by Chris Simms
‘This place is incredible. How on earth has it all been funded?’
‘Mainly through some very generous donors and very dedicated fundraisers.’
‘Amazing.’ Laura raised her eyebrows. ‘And do children actually live here? I noticed a sign saying Residential Units.’
‘There are rooms for ten children or young adults who need round-the-clock care. Most stay for short periods – mainly to provide some respite for their families or carers. Four, currently, live with us full time.’
Including William, Laura thought. ‘Could...could I see the living facilities? If this is anything to go by...’
‘Of course. They’re over this way. Does the studio look like it would be of use? If not, the gym has a soft floor and runners in the ceiling for children who need to be – ’
‘No – the studio would be perfect.’
‘Good.’ Her stride broke as she looked at Laura. ‘Can I ask; what was it like to be a ballerina? You did it professionally, is that right?’
‘I did, yes.’ The question was one Laura didn’t look forward to. Many women dreamed, as young girls, of being ballerinas. Few understood the endless gruelling work required to actually become one. Or the fierce competition to win through. The rivalries and alliances that constantly shifted. She gave her stock answer. ‘It was everything I’d hoped it would be – and more.’
‘I bet,’ Denise said a little breathlessly.
Laura knew she was picturing the spotlight beaming down, bouquets of flowers, rapturous applause.
‘But not something,’ she added, ‘that you can do – or would want to do – forever.’ The comment, she’d learned over the years, worked well. It closed the gap between fantasy and reality. Brought everything back down to earth and made the person she was talking to realise Laura was human, too.
Denise nodded. ‘Yes – you hear stories about the wear and tear on your joints. Though you’re in terrific shape, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Thanks. It leaves you with good body awareness, that’s for sure. I can’t go long without exercising.’
Denise showed her through the doors of the residential unit. There were cheery murals on the walls, plants in large pots. ‘This building has its own catering unit. There is a communal living area for activities and an outside play area at the back.’
Laura heard a television. William liked to watch the television. ‘What about somewhere just to relax?’
‘The TV lounge. We also find computer games can work quite well – especially for the children with autism.’
Denise opened the door to her left and Laura immediately saw him. He was in a large chair directly in front of the TV. A couple of other children in wheelchairs were playing on a computer game, staff members at their sides. On the other side of the room, a young girl was being held upright by some kind of frame on wheels. Her head was swaying to and fro and she grinned in their direction, eyes magnified by the thickness of her glasses. One hand began to flap weakly.
‘Rosie, hi!’ Denise exclaimed, before turning to Laura. ‘Come and meet Rosie.’
As they got closer, the girl’s hand flapped more quickly and a string of saliva stretched from her chin. Laura kept her smile fixed in place as Denise knelt down and produced a tissue. ‘Rosie, this is Laura.’
The girl’s eyes were glittering with delight. Laura wondered how often anyone came to visit. Rosie’s head started to wobble with effort as one arm rose slightly higher. Laura realised she wanted to shake hands. She bent forward, readying herself to snub out any urge to back away. But, to her surprise, it didn’t come. She realised the joyful sparkle in the girl’s eyes was making her smile in return. Genuinely smile. She took her hand. ‘Hi Rosie, it’s really nice to meet you.’
She made a kind of humming noise. Happy.
‘So, Rosie,’ Denise announced. ‘Are we going for a walk in a bit, you and me?’
The girl let go of Laura’s hand and wrenched her head round to look at Denise.
Laura saw her chance. Edging away from them, she began a slow and casual circle of the room, studying the paintings on the walls, keeping William in the periphery of her vision all the while. Denise was now holding Rosie’s hand as the girl started to speak in agonisingly slow syllables.
Laura stopped at William’s chair. ‘Hello,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve brought you some raisins.’
Chapter 23
He looked up briefly, eyes dropping to where her breasts jutted from beneath her thin jumper. His bottom lip was glistening and she thought, for one uncomfortable moment, he was ogling. But she realised the look in his eyes wasn’t lustful; it was more disturbing than that. It was the look of a hungry infant. He certainly didn’t show any sign of remembering her as he finally turned back to the television.
