by Shane Dunphy
The shake again. She moved even closer into the tree – I hadn’t thought it was possible for her to do so, but she managed it.
‘Okay. Will we just sit here for a while, then?’
She nodded. I scooted around on my bum to get a bit more comfortable, supporting my back against an arching branch. I knew I should be talking to Tammy, reassuring her, trying to lure her down, but I didn’t want to overload her. She had shown a huge leap of trust in responding to my overtures, and I sensed that overstepping the mark might make her clam up completely. So we rested, high above the ground.
I don’t know how long we remained like that. I don’t wear a watch. I had my mobile phone in my jacket pocket, and I dearly wanted to reach in and check the time to see if we had missed the bus, but I didn’t want the child to think I was losing patience with her.
Time passed interminably. My arms ached from holding on, and I dared not look down – I’m not exactly afraid of heights but I have no great love of them, either. I was starting to get hungry, and worried about Millie. Dogs develop a natural sense of rhythm and routine. I thought it was probably a very long time past when I usually came home and fed her. But it was quite likely that Lonnie would anticipate how long I’d be, and call over to check on her.
That thought reminded me of the uncharitable feelings I had harboured towards my friend earlier, and I deliberately forced them aside again. Such a betrayal would have to be worked through, but just then was hardly the time.
The air slowly became cooler and the texture of the light changed from pale gold to a dusky grey. I glanced at Tammy – she was gazing at me fixedly. ‘I think it might start getting a little bit cold soon,’ I said.
She shivered. She was wearing a thin T-shirt and a tatty pair of blue jeans that might have fitted her a year ago, but certainly didn’t any more. She had little to protect her from the elements – I wondered how used she was to physical discomfort. Many children I had worked with in the past had become so acclimatized to cold, hunger, pain and distress that they shrugged off such sensations as part of their normal living conditions. Would Tammy register them, or ignore them completely?
‘The bus will have gone by now, I’m sure, but there’s a nice heater in my car, and I have the keys to Little Scamps right here in my pocket,’ I said conversationally. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to get a little bit hungry. We could go in and have some supper before I drop you home. I could call your parents to let them know you were held up.’
Tammy shifted a little, seemingly not so confident in her position as she had previously been. I lapsed back into silence. I wondered what was going through her mind – she seemed stolidly determined to remain at her post, but then I had to question what had sent her up the tree in the first place. What was she running from? I remembered the first time I had met her. She had been clinging to a tree branch then, too, albeit one that was half in and half out of a lake. Why was she so drawn to trees?
The sun dipped further below the horizon somewhere beyond the treeline, and the light grew dimmer still. Behind me, I could hear the raucous clatter of hundreds of crows – mostly rooks, but I could make out the higher-pitched chatter of jackdaws, too, as they came in to roost for the night. The trees in the wood contained many nests, and I watched a shaggy black carrion crow settle on its spindly home in a neighbouring ash. That meant it had to be approaching eight o’clock.
I heard fluid dribbling – but it wasn’t raining. I was puzzled for a second, then saw through the gloaming that liquid was trickling from the branch where Tammy was sitting – she had wet herself. Even in the semi-darkness, I could see that she was blushing ferociously, and indignant tears were welling in her eyes.
‘You had an accident,’ I said – it would have been pointless to ignore it.
She bit her lower lip and nodded. She was fighting hard not to cry, but the shame at what had happened was too much. A sob escaped, the first sound I had heard her make.
‘Hey, don’t cry,’ I said, touching her gently on the arm. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’
The crying came full tilt then. Her whole body shook, racked with sobs and pain. I wanted to hold her, but was afraid of how she would react. So I hung there, like a strange bird, and patted her arm as she wept.
It seemed like for ever before the sobbing subsided, but Tammy still hiccuped and shuddered now and again. Darkness had settled like a cloak, and I knew that if we didn’t move very soon we’d be stuck where we were for the rest of the night – it would be too dangerous to negotiate the climb.
