by Susan Stairs
‘It’s all right,’ Dad told them. ‘You two stay here with the guards. We have to go down to the . . . the graveyard for a little while, so Ruth can show us where Kev was when he . . . We’ll be back shortly.’
A car pulled up, driven by a young guard, with the sergeant in the passenger seat. Dad looked straight ahead and swallowed hard before telling me the station had radioed in to say a pushchair had been found in the churchyard, at the base of the copper beech.
It started to drizzle as we drove alongside the green, and the throng that had gathered huddled together in small groups. Geraldine stared at us as she pulled the hood of her anorak up. Paddy half raised his arm in a sort of wave. Mona turned away, as if she was afraid we might catch her eye. I glanced over towards her house and saw that the curtains had been opened. Through the window, I saw David at his piano, practising away in a pool of yellow lamplight, his head bent in concentration. Dad saw him too and we exchanged a look in the back of the car. I knew from his face that I wasn’t the only one who thought it was strange. A lump rose at the back of my throat and I swallowed it down, remembering the day he’d taken Kev from outside the shops . . .
To get to the churchyard by car, we had to go down the hill towards the village and take the road that went up behind Churchview Park. As we slowed down to turn the corner, we spotted Liz coming out of The Ramblers with Vic. The path was sort of greasy from the rain and one of her heels skidded on the slippery concrete. She let out a yelp and grabbed onto Vic, yanking him halfway to the ground. They steadied themselves then started to laugh and plonked down on one of the low windowsills, where Vic kissed her on the cheek and she gave him a playful slap on the arm. I wondered how she could seem to be so happy with a man who was beating her up. She caught sight of me in the back of the police car and her slitty eyes followed us as we drove on up the road. Dad opened his mouth to say something but closed it again when Sergeant Pearce turned around and smiled at me, saying, ‘This won’t take long. We’ll have you back home in no time.’
Could I really believe what Mam and Dad had said when they came in from Aunty Cissy’s? That there was nothing going on between Dad and Liz? That I’d ‘got the wrong end of the stick’? Mam said she knew what I’d said about Dad and Liz wasn’t true, but hearing the stuff about the woods had put doubt in her mind. That was why she’d wanted to get away for the night, she said. Maybe to put a bit of fear into Dad and let him sweat while she decided whether she believed it or not. So that meant that if I’d said nothing about The Kiss, or the woods, or anything, just kept my mouth shut, she wouldn’t have gone to Auntie Cissy’s at all.
She’d have been home with us.
We might even have gone out for the day somewhere, for a drive up the mountains maybe. But she’d gone, and Dad had to make the dinner and he’d been exhausted afterwards and had made me take Kev out on the green and then he’d got into that fight. And Kev was so upset and I couldn’t calm him so I’d taken him out for the walk . . .
If Mam had been there . . . If she’d only been there . . .
She’d have been able to comfort Kev. She wouldn’t have let me take him out so late in the day when it was getting cold and nearly dark . . .
It was all very well saying to myself that I’d kind of known all along about the something bad, but now it was starting to dawn on me that I might’ve actively played a part in making it happen.
When we got to the churchyard, the drizzle had turned into proper rain and we got soaked as we walked from the car, through the gates and across the grass towards the copper beech. It was completely dark now; I could hardly see a thing. I wished Dad would reach out and take hold of my hand. He sniffed and cleared his throat, then asked the sergeant if no one had thought to bring a torch.
The sergeant called up ahead to the guards who’d made the find, ‘Give us some light there, lads’, and a white shaft cut through the blackness, the spitting raindrops in its beam glowing like a million bits of splintered glass. Under the spreading branches of the copper beech, two guards stood beside a pushchair and I knew from yards away that it was definitely Kev’s. I nodded when the sergeant asked if I was sure, the tears starting again.
‘Don’t touch it!’ he said when I tried to grip the handle. Then he smiled at me and softened his face. ‘Not for the moment, anyway. We’ll get it back to you as soon as we can.’
The copper beech gave us some shelter, but the rain gathered on up the leaves and, every few seconds, big blobs of water splashed down to the ground. The torchlight filtered part of the way up, lighting the undersides of the twisted branches, making them show silvery grey against the tarry-black layer of the sky beyond.
