The Hideaway

by Pam Smy

  Billy stood awkwardly. ‘Um . . . I . . . I was just . . . um . . .’ The words were stuck.

  ‘Have you made, like, a den?’ The girl stepped round him. ‘What even is this place? How on earth did you find it? How d’you get in? I’ve been round this place loads of times and I totally never realized there was anything here except a load of ivy!’

  She was sweeping away at the leaves that covered the outside of the pillbox.

  ‘Wow! There’s a doorway. This is so cool!’

  Before Billy knew what was happening she had stepped through the ivy and into the pillbox.

  His pillbox.

  ‘No! Wait! Don’t . . .’ Billy stumbled after her. ‘Please, I . . .’

  It was dark inside, so Billy reached for the matches on one of the windowsills and lit a few of the candles again.

  ‘No waaayy! This is totally mad!’ the girl whispered as the flickering flames lit the room. ‘This is super cool! How did you find this place?’ Her voice wavered as she took in the neatly made bed, the orderly pile of books and the rucksack hanging from the string suspended across the room. There was an awkward silence as she took it all in.

  ‘Wait. You’re not . . . um . . . living here are you? Seriously? Why?’

  ‘Well, not exactly . . .’ Billy mumbled.

  ‘But you’re sleeping here? And eating here? That looks like living here to me.’ Her eyes were round as she took in the candles and the folded clothes. ‘And you weren’t in maths today either. Wait. What’s going on? Are you okay?’ The smile had fallen away from her face and she suddenly looked serious. ‘Billy, no one knows you’re here, do they?’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  31st October, Brownsfield Close, 7.15 p.m.

  Grace and Suzie stood together waiting for the door to be opened.

  ‘Who is it? What do you want?’ called a voice from inside. ‘I don’t do that trick-or-treat nonsense, so if you’ve come for sweets you can go hop it!’

  ‘No. We haven’t come because it’s Halloween. We’re your neighbours. Could we speak to you a moment? I’m Suzie from number twenty-six and I’m with Grace from number twenty-four.’

  Both women exchanged a glance of relief as they heard the catch slide back on the door. An old stern-looking woman with a pouting bottom lip opened the door a fraction.

  Grace held out a photo of Billy on her phone.

  ‘It’s my son. My Billy. He’s gone missing. Maybe run away. I wondered if you’d seen him go in or out of number twenty-four yesterday? Or this morning?’

  The woman peered at the phone, then up at Grace, and then down the street to number 24. She shifted her watery eyes back to Grace.

  ‘No. I ain’t seen your son. And I ain’t seen you before either. Number twenty-six you say? Are you new?’

  Suzie stepped forward. ‘It’s number twenty-four. Could you just check your shed or your garage? Maybe he hasn’t gone far? That’d be so—’

  The door shut in their faces.

  ‘—helpful.’

  Grace felt tears in her eyes. She checked her phone for new messages.

  ‘Maybe we should just wait for Jeff to come home? He’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Not everyone will be like that, Grace. Come on. Don’t lose heart. Let’s just check the next few houses. You never know . . .’

  All the lights were blazing at number 55 and a lit pumpkin sat on the doorstep. A jolly woman in a cardie and carrying a tub of sweets answered the door.

  She smiled.

  ‘Well, you two don’t look like trick-or-treaters!’

  Grace stepped forward.

  ‘It’s my Billy. He’s my son. He’s only thirteen. He’s gone missing. From number twenty-four. I wondered if you’d seen him yesterday or today? He’d have to walk past your house to leave the street . . .’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry, pet. Really I am. What a worry for you.’ The woman peered closely at the phone. ‘Lovely-looking boy, isn’t he? I wouldn’t say I’d noticed him before, though, and definitely not in the last couple of days. Are you sure he’s not popped out with his mates for a bit of trick-or-treating?’

  The woman looked up into Grace’s face. ‘Ah, no. I can see you’re proper worried.’ She reached out and gave Grace’s arm a squeeze. ‘Give me a mo and I’ll get a pen and paper and you can give me your number. I’ll call you if I remember anything or see anything.’