‘Tammy, we really have to go down to the ground now, okay?’ I asked.
She nodded. When I reached out my arm she took it and swung over so she was resting against my chest with her arms about my neck.
‘I’m going to climb down now, honey, and I’m going to go slowly and steadily, all right?’ I told her. ‘If you get afraid, just squeeze my neck and I’ll stop for a moment. There’s no harm in being scared.’
I took a quick glance down at my feet, and felt about until I had a good foothold. Then I started my descent.
I decided to use the same tactic for my downward journey as I had on the way up – and once again, it worked. Tammy dangled from me like a baby chimpanzee, seeming to trust me entirely. On one occasion my foot slipped and I swore loudly, but she never so much as whimpered, and the grip about my neck and shoulders never faltered for a second. Finally, after what felt like days, I set my boots on solid ground, every limb shaking from the effort, and whispered a silent prayer of thanks. I moved to lift Tammy down, but she wouldn’t budge.
‘You want me to carry you?’ I asked her hoarsely, out of breath.
She nodded and wrapped her legs about my torso.
‘Why don’t I give you a piggy-back?’ I asked.
She scurried round without giving me a chance to lift her, and sat on my shoulders, content.
‘Okay.’ I laughed. ‘This is the last bus to Little Scamps from the Enchanted Wood tonight. I hope you have a ticket.’
Tammy grunted, which I assumed meant ‘Yes’.
‘Let’s go, then.’
And off I went at a trot.
17
When we got back to the crèche I got the little girl a change of clothes from the spare sets we kept in case of emergencies, then made us both a ham and cheese omelette. When we had eaten, I dug out Tammy’s file and found her mother’s telephone number. It was a quarter to nine, a good five hours after Tammy usually arrived home, and I had a lot of explaining to do.
I sat in the office, watching the child as I waited for my call to be answered. She had taken up her position in the book corner, Peter Rabbit propped open in her lap. She was poring over the first page, her finger following one of the lines of text almost as if she was reading it. I smiled. Children let the adults around them know they’re ready to read by mimicking reading behaviour – I had seen children I had worked with previously ‘reading’ to their dolls and teddy bears, reciting the stories their parents had read to them, or even making up new ones.
The call rang out. I tried again. And again. Kylie had not set up the message minder or voicemail on her mobile, so I couldn’t even leave the news of Tammy’s whereabouts on that. There was no number for Tammy’s dad so I decided to just bring her home. I called Lonnie first.
‘Lonnie, it’s Shane.’
‘So it is. You made it down out of the tree, I take it, or am I speaking to you from atop the canopy?’
‘I’m back at Little Scamps, which you very well know because the number will have come up on your phone.’
‘How can I help you?’
‘Did you, by any chance, take a run by my place to check on Millie?’
‘She’s right here beside me. Would you like to say hello to her?’
I heaved an inner sigh of relief.
‘No. She has a terrible phone manner. Next question: did anyone call Tammy’s parents?’
‘Of course they did. Su spoke to her
mother.’
‘Su?’
‘Yes. She likes to be called Su.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘You just don’t communicate with your staff.’
I was starting to think he was right. I had been so taken up with sailing in and saving the day I had all but forgotten about establishing relationships with my fellow staff members. Lonnie, in his funny, self-effacing way, had won just about everyone over. Now that Tammy was safe and I was back in the relative safety of Little Scamps, I felt unspeakably ashamed of myself. ‘Look, I know I’ve been a dork, Lonnie. I’m sorry, mate.’
‘You don’t deserve me. Or Tush and Su. Or Millie, for that matter.’
‘I know. Look, what did Kylie say?’
‘As I remember, Su reported that the bitch was already half cut and didn’t give a fiddler’s fuck. But I’m just paraphrasing.’
‘Great. What am I supposed to do?’
