by Jane Renshaw
Now the single ends had been put together to make flats, just two households on each landing rather than six or eight.
Saskia’s flat was on the top floor. She stood in the doorway watching them ascend to the landing, and any thoughts Flora had had about Saskia choosing to live here because of an interest in social history vanished. She looked terrible – hair greasy and in need of a cut, fleece and leggings wrinkling on a frame that had shrunk several sizes since Flora had last seen her. Her feet looked huge in matted brown faux-fur slippers.
‘Hi,’ she said flatly. ‘If you’ve come for an apology – I’m sorry. Really I am.’
‘No,’ said Flora. ‘That’s not why we’re here. I understand why you did it. We both do.’
Not true. Neil was completely baffled and outraged by what Saskia had done.
‘Can we come in and talk?’
‘Place is a mess.’ But she held the door open for them.
The smell hit Flora as soon as she entered the living room – an open-plan kitchen and sitting area with a large flat-screen TV opposite a sofa on which Saskia had evidently been sleeping. There was a yellow-stained pillow on it and a duvet cascading onto the floor. In front of this was a coffee table with an ashtray full of joints. The sickly smell of cannabis and sweat and mouldering food was so overpowering that Flora wasn’t sure she was going to be able to stand it. Dirty dishes were piled up all over the worktops.
Flora turned to Saskia. ‘Are you – are you all right?’
Saskia gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Fine and dandy.’
What about her children? Did they come here, or did she meet her husband at a café or a park or the zoo to spend time with them? An image came into Flora’s head of a tousle-haired little boy in Saskia’s arms.
I just wanted to see you.
She couldn’t ask her about her children. She couldn’t afford to have Saskia break down and be unable to tell them what they needed to know.
‘We’ll not stay long,’ she said, perching on one of the chairs positioned on either side of the sofa.
Neil didn’t sit and Saskia also remained standing, near the door, as if she was expecting to need an escape route.
‘Please come and sit down, Saskia,’ said Flora. ‘Neil.’
Neil perched on the other chair, while Saskia went to the sofa and folded up the duvet, shoved it to one side and sat. She still hadn’t met Flora’s eye.
‘Did you hurt Beckie?’ Neil said. She could hear the strain in his voice, the effort it was taking for him to remain calm.
Saskia didn’t respond.
‘We’re not going to repeat what you tell us to anyone,’ Flora said. ‘We just need to know. We need to know the truth about what you did, and what you made up, and what the Johnsons really did and didn’t do. Because they’ve found us again.’
Saskia looked up. ‘Oh God… I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah,’ said Neil. ‘Right. You’re sorry.’
‘Neil.’ Flora wanted to just get up and leave, to run out of this stinking flat and down the stairs and forget Saskia Mair existed. But they needed to hear the truth from her. ‘Please, Saskia. I mean it, we won’t go to the police or anything with what you tell us.’
Saskia shook her head and, finally, met Flora’s gaze. ‘I did it for the kids. And you know what? I’m not sorry. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. A few seconds of discomfort weighed against a lifetime of abuse and fear and misery and deprivation?’
‘That wasn’t your call to make,’ said Neil.
‘Oh, but you see, it was. I knew those kids. I knew those families. You’re really saying Beckie’s not better off today than she would have been if she’d been left to grow up in that family?’
‘If they weren’t actually doing her any harm, if she wasn’t really in any danger from them – you had no right to take her away. No wonder they’re angry. No wonder they moved heaven and earth to find her. My God, in their position I don’t know what I’d do.’
‘Of course they were doing her harm,’ Saskia almost spat. ‘Most of it was true, what I put in my report.’
‘What bits, exactly?’ said Flora. ‘We need to know what you made up and what was true.’
Saskia shut her eyes.
‘Saskia!’ Flora bunched her fists.
