The Misplaced Affections of Charlotte Fforbes

by Catherine Robertson

  ‘Where’s Tom?’ she said. ‘Is he not with you?’

  Patrick’s stomach did an uneasy flip. ‘No, he isn’t. Last time I saw him, we were watching cartoons after breakfast.’

  Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing.

  ‘When did any of us last see him?’ said Benedict.

  Darrell stood up, Cosmo in her arms. ‘I saw him in the garden about half an hour ago,’ she said. ‘He was playing with sticks under the loggia. I’m sorry, I saw Charlotte with the other children on the lawn. I assumed she knew he was there.’

  ‘No, he must have gone out on his own,’ said Charlotte, ‘when everyone was to-ing and fro-ing after breakfast.’ Her hand flew to her heart. ‘Oh, my God, I’m so sorry! I thought he’d gone with you!’

  ‘Let’s not panic,’ said Patrick, sounding calmer than he felt. ‘You know what Tom’s like. He’s probably still there.’

  But he didn’t walk — he ran to the loggia, followed closely by Benedict, Anselo and Charlotte. Under the loggia, they found sticks arranged like a railway track, but no Tom.

  ‘Shit,’ said Patrick. ‘All right, now I am going to fucking panic.’

  ‘We’ll split up,’ said Anselo. ‘You take that end of the garden,’ he said to Benedict, ‘we’ll cover this side. Charlotte, you go back and get the others to comb the villa. He may well be playing away quietly inside. We’ll meet you back in the kitchen.’

  As Charlotte dashed off, Benedict said, ‘Don’t worry. The villa is completely secure. I know because if it weren’t, our bloody dog would already have found a way out.’

  ‘Tom’s a bit smaller than Flea,’ said Patrick. ‘But I won’t think about that. Come on. Let’s go searching.’

  Thirty minutes later, they were back in the kitchen. Charlotte and Benedict’s grim faces told Patrick that they’d had no luck either. Patrick breathed hard, summoning every ounce of effort and will to help him keep it together.

  ‘Where the fuck can he be?’ he said. ‘Jesus, he couldn’t have climbed the gate to the fucking boat dock, could he?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Benedict. ‘I checked. The footholds only go halfway up. There’s no way a child of Tom’s size could climb over.’

  Darrell, Cosmo in her arms, said, ‘Look I know this is probably not the ideal suggestion, but did you ask Ned?’

  Patrick felt a cold clutch of dread. ‘We didn’t see Ned at all. Did you?’ he asked Benedict. Benedict shook his head.

  ‘That’s strange,’ Darrell frowned. ‘He was in the garden this morning, and he usually works until at least lunchtime.’

  All the breath left Patrick’s body. ‘Fuck,’ he managed to say. ‘Oh, fuck. He’s taken him.’

  ‘No!’ said Charlotte. ‘No, he would never do that!’

  ‘Charlotte, he fucking threatened me last night!’ Patrick saw her flinch at his sudden shout. ‘He said: “I hope you fucking lose someone you love so you know what it’s like.” He said that!’

  ‘He did,’ said Benedict. ‘I heard him.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Chad.

  ‘He’s taken him,’ said Patrick in helpless despair. ‘He’s taken Tom.’

  ‘Well, if he has,’ said Charlotte, setting her jaw, ‘then there’s only one place they can be. We’ll need water,’ she told them. ‘And sturdy shoes.’

  ‘Seriously … I am going to have … a fucking heart attack.’

  Patrick stopped and leaned against a tree. Sweat had already soaked his shirt, and was trickling from his forehead into his eyes. His lungs and legs were burning as if a mediaeval torturer had been inserting hot coals into his person.

  ‘Don’t go too far off the path,’ said Charlotte. ‘There are poisonous snakes in the rocks.’

  ‘Death by snake bite,’ said Patrick, between laboured breaths, ‘would mean I didn’t have to climb yet more fucking hill.’

  He gazed resentfully at Charlotte, Benedict and Anselo. None of the three young people seemed to have even raised a sweat.

  ‘Why isn’t there a fucking cable car?’ he said to Charlotte. ‘Or at the very least a bloke renting out pack mules?’

  ‘I think the people who live up here like being remote,’ she said. ‘It is beautiful. So peaceful.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Patrick. ‘I’m deafened by the blood pounding in my ears.’

