And where do you reckon we’ll be by then?
By that time, of course, we’ll be long gone. Me and the little ’un. We’ll be on our way to a new life somewhere nice and warm in the south of France.
Just you wait and see.
2.12pm SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
Shit.
I’ve been asleep.
I sit up, disorientated.
Christ, what time is it? I turn the key in the ignition. It’s gone two o’clock, moving towards quarter-past.
I may be too late.
The car park has filled up. No longer just two or three cars in it; 10, 12 cars are now parked all around me. People getting in and out, unfolding coats, unpacking buggies, taking out just-in-case umbrellas, moving towards the prom and the beach.
No one seems to have noticed me here, though. Nobody turns and looks towards me. I’m just some bloke having a kip while his kids go and find sweets.
I look back along the beach. It’s packing out now with people. In the distance, I can hear the tinkling music of the funfair that’s started up way back towards the town.
I rub my eyes. Maybe I’ve just left it too late to get little William.
The thought fills me with panic. I can’t come all this way, get so close but yet so far.
Somehow, whatever happens, no matter what, I have to have him and get away.
I can still see the cottage over on the far side of the car park. There’s a big blue car between me and most of the cottage.
Perfect, they can’t really see me from the cottage. But I can see the front door well enough. Can’t see much beyond it, though. Can’t tell if anyone’s inside or not.
They should be back there by now. Should be back from the beach walk and have had lunch. After that, they read the newspapers until it starts to get dark. Then they walk along the seafront to the funfair.
Remember?
I told you, I’m sure.
Listen.
I wonder what’s happening now back at the annexe, back at the big house. Spink definitely called the cops faster than I’d expected. CID got the roadblocks up quick enough, that’s for sure. But I was clever, see, and got away. They’d have no idea where I was going.
Even if they assumed I’d come for William, they’d not know about Aldeburgh.
Fact is, I’m probably as safe here as anywhere in the country. Who’d expect me to come here, to shitty old Aldeburgh? A man on the run disappears into a city. Manchester, Birmingham, maybe even London.
I watch and wait.
That woman. Christ, from that house. Would they have found her by now? Must have done. Unless the husband was out at work all day. And then on the piss with the lads in the evening. Who knows? They might not find her until later tonight.
Even then, they might not link her with me straightaway. Not necessarily. There was no sign of a break-in. Maybe they’d think it was the husband anyway. He’s the obvious suspect. What the police call your prime suspect. Yes, they’ll go for him. No doubt about that.
It’s going to be a long haul sitting here. I’ve just got to be patient.
They’d question him first, I reckon. Before doing anything else. And that all takes time. They hold suspects – prime suspects is what they call them these days, did I tell you? – for 24 or maybe even 48 hours.
Even at the very worst, even if they do believe him and they do pin it on me, I’ve got until tonight for sure. A good ten hours or so to get William and make our escape. And anyway, they don’t know where I am, do they?
I’ve just got to wait.
There are plenty of comings and goings. To and from the car park. Some old woman has just let her dog out the back of her car. A greyhound, it is. Dirty, filthy things, dogs. I watch it for a minute or two. It’s running round her all excited. She’s trying to put a lead on it. I hope it doesn’t come over here.
The door’s opening. The cottage. I told you I could see it, didn’t I?
It’s opening.
Sweet Jesus, it’s little William with the old woman. She’s standing in the doorway with him, looking out towards the boats at sea.
It’s William, my sweet little William.
It’s all I can do to stop myself sobbing.
It’s been so long.
I’m crying, shit, I’m crying. I couldn’t help it, really I couldn’t. My eyes just welled up with tears. They’re now running down my face. I can’t help myself. It’s just too much for me.
I’ve got to control myself. Someone might see. There are just so many people about now.
I can’t cry, not like this, not great big sobs one after the other.
I’ve got to pull myself together.
I mustn’t keep crying with big fat tears running down my cheeks.
I’ve got to stop. Now. I’m making a fool of myself. And I wouldn’t want William to see me like this. It’s no way for a daddy to behave. No way at all.
There, there. I’m okay now. I’ve got it. I mop my eyes with my sleeve. First one, then the other. No one’s noticed. I’ve not attracted attention. I’m okay now.
My eyes mist up again.
I mop at them furiously. Angry with myself and my softness. I’ve got to stay calm. I’ve got to think. Not get emotional. Just sit quietly and think carefully what to do.
I could get out of the car right now.
This very moment.
I could go and get him right away.
Run across the car park, snatch him up in my hands. Lift him high above my head into the air with a great big “Wee-eeh”. Tell him his daddy is back. Back to look after him. Like it should always have been. Like it always will be from now on until the day we die.
Then we’d turn, go straight to the car and drive away. Not to Dover, the ferries and motorways across the other side. No, I’ve thought of a better idea. We’re going to drive down to Thurrock, the other side of the M25 near Dartford. They have coaches there that go all over the place, right across the world probably.
