by Jane Renshaw
‘Please help us!’ she yelled at them. ‘They’re trying to take my little girl!’
And then suddenly someone else was yelling, a woman was yelling, ‘Flora! It’s okay, the police are coming!’ and Caroline came running out at a gate and barging past Jed Johnson to stand between the two thugs and Flora and Beckie, phone held aloft like a weapon. ‘I’m filming this! Back off!’
‘They’re trying to take Beckie!’ Flora gasped, and now Beckie was properly crying, wailing, shaking against her. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ Flora kept repeating, stupidly. She could see wee on the pavement by Beckie’s feet.
‘It’s okay Beckie, they’re not going to touch you,’ said Caroline.
And it was a miracle, because the thugs did back off.
‘Come on, Da. Leave it.’
The one in the suit, the one she was sure was Ryan Johnson, pointed a fob at the 4 x 4 and it flashed its lights. He opened the back door and half-threw Jed into the back seat. Then he turned to Caroline, and then Flora, aiming his hand at them like a gun.
‘See yous later.’
He jumped up into the driver’s seat and the 4 x 4 was reversing, and then roaring away almost before he’d closed his door.
Caroline still had her phone pointed at it.
‘Oh thank you thank you,’ Flora babbled.
‘Number plate,’ said Caroline briskly: ‘RJ MAG16.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘You saved our lives!’ Beckie sobbed.
Caroline smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, sweetheart. They were just cowards, weren’t they? Amazing how many people are, when they realise they’re being recorded. Right. I didn’t actually have time to call the police. I’ll do that now. I can show them this footage… You get inside. Lock the doors. Or actually, no, you’d better come to mine. Yeah?’
‘Thank you.’ It was all Flora could find to say.
‘No problem.’
‘Mum,’ whispered Beckie.
‘It’s all right, darling. It’s all right now.’
‘I’ve wet myself.’
Flora hugged her tight. ‘Oh Beckie, don’t worry about that, silly.’
Caroline ushered them back along the pavement and in at the gate to Number 13.
‘I can’t go into her house all wee,’ whispered Beckie.
The Victorian hallway of Number 13 had an ugly 1970s partition across it, in which were set two frosted-glass doors. Through the left-hand one she could see the distorted shape of the stairs which must lead to the upper flat. Caroline unlocked the door on the right, saying:
‘I don’t know about you but I could murder a cuppa.’
‘Mum!’ said Beckie, desperately, pulling back against Flora’s arm, standing carefully on the mat.
‘Beckie’s had a little accident,’ said Flora. ‘Would it be okay if we cleaned up…?’ She hunkered down and started to unbuckle Beckie’s shoes.
‘Of course, don’t worry about it, sweetheart!’
Shoes and socks off and stuffed into a carrier from Flora’s bag, Beckie clutched onto Flora again. The two of them moved crab-like through the doorway. Beckie’s bare feet, very white against the parquet floor, were small in relation to the rest of her, as if the growth spurt of last year hadn’t reached them yet, still little and chubby and babyish.
‘Bathroom’s just in there,’ Caroline gestured. ‘Come through to the kitchen when you’re ready, okay-doke? There’re clean flannels and towels and that in the cupboard in there.’
They joined Caroline in the kitchen five minutes later, Beckie with her arms held stiffly at her sides against her skirt, mortified that underneath she wasn’t wearing any pants. The kitchen was at the back of the house, like theirs was, but there the resemblance ended. Catherine’s kitchen was a 1980s country ‘oak’ monstrosity. It was neat as a pin, though, with the minimalist look that younger people seemed to favour. No fridge magnets, no colourful oilcloth on the table, no bits and bobs. No ‘clutter’ as Caroline would probably refer to the stuff in their kitchen.
‘Here’s some socks and slippers – they’ll be a wee bit big…’ Caroline indicated a pair of socks with dogs all over them and some fluffy slippers which she’d set on one of the kitchen chairs. ‘Tea? And what about you, sweetheart? The only juice I’ve got is apple. That do you?’