Had Shayne really pushed David? Was he capable of something as bad as that? Who was telling the truth? And in the middle of all that was happening, did I even care?
The sergeant seemed to think it was a good sign that Kev’s pushchair had been found. I heard him saying to Dad that it showed whoever had taken him couldn’t have gone too far, because it’d be difficult to carry him a long distance. I didn’t agree. It didn’t really prove anything. And just because Kev might’ve been close by, it didn’t mean he was going to be OK. I knew the sergeant was only saying it to make Dad feel better.
The guard with the torch came with us back to the car. The beam jigged about as he walked, lighting up the gates, bouncing off the stone wall, and showing up flashes of glistening wet grass under our feet. And when it zig-zagged over the soft ground in front of the Virgin Mary in her grotto, I noticed, criss-crossing the earth, the twisty, twirly pattern of bicycle tracks.
David was still at his piano when we drove back into Hillcourt Rise, his head and shoulders jerking as he played, and his hands moving fast up and down the keys. It was creepy the way he was practising when everyone else was out on the green. It didn’t seem right. Like he was trying too hard to be normal. Dad didn’t notice him this time; he was staring out at the growing crowd on the green. Liz and Vic had joined it, along with people I recognized from Churchview Park and Cherrywood, as well as a few guards who stood with their arms crossed, slightly apart from the rest of the gathering. Everyone turned their heads as we passed.
‘What are they shaggin’ well looking at?’ Dad asked. ‘And what are they all doing out there anyway? They’re no use to anyone hanging around in the rain.’
‘Human nature,’ Sergeant Pearce said. ‘Just showing their concern.’
‘Concern? Wouldn’t it be more in their line to be out searching? Trying to find him? What good is it standing there?’
‘Our men are out in force already, Mick.’ He turned around to face us. ‘Garda units from all over the city, checkpoints, tracker dogs, the lot. Descriptions of the suspicious individual have been circulated. House searches will start shortly. We’ll call in the assistance of a volunteer team as soon as we feel it’s warranted.’
‘It’s warranted now, surely? It’s been over two hours! He’s not even two years old, for God’s sake!’ Dad rattled at the car door in a panic. ‘I have to get out! What am I doing just sitting here? This is bloody crazy!’
‘Take it easy, Mick. We’re doing all we can. We have to . . . go at this the right way. You understand that, don’t you?’
Dad thumped the sergeant’s seat. ‘He’s only a little boy! Do you understand? It’s dark and cold and raining, and he’s only a little boy!’
‘I know, I know. Just . . . take it easy, all right? Keep it together for the sake of . . .’ He glanced in my direction.
Dad’s breath shuddered in his chest and I knew he understood what the sergeant meant. I laid my hand on the seat, expecting him to reach across and take it, but he turned away and stared out the window.
‘You two go on inside now,’ the sergeant said when the car pulled up at our house. ‘I’ll follow you in. I’m going to radio in and get the latest.’ He caught my hand as I was getting out. ‘Good girl,’ he said, trying to smile. ‘I’m sure we’ll have him back to you in no time.’
&
nbsp; Dad smoothed his hair down then wiped his hands over his face when we walked in the door. Mel and Sandra came rushing out, asking if there was any news. ‘Not yet, not yet,’ he said. He ruffled both their heads then put his arms around them. ‘Everything’ll be OK. Don’t be worrying, you hear me?’ They nodded and he ushered them back into the sitting room.
I hated the way he was soft and caring with the others, while he’d been all hard and cold towards me. Tears stung my eyes as I watched them. I blinked them away, wondering where Shayne was and picturing the whirly lines of the bicycle tracks I’d seen in front of the grotto.
Dad went up to check on Mam. When he came back down, I heard him saying in a low voice to the guards that she was out for the count and it was just as well they’d insisted on calling Dr Crawley. ‘She wouldn’t have been able for all this,’ he said as the sergeant came in the door. ‘I hope to God it’s over soon.’
We went into the kitchen. The floor was clean. Sandra had swept up all the bits of wallpaper while we were gone.