  He saw Benedict and Anselo exchange a quick grin, and pride spurred him on.

  ‘Right.’ Patrick moved away from the tree. ‘How much further? On second thoughts, don’t tell me. I’ll only make it if I can convince myself it’s just around the next bend.’

  Many bends later, Patrick slumped against the stone wall of Ned’s house.

  ‘After I’ve killed you for taking my son, Ned Marsh,’ he said, ‘I’ll revive you and kill you again for that fucking hike.’

  Anselo thumped hard on the front door, and then rattled the handle. ‘It’s locked.’

  Charlotte peered in through the tiny kitchen window. ‘I can’t see anyone inside.’ She banged on the window. ‘Ned!’ she shouted, and banged again. ‘Ned!’

  ‘Is that the only room?’ Benedict cupped his hands to the glass, so he could see more clearly.

  ‘No, there’s a bedroom at the side,’ said Charlotte.

  Patrick saw her throw him a swift glance and then blush. He chose to pretend he hadn’t seen. Charlotte and Ned Marsh, he thought. That’s about as likely as Charlotte and—

  Yeah, all right, he thought. Fair point, fate. How you do toy with us, you complete and utter sod.

  Anselo came back from round the side of the house. ‘It’s hard to see, but there was no trace of movement, no sound. I’m pretty certain there’s no one home.’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ said Patrick, and looked at Charlotte. ‘Any other ideas?’

  ‘None,’ said Charlotte miserably. ‘All I can suggest is that we ask around the village. And then, I suppose, ring the police?’

  ‘Right.’ Patrick took a long drink from his bottle of water. ‘Let’s get back down as quick as we can. I’ll console myself with the fact that it’ll be at least twenty times quicker than coming up.’

  When the path reached the houses, Anselo’s mobile beeped. ‘Finally,’ he said. ‘Service!’

  He checked the text and gave a grunt of surprise. ‘Hell!’ he said. ‘He’s there! Tom’s there — at the villa! He’s fine!’

  Charlotte and Benedict both gasped. The relief hit Patrick like a train. His legs buckled, and he had to sit down on the path.

  ‘Oh, thank fuck,’ he breathed out, holding his head in his hands.

  Anselo bent and gave Patrick’s shoulder a quick, reassuring shake. ‘He’s fine. Don’t you worry.’

  ‘Where the hell was he?’ said Patrick wearily. ‘How could we all miss him?’

  Anselo shook his head. ‘Darrell didn’t say.’ He offered Patrick a hand to pull him up. ‘Let’s go find out.’

  Darrell opened the front door. Her expression had a hint of wariness about it, and she held up her hand to halt Patrick as soon as he entered the hall.

  ‘Ned is in the kitchen,’ she said, ‘and before you say anything, no, he did not take Tom. But Tom was with him. They were in the—’

  ‘I don’t give a shit.’ Patrick pushed past her, fury surging up in him like magma.

  Sitting around the kitchen table were Gulliver, Chad and Aishe. Ned was in a chair on the side opposite the door, and when he saw Patrick stride in, he got to his feet immediately.

  ‘Patrick!’

  Michelle stood in his way, and Patrick was so blinded by the red mist of rage that he very nearly shoved her aside. But then he saw who was in her arms.

  ‘Jesus! Tom!’

  Patrick took his son from Michelle and hugged him tightly to his chest. He could feel tears welling, and to hide them, he buried his face in his son’s dark-red mop of hair.

  ‘God, I thought I’d lost you,’ he murmured, as he breathed in his son’s precious smell.

  ‘I wo
uld nivver have ta’en him,’ he heard Ned say. ‘He’s tha child, for God’s sake.’

  Rage took hold of Patrick’s guts and wrenched them. Only Tom’s presence in his arms prevented him from attempting to wreak bodily harm of the most grievous kind on Ned.

  I wouldn’t win a fight with him, thought Patrick. But I’d give him something to be fucking sorry about.

  ‘But you did take him, didn’t you?’ he said fiercely.

  ‘No!’ Ned protested. ‘I were in t’ shed and t’ little lad come in! I were tidying up, makin’ a pile of rubbish, old twine and pots and that, and he started t’ help me!’

  ‘We checked the fucking shed! It was locked!’

