Grace who left it ajar.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” said Violet-May sourly. “I’ve seen her use that door a couple of times.”
“Well, I’m going to search at the front of the house,” said Rosemary. “Can you two please do the back?”
Without waiting for a reply, she ran to the front door, wrenched it open and ran out into the rain, leaving it open behind her.
“She hasn’t even got a jacket on, she’ll be drowned.”
I knew even as I said it that it was an inane remark to have made.
Violet-May said, “I don’t suppose she’ll notice. We’d better get started. I’ll begin with the garages and outhouses, you can search the garden.”
She hurried awa
y along the hallway toward the back of the house and I ran upstairs to grab a jacket. In the time it took me to run back down again and out on the terrace, the rain had slackened to a thin drizzle. I stood for a moment and asked myself where a toddler like Oliver would go, finding himself on the loose out here? The most obvious place was one of the sheds or outhouses and so I decided to join Violet-May in her search of them. I found her coming out of the main garage.
“No luck?” I said and she did not even bother to answer.
She had not bothered with a coat either and she looked soaked and dishevelled; it was the only time in my life I had ever seen her appear anything but perfectly turned out. We moved on together to the second garage, working our way from there through every shed and outhouse, leaving no nook, corner, ledge or box unsearched. We then moved on to the rest of the garden and had just decided to search the portion of the shrubbery which ran along the side of the house when Rosemary emerged through the bank of rhododendrons.
I had never seen her so wild-eyed or unkempt. She had clearly been searching like a crazed thing, her hair straggly and pulled about, with even some pieces of greenery poking through.
“We were just about to start searching the shrubbery,” I said. “But I’m guessing you’ve already done that.”
“Yes, and he isn’t there!” said Rosemary shrilly. “He isn’t anywhere and there isn’t anywhere else to look.”
I made a decision. “There is a chance he’s left the grounds,” I said.
“You mean he may have gone outside the gates onto the road?” said Rosemary.
“Yes, I do.” Then seeing the fresh alarm in her eyes, I said, “It’s just a possibility. More than likely he’s still here in the gardens or the house somewhere. I know we’ve looked everywhere we can think of but we could have missed him. All the same, I’m going to get my car and go take a look.”
“No,” said Rosemary. “I’ll go. My car is out front. You stay here, Kay, with Violet-May and keep on searching, please.”
“Are you sure?” I said, doubting she was in any fit state to drive.
“Yes, I’m sure. I have to. I want to.” She was already running across the grass.
“Why don’t I come too?” I called after her. “I can drive in one direction and you the other. Violet-May can stay here, in case he turns up.”
“No, I’d rather you stayed!” Rosemary called over her shoulder. “Please, Kay, I really would rather you stay and keep on looking.”
“I will!” I called.
I turned to Violet-May. “Where do we start this time?” I said. She gave a helpless shrug which infuriated me. “Well, we have to start somewhere!” I snapped at her.
“Fine!” she barked back. “Then I’ll go over the back garden and you do the front and then we’ll start on the house again. Will that satisfy you?”
“What will satisfy me is finding Oliver safe and well,” I said and for a moment we held one another’s gaze, then she stalked off toward the back of the house and I raced after Rosemary.
I came around the side of the house in time to see her drive off in a spatter of flying pebbles and my heart went after her. As I stood for a moment surveying the vast garden that lay before me, I became aware that it had stopped raining. For Oliver’s sake I was happy about that at least, although if he was anywhere in the grounds he would by now be soaked through in any event. The portion of the garden in front of the house had really few places where a small child could be unseen and presumably Rosemary had already searched all that. That left the shrubbery which she had also searched and, beyond that the stretch of driveway as far as the gates. There were also, aside from the double line of trees, a great deal of shrubs and hedges which had been planted beyond the beeches on either side. No doubt Rosemary had searched there already too but I would do so again. In her state of anxiety I imagined her search had been more frantic than careful and she might well have missed the little boy if he had fallen asleep curled up somewhere amid all those trees and shrubs. Unlikely in that heavy rain, but we could rule nothing out.
I determined to go over every inch again, peer behind every tree trunk, every bush, leave quite literally no stone unturned. And if I did not find Oliver there, then I too would search the shrubbery, beginning at the point where the trees ended and working my way up to the side of the house.