Saskia breathed out, opened her eyes, and stared off. ‘The house was filthy. There were holes in the walls and doors missing. The place was full of cigarette smoke. The dog was out of control. There was a used condom lying on the carpet. Dirty nappies were spilling from the bin and the dog had hold of one. Beckie really was outside in the rain. Okay she didn’t have a dirty nappy. She wasn’t dirty. She was in clean clothes. And there were no signs she had recently been physically hurt, although there were old bruises. But she was obviously not happy. She was obviously frightened of something. And Ryan and Travis and Jed really did threaten me. They didn’t actually assault me, but only because Lorraine stopped them. Jed Johnson really is dangerous – he’s a psychopath. A truly evil man who gets off on torturing people. Ryan’s more subtle, more sophisticated maybe, but he’s a killer too. As is Shannon-Rose. Travis is just a violent thug. That isn’t a family any child should have to grow up in.’
A long silence.
Neil was looking out of the window, his face expressionless. If you didn’t know him you’d think he’d lost interest in the conversation, but Flora knew it was taking all he had not to lose it.
‘And that’s the truth?’
Saskia nodded. ‘The courts won’t take Beckie away from you. Not now. No court in the world would deem that to be in her best interests, after all this time with you. You’re her parents as far as she’s concerned. You’re her family.’
This was what Yvonne Richards had told them. That there was no need to worry on that score.
‘So they never actually harmed Beckie,’ said Neil quietly. ‘They were looking after her well.’
‘I’m sure they did harm her! I just didn’t have the evidence.’ Saskia’s voice caught. ‘Surely you must know that yourselves, surely you’ve seen the effect living with them had on Beckie? You’re not going to tell me she’s not been affected by it?’
‘No, I would certainly never claim she hadn’t been,’ said Flora. ‘She’s –’
Neil cut through her: ‘But that could have been down solely to Shannon-Rose! Who was a schizophrenic and not responsible for her actions – and the rest of the family certainly can’t be held responsible for what she did. Whatever Beckie suffered before she came to us might have nothing to do with them.’
‘Oh, believe that if you want to!’ Saskia reached for a roll-up. ‘Go ahead and get the adoption changed from closed to open if you want and see what happens. The courts would probably look favourably on such an application, in the circumstances. If you’re so confident they’re no threat to Beckie, go ahead and let the Johnsons back in her life.’
‘We’ve no intention of doing that,’ said Flora.
But Neil didn’t look at her.
Chapter 17
‘What the fuck’s up wi’ you, doll?’ goes Mandy.
‘Aye,’ I goes, ‘excuse me if I’m no maybe wanting to bankrupt my arse on a wean that’s no even out the fucking womb.’
We’re in the TK Maxx on Argyle Street, me and Carly and Mandy, and I’m pushing the trolley because Carly thinks being pregnant means she cannae do nothing. Doesnae stop her shopping for Scotland, mind.
I goes, ‘Next time you go for a check-up, hen, you should maybe ask if there are no any procedures, like maybe they can get a pair of Swarovski earrings onto one of they keyhole whoogies and shove them up your fanny into the bairn?’
Mandy cackles.
Carly’s chuckling an’ all. ‘My Big Fat Gypsy Bairn.’ The wean’s da’s that wee fucker Ryan calls Gypsy Bob, but he’s no really a traveller, he just keeps getting moved on by the Council. ‘Aw is that no gorgeous?’ goes Carly, and she breenges past another bint – She’s pregnant, aye? So get out her fucking road –
and shakes a baby-gro in my face. It’s pale yellow with wee bunnies and bees and that. Soft as anything.
‘Aye go on.’
She chucks it in the trolley. ‘Aw and look at they wee sundresses! Would Bekki no look bonnie in one of they?’
‘We dinnae even know her right size.’
Carly’s holding up the dress. It’s turquoise with bonnie white flowers.
‘That’s adorable,’ goes Mandy.
Carly eyeballs me from under her big false eyelashes. ‘She’s like average size for her age, aye, give or take? Six to eight’s gonnae be too wee. Nine to eleven? If it’s too big it’ll do for next year?’
‘Aye go on,’ I huff.
‘What’s up wi’ you, doll?’ Mandy willnae let it go. ‘It’s no like there’s gonnae be a TK Maxx in Spain by the way. Or any shops that are any fucking good. Eh?’
I cannae fool Mands.
When Carly’s off looking at bibs and that I go, ‘Buying crap for a wean that’s no born… for Bekki – it’s like… like the fucking Universe is gonnae go Fuck off Lorraine.’
