“It’s a shame,” said Lucy. “I always wanted a bike. It seems such a waste.”
Dorothy agreed. “Perhaps we could sell it and get some money.”
“Tell you what,” said Lucy. “That’s if you don’t mind, David. When it gets dark I’ll nip across the road and fetch it, and we can clean it up and think about it. If you really and truly don’t want it I could find a use for it.”
“I’ll fetch it,” said David. “Someone might recognise you, even if you have turned into a boy.”
“You’ll have to watch out for the nosy neighbour.”
Later that evening they gave the bike a good wipe down in the kitchen, and it gleamed in the torchlight.
“Are you really sure you don’t want it?” asked Lucy.
Dorothy turned on her sharply.
“What would you want it for?” she asked. The old panic grabbed at her. “You’re not going somewhere without us, are you?”
“No! Of course not! I don’t even know how to ride a bike. It’s a friend who helped me, and I said he’d have a reward in due course. I didn’t have anything for him so it was an empty promise, and now I’ve had time to think about things I feel really bad about that.”
Lucy turned to David. “You’ve met him. He’s George, the one on the gate who said about nutters.”
“I remember him. He was right. They’re worse than nutters. He can have it if you like.”
Lucy studied the bike a bit doubtfully.
“It might be much too big for him. I think he’s only ten. He’s still at the primary school.”
“That’s alright,” said David. “All he has to do is lower the saddle and the handlebars, just here.”
“His father will know how to do that. He can do everything.”
“Right then,” said David.
“I can’t imagine what would have happened to me, and to Paul, and even the tenant, if George hadn’t shown me how to get a key out from the other side of the door so we could find my existence record and escape.”
They were silent for a moment. Then Dorothy said, “And if you hadn’t escaped, you couldn’t have rescued David and me.”
The enormity of their gratitude to George began to sink in. Lucy took Thomas’s biro out of her bag and tore a page from the little notebook. She wrote: For George, his reward from Lucy and her friends. You saved our lives. Thank you for ever. Using a piece of ribbon she found in the kitchen drawer, she tied the message to the handlebars.
“Aren’t you afraid to go out again?” asked Dorothy anxiously. “We’ll come with you. Or why don’t you wait till tomorrow? I don’t want you to go. It’s such a risk.”
“I’ll be less noticeable on my own, and I’d rather do it tonight while it’s dark and get it over with. I don’t think I’ll ever be as scared as I was in the Drax House garden. I’ll be about twenty minutes,” she said, pulling the baker boy hat firmly down over her curls. “Ten minutes there, and ten minutes back.”
She wheeled the bike out along the back alley and down to the road. There was no-one in sight. It was dark, and on the common she was afraid. Supposing that drunk had come back, or, even worse, supposing the monster had escaped from the police? If only she could cycle. It must be a wonderful sensation to be mobile and free, and able to escape if someone chased you.
It was late-night shopping in the High Street and there were still quite a few people about when she emerged from the lane onto South Hill. Down at the bottom of the hill the tube station was disgorging its late commuters. Lucy hoped they wouldn’t see anything suspicious about someone who looked like a boy pushing a bike when he should have been at home having his supper. No-one took any notice of her as they made their weary way up the hill. The pavement cleared and she was relieved. Then, suddenly, a group of youths burst out of the Underground and swaggered up the hill towards her.
She tried to cross the road but there was no gap in the late rush hour traffic, and the gang was upon her before she could duck into a front garden. Somebody grabbed the handlebars of the bike, and another boy pulled off her cap and threw it up into the air.
“Where d’ja think y’re goin’, Curly locks?” sniggered one of them. “Nice bike you got there. It’d just suit my young brother.”
“Look! He’s tied a pretty ribbon to his handlebars!” jeered another, and they all laughed as he pulled it off. The little note fluttered to the ground. The boy leaned over and grabbed Lucy by a tuft of hair. “Let’s see if we can tie up his girly curly locks with ribbon and make him look sweet!” he cried, to approving guffaws and whistles.
Lucy jerked her head away. For once her quick mind was numb. The skin on her face was tight and a vice squeezed her throat.
At that moment there was a shout from the bottom of the hill and a joint cry of triumph, and a gang of youths with shaven heads came pounding up the pavement towards them. Within seconds Lucy found herself standing alone as they swept past on each side of her and her adversaries disappeared into the distance.
Leaning the bike against a wall she picked up her cap and put it on her head. She waited for her legs to steady themselves, looked around for the scrap of paper and the ribbon, and then shakily carried on the few more yards to George’s house. Everything went smoothly. The gate opened quietly. There was a light on in the hall and in the front room. The curtain was closed, but she could hear the sound of the television. She propped the bike up against the wall inside the porch. The paper with its message was screwed up tightly in her hand. She smoothed it out. It was muddy, but still readable. With fingers as clumsy as frozen sausages she tied it to the handlebar. Then she rang the bell and ran silently down the path, up the hill to the lane and onto the common. Reckoning that she could run faster than all the drunks and monsters in the world, she took a deep breath and flew over the common, crossed the road, and reached the alley out of breath and gasping with relief.
