by Susan Stairs
For the first time ever, I was scared in the graveyard. Maybe because it was getting dark or maybe because of what I knew was going to happen once I got home. There was a heaviness in the air, a dull kind of pressure that made things less clear. My eyes were cloudy and my ears were muffled and the path felt sort of spongy beneath my feet. The light had almost gone and colours were fading. I thought I could see my cardigan lying at the edge of the path ahead, but when I ran up, it was only a clump of weeds.
Things began to swirl. Shapes swam together in twisting, blurry spirals. And then I could see shadows: waving through the trees, sliding across the ground, slipping in between the headstones. Kev would have to put up with the cold; I was going home. But as I turned, I saw something.
A movement. A slight shuffle. A figure.
Someone was standing beside a cross.
A man. Rigid and frozen like a statue, his face turned up to the sky.
I slunk down behind a headstone for a closer look.
The shape of him was dark and bulky against the white of the cross. As I watched him, I felt myself drain. After all that had happened, I was tired. I pressed my cheek against the smooth, cold headstone and knew that he wanted me there. That his presence meant something. Then he snapped his head around and stared at me, the black holes of his eyes holding my gaze. Like he’d known all along I was there.
He was bleeding me. Of all my thoughts and memories and pictures.
All the laughter. All the colour. All the life.
Then slowly he turned and spread his arms wide. His big black coat opened up and I gasped out loud at what I saw: a dark red shirt; mucky brown trousers; big black boots with straps and silver buckles.
It was him.
The man in the tree. The one I’d drawn on the kitchen wall.
The one I’d seen the day Kev had been born.
Kev . . .
I felt my insides burning, freezing, burning, my bones scorching raw under my flesh. In a blind dread, I clambered back between headstones and crosses, tripping over a grave edge, falling hard, scraping my hands and knees. As I crawled back down to the path, the sound of birdsong echoed all around. Sharp and stinging, like poison in my ears.
I tried to convince myself as I ran that the falling darkness was playing tricks with my eyes. That the pushchair really was still there. That I could see it. And Kev too. His little legs twitching . . . his eyelids flickering as he dreamt . . .
Please.
Please, please, please.
Seconds passed like hours . . . Days . . . For ever.
But I knew.
Kev was gone.
I ran up and down, spinning around, stupidly hoping I’d made a mistake about where I’d left him.
But there was no mistake.
He’d been wheeled away.
Trembling, I tried to find tracks in the dusty grit of the path. But the light had faded . . . Tears swam in my eyes . . . I could barely see.
I didn’t know what to do. The world I knew was whirling round my head like a tornado.
Where was I going? Why couldn’t I do more than run?
I should’ve been screaming. Kicking, yelling, punching. Tearing down the walls. Toppling the headstones and crosses. Unearthing everything in my way.
And then I was outside the graveyard, running past the high stone wall. The dark branches of the copper beech towered above my head, scribbling and scratching against the blue-drained sky.
I reached the churchyard gates and heaved my weight against them.
They wouldn’t budge. The latch was locked on the inside.
I pushed my hand through the bars and tried to flick it open.
It was no use. My fingers could barely stretch to touch it. But the gates had been open when I’d passed them earlier. They were always open. Why were they closed now?
I couldn’t see anything through them but dark shadows.
No life. No movement. No Kev.
I tried to climb over them but they were far too high. And even if I could, what if I didn’t find anything on the other side? I might be wasting precious time. Whoever had Kev could be halfway to Westgorman by now. Or on a bus into town. Or in a car headed to . . . anywhere.
‘Kev! Kev!’ I yelled, rattling and kicking at the gates.
I kept calling and calling but there was nothing. Not a sound. Just a deep, black, empty silence.
I strained my ears for something . . . anything . . . and then I heard the weak sound of crying coming from . . . from where, I wasn’t sure.
It grew louder and stronger and more familiar, and I almost laughed as I yelled Kev’s name and waited for him to come running out from the shadows of the copper beech to find me.
