by Janey Fraser
Only for a few minutes? Nancy felt physically sick. That’s all it took. Everyone knew that. The Keep Your Child Safe column in her American magazine was always saying that.
‘There’s something else.’ Brigid’s voice suggested that this was more than a small something else. ‘Don’t tell anyone, whatever you do, as this bit isn’t in the papers yet. The canal runs up past the farm shop. And they’re dragging it this morning.’
Chapter 46
NANCY WAS STILL trying to take in Brigid’s news when they walked slowly back towards Danny’s bed. Amazingly, the two boys were hiding under the covers, playing some game, while Danny’s electronic handset sat abandoned on the bedside cabinet.
‘No hammers? No murder on ward nine?’ asked Brigid incredulously.
The woman with pink slippers smiled smugly.
‘Good as gold, they were. Your boy did start up a bit but I had a word. A firm hand. That’s all that’s needed.’
Poor Brigid! This wasn’t the first time that a mum had suggested that Billy’s behaviour was down to bad parenting. Nancy shot her friend an ‘ignore her’ look.
‘I told them,’ continued Pink Slippers, ‘that if they couldn’t share that expensive toy, neither of them could have it. So I suggested they made up their own game instead.’
They all looked at the bedcover, which was moving in what appeared to be giant ripples, with giggles underneath. ‘Please no,’ said Brigid faintly. ‘Bella at Puddleducks said Billy wouldn’t stop playing with what she calls his nether regions during the nativity rehearsal the other day. Did I tell you that he’s landed the role of the front half of the ox? Sienna’s mum was furious because Sienna’s only the back feet.’
Nancy, still distraught at Lily’s plight, wasn’t really listening. Besides, masturbating was, according to her American parenting magazine, quite normal at this age.
‘Boys, what are you doing?’
Danny poked his head out. His face was hot and sweaty. Surely this wasn’t good for him? On the other hand, he had a lovely rosy flush, unless . . . please no . . . was that a temperature?
‘Playing boats.’
‘Playing boats?’
‘It’s Lily’s favourite game. We always play boats cos she lives on one, but that’s a secret so don’t tell anyone.’ Danny’s face beamed at her. ‘Is she coming soon? Cos we’ve made her a special place.’
The women looked at each other. ‘What do you reckon?’ asked Brigid, dragging Nancy off to the side again. ‘Fact or friction? I’m not joking. You never know with this lot. Billy’s always making stuff up to cause trouble. On the other hand, probably there was a canal at the back of the farm, so maybe there are some boats to hide in.’
Nancy dropped her voice. ‘But surely they’d have checked, wouldn’t they?’
Brigid shrugged. ‘You’d think so. But I think I might just make a phone call. You OK with those two for a bit?’
The boat drama under the bedcover kept the boys distracted for a good half-hour. Nancy would have thanked the mother in pink slippers but one of the other doctors had arrived, a tall serious grey-haired man, and the curtains had been drawn round the bed occupied by the woman’s daughter. Behind them, she could hear low urgent whispers.
When Brigid came back she seemed flustered, pulling Nancy to one side again so the children didn’t hear. ‘I rang Corrybank but Mr Balls was in some kind of meeting, so I left a message with the school secretary and then I rang the police. Yes, I know that sounds a bit extreme and believe me, I felt a right twat at first when I told them what the boys had said about Lily living on a boat. But then this really nice policewoman said that they were following up all leads and we agreed that kids were usually much better at telling the truth than adults.’
She leaned against the wall, fanning herself with a leaflet asking if she was willing to donate blood. ‘Phew, it’s hot in here. By the way, on a lighter note, I hear that your mother-in-law and mother were both making a play for Brian at the disco. Do you know him? He used to be the head of Reception. He’s a really nice man. Oh no, look at those two! Billy!’
Nancy felt embarrassed at the way her friend was yelling across the ward, as though they were back in the Puddleducks playground.
‘Stop banging the hammer on Danny’s bed. You’ll bend it. And the hammer too.’