We’re going to find ourselves a trip to France. Disneyland, maybe. Lots of dads and their sons on those coaches. Plenty of coaches everywhere, row after row. Everyone pushing. All the little children excited. No one quite knowing where they’re meant to be. And none of the drivers will be paying too much attention to tickets and passports.
“They’re with the wife,” I’d tell the driver, laughing cheerily. “She’s on the other coach, that one.” And I’d point to a really full coach alongside ours. Maybe I’d even wave at a woman and she, not knowing what to do, would wave back instinctively. Well, it would fool the driver, wouldn’t it?
“There wasn’t enough room for us over there. We’ll get the tickets when we get to Dover.” I’d smile at him and William would as well. A right good little team we’ll make. The driver would shrug, shake his head and laugh and probably pat little William on the head for good measure. We’d soon be on the way.
But right here and now, the old woman’s with him, see? I told you that, if you fucking listened for once. She’d not let me take him without a fight. She’d grip his little arm with her bony old hand and hiss at me to go away. And that would upset William, that would, seeing his daddy pushing and pulling. It’s not nice. Not nice at all. And people would see and hear and come running across from the beach. And Veitch too, no doubt, from within the cottage. And the sister-in-law.
No, I can’t do that. Much as I want to do it right here and now.
Can’t even think about doing it. Can I?
What do you think? I think I could do it, if I were quick?
I’ve got to take him when it’s least expected. When no one will see. And nobody will realise. And when they’d spend ages looking for him while me and the little fellow get well away from here.
That’s got to be later, at six o’clock or so. When they’re at the funfair on the seafront and it’s mad busy and dark. It’d be easy for a little chap to wander off.
But William’s standing there right now, pointing out to sea, and lau
ghing delightedly. He’s a handsome devil is William. Blond hair, cut into a neat little bob. A happy, smiley face. He looks as though he has some sort of fisherman’s outfit on. A dark chunky jumper and a pair of dark green chinos, by the look of things.
You know what?
I like it.
I like it a lot.
And that smile, it’s just like his daddy’s. It’s a heart-breaker, that is. He’s pointing and laughing. Almost doubled up. I bet he’s got a lovely laugh like me. I can’t see what it is he’s looking at. I move sideways, leaning over towards the passenger seat, wiping the misted-up window to see out of it.
There are two clowns on the beach. Pierrots – those poncy French clowns that do the silly mimes. Looks like a man and a woman. They’ve got a crowd around them, that’s for sure. Kids and mums and dads and a few grandparents. I watch for a moment as they do some sort of ballet routine, gurning and staggering about. I wind down the passenger window a touch and can hear the children’s tinkling laughter.
But not William’s.
I look back. My God, William’s off, trotting along the track by the side of the car park. It takes him to the beach and the pierrots’ display. I hear the old woman call after him, “Wait, boy,” she cries, “wait while I get my coat” and she turns to go back into the cottage. The front door is wide open. I watch as she disappears from view. That’ll take time, especially with the old man and his arthritis and all.
I’ve got time. If I’m fast.
If I do it now.
Should I?
If she’s in the cottage and he’s walking towards the beach, I can for sure.
If I’m quick.
I’ve got to take a chance.
Do it right now.
All I need to do is to jump out of the car, follow him down to the beach and mingle in behind him in the crowd. Then I move up, take his hand and walk him away along the beach before the old woman and the rest of them come out of the cottage and spot me.
“I’m Daddy,” I’ll say.
And he’ll look up at me and smile with that sweet little face of his.
And my heart will melt.
I wouldn’t be able to get him back to the car and away without them seeing me, though. I’d have to walk right by them. I’d have no choice. Maybe they’d not notice me if they saw me walking away from them on the beach with the boy wrapped up in my arms. Not until it was too late anyway. But there’s no way I could walk by them face-to-face; they’d spot me and the little chap in an instant.
I’ll have to take my chances with him in the town, maybe see if I can get on a bus with him and away to the railway station in Ipswich.
But that won’t work, will it? I’ve got to get to Thurrock. Blag my way onto a coach and away. I’ve fuck all money to get all the way to Thurrock by bus and train. Just this car and half a cup of petrol.
What do I do? Tell me, what do I do?
I don’t know.
I just need to think. But I haven’t time.
I can’t wait any longer. If I’m going to do it, I’ve got to do it now.
I swing the car door open and slam it shut behind me. I walk briskly towards the beach, parallel with the cottage and the little path that William just took.
I go by one car, two cars, three cars, parked in a line.
I’m now on the edge of the beach, can see the clowns ahead of me, halfway between me and the shoreline. It’s a gently sloping, pebbled beach and the clowns have laid out some sort of seating area where people can sit down.
I daren’t look round; the old woman may be behind me.
And Veitch. And the wife and the old man hobbling along.
If I turn and they see my face, I’m fucked.
From behind, I’m just another daddy, walking fast to catch up with his little boy on the beach.
I move up to the crowd, 15 or 20 of them. Mums and dads and grandparents at the back. Children sitting cross-legged at the front. I watch, hold back and hesitate as William, my little William, picks his way delicately through the adults and makes his way quietly to the front. One of the clowns turns towards him, bends over and offers him an imaginary flower. I see William’s tiny hand go up and take it. Then, guess what? He pretends to smell it! And all the mums and dads and grandparents, they all clap and coo and make a fuss over him.