‘That’s mental.’
‘Aye, but.’
Mandy puts her arm round me. She’s no the freshest after a day trauchling round town, and I get a big whiff of BO off of her. ‘It’s gonnae be OK. Scans are all normal, aye? And we’re gonnae get Bekki back. We’re gonnae get our wee lassie back, Lorraine.’
‘They bastards… they’re smart, aye? They’re maybe gonnae rumble it.’ I get my arse moving, pushing the trolley through the lines of bairns’ clothes to the tills.
In the queue, Mandy starts back in. ‘Bastards gave it their best shot, disappearing and that, but they havenae a fucking clue. Have a wee bit faith in yourself, hen.’ She puffs. ‘God, would you listen to me giving it Pollyannas?’
When we were wee, any time any good shite happened, like we were in the park with our pals and we all had cones, and we were lying on the grass licking them, and the sun was shining and that, and I’d go ‘This is barry,’ Mandy would go ‘It’s just a fucking cone’ and ‘Fucking Pollyanna’ and I’d be all ‘Shut your face Misery Mandy.’
Felt bad, when I got old enough to work out what all had gone on. No wonder Mandy wasnae a laugh a minute, eh? She kept letting Billy do that shite to her so he wouldnae go all the way with me, and she got infections and that, and that’s why she couldnae have bairns.
I go, ‘Thanks doll.’
‘They’re smart, aye, but you’re smarter than ninety-nine point nine nine nine per cent of the population. Just you mind that, Lorraine.’
Connor got me doing this IQ test he found on the net and I aced it by the way. Came out my IQ’s 167. And Connor’s like that: ‘Christ on a cheesy biscuit! You should be the fucking Prime Minister!’
Mandy goes, ‘You’re one smart cookie.’
‘Aye, okay I’ve got a brain on me, but near enough two fucking years to find Bekki? It’s like we’re no meant to get her.’
‘That’s mental.’
‘I’ve got a bad feeling, Mands. A bad fucking feeling.’
Thought it would be easy to find them. Once we’d got photies of them off of Pammie, all we had to do was go to all the places they could be – Torridon, Perth, St Andrews, fucking Amalfi, fucking Australia – and go round asking folk if they’d seen them because they’d kidnapped a wee lassie. Get Connor searching for Ruth and Alec Morrison on the net and checking out folk’s blogs and sites and that from they places. Checking out nurses and botanists. Every Botany Department in the English-speaking fucking world.
Nada.
Fucking two years wasted.
‘Two fucking years,’ I goes.
‘That’s nothing,’ goes Mandy. ‘Look at all they bastards on FAF. How many of them are gonnae find their bairns ever?’
Right enough.
I’d been all out of ideas, sitting on my arse watching this daft TV show with Connor, The Big Bang Theory, about a load of dowfie wee fuckers in a university, and then I’m jumping up out my chair and I’m like that: ‘Oh my God’ and Connor’s: ‘What?’ and I’m ‘Alec Morrison’s one of they, aye? One of they boffins? How’s he gonnae survive outside of a university, out in the real fucking world?’
Connor’s nodding. ‘Aye! Like pandas and that. They can only eat bamboo, aye? They cannae survive in any other habitat. They’re too specialised.’
‘Aye, he’s like one of they fuckwit pandas. He cannae do a normal job. He cannae transfer his skills. Maybe he’s no working in a Botany Department, but he has to be in a fucking university. He’s maybe just moved departments, eh?’
So me and Connor get searching the net: all they university department web pages, any department to do with biology, looking for his face, because it’s ninety-nine per cent he’ll have changed his name.
Nada.
Then we try web pages for conferences, press stuff, boffins’ blogs and that.
And bingo.
There’s his geeky wee face in the background of a photy showing some professor retiring. At the Microbiology Department at Edinburgh University.
Two fucking years, but.
Mandy’s pulling her heid back into her chins like she’s up for a rammie, like she’s gonnae belt any bastard gets in her road.
‘They’re that arrogant, they think moving a wee bit west to east and changing from bot-logy to bile-ogy’s gonnae stop us finding them? They’re that fucking complacent, Lorraine?’