  Grace wrote her name and mobile number on the scrap of paper and they turned to walk back down the path.

  ‘I know we haven’t met before but I’m always here if you need something,’ the woman called. ‘I’m Lorraine. You can pop round any time.’

  ‘That was better,’ smiled Suzie. ‘Let’s keep going.’

  They knocked on one door after another. People were kind and concerned. They checked with their families, took Grace’s number and offered to look in their gardens, garages and sheds, while Grace anxiously checked her phone. There was no reply from Jeff. And no one remembered seeing Billy. Ever. They didn’t even recognize him from the photo.

  The two women stood looking up and down the cul-de-sac.

  ‘That’s it then,’ said Suzie. ‘No one has seen him.’

  She looked sideways at Grace.

  ‘Not many of them recognize you either. I thought we hadn’t met because I’m new here but you really do keep yourself to yourself, don’t you?’

  She watched as Grace checked her phone again.

  ‘I think it is time we called the police, Grace, don’t you?’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘You have, haven’t you? OMG! You’ve run away from home! What did you do? Are you in some sort of massive trouble? Have your parents kicked you out?’

  Izzie barely gave Billy a chance to answer. He pushed past her into the cold night air looking nervously around.

  ‘Are you here on your own, Izzie? I kind of didn’t want to be seen . . .’

  But as he spoke he realized that the lights of the chapel were on and that the trees were lit with warm light from the glowing windows.

  ‘What’s going on in there?’ asked Billy.

  There were one or two cars parked near the front of the chapel and a bike propped up against the wall. How had he not heard them arrive?

  ‘It’s choir night. My mum comes to sing. She says it helps her let off steam. Her job is soooo stressful. I’m supposed to be sitting at the back of the chapel drawing for my art homework but I got bored and decided to go for a wander. I’m not bored now! I’ve just found Billy McKenna hiding in a spooky graveyard!’

  ‘How did you see I was here?’

  ‘Dur! You’ve lit candles in the windows. You’ve given yourself away! Bit of a schoolboy error!’

  Billy looked back at the mound of ivy and could see the flickering yellow light deep beneath the leaves. He darted back in and blew them out before joining her outside at the edge of the graveyard.

  Billy nodded towards the chapel. ‘I thought it was unused, you know, decommissioned or whatever they call it?’

  ‘It is,’ said Izzie. ‘And it’s empty most of the time. I think a few clubs use it sometimes, like the choir. It isn’t a church choir. They’re not religious. They sing loads of different stuff.’

  As if on cue the sound of singing began to swell from the chapel.

  ‘Don’t worry – they’re so busy in there, they won’t think to come looking for you out here!’

  Billy and Izzie leant against a couple of gravestones as the sound of a sweet and sad song pulsed through the air. Billy was mesmerized. His heart slowed as he listened, his eyes fixed on the shapes of yellow light in the silhouette of the small dark building. One round of voices overlapped another as a throb of sorrow filled the graveyard.

  They both stood in silence and listened.

  When it had ebbed away and the sound of the night returned to the graveyard, Izzie turned to Billy.

  ‘Er, are you okay?’ she asked.

  And for the second time that day Billy realized that he
was crying. At least his eyes were full of tears and one spilled over and ran down his cheek. He couldn’t look at Izzie.

  Embarrassed, she rummaged in her pocket and rustled some crumpled paper. ‘Here. Have some chocolate . . .’

  There was an awkward silence as they chomped on squares of chocolate and Billy wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

  ‘Look. I am in trouble . . . but . . . um . . . I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just that . . . um . . . being at home is . . .’ He couldn’t find the words. ‘It’s . . . difficult.’

  ‘My mum can be a pain but it wouldn’t make me want to hang out here overnight!’ said Izzie.

  ‘Exactly! That’s my point,’ said Billy. ‘It’s bad. I really, really can’t go home. Not yet. I really need him not to know I am here, okay?’

  She stared at him steadily. Unsure. ‘Him?’