I decided to begin at the gate, moving from right to left. With that plan in mind I set off at a jog, past the banks of rhododendrons and round the turn of the drive. Once at the gate I was about to begin my search on the right-hand side, when I heard what I was sure was a child’s voice.
I halted and listened. Hearing the voice again, I realised it was coming from the direction of the road outside. It might not be Oliver, I told myself as I ran to the gate, it could be any passing child talking to its mother. But it could be Oliver, it could be Oliver.
I went flying through the open gates and stood staring along the road where it sloped toward the town, but I turned sharply to the left as I heard a voice call my name.
Grace was walking toward me, holding Oliver in her arms.
“Thank God!” I said. “Thank God!” I ran to her and almost fell on her, my arms out to take the child.
But she did not relinquish him, and I was aware of her eyes on me, narrowed in suspicion.
“I was on my way here and I found him wandering along the side of the road, not even on the footpath. What the hell was he doing out here on his own? He could have been killed!”
“He’s not hurt, is he?” I said. “Please tell me he’s not hurt?”
“I don’t think so. As far as I can tell he’s OK.”
She then reluctantly, it seemed to me, relinquished Oliver and I took him and inspected him for any signs of injury. Other than looking a bit dusty, he seemed none the worse for wear. His cheeks were very pink and he did seem a little groggy but that I put down to the Calpol.
I realised that Grace was watching me.
“So how did he get out here?” she asked again.
“We don’t know, we presume he climbed out of his cot and then somehow got out of the house.”
“And where were his mother and Violet-May when that happened?”
“Rosemary was lying down, Violet-May had given him Calpol and put him in his cot. We’ve all been all over the house and gardens searching for him. And Rosemary just went off in the car to see if he’d got out onto the road. She’s only just left – she must have gone in the other direction. Where did you find him?”
“Just up there,” she said, pointing back up the road. “He hadn’t got far, thank God. But it’s lucky I came along when I did.”
“Thank God you did,” I said. The thought of any harm having come to the little boy whose head was heavy on my shoulder made me feel a little sick.
Then I suddenly thought of Rosemary driving about still believing her son to be in danger. I wished I had her number so I could call her and put her out of her misery. God only knew what terrors were in her mind right this moment.
I dropped a kiss on the little boy’s head. In some chamber of my brain I registered the fact that his hair was quite dry – in fact, he was dry all over. But I did not dwell on that puzzling fact. Violet-May would have Rosemary’s number and she too was waiting anxiously for news of him. I needed to put them both out of their misery without any more delay.
“Let’s get him inside, Grace,” I said. “Put everybody out of their misery.”
Violet-May must have been watching from the window. The door opened as we emerged from under the beech trees and began walking toward the house. She came out to meet us and, as she drew near, held out her arms to take the child from me. I watched as she took him and hid her face in his hair.
“Thank goodness!” she said. “Where did you find him, Kay?”
“I didn’t. It was Grace who found him. He was wandering along at the side of the road up there. But what I don’t understand is ...”
I stopped as Rosemary-June’s car swe
pt up the drive, spitting pebbles as it came. It drew to a sharp stop next to mine, the driver’s door flew open and Rosemary leapt out and ran to where her sister stood. I watched as she almost wrenched Oliver from Violet-May’s arms and, without a word to either of us, turned and marched with him toward the house. As she went I could see Oliver’s dusty, dazed little face as his chin bounced against his mother’s shoulder.
I turned and looked at the two women and found that both were staring after Rosemary, each with a different but equally inscrutable expression in their eyes.
Chapter 22
There is something wrong in this house. I was lying in bed on the night of Oliver’s disappearance, exhausted but unable to sleep, puzzling over what had happened, when the thought crossed my mind like a shadow. It took me by surprise and I sat up quickly, reaching for the lamp next to my bed. Just what, I asked myself, did I mean by wrong? I had been living in the Duffs’ house for just over a week and although I now tried to relive in memory every single one of those days, I was unable to put my finger on what was bothering me. Even so, the sense that something was amiss refused to dissipate and I recognised that it had begun that first afternoon I arrived. What was it that Violet-May had asked me that day? Do you ever get the feeling that you’re being watched?
That was it, I realised, that was how it felt – in this house, everybody was watching everybody else. Robbie was watching the two girls, the girls were watching one another, Violet-May was watching Grace and me. And what of me? It came to me with a small shock that I too was watching. Wasn’t that the reason I had been brought here in the first place? To – how was it Robbie had put it – “to keep an eye on things”?