But my voice, when I heard it, was quivery and strange and I struck my head against the cold bars of the gate when I realized the crying I’d heard was my own.
Help. I needed help. ‘Help!’ I screamed as I ran. ‘Help!’
Someone else could do this. I didn’t want to. All I wanted was to sink down into my bed, soft and warm and sleepy, and then to wake up and find it was all a dream. A stupid dream.
What are you talking about? Mam would say. Kev’s here. Kept me up half the night, didn’t you, you little monkey? And he’d snuggle his face into her neck and she’d squeeze him tight and smile.
I was in the lane now and still I hadn’t seen a soul. I burst out into Hillcourt Rise, my footsteps loud and hard, echoing out over the rooftops. Then the noise of them stopped as I belted across the green, the grass soft and squishy under my feet.
How could the houses look the same as they always did? With lamplight filtering through curtain cracks, and chimneys puffing smoke into the night sky? I wanted to bang down the doors. Roar in everyone’s face. Drag them from their armchairs and punch them out into my world.
Didn’t they know? Didn’t they know Kev was gone?
I ran into the cul-de-sac. I slammed into our front door and held my finger on the bell. My eyes were on fire, my mouth was dry. I was sure I was going to throw up.
I fell into the hall when Mel answered, unable to speak. I wasn’t even sure I remembered how to. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘What happened?’ He grabbed my arm and shook me. ‘What is it? Tell me, Ruth! What?’
I lay on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. How was I going to say it? How long ago was it? I didn’t know how many minutes had passed. Five? Ten? I’d no idea.
It seemed like I’d known a whole lifetime.
‘What is it? God, Ruth! What happened? Are you OK? Where’s Kev?’ It was Sandra, her hand reaching down to take mine. Her grip was strong and safe. The touch of living flesh against my own was like a slap that brought me round. She helped me to my feet and I stood facing the two of them, my stomach rolling, my legs shaking, my body not my own any more.
I opened my mouth . . . and Mam came through the door.
‘There you are!’ she smiled, all bright and cheerful. She rustled a plastic bag in front of our faces. ‘Cissy sent over your Easter eggs. Big ones they are, too. They’re all different but she told me whose was whose, so there’ll be no arguments over them, all right?’ She studied our faces. ‘All right?’
Then Dad came whistling in, swinging his keys around his finger.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Sandra said. ‘Something’s wrong with Ruth.’
Mam looked at me. ‘Right,’ she said, her voice more matter-of-fact. She handed the bag to Sandra. ‘You and Mel go into the sitting room. And no trying to get at the eggs. They’re not to be opened till Easter Sunday.’
‘But—’ Sandra began, her voice desperate.
‘But nothing! Just put them on the sideboard and sit down quietly. I hardly have to order you to watch television, do I?’
They did as she said and I was left standing there. Time was ticking. And still I was the only one who knew Kev was gone.
‘Look, Ruth,’ Mam said, her voice all soft and kind. ‘All this stuff about your father and Liz Lawless. It’s
. . . it’s, well, it’s all rubbish, love. None of it’s true.’
Dad’s face was stern, but not cross, and he sort of half-smiled as he nodded. ‘I’m sorry, love, but your mother’s right. It’s my fault in a way. I should’ve told you ages ago. You got the wrong end of the stick. I—’
‘Stop, Dad,’ I managed to whisper, tears running down my face. I didn’t care what he was saying. Not now. I wasn’t even sure I understood what he was talking about.
He put his arm around my shoulder. ‘It’s all right. No crying, you hear? Everything’s going to be OK. Don’t be feeling bad. You weren’t to know.’
‘We had a good talk on the way home,’ Mam said. ‘We know you thought you were doing the right thing telling me. And I should’ve said last night I knew it wasn’t true. But . . . I don’t know . . . just hearing that thing about the woods, it put doubt in my mind.’ She looked at Dad. ‘It shouldn’t have, but when your daughter comes out with something like that, it . . . well . . . it knocks you for six. And I don’t know why, but I felt I had to get away for a night. I’m sorry, love. Me going off like that probably made it all a whole lot worse. I’m sure you thought it was the end of the world.’