There was silence for a moment. Then: ‘You take her back to her family, and we deal with it in the morning. Listen, Shane, Little Scamps is ultimately Tristan’s responsibility. Maybe we should be talking to him about things. The situation in the place is … complicated, to say the least. I mean, let’s face it, Tammy is not in a good place and Mitzi – that kid is fucked up, man.’
‘Is that your professional assessment?’
‘You’re the guy with the letters after his name,’ Lonnie shot back.
‘I’m going to take this little one home, then, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I assume it’s okay if Millie sleeps over?’
‘We’re already in our jammies and are about to put on facemasks and do one another’s hair.’
‘I thought so.’
‘All right, then – drive safely.’
‘I will. And, Lonnie?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Thanks for everything today. You had my back, even though I didn’t always have yours.’
‘Heavy is the burden carried by the manager, my friend.’
‘You can say that again.’
He didn’t. He hung up.
18
I have not been blessed with a natural sense of direction, and even though I had been out to Tammy’s home once before, I had not been driving and therefore hadn’t been paying very close attention to the route the bus took. It therefore required several attempts, and some prompting from Tammy in the form of nods, grunts and pointing, to find my way to the odd little semicircle of houses adjoining its tidal swamp.
A half-moon hung amid scudding clouds in a sky pockmarked with glistening stars as I carried the tired child up to the front door. The wind hissed and whispered through the high reeds, and bats dive-bombed insects that clustered around a skeletal tree near the low wall.
By the coast, the air was even colder and heavy with mist, and I was anxious to get Tammy, tough nut though she was, out of the elements. She’d had enough adventures for one day – and I knew I had.
As I had feared, repeated knocking did not elicit a response. Through a glass panel beside the door I could see a light down what I presumed to be a hallway, but I was painfully aware that this did not mean anyone was at home. Kneeling down, Tammy still under my arm, I called in through the letterbox: ‘Hello, it’s Shane, from Little Scamps – I have Tammy here, and she really could do with getting to bed!’
Deeply frustrated and getting annoyed again, I hammered on the door. I heard the booming echo throughout the rooms, but it died away and we were left only with the whooshing of the wind through the bushes and whin trees behind us.
‘I don’t think anyone’s in there, Tam,’ I said at last, feeling utterly deflated.
The child shook her head in what might have been pity, hopped off my hip, reached down under the grimy doormat and took out a key. She handed it to me, motioning at the lock with a knowing nod.
‘I don’t think I should just go on in,’ I said wearily. ‘It’s not my house.’
Tammy hopped up on to the plastic chair I had seen her use before, and held out her hand for the key.
I passed it to her.
A second later we were inside. I knew as soon as I was standing in the hallway that the house was not empty – it didn’t have that edgy, uncomfortable feeling empty houses have. Tammy took my hand and led me down the hallway. The place smelt of cigarette smoke and cheap beer, like pubs used to before the smoking ban. Somewhere above us I could just make out the American punk band Green Day playing on tinny speakers – the song, I knew, was called ‘Basket Case’. It seemed appropriate.
The room at the end of the hall was a kitchen and Kylie, Tammy’s mother, was propped up at a rickety table, a can of lager in front of her, a cigarette burned down to the butt smouldering in her hand. She was asleep. Tammy patted her elbow and she stirred into awareness.
‘I’ve brought Tammy home,’ I said, when her eyes were focused on me.
‘She’s late,’ Kylie said shakily. ‘She missed her dinner.’
‘I’m sorry about that,’ I said. ‘I fed her before we drove out.’
‘I know you,’ the woman said, her eyes narrowing. I recognized the expression – Tammy used it sometimes.
‘Yes. We met out at the lake that day. I found Tammy in the water and brought her to you.’
‘Oh – yeah. You want your towel back?’
I had to smile at that. ‘No. Please accept it as a gift.’
She snorted. ‘Needs a wash, anyway.’
