The Hideaway

by Pam Smy

  ‘And you never saw him again?’ asked Billy.

  ‘Nope. We ’ad some letters – sent with no return address, of course. One or two phone calls telling us what he’d been up to and not to worry about him, but you do, don’t you? And then nothing.’ The old man shook his head slowly, as if he still couldn’t believe it. ‘There was days I hoped he’d fallen in love and gone to make his own family somewhere and days when I could’ve brained him for breaking our hearts. We cried for that boy. Why didn’t he at least stay in touch with us? We weren’t that bad, were we? My Edith never got over the loss. We never knew where he was, so when Edith got ill I couldn’t let him know. She died without ever seein’ him again.

  ‘I’ve raged at him in my head. And I long to see him with all my bones. I still seek him out in a busy street and in crowds on the telly. Everywhere I go. It’s an ache that’s never gone away.’

  The old man was staring out across the graveyard. ‘I can’t tell you what it feels like not to know if your child is dead or alive. Not to know if you’ll ever see them again.’

  There was a long pause. And then the sound of a deep sigh as he turned back to Billy.

  ‘So don’t you stay here too long, lad. Remember, our deal is only till tomorrow. I don’t know what’s happened to you and I am sure you’ve got your reasons – I can see all isn’t right with you. But unless she’s done something wrong, don’t you go and make that Ma of yours suffer like my Edith suffered. Anyway, lad, eat up. We’ve got work to do. We need all this ready for tomorrow night.’

  ‘What’s happening tomorrow night? Is there some kind of event here?’

  ‘You could say that. Tell you what, lad, if you clear those brambles from along that back wall this morning you’ll find the grave of the poet. Then it’ll be clear what all this is for. Come on, enough chitterty-chat. Let’s get to.’

  Then the man passed Billy some gloves and some clippers and disappeared among the stones.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  1st November, 24 Brownsfield Close, 2 p.m.

  Grace saw Chorley’s car pull up in the street. She put on her mac and stepped outside.

  Suzie darted out from number 26.

  ‘Grace, wait! Take this. Read it when you’re on your own.’ The two women glanced at each other fleetingly as Suzie pressed an envelope into Grace’s hand before heading back into her house.

  ‘Jeff went to work,’ explained Grace as she climbed into the passenger seat of Sergeant Chorley’s car, shaking the rain from her coat before shutting the door. ‘I texted him and he’ll meet us there.’

  Really? thought Chorley. His partner’s son is missing and he went to work?

  But what she said out loud was, ‘Great.’

  Actually she was relieved. ‘We get a bit of time together then. That’s good, because I’ve got something to show you.’

  She drove the car a few streets away and then pulled over. She had spent the morning reading through Billy’s diaries. She clicked off the engine and the windscreen wipers stopped. It suddenly felt very quiet.

  ‘This morning I found these hidden in Billy’s room. It looks like he has kept diaries over the last five years. Since you’ve been living with Jeff. I only took a few and they date from different times during that period. This is the most recent one. I know I should have asked you before taking them . . . but once I saw what they were about I thought I couldn’t ask you about them in front of Jeff. Here, take a look.’

  Chorley watched closely as Grace read through the diary, silently turning from one page to another. All was quiet except for the sound of the rain on the roof of the car. Chorley recognized the last entry in the book as Grace read it. When eventually she looked up at the sergeant, Grace’s eyes were full of tears.

  30th October

  Tonight is the night I have to go.

  I just can’t take any more.

  I don’t want to leave her here with him but I have to get away. I just can’t stand it anymore. There’s another argument starting downstairs and I think I’ll go crazy if I have to hear it all again.

  I am tired of having to tiptoe around. Of trying to be silent.

  I am tired of not knowing what to say and of not being able to tell anyone what’s going on.

  I’m tired of trying to be invisible

  I’m scared.

  Nothing I do helps. I can’t make it stop.

  It never stops.

  The one person who will understand, the one person who will know exactly how I feel is Mum. I want her to cuddle me like she did when I was small and tell me that it’ll be alright and that we can go somewhere and find a way to be just us two again. To be safe.

  But she can’t. She’s trapped. She’s scared too.

  But I can go.

  Not forever. But I can’t come back till things have changed.

  Till then I am disappearing.

  ‘That’s a sensitive and intelligent boy you have there.’

  Grace nodded slightly as she stared at the diary, her hand trembling.

  ‘Grace, I think I understand what’s happening at home and why Billy ran away. Do you think you could tell me what’s going on?’

  Grace didn’t move.

  ‘Grace,’ asked Chorley, ‘are you safe at home?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Grace answered, her eyes watching the rain on the windscreen.

  Chorley tried again.

  ‘Are you scared at home?’

  There was a long silence while they both listened to the rain.

  ‘Grace, do you think Billy is scared to be at home?’

  With tears rolling down her face Grace slowly nodded.

  ‘Okay,’ Chorley said, ‘I’m assuming that what’s in Billy’s diaries is true. I’d like to know how things are from your point of view.’ She leant over and pulled her iPad from her bag. ‘I’m going to ask you a list of questions and then I’m going to tell you what we can do to help.’