‘No news yet, I’m afraid,’ the sergeant said. He pulled out a chair and sat down, facing the man in the tree, studying him closely and drumming his fingers on the table. ‘So, tell me, Ruth,’ he said. ‘How do you like living in Hillcourt Rise?’
‘I . . . it’s . . . we . . . Fine. It’s fine. We haven’t been here that long, really.’
‘But long enough to know if you like it? And long enough to make friends, hmm?’
He was a grey man. Everything about him was grey: his skin, his eyes, his hair. Even his teeth. Nothing about him stood out. Nothing about him was distracting, and there was no one thing on his face to focus on. His nose wasn’t big, his eyes were neither dull nor twinkly, his mouth was . . . just a mouth.
‘I suppose. A few.’
‘And who would those few be, eh?’
Dad stood over by the sink, lighting a cigarette with a match from the box he’d flung on the floor earlier. Sandra had tidied them up too. And she’d washed all the cups and put them away and wiped down all the worktops.
‘I don’t know . . . everyone,’ I said with a shrug.
The sergeant smiled. ‘Everyone! Well, aren’t you the popular girl?’
‘What’s all this got to do with anything? What does it matter who she’s friends with?’ Dad said, angrily flicking ash into the sink. When he turned back around, his face scared me. His skin was ghostly and his eyes were sunken into his skull. His hair was flecked with white and, for a moment, I puzzled about how that could be when it was Sunday and he hadn’t been out at work. Then I realized it wasn’t paint, but lots of little white hairs showing up under the fluorescent tube. Dad looked old.
‘Just exploring all the avenues,’ the sergeant said. ‘She was the last one to see the little lad.’
‘She told you who was there when he disappeared, didn’t she? It’s him you should be quizzing. Assuming you shaggin’ well find him.’
‘I’m aware of what she told us.’ He waved his hand at the wall. ‘That this . . . I don’t know, tramp, down-and-out, wino, whatever you want to call him, was hanging around. But just because she says she saw him, it doesn’t mean we have to . . . well, that we have to . . . What I mean is, we have to keep all our lines of inquiry open.’
‘So what you’re saying is you don’t necessarily think he’s your man?’
‘I . . . suppose you could say that, yes.’
I nearly smiled. Finally, they were coming round to believing me. I felt sort of free, and light as air. But then I remembered why the guards were there in the first place and the feeling began to fade. When the sergeant spoke again, it disappeared completely. Everything went black. I was thrown into a deep and silent lake, weighted down with a hundred bricks.
‘There wasn’t anyone else in the graveyard, was there, Ruth?’ the sergeant said. ‘It was only you and your brother, wasn’t it?’ He leaned closer to me. ‘Now . . . is there anything you’d like to tell us?’ I was sinking now. Melting blobs of faces floated in the air, voices were muffled and faint. I felt the heat of more tears in my eyes, the weight of a hand on my shoulder. ‘Now, now. It’s all right. Don’t be upsetting yourself. Whatever it is, we’re here to help. Isn’t that right, Mick?’ The sergeant patted my arm. When his face came into focus, I could see he was smiling; the kind of smile people use when they’re pretending they care how you feel.
‘What? What do you mean?’ Dad asked him, blowing smoke out of his nose.
‘I’m not sure we’re getting the real truth here.’ The sergeant stood up and walked over to Kev’s highchair. He picked up his blue bowl and looked at it as he spoke. ‘What were you doing in the graveyard in the first place, Ruth?’
‘I . . . I was taking Kev for a walk. I already told you.’
‘To the graveyard? On a chilly evening? And it nearly dark?’
‘I didn’t plan to go there. I just kept walking and that was where I ended up. I like going to the graveyard.’
‘You like going to the graveyard? What little girl likes going to the graveyard? And by herself?’
‘What are you trying to say?’ Dad asked him. ‘Why all these questions? What does it matter anyway, for God’s sake?’
‘Just doing my job, Mick. Just doing my job. Hers is the only story we have.’ He placed Kev’s bowl carefully back on the tray of the highchair. ‘We have to be sure it’s the right one.’
‘The right one?’ Dad asked.