It was almost a relief when Brigid went. Danny was sleepy again and Nancy wanted to find a nurse to check that his rosy face was just a sign that he’d been having a great time with his play date.
The lovely warm Irish nurse had gone off duty to be, no doubt, with her husband and their three children. Nancy felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of them cosily snuggled up in front of the television with their supper trays, a scene which Deirdre had described on more than one occasion. That wasn’t the sort of thing which she and Sam had ever allowed in their house, but maybe when they got back they might do things differently.
Meanwhile, several of the nurses had gone behind the curtain around the bed of the child whose mother wore pink slippers. The voices were still low and urgent and, if she wasn’t mistaken, she could hear tears. Still, as Patricia had said when she’d visited yesterday and seen the bruises on the child’s legs, parents like that ought to be punished. Nancy felt a sudden chill. If it hadn’t been for Brigid being so insistent, she would never have left the boys with Pink Slippers. Still, they had been on the ward and she had kept her eye on them all the time through the glass in the door.
‘No! No!’
The woman’s anguished cries rang out. One of the nurses emerged from behind the curtain and came towards Nancy. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll be moving her soon.’
‘You’re charging her mother?’ asked Nancy.
The nurse looked shocked. ‘No. Her daughter is going to a side ward.’ She began to whisper. ‘I shouldn’t be saying this, but your neighbour has just had some bad news. The tests have shown the child has leukaemia.’
Chapter 47
IT WAS GETTING dark outside now. Lily knew that from looking out through the crack in the door of the store cupboard. This would be her second night. One. Two. She counted on her fingers, just as they did in the bed game at playgroup.
A funny gurgle came from her tummy. Lily had eaten her way through the packet of stale biscuits in the cupboard and now there were no more left. It was cold, so she’d snuggled up to the soft pink blanket that she’d had since she was a baby, even though those oil marks on it made it smell nasty.
When it got really dark, she would go out on the top and look for Mama like she had last night.
‘Lily! Lily!’
Lily pulled the store-cupboard door shut and wrapped her pink blanket around herself to keep safe.
She’d heard the same voices yesterday and earlier today. Voices that she didn’t recognise, which called out this name that wasn’t her name at all.
It belonged to another girl, Mama had explained in their own private language that no one else understood. ‘You have to pretend you are her. It’s like the dressing-up game you play at Puddleducks. Remember, if you play it well, the lady in sunglasses will give us more money so we can live in a proper house. But if you don’t, they will take Mama away and she won’t see you for a long, long time.’
That prospect was so terrible that Lily would have done anything to prevent it happening. But she needed to see Danny in his London hospital. When she’d left that lady called Miriam, who smelt like funny cheese, to go to the gift shop, she had spotted the boat on the canal. It was like the one she and Mama were living on, except this one was green. And it was about to move!
Maybe, she thought, as she hid in the cupboard, it might take her to London. Then she could give Danny his present. But it had been going very slowly. It could take ages. Almost as long as it had taken her and Mama to get here in that big lorry all the way from their homeland.
‘Lily! Lily!’
The voices were coming closer. She could hear people talking.
The same people who were driving the boat. Lily had learned many English words from playing with Billy and Danny. She could pick up some now.
There were other phrases that she didn’t understand. What did ‘Just come from the south?’ mean. She needed to find out. Mama said she had a good ear for language. It would take them far.
Footsteps! She could hear people coming down the steps into the boat. The voices were now right outside her cupboard home! Lily’s throat tightened as though someone had put a rope round it, which is what Mama had said might happen if they were caught in the lorry.
‘No! No!’ she cried out.
But the doors were opening and there was a woman standing there with a black hat on and a black coat.
No, she screamed again. And then she started singing. Singing the song they’d learned at nursery because even though she didn’t understand all the words, they made her feel better. Besides, when Dillon had got locked in the car, they had sung the song with Mrs Merryfield and then a nice man had come along and let him out.