Beckie nodded as she pulled on the socks. ‘Thank you.’
Caroline went to the fridge, brought out a carton of juice – the stuff made from concentrate, but who the hell cared – and turned back to Flora. ‘Tea, coffee?’
‘Whatever you’re having.’
‘Tea with sugar’s meant to be good for shock, eh, according to Coronation Street anyway?’
Flora smiled.
Caroline made the drinks and shook some plain digestives onto a plate. ‘Sorry, haven’t got anything more exciting. I’m a crap hostess at the best of times, but I’m just back from a week away with work and the cupboard is bare. Ish. Let’s go through to the lounge, yeah, and relax? Till the police get here anyway. I think they’ll probably class this as non-urgent – they asked me whether the situation was “ongoing” and like an idiot I said no. So it could be a while.’
‘Oh, but we won’t hang around – I mean we won’t take up your time. I’m sure you’re busy.’
‘Nothing that can’t wait.’
Translation: I am busy but I’m being nice. Yeah?
The lounge was a depressing room decorated in beige and brown and silver. Flora and Beckie sat on the sofa and Caroline took one of the armchairs.
‘Thank you so much for what you did,’ said Flora.
Caroline was offering Beckie a biscuit. ‘Honestly, Flora, stop it, it was nothing. It wasn’t any more than anyone else would have done.’
‘No – that’s not true. Ailish was there. I shouted to her and she couldn’t run fast enough in the opposite direction.’
Caroline made a face. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
They both smiled.
‘They were the Johnsons, weren’t they?’ said Beckie suddenly.
Flora hugged her. ‘Don’t worry darling, they’re not going to come anywhere near us again. The police will sort it all out.’
‘But it was them?’
‘Yes.’
‘That man – he’s really my – grandad?’
‘No. The only connection you have with them is genetic.’
‘But he’s my genetic grandad?’
Caroline was pretending she wasn’t hearing this, sipping her tea and looking out of the window. There was a lovely view over the privet hedge of the cherry blossom across the street in the Botanics.
‘He’s genetically your biological mother’s father. Yes.’
Beckie’s lips trembled. ‘He’s horrible. They’re all horrible. They’re evil. That’s why I was taken away from them, isn’t it?’
‘Well darling, they weren’t able to look after you properly, and maybe some of them aren’t very nice people, but I wouldn’t say they were evil.’ Wouldn’t she? ‘They’ve had – difficult lives, I should think, and when people –’
‘They might come back. They probably will. How can the police stop them?’
Oh God.
‘Beckie,’ said Caroline. ‘You saw how they reacted when all I did was point my phone at them, didn’t you?’
Beckie nodded.
‘I mean, look at me. Okay so I do kick-boxing and karate, and I once punched my big brother’s nose and made it bleed… But really? There were three of them, two of them big strong guys, but when a skinny wee woman stood up to them they legged it out of here, didn’t they? You don’t need to be scared of them.’
‘But you might not be there next time.’
Shame flooded through Flora. She should be the one Beckie looked to to protect her, not some random neighbour they hardly even knew.
Caroline, she saw, was looking at her. ‘Well, how about I teach your mum some self-defence moves so she can kick their arses
, eh? Oops, sorry, bad word slipped out there.’
‘That’s okay.’ Beckie was grinning now. ‘Stress of the moment.’ It was what Neil said when he accidentally swore in Beckie’s hearing. ‘Could you teach me too?’
‘Sure thing. It’s mainly a matter of confidence –’
‘And my dad?’
‘Hey, let’s throw in the dog while we’re at it, let’s ninja up the whole family!’
Beckie laughed. ‘We don’t have a dog, but we have a hamster.’
‘Ninja-hamster? Works for me.’
‘You’re so cool. You’re like Zena Warrior Princess or something. Although actually no, she’s not that cool. Not as cool as you.’
‘Why thank you. You’re pretty cool yourself. You’re being a very brave girl, I reckon.’