She slid the nearest chair round so it was angled towards him. He watched warily from the corner of his eye. ‘Do you like these?’ she asked, removing the box of raisins she’d bought earlier in the village shop.
His front teeth emerged as a grin spread. ‘’Sins!’
‘Here you are.’
He reached for them eagerly, almost knocking the box from her outstretched fingers.
‘Your name is William, isn’t it?’ She kept her voice quiet and friendly.
Stubby fingers were fumbling to open the small box. The bottom edge of it was pressing down into the blubbery swell of his belly. He resorted to ripping the top flap off. A couple of raisins were prised out and shoved into his mouth.
Laura could see Denise glancing inquisitively in her direction. She gave a reassuring wave and pointed to William. Making friends, she mouthed.
Denise raised a thumb before turning to Rosie. Laura looked back at William. ‘What else do you like?’ He was chewing away, eyes fixed on the telly. A cartoon was playing. ‘Do you like the telly?’
He nodded. ‘Telly.’
‘That’s good. And is it nice living here?’
He made no reply and she sensed he was using the television as a way of not engaging. ‘Did you like where you lived before?’
A forefinger dug more raisins out from where they were lumped together in the little box. He palmed them into his mouth.
‘Was it nice living in Lantern Cottage?’
His eyes moved to her for a moment. The name had meant something to him. If only, she thought, I could turn the damn telly off. ‘The house up the steep lane? With the great big chimney?’
‘Chimey,’ he muttered, eyes glued to the screen. ‘Big.’
‘That’s right. I live there now. You came to visit us last night. Do you remember?’
He frowned slightly. His eyes were back on her, but she could tell he wasn’t really seeing her. ‘My be’room. Big chimey.’
Of course, Laura thought. The room that’s now my exercise studio had childish wallpaper when we moved in. She remembered seeing racing cars and rockets, many obliterated by clumsy crayon scrawl. What must it have been like for his parents: having a child whose body grew up, but whose mind never did? The chimney was behind the wall now covered by her mirrors. She thought of the way the kitten bolted from the room as the canary song materialised from thin air. ‘Do you like birds, William?’
‘Birdy,’ he nodded. ‘Birdy sings.’
Her heart jolted. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. ‘Did you hear a birdy singing?’ she asked quietly. ‘In your bedroom?’
His frown deepened and he looked away. ‘Twee-pie.’
‘What was that? I didn’t hear.’
Hesitantly, he mumbled into his chest. ‘Twee-pies leap.’
Twee-pies leap, she thought. That’s what he’d said at the bottom of the stairs! Twee-pies leap. What did it mean? ‘William, did you hear a bird singing in your bedroom?’
‘Twee-pie,’ he repeated more loudly, digging at the raisins. ‘Not leap?’ He sounded scared.
She couldn’t make sense of his reply. Denise was now standing up. She took a step in their direction but Rosie clutched at the
hem of her top. She bent forward to stroke the side of the girl’s face. Laura knew she didn’t have long. ‘Did your mummy and daddy also hear a bird singing?’
He looked about. ‘Mummy? Where mummy?’
Damn it, Laura cursed, I shouldn’t have mentioned his mum. He obviously doesn’t understand she’s dead. ‘William, was the bird you heard inside the house?’
He raised himself up in his chair, head twisting around. The empty box fell to the floor. Oh no, she realised, he’s looking for his mum. He thinks she’s come to visit.
‘Twee-pies leap, William. What’s twee-pies leap?’
A hand went up and he rubbed a knuckle hard against one eyebrow. ‘Twee-pie!’
The word was said with aggression. Denise looked round sharply.
‘What is twee-pies?’ Laura asked.
‘Twee-pie! Twee-pie!’ he suddenly yelled.
Pie, not pies. He raised a hand and, for a moment, she thought he was going to hit her. But it swept past her face. He thrust a finger at the television. ‘Twee-pie! Leave twee-pie ’lone!’ He was on his feet, bellowing. ‘Leave twee-pie ’lone!’
Denise ran across, as did the staff members from near the computers.
‘William?’ Denise called. ‘It’s OK, William.’ Her eyes bounced to Laura for a moment.