‘She could’ve been anywhere . . .’ The sergeant’s voice started to rise. ‘With anyone! And the only person she says she saw is some . . . some cartoon man she conjured up nearly two years ago!’
Dad’s face turned grim and hard. He spoke through his teeth. ‘Just because you lot haven’t been able to find him, you think he doesn’t exist! Is that it?’
‘Look. Let’s be realistic here. Little girls don’t go off to the graveyard of a cold and dark Sunday evening on their own. There must be something else to this. She must be leaving something out. You said yourself she was great at spinning yarns.’
I glared at Dad. Spinning yarns?
He put his head in his hands and spoke into his palms. ‘That’s not what I said and you know it. I said she had a great imagination.’
‘Same thing, isn’t it? Didn’t you say she thought you were carrying on with the Lawless woman? Wasn’t she trying to convince her mother you were having it off with her up in the woods after work every evening? Well? That’s what you told me, isn’t it? Or maybe you’re the one spinning the yarns, Mick? Maybe you really are playing away? No smoke without fire, eh?’
Dad picked up Kev’s bowl and fired it onto the floor. ‘For Christ’s sake! What are you trying to do? You’re supposed to be helping us here! My son is out there somewhere! Do you not understand? I want him back here when his mother wakes up, do you hear me? Do you fuckin’ well hear me?’
Sergeant Pearce stood looking at Dad, his eyes not blinking and his mouth set into a straight, hard line. ‘Put the kettle on there, lads,’ he said. The two guards who’d been standing by the back door nodded and followed their orders.
‘Put the kettle on? Put the shaggin’ kettle on! Is that all you can do?’ Dad roared.
‘Take it easy now, Mick. You’re not doing yourself any favours here, you know.’
‘I’m not shaggin’ well interested in doing favours! Not for you or me or anyone. I just want you to do your job and get my boy back!’
The sergeant sighed. ‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, and I’d appreciate a bit of co-operation, if you don’t mind.’ He sat down again. ‘Now. Let’s go over everything that happened today, Ruth.’
‘I’ve told you everything already,’ I said, wiping my nose with my sleeve. ‘And what’s the point in going over it again when you don’t think I’m telling the truth?’
‘Look. We’ll go back a bit further this time. Give me an outline of the day since you got up this morning.’
Dad paced up and down the kitchen as I spok
e. The guards put the teapot on the table and the sergeant listened and nodded while he poured. I stopped a couple of times, trying to figure out whether or not he believed me, but his face gave nothing away. He sipped quietly at his tea, saying, ‘Go on’ or ‘Continue’ or ‘Keep going’. It was only when I got to the part about the fight on the green that he finally asked me a question.
‘So your dad got involved in this fight, did he? This is the . . . eh . . . horseplay he mentioned?’
‘Well, he . . . I mean, he . . . It wasn’t his fault, he—’
‘What was I supposed to do?’ Dad interrupted. ‘Stand by and let them kill each other? I had to try and stop them.’
The sergeant scratched his ear. ‘So you think it was a good idea to roll around on the ground with two lads less than half your age?’
‘For God’s sake, it wasn’t what I wanted! I didn’t come out intending to get my head bashed in, did I? It was the natural thing to do, to try and break it up.’
‘And tell me, what was this fight all about anyway? Any idea?’
My head started to spin. I couldn’t get my brain to concentrate on one thing. Millions of ‘whys’ and ‘because ofs’ and ‘if onlys’ swam around my head. What had it been about? I couldn’t remember. I knew it’d been clear earlier on but now, after all that had happened, it was fuzzy and coming through only in bursts.
Lies . . . It was something to do with lies. Someone was telling lies. That was it, wasn’t it? Or someone wasn’t telling the truth.
Was that the same thing? I wasn’t sure.
‘No . . . I . . . no . . . I don’t know.’
‘Wouldn’t have had something to do with your dad and the Lawless lad’s mother, would it?’
I looked at Dad. ‘I . . . don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so?’ Dad said. ‘There’s NOTHING GOING ON! It’s all in his twisted little head!’
‘But what about all the things he saw?’ I yelled. ‘And the things I saw!’
‘What things? What things, for God’s sake?’
‘The things I told Mam. Like kissing Liz.’