  ‘Door were closed because I had to get t’ shelf above it,’ said Ned. ‘When it’s closed, it’s locked. I heard someone thump on t’ door, but I were up ladder and I had my hands full. When I opened it and looked out, there were no one there. So I went back t’ what I were doing.’

  ‘Ned brought Tom back about twenty minutes after you left,’ said Darrell. ‘I texted Anselo.’

  ‘No service in the trees,’ said Anselo, putting an arm around her shoulder. ‘You would have missed us by five minutes max.’

  Patrick felt the fury begin to drain from him, but its residue still had some power.

  ‘If you did anything to him,’ he said to Ned, ‘anything, I will fucking hunt you down and dismember you with a blunt chainsaw.’

  Ned met Patrick’s eye, and then dropped his gaze to Tom. To Patrick’s fury, Ned gave his son an affectionate smile.

  ‘He’s a grand little lad,’ said Ned. ‘Very thoughtful, very orderly. Tha were a great help t’ me, weren’t thee, Tom?’

  Tom stared at him with his wide, serious eyes, and then turned to his father.

  ‘Tom help Ned,’ he said.

  Patrick almost dropped him. When he got his breath back, he said, ‘What? Tom! What did you say?’

  ‘Tom help Ned,’ his son repeated. ‘Tom make piles. Tom get string. Tom carry pots.’

  Even with a hand clapped to his mouth, Patrick could not stop the escape of a small inarticulate noise.

  ‘He’s been telling us all about it ever since he came in with Ned,’ said Darrell.

  Darrell was smiling and her eyes, Patrick noticed, when he could drag his own from his son, were moist.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Gulliver. ‘I tried to get him to stop referring to himself in the third person. But, hey, if he wants to do the “Hulk smash” thing, who am I to rustle his jimmies?’

  ‘Rustle his jimmies?’ said Benedict. ‘And you’re giving advice on modes of speech?’

  As the last of the anger and adrenaline finally left him, Patrick had no choice but to collapse into the nearest chair. He looked across at Ned, who was still standing, still on alert.

  ‘How’d you do it?’ Patrick said to him. ‘What did you do? We’ve tried fucking everything.’

  ‘I didn’t do nowt!’ said Ned. ‘I spoke t’ him, and he spoke back.’ He shrugged. ‘Happen ’twere just his time? He were finally ready.’

  Patrick turned and grinned at his son, who was sitting facing him on his lap, horsey-style.

  ‘Frankly,’ said Patrick, ‘I do not fucking care. Whatever caused it, it’s a beautiful thing.’

  And he kissed his son on the cheek and hugged him tight.

  ‘Dad smell.’ Tom’s voice was muffled by his father’s chest.

  Patrick laughed. ‘Yeah, Dad reeks like a costermonger’s left gumboot, and he is completely bloody cream crackered.’

  ‘I see that Harry and Rosie are in the living room watching The Powerpuff Girls,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined them.’

  ‘As long as you don’t teach Rosie any more swear words,’ said Michelle. ‘The ones she has already are freaking fruity-fresh enough, thank you.’

  ‘Mitch, you don’t know that Patrick taught her those,’ said Chad.

  ‘Of course he fucking did,’ said Aishe. ‘Tom’ll be swearing like he has Tourette’s in no time.’

  From under the table came a bark.

  ‘Even Flea agrees with me,’ said Aishe, ‘and he has no brain. I’d better give him some exercise before he eats this table.’ She glanced around at the group. ‘Who’s up for a walk?’

  37

  Charlotte decided she must be the only sane person on the planet. Not one of the other adults around her seemed to share one whit of her sense of urgency.

  For goodness’ sake! thought Charlotte. We have only this morning to pack our suitcases, tidy the villa and meet the agent to get our bond back, and then we have to get all seven of us, plus our luggage, into two laughably small vehicles, drive to the airport and catch our respective flights. The Lawrences would be going home a month early, Michelle had informed her, because they’d run out of money, and, as their house was still being rented, they’d have to bunk down with Chad’s parents — which, Charlotte recalled, Michelle was not looking forward to, her relationship with her mother-in-law being on somewhat the same footing as that between slugs and salt.