Beckie flushed. ‘No I’m not. I was useless. I just – basically I just cried. And peed my pants.’
‘Well of course you did. It was horrendous for you both. Really horrendous.’ And she set down her mug and reached over and touched Flora’s arm. ‘How are you doing?’
There was so much kindness in her voice.
All Flora could do was nod.
She’d known it was going to be bad, telling Neil, but she hadn’t expected this.
He was shaking.
He was looking at her with repressed fury in his face.
They were standing facing each other in the cramped, bleach-infused en suite of the hotel room. Beckie was finally asleep. She’d been hyper for the last few hours, insisting on exploring every inch of the hotel ‘to make sure it’s safe’ and insisting on both of them coming with her. Trekking after her down one endless corridor after another, each the same, each with a synthetic blue carpet, magnolia walls and row after row of identical veneer doors, Flora had muttered to Neil that it was as if they had somehow become trapped in Minecraft.
And then they’d turned a corner and Beckie had almost walked into the big belly of a man coming the other way, and she’d screamed, clutching Neil, and burst into tears. The poor man had stood there blinking and saying, ‘Sorry. Sorry, is she okay?’
She wasn’t okay. Of course she wasn’t.
Back in the room, she’d sobbed into Flora’s chest, this little girl who never cried, and gulped out, of all things: ‘I’m sorry I was so horrible to Edith.’
‘Oh darling, never mind about that.’
‘Do you think I’m horrible?’
And Flora had squeezed her tight as she felt it again, that sick weight in the pit of her stomach that she’d carried around all her teenage years, the weight of knowing that her mother didn’t love her any more. That she’d forfeited her love.
At the time she hadn’t blamed her mother, only herself. But since Beckie, she could no longer understand it.
How could a mother’s love not be entirely unconditional?
‘There is nothing you could do, my little Beckie,’ she had said, ‘that would ever make me think you were horrible. There is nothing you could do that would ever make me or Dad love you even a millionth trillionth bit less.’
‘My turn for a hug,’ Neil had said then, in a choked voice, and then they’d bathed her together, like she was a toddler again, and brushed her hair, and snuggled with her in the big bed with packets of crisps, Beckie’s tablet and the usually forbidden EastEnders on the big TV.
And now she was finally asleep.
‘How could you let it happen?’ Neil said now.
‘What do you mean, how could I?’
‘She’s eight years old! How could you let her go off on her own –’
‘I didn’t let her go off on her own – she ran away from me!’
‘Well she’s never done that when I’ve been with her.’
Flora took a breath. ‘Okay. I’m sorry I didn’t stop her running away from me. She flounced off in a huff because –’
‘And how did they find us?’
‘That’s my fault too, is it?’
‘I don’t know. Is it?’
He was lashing out because he was scared. She took another breath. ‘Maybe it is. I don’t know, Alec, because I’ve no idea how they found us.’
‘Neil! It’s Neil! Although what the hell does it matter now?’
‘Shh. You’ll wake her.’
He sat down, suddenly, on the loo.
She leant back against the cool tiles. ‘They’ve found us. It doesn’t matter how. What matters is what we’re going to do about it. The police are obviously not going to take effective action. We have to try and discuss this calmly and sensibly and decide what we’re going to do.’
There was a long, heavy silence, and then he lowered his head. ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
Tentatively, she touched his shoulder. ‘Maybe I should have called you. But there was nothing you could have done.’
He took in a long breath. ‘No, it’s okay.’ He put his hand over hers. ‘It must have been… terrifying.’
He stood, and for a long, still moment, they held each other. Then Neil said, ‘So what exactly did the police say? Did they take a statement from Caroline too?’
She pulled away from him and ran a hand through her hair. ‘Yes. We both gave statements, separately, and they took the footage off her phone. I told them I’d recognised the Johnsons from photos in the press – I didn’t land Saskia in it by saying she’d shown us photos. Caroline says she told them she heard Jed Johnson shouting about how we’d stolen Beckie from them –’
‘Did he actually say he was going to take Beckie?’
