Then they’d look at each other. The man would nod firmly and the copper would put his elbow to the glass, push hard, and in it goes.
Room to room they’d move downstairs. The man would hurry upstairs, calling Gerald’s name. The policeman would be at his shoulder, pushing by to the bedroom, checking. Last of all, one of them would open the door to the box room.
That’s it then, now they’d know.
Dead? Alive?
Either way, it doesn’t really matter. I’m fucked – no disguising what I’ve done.
We hurry on, as quickly as we can, through the alleyways. I think we have 25 minutes, tops.
Did I say? I’m sure I did.
Listen, why don’t you?
We’ve 25 minutes to get to the car and away, out of the town and on the road down to Thurrock. Back roads will be safest. The police may still have cars stationed, ready and waiting, along the main roads, maybe even roadblocks, especially on the way out of town.
Not been seen yet.
Our luck holds.
For now anyway.
I carry William, his body turned towards me, so his face cannot be spotted easily. If no one sees his face – his angelic cherub face – and my head is down, I might just get away with it all the way to the car.
It’s darker now and I’m getting into my stride. Dirty alleyways, full of bins and bottles and carrier bags overflowing with rubbish. Need to be careful not to stumble. I focus on walking briskly, one step firmly in front of the other.
I hear noises ahead and a gaggle of girls appears out of the mist, all laughing, each trying to out-talk the others. Coming towards me, I drop my gaze, my hand reaching up to stroke William’s head so he can’t turn and be seen.
There are four or five of them, teens, maybe 14 or 15. None of them will look at me. A man of my age is invisible to them.
They move alongside. The smallest, a slight, dark-haired pixie dressed in black, is pushed towards me by one of the others. She bumps into me, stumbles back and the others erupt into laughter. I glance down as she hits the ground, a startled look on her face.
As she turns to glare up at me – seriously, as if it’s my fucking fault – I look away and hurry on. I really want to break into a run but know I dare not. I just keep walking, as steady as I can. I mustn’t look back, can’t risk them all seeing my face, recognising me.
There is another burst of laughter and I imagine the other girls reaching down to help her up. There’s an angry shout. “Hey, Hey,” one of them cries, the bravest of them all.
They’re lucky I don’t have time to stop, that’s all I’ll say.
They’d not be so happy then.
I move on as quickly as I can until all I can hear in the distance is a mix of shouts and obscenities as they watch me fading into the mist.
Did they realise who I was? I don’t think so – if they’d known anything, they’d not have been laughing and joking and pushing each other into me, would they?
I’m safe, still.
I press on. No time to waste.
Have to be quick.
A sharp right and I’m walking along the back of the buildings fronting the high street.
How far now? Half a mile maybe? Does this run the full length?
Easy if it does.
No one about to see me until I come out of the other end by the car park.
I slip suddenly on the path, my left leg sliding away from me. I manage to stay upright. I need to slow a little, can’t risk falling over with the little ’un in my arms.
Now he’s awake, struggling upwards.
Hands to his eyes, rubbing them.
Here we go. God hope he doesn’t start retching again.
Like he has something stuck in his throat.
It’s a nervous thing I reckon, a tic.
I keep on moving. If I stop and try to soothe him, we’ll waste valuable minutes. I reckon we now have no more than 20 minutes to get to the car.
As we move along, ever-slowing, with William heavy in my arms, I listen for the giveaway sounds of discovery: the police car sirens as they race to the house or the wail of the ambulance. Not long now.
Ahead of me.
100 yards or so.
A man steps out.
I stop dead in my tracks, taken by surprise. Not sure what to do. There’s a turning to my left, about 30 or so yards up, between us, which may take me out on the high street. I can use that if need be.
The rattle of a bin lid.
Glance up.
The man has turned and gone.
I hurry on, past the turning, moving towards where the man dumped his rubbish in the bin. William’s making some sort of grumbling noise in his throat, almost a growl, with every step I take.
We move parallel to the man’s back gate. Left it wide open. Without thinking, I stop to close it.
He is standing there.
In silence, just inside the gate.
Our eyes meet.
“Hello,” I say, without thinking. He does not reply. Just looks back without acknowledgement. An old man, 80, maybe even older. Bald, a fringe of white hair. Dark cardigan, white vest, dark trousers. He stands there expressionless.
Slowly, I turn away.
Hold William tighter.
Move on quickly.
20, 30 yards on, I force myself to look back. The man has stepped out again. Turned towards us. I raise my hand as if I am a neighbour out and about with his little boy, maybe going for a fish and chips supper.
Does he know who I am?
Has he seen the television news?
If so, I am surely done for.
He will turn and go indoors, making for an old-fashioned telephone sitting on a table in the hallway. Dialling 9 . . . 9 . . . 9, he’ll say in a low mutter, clearing his throat of phlegm, “Hello . . . police? I’ve just seen that madman (I am not) and the boy, come quick.”
Ten minutes, then.
Is that what I’ve got left?
Ten minutes to get back to the car and away.
40, 50 yards farther on now.