  Thank God that Benedict, Aishe and Gulliver are making their own travel arrangements, thought Charlotte. They’re the most disorganised of the lot. Well, not Benedict, she amended. He’s been chivvying the other two since breakfast, and with scant result. Then Aishe and Gulliver had the audacity to persuade everyone else to go into the village for gelato! They insisted they’d only be half an hour, Charlotte fumed, and that was forty-five minutes ago. Benedict and I met in the hallway just before, both lugging other people’s suitcases. Neither of us had the energy to do anything except roll our eyes at each other.

  Part of Charlotte had to admit that she was glad of the distraction. Despite being urged to stay, Ned had left immediately after Patrick had taken Tom into the living room and Charlotte had not seen him since.

  I suppose that’s only to be expected, she thought, given that I’ve not had a chance to tell him what happened at the pizzeria — which is that my dreams were shattered, popped like so many soap bubbles by a Marigold-glove-clad finger.

  That night, when Charlotte had gone to bed, she’d cried and cried, shedding countless tears of disappointment and rejection and humiliation. But in the morning, lying in her bed, with the sun making a glowing wand of the gap in her curtains, Charlotte had found she was nowhere near as unhappy as she’d expected to be.

  It was like when you’ve been thrown from a horse, she thought, and you’re flat on the grass, convinced that the impact has broken every bone in your body. But then you move your arms and legs and realise the only thing that’s been damaged is your pride and the riding crop that you fell on top of.

  Has only my pride been hurt? wondered Charlotte. I suspect it goes a bit deeper than that. But I’ll live. And Patrick apparently bears me no ill will. He has been nothing but kind, and generous enough to say that if I still want my job, he’ll be happy for me to stay. It’s up to me, he said. He is a very good man.

  Ned is a good man, too, she thought, with a pang of sadness. I really wish I could have the opportunity to say goodbye.

  Charlotte glanced at her watch and experienced a small flutter of panic. What do I need to do now? she thought. She ran through a mental checklist, and decided it would be sensible to take one last look around the grounds to see if the children had left any toys or items of clothing. Because, sure as eggs are eggs, whatever is left will be the one thing that child simply must have, and they will raise creation until it’s returned.

  Outside, she could hear frantic barking. Typical, she thought. Aishe has left the dog to its own devices, unsupervised.

  Flea had managed to jump up on the stone wall that separated the villa grounds from the lake, just by the gate that led down to the boat dock. The wall was not too high, Charlotte thought, for moronic Labradors.

  ‘What are you barking at, you stupid animal?’ she said as she approached.

  Charlotte reached the wall and leaned over. ‘Ducks. Wonderful. Surel
y you have seen a duck before?’

  The ducks in question were paying no heed to the clamour above them, and were circling lazily, giving the occasional quack.

  ‘Come on!’ said Charlotte to Flea, pointing at the ground. ‘Down!’

  The dog ignored her, and in the next instant, to Charlotte’s horror, made a flying leap off the wall and landed with a great splash amid a cacophony of quacking in the water below.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’

  Charlotte looked over, and there was the dog, head up, swimming merrily after the one duck that had decided not to fly away. The duck, Charlotte observed, was paddling without apparent haste but fast enough to keep a constant distance between it and its pursuer.

  Duck and dog were both heading away from the wall, towards the deeper water of the lake. That idiotic dog is going to follow that duck until it exhausts itself, was Charlotte’s realisation. And then the stupid thing will drown!

  Charlotte ran back to the villa, and yelled for Benedict. He did not appear.

  Curse him, thought Charlotte. He’s probably gone to hustle the others back from the village. Now what?

  She dashed back to the wall and peered over again. The dog was even further out, still precisely the same distance behind the duck.

  Curse everyone, thought Charlotte. Duck, dog, absent humans! What on earth can I do? I can’t let it drown.

  Glancing to her left, she spied the rowing boat, tied up at the dock.

  Oh, Lord, she thought. I suppose I’ll have to. With luck, the oars will be locked in the shed.

  The gate to the boat dock was locked as always, but Charlotte could climb over it. She made her way down to the rowing boat. The oars, she saw with dismay, were lying in the bottom.

  Left probably by Chad, Charlotte thought, who should have known better. Now, thanks to his negligence, I have no excuse whatsoever.

  She peered out over the lake, to see if there were any handy old men fishing close by, but for once there were no boats within shouting distance.