  The two women sat in the parked car by the side of the road in the rain while Grace answered yes or no to Chorley’s questions.

  It was a while before the sergeant flicked the indicator and pulled away from the kerb and as she did so she began to explain everything to Grace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Billy and the old man worked on through the rain, the old man clearing round the headstones in the centre of the graveyard, while Billy worked his way through the tangle of brambles and ivy along the back wall. In some places the undergrowth was so thick that it hid the stones beneath completely. Billy snipped at the barbed strands of the blackberry bushes and tugged at tendrils of ivy, cutting away at the thicker roots on his hands and knees.

  He uncovered headstones that were so old it was impossible to read the inscriptions – the letters were worn away or the stone was discoloured and stained by lichen. But on some Billy could pull away the ivy to reveal the words beneath.

  Here lies Elizabeth Palmer

  1894–1923

  And her infant daughter

  Penelope

  who fell asleep

  Aged three days

  Albert Draper

  1894–1962

  and also his wife

  Eileen Draper

  1905–1985

  Reunited

  Each stone was a story. Billy tried to imagine who these people had been. What had their lives been like? How had they lived? Had they been kind? Important? Rich? Poor? What had happened to their wives, husbands, children after their deaths? What had the old man said that morning? Edith never got over the loss. And her son hadn’t even died, just gone, but still she had never recovered from the sadness. He tried not to think about what his own mum was feeling, or what she was doing, but it was hard when each headstone he revealed was another monument to loss and grief.

  Occasionally the old man would come along with his wheelbarrow and load up the piles of greenery Billy had cut away and make comments such as ‘You’re doing a grand job there, lad,’ or, ‘Keep going! We’re nearly
there’. Sometimes he would stay for longer and pour a cup of steaming sweet tea from a flask and the two would stand there in the drizzle, passing the cup between them while he told Billy stories about the people on the gravestones. ‘Ah, Gilbert. He was a good chap. Bit of trouble, he was, when he was younger, too ready with his fists after a jar or two, but he fell for Betty good and proper and would do anything for her. Meek as a lamb, he was, after they got wed.’ Then he would pick up his wheelbarrow and trundle off to another set of headstones to clear.

  It was almost dusk when Billy found the poet’s grave. It stood against the wall of the graveyard. It read, Here lies Frances Cornford, born 1886, died 1960. And beneath it was carved a poem.

  My love came back to me

  Under the November tree

  Shelterless and dim.

  He put his hand upon my shoulder,

  He did not think me strange or older,

  Nor I, him.

  Frances Crofts Cornford née Darwin

  1886–1960

  Billy stood back and read it. Then he read it again.

  ‘I thought the old man said I would understand what we were doing all this for when I found the poet’s grave,’ grumbled Billy to himself. ‘This doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t tell me anything.’

  He looked around in the gloom for the old man. Where he had been working was cleared and a collection of monuments and stones made dark shapes against the grey evening light but the man himself had gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  1st November, local news, 4 p.m.

  ‘Concerns are growing for the safety of a thirteen-year-old boy, Billy McKenna, who has not been seen since leaving school two days ago. This afternoon his mother made an appeal for Billy to return home and asked for assistance from the local community to help find her son.‘

  ‘My Billy is a quiet, sensitive and thoughtful boy and it is completely out of character for him to go missing. He is my world and I need him home. To Billy I say this: Billy, I love you. I understand why you went and I want you to know that things will be different when you come home. Get in touch. You’re not in any trouble. Please, Billy, let me know you are okay.‘

  ‘The search for Billy is being led by Sergeant Chorley of the Brighthaven Constabulary.

  She made the following appeal . . .‘

  ‘Billy was last seen two days ago, on the thirtieth October, when he left school. At this point we don’t believe there’s anything suspicious about Billy’s disappearance but we have no information on where he is now or where he may be heading. There have not been any sightings of Billy. He is not in any trouble, but, as you can imagine, we are concerned that he is out on the streets. Alone. We are hoping that Billy is still in the local area and appeal to the public to check their sheds and garages and to get in touch if they think they may have seen Billy. We are trying to get a picture of his movements on the evening of thirtieth October and ask people living in the Bransden area of the city to check their CCTV or dashcams and contact us with any relevant information. If you think you have seen Billy or spoken to Billy, please get in touch. Call us, contact us on social media or drop into any police station. We rely on information we receive from the public to help in cases like this. Please know that we are grateful for any assistance you can give us.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Izzie left her bike propped up against the chapel wall and, guided by her phone light, went to find Billy. Before she got to the pillbox she found him forking leaves and branches out of a wheelbarrow and on to the compost heap in the corner of the graveyard.

  ‘What are you doing that for? Are you lame or what? Isn’t that someone else’s job? And why are you doing it now? It is dark, you know.’

  ‘Well, maybe you shouldn’t go creeping up on people in graveyards!’ said Billy. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’

  ‘I came to see if you were all right. It’s not every day that the boy you sit next to in maths takes to hiding out in a graveyard, you know. So . . . what are you doing?’