‘I told your mother about the fight on the green earlier too,’ Dad said. ‘You see now why I wanted you to stay away from that gurrier? God only knows what he’s capable of. I can only—’
‘Kev’s gone.’
Mam’s chin went back and she looked at me all confused. Then her eyebrows shot up. ‘Now, see here, if this is another one of your . . . your—’
‘We were in the graveyard. I only left him for a minute!’ My head was pounding. I thought I was going to faint.
‘The graveyard? What were you doing there?’ she asked. ‘And what do you mean he’s gone? Gone where? He’s all right, isn’t he?’
‘I . . . I don’t know! I don’t know where he is. I ran home all the way! I tried to get into the churchyard to see if they took him there but the gate was locked and it was too high to climb over and it was all dark and I—’
‘Hold on. Slow down.’ Dad let his arm fall from my shoulder. ‘You mean . . . someone . . . took him? Someone took Kev? When? When, Ruth?’ He grabbed my arms and shook me. ‘How long ago?’
‘I don’t know! Just now. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. I’m not sure.’
‘Jesus Christ almighty! Holy Mother of God!’ Mam covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Jesus, Mick! Call the guards! Jesus Christ! What are we going to do?’
Dad had already picked up the phone. ‘Did you see anyone? Was there anyone around? Anyone in the graveyard?’
‘No. No one,’ I said. ‘Just some old man, that’s all.’
‘What old man? What did he look like?’
‘Like . . . like . . . I don’t know! Like some old tramp.’
‘Think, Ruth!’ Mam said through her tears. ‘You have to remember!’ Dad was talking into the phone now. ‘Tell them, Mick,’ she cried. ‘Tell them she saw someone there. Jesus, Ruth, what was he like? The guards will want to know.’
‘It wasn’t him! He didn’t take him!’
‘How do you know? If there was no one else around he—’
‘No! Someone took Kev when I was watching the man!’
‘Watching him? Why, for God’s sake? It was more important to spy on some old tramp than keep an eye on your baby brother?’ She collapsed onto the stairs in a heap, her head in her hands. ‘We have to go and look for him. Mick? Mick? Are the guards coming? Are they on their way?’
‘A couple of minutes. Said they’ll be here as fast as they can.’
‘What’s going on? What’s wrong?’ Mel appeared, with Sandra right behind him.
Dad told them. Mel went white and Sandra burst into tears.
‘This man, start writing down what he looked like,’ Dad said, scrabbling for a pen in the hall table drawer.
‘I don’t need to! I know what he was like. But it wasn’t him!’
‘Do it!’ he shouted. ‘Just do what you’re told! Don’t cause any more trouble than you already have!’
I grabbed the pen from his fingers and flung it on the floor. ‘I don’t need to write it down, OK?’ I screamed. ‘If you really want to know, I’ll show you!’
I ran into the kitchen and shoved the table away from the wall. They all followed me in and watched as I reached down and found the edge of the wallpaper, scraping at it with my nails till I had a grip on one corner. Then I pulled it up and away from the wall in one long, narrow strip. Then another. And another. Each one revealing a part of the man. His boots, his legs, his body.
No one said a word.
I found the blackbird with his yellow eye and the notes coming out of his beak. Then the tree trunk, the leaves, the branches.
Then I finally found the man’s face, and even though I hadn’t looked at it that day in the park, it was exactly the face of the man in the graveyard.
‘There,’ I said, crying. ‘That’s him.’
‘That’s crazy,’ Mel said. ‘How? You did that when Mam was in the hospital! That was ages ago! How could it be him? You mean you’ve seen him before?’