‘No, not in so many words, unfortunately. And my statement… when it was written down, what they did say didn’t sound that bad. Not as… threatening as it actually was.’
‘But Caroline’s footage…’
‘There’s no audio on it.’
‘Couldn’t you have made something up? Said they said “Beckie’s ours and we’re taking her back” or something?’
‘Well, in hindsight, maybe, but Caroline and I would have had to collude…’
‘So they’re not going to do anything, basically?’
‘They’re going to question the Johnsons about breaching the court order prohibiting contact with us or Beckie, and depending on what they say, they could be charged.’
‘And then what? A few hours’ community service? It was practically an assault! If Caroline hadn’t been there... Isn’t it classed as an assault, or threatening behaviour or…’
‘Apparently not. The footage shows they made no move to touch us.’
‘Attempted kidnap?’
‘There’s no proof of that.’
‘Harassment? Is that a thing? Stalking?’
‘Apparently a single altercation in the street doesn’t constitute harassment or stalking. It needs to happen at least twice.’ She took a deep breath. ‘We have to go. We have to disappear again.’
‘How many times?’ And suddenly Neil was shouting at her: ‘How many fucking times, Flora?’
What did he mean? What did he mean by that?
With a guilty look at the door, he lowered his voice: ‘How many times are we going to have to run from them?’
She breathed. ‘We’ll make sure, next time, that they can’t find us.’
‘And how are we going to do that, if we don’t even know how they found us this time?’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not fair on Beckie. She’s only just stopped asking when she’s going to see Emma. And crying about Hobo. She’s made new friends. She’s settling in –’
‘And how not fair on Beckie is it going to be if the Johnsons snatch her?’
‘But is that their intention?’
‘Of course it is!’
They lapsed into silence. Neil sat down again on the loo.
‘This doesn’t make any sense,’ he said slowly, as if offering some profound insight.
‘Well, that’s life,’ she said impatiently. ‘As you keep telling me. Life isn’t supposed to make sense. It doesn’t have any meaning. We’re all just trying to survive as best we c
an.’
‘No,’ he said, with a faint smile. ‘I don’t mean life generally. I mean the Johnsons. If they’re such desperados, if they’re so determined to get Beckie back, why didn’t they take her? There was just you there, at first, before Caroline arrived on the scene – and even then, two women against three Glasgow toughs? If they’d wanted to take her, they could have done.’
‘The police would have acted though, if they had. They’d have got Beckie back.’
‘Only if they knew where to find her. Think about it. If the situations were reversed – if the Johnsons had Beckie and you had an opportunity to snatch her – you’d do it, wouldn’t you, you’d take her and disappear? We’ve shown it can be done.’
‘Maybe they don’t want to disappear. And even if they did… I can’t imagine they’d be too good at blending into the woodwork. Assuming new identities – it takes a bit of doing.’
‘They’ll have all kinds of dodgy contacts. Disappearing would be far easier for them than it was for us. No. I’m thinking… Maybe they don’t actually want her back. Maybe they just want to cause trouble. Maybe they just want to…’ He shrugged. ‘Punish us.’
‘Punish us? For what?’
‘For giving her what they couldn’t?’
‘But that’s… mad.’
‘I don’t think they’re the most mentally stable people in the world.’
Suddenly she was just so tired. It was vitally important that they thought this through, that they made the right decisions, decisions that would determine the rest of Beckie’s life, but she felt as if they were both floundering, adrift, the two of them and Beckie in this hotel room, while all around them the sharks circled in a vast, indifferent ocean.
No one was going to come to their rescue.
It was down to them.
‘Whatever their intentions, running away again isn’t the answer,’ said Neil.
Flora opened her mouth to argue, and then closed it.
The idea of yet another identity standing between her and Rachel – was it a dangerously appealing idea she was too eager to embrace? Was she thinking more of herself than of Beckie?
It had been so hard for Beckie to leave her old life behind, to sever all ties with it. And she’d been so scared, when they’d told her the reason why.
But not as scared as she was now.