There is another turning just ahead, 10 yards or so, and that leads us out to the high street and the car park.
A final glance back.
The man has gone.
How long do I have?
Five minutes? How long does it take to dial 999, be put through to the police and for them to arrive, cars, dogs, marksmen, the whole works? I have to get to the car and drive off down one of the lanes that lead out of the town. I daren’t try the main roads, not now.
I turn into the passageway to the high street and the car park. So heavy in my arms, I drop William to his feet. He trips and falls on his knees. Now he’s crying, slowly at first and then rising into what is close to an angry scream. I think he’s hungry, plain and simple.
I’m not giving him anything.
He’d only throw it back up.
Probably over me.
I lift him, try wiping him down, but I don’t know what else to do – I can’t have him screaming like this; he’ll be heard and people will put two and two together.
I clamp my hand over his mouth again.
Leave his nose free this time. (I didn’t last time, okay?)
He struggles, his face reddening.
I bend over, fearing he will twist and twitch in my arms and collapse into another fit. But I cannot risk everything – our freedom, our happiness, our new life together – by letting him go as he will scream and scream. We are so close to the high street that he could so easily be heard.
“Be quiet,” I say, furiously. “Be quiet and I will put you down and you can walk.”
He takes no notice; it’s as if I am not there, as he struggles more and gets redder still. He’s about to black out, I can tell.
“Walk, William, walk,” I urge. “William, walk like a big boy.”
Something seems to get through to him as he stops, looks at me – through me, as though I am not there – and then takes a long, deep breath.
“That’s it, William, good boy,” I say. He’s come to his senses and is going to walk nicely for Daddy. I slip him down to the ground and, holding his hand, turn him round to walk on.
He is rigid.
White-faced and as stiff as a board.
Not moving at all.
He’s holding his breath, I think. Or so it seems. I can’t tell. It’s dark now and there is very little light in this passageway. I’m not sure if he’s angry or if he has simply seized up, in another sort of fit. I drop to my knees and turn him round to see.
Jesus, I can’t tell in this light.
He is ramrod stiff, eyes rolled upwards.
He does not seem to be breathing.
I pull him down onto his back and crouch over him, my mouth moving to his. Don’t know what to do, but have to get some air into him for sure. I blow, pause, blow again. I don’t think this is a fit, not this time. More like a temper tantrum. Blow, pause, blow. Have to get some oxygen in there fast.
He’s still and breathing quietly.
Not sure if he is awake or asleep.
I stand there, for a second or two, listening for sounds behind me, to the sides, and to the pathway ahead. Nothing. I leave William there on the ground, safe for a minute with no one about, as I stride the 10 yards to the top and peer out; the high street is to my left, the car park down to the right.
There are street lights and parked cars dotted here and there, but, so far as I can see, there isn’t anyone on the street. All clear. For the moment.
Got to do it.
Take my chance.
Go right now.
I turn and race back to William, lifting him up again into my arms. He’s still semi-conscious and sinks easily into me. Seconds later, all still quiet, I am back at the high street. I check once again to my left. Once more to my right. Still clear. I have to go, while it stays that way.
I am walking purposefully. A glance around. I take a step onto the slight, grassy slope, over a low metal rail and I am on the shingle of the car park. I stand there for a moment.
Not sure what to expect.
Some sort of police presence?
Lights, guards, everyone waiting for me?
It’s just as it was, as if nothing out of place has happened here at all. I step out confidently, William snuggled close. Two, three, four steps towards the car. It’s hard not to break into a run, even though I know I can take my time now. Home and dry. Almost, anyway.
Five, six, seven steps.
Now halfway there.
I check back, just in case. No one there – obviously.
Eight, nine, ten steps and I am at the car, ready to open it and slip William next to me onto the passenger seat so I can keep hold of him. Rummaging for the key, I glance up, towards the cottage, which I can now see clearly, top and bottom. It’s still dark and I’d say that it looks as if no one is inside.
Only thing, though, there is a policewoman on the doorstep.
I stand there gazing at her.
As she looks up and across at me.
5.16pm SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
“So, other than her,” the young woman glanced towards the front door where a female police officer was keeping watch outside, “the police have now all gone from here and we’re supposed to just sit here, hour after hour, waiting for something to happen . . . for some news.” She put her phone into her handbag. “There’s still nothing new on any of the news channels.”
“There won’t be, Nat,” answered the young man, sitting back on the sofa. “That last officer said, didn’t he? They were sifting through the responses before they . . . or we . . . do an appeal. Sort what they’ve got, see if there are any good leads. And they’ve not all gone. It’s still their priority, but they have to change shifts and bring everyone up-to-date and compare notes. They’ll be back soon.”
“How long’s it going to take . . . William wants help. He needs us, Rick. Now.” The young woman dropped her head forward.
The old woman, carrying two mugs of tea, came back into the front room followed by the old man, who had a tray with two more mugs and a plate of biscuits. The old woman passed the drinks to the younger couple and sat down in the chair. The old man put the tray on the coffee table and moved to the window.