‘I . . . I think so. But . . . maybe I imagined him. I don’t know! But I know he didn’t do it. Maybe it was some sort of warning or something. Maybe he—’
‘Shut up, Ruth!’ Mam roared at me. ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ She slapped me across the face, then started thumping me with her fists, screaming and wailing. ‘Warning you? About what, for God’s sake? About what?’
Then Dad ran to answer the door. The guards had arrived.
NINETEEN
They took one look at Mam and told Dad to phone for Dr Crawley. He didn’t want to but they insisted. They said it was for the best. The situation ‘called for calm’, and the most important thing was getting all the facts together. It couldn’t be done properly with Mam ‘in that state’. Dr Crawley came in minutes and gave her something that made her all drowsy and quiet and Dad helped her upstairs to bed.
There were two guards – big, tall men with country accents and unhurried movements – and they tried to make us feel that we weren’t really in the middle of a disaster, that everything was going to be all right if we simply let them do their job. It kind of worked in a way. While they were speaking to me, asking me the same questions over and over, Dad lit a cigarette, Sandra put the kettle on and made sandwiches without being asked, and Mel even went back to watching telly. I suppose it helped to do normal things; it wouldn’t have done any good if we’d all been tearing around screaming our heads off like Mam. I couldn’t get the image of her mad face out of my mind. I’d managed to avoid most of her thumps by holding my arms over my head, but my cheek was stinging from where she’d slapped me.
One of the guards asked Dad about the bruise on his nose and Dad said it was nothing, just the result of some ‘horseplay’. They both nodded silently and there was an awkward kind of pause, then one of them wrote something down in his notebook. Dad puffed nervously on his cigarette and asked if he shouldn’t be out searching for Kev, but the guards said they already had that under control and it was more important for him to stay with his family.
It wasn’t long before Bridie came to the door. The guards wouldn’t let her in but she managed to extract enough information to understand roughly what had happened. Then Mel came into the kitchen to tell us a large crowd had gathered on the green.
When I showed the guards the man on the wall, they rubbed their chins and nodded again, asking if I was positive this was an ‘accurate representation’, but making no remark about the fact that his picture was on our wall or about all the bits of stripped wallpaper on the floor. No matter how many times I told them I was sure he wasn’t the one who took Kev, they just ignored me. They quizzed me again and again about the ‘suspicious individual’, making me repeat everything I’d already told them. They spoke to me as if I was a little kid, and far too young to understand the way they had it all figured out.
When the
y said they were finished with me for the time being, they spoke quietly to Dad while I sat at the table, biting the inside of my cheek and shaking my head at the ham sandwich Sandra was pushing towards me.
Dad tried to light another cigarette, striking match after match that fizzled out or snapped in half. He growled in the back of his throat, crushing the cigarette in his fingers and flinging the matchbox across the room. The guards made him sit down, telling Sandra and me to go and watch telly with Mel. I was about to protest but Dad gave me such a look I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea, so I kept my mouth shut and slid down off my chair.
Mel was slumped on the couch, staring at Little House on the Prairie. I felt like kicking the screen in when I saw Pa and Laura trekking off in the wagon with stupid smiles all over their faces. Sandra went to the window and looked out through the dark at the crowd on the green.
‘Everyone’s out there,’ she said, beginning to cry again. ‘Why aren’t we? We should be looking for Kev.’
‘The guards said they’re already out looking for him,’ I said.
‘But we should be with them! He’s going to be so scared when they find him. He’ll need someone he knows to calm him down.’
‘How do you know they’re even going to find him?’ Mel asked, looking at me. ‘He shouldn’t have gone missing in the first place.’
‘Of course they’ll find him!’ Sandra said, coming away from the window. ‘A little boy can’t just disappear!’
The door opened and one of the guards called me out. Dad was standing at the front door. ‘Get your coat on,’ he said, his voice low and grave. ‘Sergeant Pearce is coming to take us to the churchyard.’
Mel and Sandra poked their heads round the sitting room door.