‘We are the little Puddleducks . . .’
‘It’s all right, Lily,’ said the strange voice. ‘I’m a policewoman, dear. You’re safe now.’
Lily looked up at her in disgust. For some reason, now they were face to face, the fear had gone. Be brave, her mother had said. Always be brave, especially if the people in black uniform found them.
‘My name is not Lily.’ She spat on the ground as if to prove her point. ‘My name is Natasha.’
Chapter 48
IT HAD BEEN his fault. He had been the leader in charge of the school trip. Although Lily’s disappearance wasn’t directly attributable to him, he, Joe, had to carry the can. Just like he’d had to when his team had lost all those millions, which had been another reason, truth to tell, why he’d quit banking.
‘It could have happened to anyone, lad,’ said Brian, topping up his whisky glass. Joe thought about declining, but leaned back in the G-plan chair with its frayed right arm and shrunken antimacassar and took a long, deep swig instead.
It was nearly 6 p.m., after all, and he was finally off duty after an exhausting twenty-four hours, which had started with last night’s phone call from the police to say that Lily had been found. Joe had never prayed in his life, since in his view the Bible simply didn’t add up, but to his astonishment he found himself sending a note of thanks to whatever computer was up there, sorting out their numbers.
Then had come the phone calls, and not just from the tabloids. Reporters from responsible newspapers wanted comments from him on whether safety procedures had been followed, and why it was that despite new guidelines on school trips, a four-year-old could go missing.
When they put it like that, he himself found it hard to understand.
Then a pair of policemen had marched up to his room, much to Joyce’s consternation until she recognised one of them as the son of a friend. So she’d insisted that they held their meeting in her kitchen, where there was more room. Joe could almost read the policemen’s minds. What was a grown man in his thirties with a good job doing in a rented bedsit that was too small to hold three people?
‘Can you explain exactly what happened that day?’ asked one of the policemen. ‘I know you’ve already given a statement, but there might be some details you’ve forgotten. And can you also shed any light on why no one realised that Lily was here under false pretences?’
So he did. But the more Joe tried to explain that he honestly hadn’t known that Lily was a girl called Natasha, and that the necessary registration procedures had been followed as far as he knew, the more he felt that the police considered him partly responsible for the child’s disappearance.
‘So what’s the score now, lad?’ asked Brian, taking off his specs, which were held together with brown tape, polishing them on his new moss-green jumper and replacing them in the same slightly askew position.
Joe began to feel slightly dizzy from the whisky and lack of sleep. ‘They’re still making their inquiries.’
‘But what about her so-called mother, Dilly Dalung?’
‘The police are questioning her as well. It all seems extremely complicated.’
‘And Gemma? Can she throw any light on the situation?’
Joe felt himself flushing, which was most unlike him. ‘Actually, I bought her some get-well flowers but when I knocked on her door, there wasn’t any answer. My landlady said she’d gone to stay with her friend Kitty up in London.’
‘Humph.’ Brian didn’t sound impressed. ‘And what about that fancy boy of hers, the son of your landlady?’
Joe moved to the window so Brian couldn’t see his face. ‘Joyce said that Barry was going up tomorrow to visit, so he could take the flowers and any messages if I wanted.’
‘You’ve lost a good one there,’ muttered Brian.
Lost a good one? Joe experienced a mixture of surprise and recognition of a feeling that he had been trying to quell for some weeks now, despite himself. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Think you know, lad. Now how about another?’
‘No really, I can’t, but thanks for the offer.’ Joe yawned, knowing he didn’t have to try and conceal it. ‘I must get back for an early night although – blast – I’ve just remembered something. I have to stop off at Puddleducks to pick up some paperwork which Miriam has left for me.’
Brian looked concerned. ‘Not going to take your bike, are you, lad? You’ve got to be over the limit with my servings!’
‘No way.’ Joe shook his head. That was one thing he was very careful about. One of the boys at his previous school had died thanks to a drunk driver, and it was something he’d never forget. ‘Mind if I leave it outside your house until tomorrow morning?’