Aye.
Fucking Alec moves from Glasgow to Edinburgh University, from Botany to Microbiology, and he thinks that’s him disappeared? He’s all: They wee windae-lickers willnae even know what a university is. Fucking arrogant wee fuck.
Thought he’d been smart not putting a photy on his profile page on the departmental website. All that meant was Ryan and Travis had to park up on campus and wait till they saw him coming out the front door of the Microbiology Department. Follow the fucker home.
‘Aye,’ I goes. ‘Fucking complacent.’
Chapter 18
Having spent an hour lovingly constructing ‘Jed-Bag’ from a pair of old jeans of Neil’s, one of his old shirts, a pair of Flora’s tights, Caroline’s make-up and some rags, Beckie and Caroline had hung him by the neck from a branch of the sycamore.
Now Beckie was doubled up, hysterical, as Caroline aimed another kick at his crotch area, which she followed up with a jab to the eye, sending Jed-Bag spinning on the rope.
They’d made his head by stuffing old pillow cases into Flora’s tights and used make-up to do long-lashed, wide-open eyes and a manically smiling mouth like Mr Blobby’s. They’d tied up the ends of Neil’s jeans with string, so Jed-Bag’s sausage-like legs ended like Christmas crackers. And at his crotch Caroline had hung one of those orange mesh bags you bought onions in, inside which she’d arranged a carrot and two onions which were now receiving heavy punishment as the targets of Caroline and Beckie’s ninja skills.
Was this appropriate, really?
But Beckie was having such fun. Flora didn’t have the heart to object.
‘Who needs a blender,’ grinned Neil, sitting back in his favourite lounger with a cold glass of ginger beer.
Flora stood behind him, arms folded, watching their daughter over his head. That was all she seemed to do now – watch Beckie. Whenever Beckie was out of her sight she felt twitchy, unable to settle to anything. Instead of walking to and from school, she now drove Beckie there and back. And she’d started arriving at the school half an hour early to pick her up. Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if the teachers were going to let the Johnsons take her, was it?
She no longer let Beckie play in the garden on her own.
This morning Beckie had begged to be allowed to ask Thomas over – ‘And if he’s here you don’t need to be hovering round me all the time, do you, Mum?’ – and Flora had gone next door to issue the invitation.
Ailish hadn’t even let her over the threshold.
‘Sorry Flora, he’s Skyping his gran.’
Ailish had smiled mechanically and started closing the door. ‘Sorry Flora, I’ve got to…’
She couldn’t even be bothered making up a believable excuse.
Ever since the incident with the Johnsons in the street, Ailish had been treating Flora and Beckie like lepers. Flora had tried to explain what had happened, but, unsurprisingly, the information that Beckie’s delinquent birth family had found out where they lived hadn’t seemed to help.
Ailish was just looking out for her son. Of course she was.
And now on top of everything, when Caroline had suggested swapping mobile numbers, Flora had been unable to locate her phone. Where was the damn thing?
‘Sit down, Flora,’ said Neil. ‘Relax for five minutes.’
She made herself sit on one of the other loungers and lean back, but she couldn’t relax. She seemed to have lost the knack. She found she was gripping the chair’s wooden arms as if she was on some sort of terrifying fairground ride.
She caught Neil’s eye, and returned his smile half-heartedly.
He got up and came round behind her; put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Nothing bad’s going to happen to her.’ He started to knead the muscles at the base of her neck. ‘You’re blowing this up into something it’s not. If they were going to do anything, they’d have done it by now.’
It was over two weeks since the incident in the street.
‘They haven’t had the chance. Wherever she goes, I go.’
‘They haven’t even tried, though, have they?’ His fingers pushed into her flesh, into the tension across her shoulders, and finally she allowed her muscles to relax, the tension to drop through her shoulders and down her arms.
She released her grip on the chair.
‘Mm. I guess not.’
‘I think their apology was genuine.’
The police had said that the Johnsons had asked them to pass on an apology for what had happened – it was all down to the alcoholic father, apparently, and they were really sorry if she and Beckie had been frightened. It wouldn’t happen again.