  ‘Please. Please don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me,’ Billy begged. ‘Just for now. I need some time.’

  The faint ring of a mobile sounded from inside the chapel, followed by a groan.

  ‘Izzie? Izzie! Are you out here?’

  Billy and Izzie stepped swiftly back into the shadow of the trees.

  ‘It’s my mum!’ she whispered.

  ‘IZZIE! Don’t mess me about! We’ve got to go! I’ve had a call from work. Where are you? Izzie!’

  ‘Please!’ hissed Billy as Izzie made to go. ‘Please don’t say ANYTHING about me being here. I just need some time! Just a few days . . .

  PLEASE! Promise me.’

  But she was already halfway across the graveyard.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  31st October, 24 Brownsfield Close, 9.30 p.m.

  ‘So, Ms McKenna, while my colleague is doing a quick search here to check Billy isn’t hiding somewhere in this property,’ said the young PC, ‘can I just run through this again to check that I have all the correct information?’

  She glanced up from her notebook at the woman on the sofa opposite. She was sitting with her hands clenched in her lap, her eyes unblinking, completely still except for the twitching nerve beneath her left eye. She looked incredibly tired. And incredibly scared. But then you would be, wouldn’t you, if your son had gone missing? Another woman with pink nail varnish stepped out of the kitchen and passed them both mugs of tea, then perched on the arm of the sofa.

  ‘You last saw Billy on . . .’ She flicked back through the pages of her notebook, ‘the twenty-ninth of October? That was two days ago. Can you tell me why you hadn’t called us before?’

  ‘Well. I didn’t realize he wasn’t here. I do shifts. Sometimes we don’t see each other for a day or so . . .’

  ‘Okay. So on the twenty-ninth you and he had tea together after he got back from school? Can you tell me what you talked about?’

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing really. I told him about my shift at work. He told me about his day at school. He was just normal.’

  ‘Did Billy tell you anything unusual about his day at school? Did he get into trouble? Did he fall out with his friends?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. Billy’s never in trouble. He’s a good boy.’

  ‘What about his friends? Who do you think we could talk to about Billy at school?’

  ‘Well, no one really. He doesn’t mention any friends.’

  ‘Does anyone come round to call for him? Does he go out? Who would he be out trick-or-treating with tonight, for instance?’

  ‘No. No one. He wouldn’t be out at all. He’s just here. All the time. With me. That’s how I know something’s wrong.’

  ‘Okay. So you saw Billy at teatime and then you went to work and Billy had gone to school when you got up and you didn’t see him that night? The thirtieth? Why is that? Were you working late?’

  ‘Er . . . no. I was here. Billy was in his room. I’m sure he was.’

  ‘But you didn’t see him? Why is that?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  The young constable knew from her training to leave a silence if you want an answer. So she waited, half listening to the groups of children outside passing from one house to another.

  ‘It’s just that . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That . . .’ Grace fell silent.

  ‘Grace,’ said Suzie gently. ‘I think I know what happened that night. I could hear from next door . . .’

  ‘What did happen, Grace?’ asked the constable.

  Both women looked expectantly at Grace.

  ‘I . . .’

  Then there was the sound of a click in the lock in the hall. Grace jumped. The front door opened and a wiry, compact man with a receding hairline stepped through the doorway of the sitting room. He made a swift scan of the group of women, extended his hand and, with a wide smile on his face, said, ‘I’m Jeff Lansdale. What’s happening here and what can I do to help?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Billy stumbled behind Izzie as she ran through the graveyard towards the waiting car, its interior light illuminating the woman in the driving seat as she tapped something into her mobile. He hesitated at the edge of the row of yew trees, keen not to be seen and frustrated at not knowing for sure if his secret was safe. He watched as Izzie opened the car, slipped into the passenger seat and closed the door with a clunk. Izzie put her earbuds in, lowered her window and gazed out into the night.

  Surely she wouldn’t be able to see him here amongst the branches of yew?