  ‘I’ve been helping out this old man who works here. Just to pass the time. I’m clearing up before I go to bed.’

  ‘Okaaay . . .’ Izzie replied. ‘You’re in a graveyard doing stuff for some random old bloke? That doesn’t sound weird at all! Sounds great. Really! Luckily, alongside checking that you haven’t died of pneumonia, I also came here to bring you these.’ She pulled some crisps from her pocket. ‘And these.’ Followed by a multipack of chocolate bars. ‘Oh, and to show you this . . .’

  Izzie pulled her phone from her pocket and clicked on a link. The video clip of Billy’s mum began to play . . .

  ‘My Billy is a quiet, sensitive and thoughtful boy and it is completely out of character for him to go missing. He is my world and I need him home . . .’

  Billy was mesmerized by the sight of his mum there on that tiny screen. She looked so tired, so pale and so small between Jeff on one side and the policewoman on the other. The ache to see her felt like a pain in his chest.

  ‘So you are hiding here and you’ve asked me to keep it secret. And now EVERYONE knows you’re missing,’ Izzie was saying. ‘You do know I could get in massive trouble for this, don’t you?’

  ‘Er . . . yeah. Sorry, Izzie. I didn’t ask to be found, you know. I didn’t . . . It’s just that . . .’ He looked hopelessly at her, both their faces lit in the gloom by the phone screen. ‘Can you just play that again?’

  Izzie pressed play . . .

  ‘My Billy is a quiet, sensitive and thoughtful boy . . .’

  Billy watched and this time he noticed something he hadn’t seen the first time.

  ‘Izzie, can you play it again?’

  She huffed, but pressed play.

  And there it was.

  Such a small movement.

  Billy’s mother spoke, looking directly at the camera. In one hand she had her notes, which were written on a piece of paper that was tucked inside an A6 notebook.

  Billy gasped as he recognized it as one of his own diaries. Grace’s other hand was under Jeff’s hand on the tabletop. But as she said ‘things will be different when you come home’ she slid her hand out from under Jeff’s. He saw Jeff’s sideways glance, so slight that it was little more than a twitch, but Billy’s mother continued to speak directly to the camera.

  ‘Look at that!’ cried Billy.

  Izzie played it again. It was definitely there – that movement away from Jeff at the exact moment that she said ‘things will be different’. She had one of his diaries. Was this a signal, a message within a message, just for Billy? Possibilities rushed through his mind as he stared at his mother paused on Izzie’s phone screen.

  ‘What are you on about? This is serious. I’m showing you this because that policewoman there, on that screen next to your mum, is my mum! I can tell you that they don’t usually do this unless they think a kid has been kidnapped or something. And you haven’t even been gone for very long. You’re going to be in the papers and on the national news. You know what this means, don’t you? EVERYONE will be looking out for you now. EVERYONE.

  ‘Everyone will be worried about you. And I am lying to all those people . . . and my mum. I HAVE to tell them you’re here!’

  ‘But you promised . . .’

  ‘Actually, I didn’t. You HAVE to go home!’

  ‘Izzie, I can’t. I need to know it’ll be different, not just hope it will.’

  ‘Different from what? Just what is your PROBLEM?’

  ‘I’ll tell you if you promise not to give me up for a bit longer. Just keep my secret for one more day. Please?’

  ‘Okay. But this had better be good,’ grumbled Izzie. ‘You might not mind being in trouble but I do!’

  They sat side by side on a bench in the dark and Billy was glad to not be able to see Izzie’s face as he started to talk . . .

  He explained how it had just been the two of them – him and his mum. Then Jeff came along. And how he had been great fun and how happy his mum had been. A
nd then the gradual changes. So slight you could hardly spot them. But that his mum had disappeared. She’d been in the same body, the same clothes, but her sparkle had gradually ebbed away until she just wasn’t her any more.

  And then he talked about the violence. How he couldn’t bear to hear it, see it or feel it any more. He just had to disappear.

  ‘Only you and that old bloke know I’m here, Izzie. He’s promised not to tell. Can’t you too? You can protect me from having to go back.’

  ‘Oh, Billy. I’m so sorry.’ Izzie reached out and awkwardly put a hand on Billy’s arm. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t say anything. It must be horrible for you. Now I totally get why you’re here. I will keep your secret, but only for one more day. You know, it’s not just me and that old guy who knows you’re here? There’s some Year 11 girl going round saying she was saved by a “ghost” in this graveyard on Halloween. Was that you?’

  Billy shrugged and nodded.

  ‘Don’t you think people might begin to put two and two together? One more day, Billy – you can’t just stay here forever. They’ll come and find you, Billy McKenna, and then you’ll have to go home.’

  Billy watched Izzie’s bike light wobble away in the dark. He stood alone among the stones, listening to the whoosh of the trees in the breeze above his head and the hum of a distant road. He breathed in the night air and felt his heart slow. Izzie was right. His time here was running out. He needed to think. To decide what to do.

  Steadily he walked back to the pillbox, playing the image of his mum pulling her hand away from under Jeff’s over and over in his mind. ‘Things will be different,’ she had said. But how?