There wasn’t much to say to that. I tried to assess the situation: Kylie was drunk, but far from incoherent, and it seemed likely that Tammy would be going straight to bed anyway. I didn’t think much could happen to her between the time I left and her arrival at Little Scamps the following morning. I decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and said my goodbyes.
‘I’m going to head on,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Tammy. Apologies again, for keeping her so late today.’
Kylie dismissed me with a wave, and took a hefty gulp from her can. I left the two of them in the kitchen, and went back out to my car, feeling I might murder someone for a cigarette and wondering if I had made a bad day even worse by abandoning Tammy to the tender mercies of her mother.
I slept little that night, tossing and turning, the events and revelations of the day going round and round in my head as the hours dripped by. At five thirty, the sun already fully over the horizon, I showered and dressed and, a travel mug of coffee in hand, went out to the Austin.
I knew Tristan Fowler to be an early riser, and felt Lonnie’s suggestion that I consult him was a sound one. His house was a half-hour drive away, and with no traffic on the road in the early morning I made it in twenty minutes.
As I had suspected, Tristan was out the back of his property, in the field where he kept his small collection of livestock. He had some chickens, a donkey and a couple of goats, and as I approached he was scattering seed for the clucking birds.
‘You’re up and about unusually early,’ he said, when I leaned on the fence he had constructed to keep the animals in.
‘Maybe I’ll catch a worm,’ I said.
‘Maybe you will. How can I help you?’
‘All is not well at Little Scamps,’ I said. ‘Actually, it’s pretty shit.’
‘Tell me.’
I explained about the events of the previous day, how badly things had gone, and how I felt I had only aggravated things. ‘I’m going to be absolutely honest, Tristan,’ I finished. ‘I think I’m the wrong man for this job. You should have picked someone else, because it looks to me like I’m going to run that setting into the ground if I’m allowed to continue as I am.’
Tristan had finished with the hens and was pouring some feed from a bucket into a kind of trough for the goats.
‘What are you saying, Shane?’ he said. ‘Do you want to throw your hat at it? Come back to Drumlin?’
‘Yes!’ I said. ‘This is really not my area. I’m not good at it.’
‘And what do I do with Lonnie?
Will he come back with you?’
I sighed.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. ‘Do I detect some dissent?’
‘No. Yes. I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I’ve been having some … issues, I’d suppose you’d call them.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Seeing Lonnie working at Little Scamps – and doing very well, might I add – hasn’t been easy for me.’
‘Why do you think that is?’ Tristan asked.
‘I don’t know. It’s weird.’
‘How so?’
‘I think I’m jealous.’ I said. ‘And maybe even a little resentful.’
Tristan nodded. He opened a small gate in the fence and came out to me. ‘Lonnie Whitmore has made a transition not a lot of people make,’ he said, walking slowly back towards the house. ‘When he came to us, it was as a member of our client group. And while many might suggest that it is not politically correct to say so, the truth is that when we found him in that house, he needed to be a part of the client group. When I was certain he no longer needed help in that way, I began to give him responsibility and offer him tasks that suited a care worker at the unit, and I got him some training. I’m glad I did. I think he might be quite a talented worker.’
‘He is,’ I agreed glumly. ‘He might be better than me.’
‘Perhaps,’ Tristan said. ‘I know Lonnie’s your friend, but you have to admit that, in the beginning, he was sort of a project for you.’
‘That’s a hard thing to say,’ I said, feeling quite wretched.
‘Indeed. But it’s true,’ Tristan said. ‘Here was a case the like of which you had never seen before, and you were fascinated. I wondered, back at the beginning, if I should warn you off.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
Tristan pondered. ‘I thought you might help one another.’
That knocked me for six. ‘How so?’
‘Loneliness runs both ways.’
We walked for a few minutes in silence.
‘I mean it,’ I said at last. ‘I’m advising you leave Lonnie right where he is, and take me back to Drumlin. I’ll be more use where I’m comfortable.’