  If Izzie could see him, so could her mum, but luckily she seemed too busy with her phone. The sound of a ringtone buzzed out from the car, breaking the eerie silence. The woman indicated to Izzie to close the window and answered the call with a weary, ‘Sergeant Chorley here.’

  ‘It’s a schoolkid who lives in Brownsfield Close. He’s thirteen. Hasn’t been seen for sure for two days. Good kid, apparently. Never given anyone any cause for concern before. I’ve circulated his description to the night shift and we’ve posted that he’s missing on Facebook. I’d normally just wait for the briefing tomorrow morning but I wanted to speak to you before I clock off for the night. I’d like to talk it through. There’s something not quite right at home . . .’

  Sergeant Chorley felt her palms tingle with foreboding.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Well, at first I was there asking the mum about her missing son and he didn’t sound like he was a real teenager. No friends. No clubs. No trouble.’

  ‘Okay . . . ?’

  There was a question in Sergeant Chorley’s voice. She absent-mindedly scanned groups of trick-or-treaters as they passed by the end of the lane to the graveyard, jostling along the pavement, buckets in hand, ghoulish make-up shining out under the street lights.

  ‘What else?’

  ‘I didn’t think much of it to start off with. I think that the mum and her friend were about to tell me something but then her bloke came home. His name is –’ a pause here while the PC flicked through her notes, ‘– Jeff Lansdale.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Well, seemed like a nice bloke. Helpful. Friendly.’

  ‘Hardly incriminating, though. So . . . ?’

  ‘He didn’t know anything about the boy being missing so they hadn’t had chance to talk about it. He was really concerned and was all help and smiles.’

  ‘Do you think this bloke, Jeff, has something to do with the boy’s disappearance?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But there’s something not right there, sarge. It wasn’t what he said or did, it was her, the mum, Grace. As soon as Jeff walked in her body language changed. Before he arrived she was worried, obviously, but helpful, keen to talk. But as soon as the boyfriend walked in she didn’t say a word. She barely made eye contact. He answered everything. Once he was home there was no way I could get her on her own to ask more questions. To get a better idea of what’s going on. It’s all on my body cam so you’ll be able to see what I mean.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks. Can you hang on there before going off shift? I’m coming back in and will be there in ten
minutes.’

  Sergeant Chorley clicked off the phone and started the engine, looking across at her daughter as she put the car into gear. ‘You didn’t hear any of that, did you?’

  ‘Sorry, what?’ asked Izzie as she pulled her earbuds out. ‘Did you say something?’

  ‘No. Just that I have to go back in to work. Something’s come up.’

  ‘No worries,’ Izzie sighed, ‘Shall I sort out some dinner for when you get home?’

  ‘That’d be great, darling. I’ll drop you off and just go in for an hour or so.’

  Billy stood in the shadows and watched the car pull gently away and bump down the lane. He felt certain that Izzie was seeking him out against the trees as he saw her face pass by, pressed against the passenger window.

  Then she was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  31st October, 24 Brownsfield Close, 10.45 p.m.

  Grace sat and stared out at the street. The trick-or-treaters had long since gone, and most of the windows were dark. Occasionally a cat triggered a porch light as it slunk between houses, but otherwise all was quiet.

  Where are you, Billy?

  Come home. Come back to me.

  But as she sat there she knew that even if she didn’t know where Billy had gone, she knew why. Somehow she had hoped that she had managed to protect Billy from the worst of what her life had become, but, of course, he was here in the house with them both day after day. She thought back to the happy and carefree boy he had been before they had moved in with Jeff. How long had it been since she had seen an unguarded expression on his face? More than months. Years.

  He deserves better, she thought.

  Jeff had let Suzie and the police constable out with the usual charm and handshakes, saying that he was sure Billy would be home soon. But the second the door clicked shut behind them he had turned to Grace, hissing that she was making a fool of herself and that Billy was just attention-seeking and asking what kind of mother would let her son just slip away like that? He told her that it was no wonder that Billy had left – he was probably ashamed of having such a pathetic excuse of a human being for a mother, that he was probably embarrassed by her.