He’s a clever boy, see? Joining in with a mime like that. Not many little ’uns would do that. They’d just stare or maybe even cry. But William’s clever - just like his daddy.
Now.
Right now.
I’ve got to do it.
I have to push my way through, stepping over the adults at the back with an “Excuse me” and a “Sorry” as I zig-zag my way towards William. I’ll put my hand out towards him and just say, “William?” in a quiet and friendly voice. He’ll turn and smile that heart-rending smile and I’ll say, “Come on William, come to Daddy. Come and see what Daddy’s got for you.” And you know what? He’ll get up and come. I know he will. He’s his daddy’s little boy. I’m going to do it now. Right now.
“William?”
“William?”
“Will!”
Jesus. I can hear the panic in the voices from behind me. From the cottage. The first two calls are from the old woman. I recognise her old quivering voice. She sounds worried and awkward about calling out. The third call is a sharper, fiercer kind of voice.
The sister-in-law.
Everyone in the crowd turns towards the voices. The old biddy will be struggling along towards the beach and the crowd. She can’t walk properly either, not really. The sister-in-law will be striding out, marching towards William.
I’d like to get her by the . . . well, I can’t. Don’t even think about that. Not now. Later, if I can. But I daren’t be seen now. I sit down, looking towards the clowns, who stand frozen, their faces long and droopy, shoulders sloping down as if they have been told off. They know how to work a crowd, that’s for sure.
They’re all looking towards the old woman and the sister-in-law. All except me and little William. (That’s my boy.) I can see him five or six rows in front of me, over to my right. He sits with his arms and legs crossed, just staring at the clowns. I can’t tell if he’s mesmerised by them or is pretending to be.
He’s scared of the sister-in-law, I’m sure of it.
She’s in the crowd now, having left the old woman behind. She comes in from the right side, her eyes fixed on little William ahead of her. If she turned to the left, right now, she’d see me. God, how I hate that fucking bitch. There are only seven or eight people between her and me. She’d see me for sure. She’d look into my eyes and she’d see the hatred I have for her and all of them who took William away from me. It’d be all I could do to stop myself getting up and strangling her there and then.
I’d like to do that.
And why not? If I’m spotted, I’d have nothing to lose. I’d never get away from the big house ever again. Not after what happened in the annexe. And that woman in Nottingham. And the sister-in-law. Because I sure as hell would kill her too.
Why not do it?
Well?
William, that’s why.
I’ve just got to sit here, and not be seen and wait until later when I can do this properly. Take William and get away. I dip my head down a touch, while still being able to see what’s going on.
She’s got William by the arm now, I can see if I bring my head up slightly. Not by the hand, all loving like a real mummy would have. By the arm, almost dragging him along, back out of the crowd. Her fingers pressed tight and hard and into his skin so that, when she takes her hand away, there’ll be an angry white imprint on it. Disgusting it is, really disgusting.
Of course, they’re all ignoring her. The crowd. Pretending nothing’s happening. They’re all watching the clowns again. As if there’s no hard-faced cow dragging a poor little boy away by the arm. Even the clowns are acting again now, pulling their silly faces and pretending to have an argument with each other. A
ll in fucking silence of course.
And then, oh then, it happens. Just like a dream.
Just as they go by, little William – who’d been staring fixedly ahead – turns his head slightly towards me.
Our eyes meet.
I smile at him. A soft and gentle smile.
As if it were meant to be.
And it is, you see. Because in three or four hours, when it’s all dark and crowded on Aldeburgh seafront and people are pushing and shoving and the funfair noise is all around, I will come back for you my little boy and I will smile at you again and tell you I’m your daddy and then we’ll go away together hand in hand and we’ll live happily ever after.
Just you see if we don’t.
2.35pm SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
“You have to watch him all the time,” the young woman said, sitting back down on the sofa and pulling the little boy close to her. “You can’t just leave him to do what he wants.”
The old woman, breathless but still standing, replied, “He should be old enough by now to know he shouldn’t run out like that. When Richard was young, they were taught the Green Cross Code.”
“No harm done,” said the old man. “The rascal only went because he saw the clowns. It’s not as though he was running away. He didn’t go into the car park and he wouldn’t have gone down to the sea. He can’t swim, can he? He’s too young, I suppose.”
The younger man shook his head. “There’s a swimming pool up by West Norwood station but we’ve not taken him there regularly enough to learn. We’re going to do it in the summer.”
“That’s not the point,” answered the young woman, her voice rising. “About the Green Cross Code . . .” She hesitated, and her voice tailed off.
The old woman looked across, “I suppose, as a diabetic, he’s not like other children.”
The younger man spoke up, “He is like other children of this age, really . . . full of life and up to mischief . . . it’s just that with type one, we have to be extra careful. We have to do the blood glucose checks and some injections and just keep everything within the safe range.”
Sweet William Page 7