Brian beamed. ‘Delighted. I’ll try not to have a go. Don’t look like that, lad! Can’t you see I’m pulling your leg? I don’t know. Just as I thought you’d lightened up a bit, you go all serious on me!’
It wasn’t any wonder, thought Joe as he walked to Puddleducks. He felt very confused, and not just because of Lily. Still, the cold winter evening helped clear his head, allowing him to do some mental calculations.
It was the way he worked when things were worrying him. In his head he would draw a column on the left, headed Pros. On the right, he had a column headed Cons. He used it as a means of solving a problem, or sometimes as an end-of-week summary in order to reassure himself that his world was still stable. Ed used to sarcastically call it his ‘mental ledger’. What was wrong with that?
So far in the Pros column, there was the following:
Danny’s life possibly saved by transfusion.
Lily found safely.
Both were major reasons to feel pleased, Joe told himself, rounding the corner towards the playgroup with its brightly painted exterior that now seemed jolly rather than gaudy, as he’d first thought.
But then there was the Cons column.
Guilt over Lily’s disappearance.
Possible retribution, which might affect his career, if his leadership skills during the farm trip were questioned.
Gemma and Barry.
Joe paused, surprised. How had that last one slipped in? It didn’t belong there. It didn’t belong anywhere. OK, he admired Gemma for stepping in and being a bone marrow donor, but wasn’t that what any decent person with the right match would have done?
Not Ed. She had been disparaging at the disco when he had mentioned he’d gone to have his blood checked but hadn’t been a match. What did you want to do that for? she had said. It’s not as though it was your own child.
The irony of the last sentence didn’t appear to have occurred to her. If it hadn’t been for her actions, carried out without any reference to him, they might have had a child just like Danny. If that child had fallen ill, Joe would have been indebted for life to someone who helped him get better.
She didn’t see it like that, Ed had said at the disco, and in a way, her words made him feel much better. They proved, beyond doub
t, that he had done the right thing in leaving a woman whose values were so far removed from his own. Maybe that was one to add to the Pros column.
Joe got out his key to open the playgroup door and then realised it was already unlocked. There was a light on inside, too.
‘Who’s there?’
There was a banging noise as though someone was hitting something against a wall. Another crash and then, from the kitchen area at the back, a small woman appeared in a floral housecoat like one his mother used to wear.
‘What you here for?’ she demanded in a foreign accent.
‘May I ask the same?’ But even as Joe spoke, he realised. It was the Eastern European cleaner whom Gemma had mentioned briefly. The noisy one whose English wasn’t great, but whose skills in erasing felt-tip marks and mopping up vomit and unmentionables in the loo were legendary. Presumably she was doing her evening shift.
‘I am Mr Balls.’
She was frowning at him and holding the mop handle towards him, like a defence weapon. ‘The head of Reception at the big school,’ he added quickly.
The woman’s face cleared. Now she had stopped looking so ferocious, he could see that she was less bird-like in appearance than he’d thought. She was also older than he’d assumed; about Joyce’s age, in fact.
‘I need to talk to you.’ She was stabbing her mop towards him again.
‘I’m afraid this isn’t the time to discuss pay rises.’ He spoke slowly, in case she didn’t understand him.
‘You are insulting me! I no want more money!’ The mop handle was getting agitated. ‘I need to talk about Natasha.’
‘Natasha?’
The woman sighed heavily and, to his relief, put down her mop.
‘The girl who calls herself Lily. I not responsible, you understand. I do not talk much here. But I hear things. See?’ As if to make her point, she tapped her ear. ‘I hear Natasha when she plays. She talks to herself. Good in her head, she is. Makes up stories.’ She grinned, showing gaps in her teeth. ‘When I hear her language is the same as mine, I talk to her. Now I hear rumours about why she go missing. But I know. I know the truth. I tell you now. There is a reward. Yes? Because I do not want it.’