“Let’s hope these leads are better than the CCTV one. Was the man an Asian, did you say?” The old woman pursed her lips into the semblance of a smile.
“That’s not fair, mum,” answered the younger man. “He did have a child of about Will’s age and was acting oddly. Hiding in the corner. It did look strange. He was an Eastern European, we think. Not Asian.”
“Probably an illegal immigrant . . .” laughed the old man, sipping at his tea. “Trying to buy the cheapest train ticket to London for his whole family . . . one on the ticket in the compartment, 16 taking it in turns to hide in the toilet.”
The young woman looked at the young man and raised her eyebrows.
He shook his head.
“You can’t say that sort of thing these days, Dad. You shouldn’t even think it.”
The old man continued, “You’re always going to get plenty of calls. Lots of sightings. One or two mischief-makers with nothing better to do. Trolls they call them. You just have to wait for the police to uncover the genuine lead and then they’ll act fast. You wait . . . you’ll get a call suddenly . . . out of the blue . . . any moment, to say they’ve got William back.”
The old woman finished her tea and motioned to the old man to sit down. “He’ll be long gone now and it would be best to let him go. What do you think he would do if he were cornered? He would hold the boy as a hostage at best. At worst . . .” She let her words tail away.
“For Christ’s sake, why can’t you be supportive for once,” the younger woman shouted. “We all know what could happen. Will could go into a coma if he’s not looked after. And he could be . . . we know what Orrey is like. He tormented Katie . . . near enough tortured her at times. But it doesn’t help . . . we know that Will could now be . . .” She stuttered over her words, falling silent.
“It doesn’t help, Mum, really,” added the young man. “Please. We know it’s frustrating and worrying. But we all want Will to be found safe and well. I’m sure if we can find Orrey before Will falls ill and reason with him, we can get Will back with no real harm done.”
“And if not . . .” said the old woman.
“Well, once he knows Will is not well, he’ll take him somewhere; he’ll leave Will where he’ll be found easily. Outside a supermarket or somewhere like that.”
The old man watched the old woman pull a face of disbelief. He turned away as he felt a surge of anger, something close to hatred in that instant. There really was no talking to the dreadful old cow at times.
5.17pm SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
I blank her. The policewoman.
Well what do you expect?
What else can I do? You tell me.
I tug open the passenger door, climbing in and over and dragging William behind me onto the passenger seat. I hear the policewoman call out politely as I lean across to pull the door shut. I ignore her again, pretending I have not heard, that I’m just an ordinary fellow.
But she must have seen William, mustn’t she?
Not sure, can’t tell.
The car was between us, after all.
I’m now fumbling with the key, trying to put it into the ignition, but my hand is shaking. She calls once more, louder this time, more emphatic, and I can’t help but look across. God almighty, she is moving purposefully towards me. Still some distance away, though.
Key’s in. Lights kept off.
The car fires up.
I rev the engine, far too hard.
I reverse the car and turn around, 180 degrees, so I can drive straight for the exit and away. The force as I hit the brakes jolts me back and then forward. William is thrown hard against the dashboard and tumbles into the footwell of the passenger seat.
Maybe the policewoman hasn’
t seen him. She won’t now anyway. Perhaps she was just there, outside the house, to question passers-by, her first call to me nothing more than a polite request to ask for information. Too late now, though, my reaction giving it all away.
I look up, steadying myself to accelerate off.
She is still coming towards me, walking, but quickly now, about to run.
Her hand is up in front of her, signalling me to stop.
I only have seconds to decide, but I have no choice. If I stay, I’m done for. She’s a big, muscular woman, as big as me, and fighting fit.
End of the road.
I have to go.
Right now.
I rev the car loudly, deliberately, so she hears it, giving her the chance to jump out of the way. Still she comes striding forward. I see her mouthing “Stop now” at me, her face contorting as she tries to shout above the noise of the engine.
She’s reaching for her radio, even though I’m about to drive straight at her. I ease off the clutch, pressing down on the accelerator. Hard, so the car moves loud and fast towards her. She knows she has to jump out of the way. Now. For fuck’s sake, jump now, you stupid ….
She doesn’t.
The car slams into her as she is about to shout into her radio.
Knocks her onto the bonnet.
I panic, first touching the brake, then pressing back hard on the accelerator. It throws the policewoman off and in front of the car, which hits her again with its full force. This time I stop; I can’t bring myself to run over her.
I’ve cut my forehead and William lies lifeless by the passenger seat. The policewoman is sprawled out in front of the car.
Shakily, I reverse so I can see her. Utterly still. I can hear noise – static, an enquiring voice? – from her radio. Maybe I’m imagining it. Hard to tell. Difficult to think straight. Have to pull myself together. I look round. No one in sight.
Draw breath, calming myself for a moment or two.
Reach forward for William.
Dazed I reckon, but better left there, unseen.
Life or death now, well and truly. If the policewoman’s dead, the coppers won’t let me live if they catch me. Any excuse will do. They’ll bring in the marksmen and take me out no matter what. Even if I surrender. They’ll think of something.
Sweet William Page 21