There was no mention of the commune on the national news that night. The children were disappointed.
“I hope they’re not going to forget about it,” said Lucy anxiously when it finished.
“I suppose it just means there’s nothing new to report yet.” Dorothy was anxious too. It would be helpful to have some sort of information before they decided what to do next. “Perhaps there’ll be something on the local news.”
She was right. When the local news came on they sat straight backed, all ears. The woman who had been rescued from the fire at number 3 Mortimor Road was showing signs of emerging from her coma. A spokesman for the Mortimor Hospital explained that the process could take some time, and a full recovery was not yet imminent.
“Of course! The tenant! I’d forgotten all about her,” exclaimed Lucy. “How could I?”
“Holy Mag! I mean Holy Bag!” cried David. “So had I, and all this time I’ve known where she is, and it went right out of my mind!”
The others stared. “You know where she is and you never said?” exclaimed Dorothy.
“How could I have not remembered!” David groaned. “It was the caretaker – the fake social worker – he was telling the kitchen aunts all about it when he brought me in. He said she’s in a private room off Ward 14 at the Mortimor, and they’re going to try and dispose of her before she comes round. And that was ages ago. Anything could have happened since then.”
The children digested the information. “Well, at least we know it’s not happened yet,” said Lucy, “or she wouldn’t just be coming out of a coma.”
“We’ll have to do something before they get at her!” announced Dorothy. “It’s too late to do anything tonight. Let’s work out a plan for tomorrow. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed it’s not too late.”
The pain had gone from Father Arthur’s head and it was filled with a glorious light. Of course he had been hurt that his own children had betrayed him – children by whom he had always done his holy duty – but now he could see it was all part of the purpose. The Magnifico had been good to him. He had been chosen.
He no longer needed the comfort of the woman’s hair, for the Magnifico had smiled upon him and had lifted away his burdens. No more wives, no more children, no more Drax. In a cell for the rest of his life he would be free. All he would need would be a copy of the Holy Vision. He would let his beard grow long and preach to convert his fellow inmates. The food wouldn’t be as good as Sarah’s, but that was a small sacrifice to make. From now on he was a martyr for the Holy Cause, on the path to glory.
He stood up and put his mouth to the grille in the door and lifted his eyes towards Paradise. “Praise be to the Magnifico!” he thundered. “Beware the fire of the burning flesh!”
“Shurrup!” came a voice from the next-door cell.
Paul had slept well snuggled up against Lucy’s side while she lay staring into the blackness of the night, listening for the slightest sound. The three older children had hardly slept at all. Now, in the light of day, their nightmares had been pushed aside and were replaced by a jittery cheerfulness.
“I think we’re all going to have to face the fact that we’ll have nightmares for the rest of our lives,” Dorothy announced at breakfast, trying her best to sound matter-of-fact. “We’ll just have to accept that. But we must be positive and remember it’s a small sacrifice to make for the good that has come out of all this.”
“You sound like Senior Aunt Sonia,” said David with a nervous laugh.
Dorothy continued as though she was giving a lecture. “Not only have we managed to escape, but also we’ve managed to destroy the commune and perhaps the Magnifico with it. That’s a considerable achievement!”
“A considerable achievement,” echoed Paul.
David nodded his head vigorously. “That’s what we’ll always have to remember,” he said, “whenever we think scary thoughts. We achieved something good.”
Lucy said nothing. The only one who seemed genuinely unshaken was Paul.
After breakfast they cleared up and tried to eliminate all signs of their stay.
“We don’t want the owners to be able to trace us by finding our clothes or Lucy’s hair in the bin,” said David. “They might get a police dog to take up the scent. We’ll have to look for a rubbish bin somewhere between here and the hospital.”
Dorothy was doubtful. “There won’t be one big enough,” she said. “Not for everything.”
“We could take a black bag to the bushes just inside the father’s back gate when we go past,” suggested Lucy. “If anyone finds it they’ll think I cut my hair off there, and that we changed our clothes there. They’ll never guess we were in this house, and if we empty the bag the rain will wash our scent away.”
So that was agreed. There was nothing they could do about stolen food and stolen clothes, but they cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen, made the beds, and put any rubbish and the contents of the kitchen bin into a black plastic bin liner.
“Ugh!” grunted Dorothy, as she shoved her black disposal cell clothes into the bag. “I’ll never wear black ever again. They said it would help me make my peace with the Magnifico when I went before His Almighty Throne of Judgment!” She shivered and washed her hands thoroughly at the sink. “It makes me feel dirty just to touch it. And why me? They let David keep his own clothes.”
Lucy was staring at Dorothy’s bare wrists, a look of horror on her face.
“What’s the matter?”
“Your reminder!” croaked Lucy.
Dorothy twisted her right wrist round and flicked off the drops of water. “Don’t look so shocked,” she laughed. “It’s gone.”
David came over, and both he and Lucy stared at the naked wrist as all sorts of warnings and threats and visions of the fire of the melting flesh raised their ghastly heads.