‘Leave twee-pie alone? Who is twee-pie?’ Laura demanded. ‘Who? Tell me.’
‘William, hush now, hush now.’ Denise put one hand on his shoulder.
‘Who is twee-pie?’ Laura tried again.
Denise shot an infuriated glance at her. ‘Stop asking him that question, will you?’
‘William, tell me who twee-pie is!’
He let out a roar of anguish. ‘Don’t move twee-pie! Bad person come! Bad person!’
One of the other staff members started pulling Laura away. ‘You need to come with me.’ His tone was harsh.
As Laura was directed roughly toward the doors, Rosie started to wail. William collapsed back in his chair, hands clapped over his ears as he began to groan. Laura glimpsed the television screen just past him. The cartoon was still playing. A black-and-white cat was creeping theatrically along a curtain rail. Perched on the end was a canary with an enormous head. Tweetie Pie. William had been pointing at Tweetie Pie.
Chapter 24
Laura wanted to curl up in a ball; the way they were all looking at her was awful. Appalled, bemused, outraged. Behind her, the parrot let out a low, rumbling squawk of disapproval. Who’s a naughty girl, then?
The woman who’d been doing most of the speaking so far was, Laura gathered, the duty manager. Next to her was Denise. She was the one who looked most outraged. The staff member who’d led William away from Lantern Cottage had also appeared, summoned from her bed, judging from her puffy-eyed appearance.
‘I’m sorry.’ Laura’s hands were clasped before her. ‘I had no idea he would get so agitated.’
‘You asked him about his recently deceased mother,’ the duty manager replied. ‘Exactly what did you expect?’
‘I didn’t mean to...’ There was no point trying to explain herself. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘And you deceived us. It’s tempting to call the police.’
‘I didn’t deceive you. I can teach dance. I’d like to –’ ‘That’s definitely not going to happen now, she realised. It was written large across all their faces. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Yes, you had.’ The duty manager looked at the staff member who’d taken William back to his room. ‘How is he now?’
‘He’s OK. I made him some hot chocolate. He’s gone to sleep.’
Sleep, Laura thought. Twee-pies leap. That’s what William said at the bottom of the stairs. Tweetie Pie’s asleep. He’d pressed his forefinger to his lips. Don’t wake up Tweetie Pie; that’s what he meant!
‘Good.’ The duty manager turned to Laura once more. ‘Why did you do it?’
Otherwise, Laura thought, the bad person would come. She started to lift a hand, the effort almost too much. ‘Because...he said something to me when he was in our house. I needed to know what it was.’
The woman looked mystified by her answer. ‘So you trick your way in here and demand that a very vulnerable person explains himself to you? He has the mind of a young child! What you did was disgraceful.’
They were all glaring at her. She bowed her head. ‘It wasn’t the first time he’s been back.’
That took the wind out of the duty-manager’s sails. ‘Pardon?’
Laura nodded. ‘He’s been out to the cottage before. I found a box of the raisins he likes in our garden. Plant pots have been moved. I’ve heard him coughing out there, in the night.’
The duty-manager looked at the lady who worked the night shift. ‘Louise?’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Louise stated, looking at Laura. ‘She didn’t make that claim when I came to collect him.’
The duty manager shook her head. Her voice now had a pitying tone. ‘I’m sorry. It’s best you go. Please leave.’
Laura saw it was futile. They don’t want to listen to me. She retreated towards the doors which sprang open behind her. Sunlight flooded the floor at her feet. ‘Please tell him I’m sorry.’ She turned round and stepped out into the brightness beyond.
‘He was talking about Tweetie Pie! It’s a canary from an old cartoon. From about the same time as Tom and Jerry. It may have been the same guy who did them. Fred Quimby, I think. The little bird had this catch-phrase. “I tawt I taw a puddy tat. I did! I did! I did” He had a lisp, you see. William was definitely talking about a canary.’
Scaredy-mouse sat behind the bars of its travel case. Its eyes looked at Laura in such an understanding way. She wanted to stop and give it a grateful hug. But she needed to get back.
‘You heard it, too. I’m beginning to think you did. Up in my studio? That’s William’s old bedroom, you know. When we were in front of the mirror, you heard it singing, didn’t you?’
She went over the encounter once more, trying to screen out the parts where poor William got distressed. He’d mentioned the chimney: he’d said to leave Tweetie Pie alone. Not to move Tweetie Pie. Something about a bad person coming, if you did. His dad? Did his dad used to beat him? Perhaps if William disturbed the canary and caused it to start singing. She could imagine William – a young boy – being fascinated by a little bird singing. But, for a grown-up, the noise would have been infuriating. Look at me, she thought. I’ve only been in the cottage a few weeks and it’s already driving me up the wall.
The turn-off for Lantern Cottage appeared and the car passed into shadow as it laboured up the steep slope. They emerged on flatter ground and the first thing she saw was that chimney, thrusting up against the cloudy sky. So like a silhouette. And the part near the top where it widened out: that was big enough...it hit her with such clarity she had to stop the car. Her hands, still gripping the wheel, were trembling. Her foot slipped off the clutch and the car gave a sudden lurch and stalled. She pictured the figure from her dream; the strange way it was positioned. Realisation dawned.
The body wasn’t lying on its side. It was upright – in a shaft! Wedged; somewhere dark and cramped and cold. Just short of the opening. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the chimney stack. Oh my God, was there a child’s body in there? Trapped, one arm behind its head, knees bent out and twisted.
Fingers shaking, she managed to restart the car and park beside the cottage. As she got out, she was acutely aware of the chimney looming over her. It gave her the same feeling as when a man she didn’t know stared at her in the street, ugly thoughts so obviously in his head. Keeping her eyes averted, she removed Scaredy-mouse from the passenger foot well and hurried up to the front door, thankful that the eave of the porch hid her from the chimney’s view.
As soon as the front door opened the burglar alarm began to beep. She entered the numbers, carried Scaredy-mouse down to the kitchen and put the case in the corner, noticing the kitten was pressed against the far end once more.
She crossed to the cellar door. As usual, the temperature quickly dropped as she descended the steep stone stairs. The energy-efficient bulbs were so slow to reach full brightness; dead leaves rustled as she reached the bottom step. Dreading seeing a toad on the floor, she scanned the shelves for Owen’s toolbox. There it was, above their walking boots. She grabbed it and hurried back up to the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind her. That place was so, so horrible.
Almost back out into the front hall, she remembered Scaredy-mouse. ‘Hey.’ She crossed over to its case and undid the front door. ‘I’ll be upstairs, OK? You come up, if you want.’
At the bottom of the stairs she realised she still had her shoes on. Kicking them off, she continued up in her tights. The first-floor corridor seemed longer than usual. The door into her studio at the far end was open. She strode purposefully up to it and took the shallow step down. Blackness had now spread through the lilies.
Turning round, she stared at the mirrors. The shaft of the chimney was behind them. This was where the original cottage used to end, before the snug and this room above it – William’s old bedroom – had been added. She recalled giving the decorators their instructions: strip back the walls to the bare plaster and fill in any bits that need it. The paint was to be a shade by Fired Earth, a lovely subtle green to impart a sense of peace and calm. The floorboards needed to be sanded and varnished and the window replaced with a double-glazed one.
She stood before the end mirror; the one Scaredy-mouse had spat at when the canary started to sing. The thick screws attaching it to the wall were the cross-haired ones.
She unclipped the lid of Owen’s toolbox and searched for a screwdriver with the correct tip. By standing on her Swiss ball she was able to reach the screws in the upper corners. Each movement caused the ball to wobble and she had to use all the strength in her abdominal muscles and legs to maintain balance. The yellow-handled screwdriver felt good in her hands and, within seconds, the first screw was out.
It fell to the floor and bounced across the boards. She repositioned the Swiss ball, stood back up on it and started on the opposite corner. Within seconds that screw dropped to the floor, too. The next two were a quarter of the way down. She rolled the ball away and removed them while standing. When the two at knee height come out, the mirror started to lean forward ever so slightly and she realised only the screws in the bottom two corners now attached it to the wall.