Dorothy’s laughter stopped abruptly. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said quietly, “because I was terrified too. But it’s alright. You get used to it.”
“How did you get it off?” whispered Lucy.
“That boy Tom. He took me to a jeweller’s shop and they cut it off. They said it was gold and gave us money for it, and Tom bought me a mobile phone. I didn’t have anyone I could ring, so I lent it to him when he went away.”
“Wow!” said David in a hushed voice. “It’s as though you really are free!”
Dorothy dried her hands. “We’ll get yours cut off too as soon as we can.” She looked at Lucy. “By the way, where did you get that chain?”
“Aunt Sarah gave it us. My bit’s the chain and the circle is Paul’s.”
“Can I try it on?”
Lucy unclipped the chain and handed it over. Dorothy held it up against her own neck. She stepped into the hall and looked in the mirror. “It’s really pretty. I love these tiny flowers.” She returned to the kitchen and passed it back to Lucy. As she did so it slipped out of her hand. All four children stared as the chain lay sadly on the floor and the ring of flowers rolled under the table. Then Paul began to scream.
The others jumped and looked around in panic. There was no-one there. Paul threw himself down on the floor and shrieked. Lucy was frightened.
“Paul, stop it!” she cried, and tried to haul him up. “They’ll hear you outside. What on earth’s the matter?” He clung to her and in between his sobs he gabbled incoherently.
“It’s something to do with the necklace,” said David, bending to pick up the chain.
He grovelled under the table and found the pendant. Paul held his breath in mid-scream as he watched him thread the two pieces together and fasten them round Lucy’s neck. His hysterics ended as quickly as they had begun.
The three older children were shaken. Lucy wiped his face and sat down, and pulled him onto her lap. “It’s alright,” she murmured into his ear. “We’re safe.”
Dorothy was the first to recover. “Right,” she said briskly. “Episode over. Now let’s get a move on.” She pulled down her sleeves, and set about the remaining tasks of clearing up.
When the place was reasonably clean and tidy they went through the wardrobes and found what they needed in order to carry out their plan.
“Wow! You look fantastic. At least thirty!” said Lucy admiringly. Dorothy applied a second coat of lipstick and checked her mascara. She stood tall and slim in front of the mirror and tried to flatten her shining black curls with her hands.
“Don’t spoil your hair,” said Lucy. “It looks absolutely lovely.”
Dorothy turned round to study herself from all angles in the mirror. She was beautifully dressed in a red woollen suit from the walk-in wardrobe off the big bedroom, and had found a plentiful supply of make-up in the dressing table drawer.
“I don’t think I’d be able to walk far in high heels,” she said, sorting through a pile of shoes at the bottom of the wardrobe, “especially if we have to make a run for it.”
She found an elegant red pair with low-heels and a big silver buckle in front.
“These match my jacket, and they fit.” She gazed at them in admiration. “I just love these shoes,” she laughed, standing up to have a final look in the wardrobe mirror. “They make me feel happy just to look at them.”
Downstairs in the hall she leafed nervously through the local phone directory, and found the number of the Mortimor Road Hospital. The others stood by, deeply impressed, as she rang to enquire about visiting times.
“Three till four, and seven till eight. Thank you so much,” she said, deepening her voice to what she hoped was a
mature pitch.
“Right, guys!” She put the phone back in its cradle. “We’ll aim for three o’clock. That means leaving here at ten to three. It’s only up the road.”
David spluttered a little laugh. “Guys! Where did you get that from? We’re not guys.”
“It’s how people speak these days,” said Dorothy, a little haughtily. “It’s modern. It’s American.”
At half past two they all gathered in the kitchen for final instructions. Paul had refused to wear his invisibility disguise. He was back in the blue cord trousers and cream-coloured cashmere jumper. Lucy had found him a weatherproof jacket with a quilted lining.
“You’ll have to wear the woolly hat to hide your hair,” she said. “If Thomas is still around he’d recognise you.”
She pulled the hat firmly over his brown curls.
“Now, you have to pretend that you’re Dorothy’s little boy, so you’ll hold her hand, not mine, and I’ll pretend I’m David’s brother and walk a little way behind you.”
“You’re my sister. You’re not a brother.”
“I know, but it’s my disguise.”
They checked that they had left the place tidy. Apart from the clothes that they were wearing and the black bin liner, the only thing they took from the house was the canvas bag. It contained the keys from the cell, and the awl and the screwdriver, which Lucy thought they should keep in case they came in handy. Most important of all, the bag contained the BWD file, carefully wrapped in plastic.
They looked each other over. Lucy pulled on her baker boy hat and slung the canvas bag across her chest. She hoped she looked like someone’s brother. David had found a navy anorak upstairs, and he pulled the hood up over his head.
“Final instructions,” said David, authoritatively. “Dorothy knows the way to the hospital, so we follow her and Paul. People will be on the lookout for a three year old boy with an eleven or twelve year old girl, not a mother with her child. Lucy and I will be Dorothy’s two other boys. I’ll be older than Lucy because I’m yards taller, and we’ll be walking along behind looking like two surly teenagers.”
The Father's House Page 22