The Hideaway

by Pam Smy

  When he got to the doorway of the pillbox there was something resting against the ivy that covered the entrance. It was a metal flask of food wrapped in a cloth to keep it warm.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  1st November, Sergeant Chorley’s car, Brownsfield Close, 9 p.m.

  Sergeant Chorley clicked send on the message to her daughter and turned back to Grace whose phone buzzed again with another call. It seemed that Grace’s phone was always ringing or pinging with messages. Yet she apparently didn’t have any friends.

  ‘Is that Jeff again?’ asked Chorley. ‘Is it like this all the time?’

  The phone buzzed once more.

  ‘No. Well, yes . . . I don’t know. He’s just worried about me, you know?’

  ‘Grace, given some of the things we now know about Jeff, do you really think that’s true?’

  ‘No. I suppose not. Not really,’ Grace said quietly. ‘But it’s just hard to talk about . . .’

  ‘I can understand that. And you talking us through some of the things that Billy has recorded in his diary has been really valuable. Anything you can share to help us build up a picture of how Jeff behaves makes our case against him stronger. I know it’s difficult, Grace, but it will help us to protect you. And Billy.’

  The phone buzzed again.

  ‘Okay. Yes. It is like this all the time unless we’re together. Yes. He wants to know where I am, who I am with and what I am doing.’

  ‘How did it get to this point, do you think, Grace?’

  ‘I don’t know really. At first I thought it was sweet that he cared about whether I was all right when I was out, you know?’ Grace looked nervously towards the house, where Jeff was pacing the sitting room like a caged animal, his phone in his hand. ‘But then it got that he was ringing and texting me non-stop and he said he worried that something had happened to me if I didn’t reply straight away. He seemed really concerned, you know? It upset him so much.’

  Grace’s phone buzzed again.

  ‘And then . . . I don’t know . . . bit by bit I just stopped doing things that I thought would worry him, like going to the cinema when my phone had to be off. I almost didn’t realize I was doing it. I just didn’t want to upset him, you know? In the end I just stopped going out, unless it was to work, or to the supermarket. It just made life easier.’

  ‘One of the entries in Billy’s diaries was about Jeff coming to find you in the supermarket? Does that happen often?’

  ‘Poor Billy. All this time I thought I was shielding him from the worst of it. But he’s noticed everything. Yes. Sometimes Jeff would surprise us, you know? He would arrive at the supermarket or at my work or at the school gate when I was picking up Billy when he was younger. Sometimes he would sit in the car and watch to see who I spoke to. He gets really jealous, you know?’

  The two women sat and watched Jeff pace back and forth in the rectangle of window overlooking the street.

  ‘I thought that I was making a better life for me and Billy. But I’ve trapped us. And now I’ve lost Billy too.’

  ‘You haven’t done anything wrong, Grace. What Jeff has done to you and Billy is a crime. D’you understand? You are so brave to talk about it and we’ll do everything we can to help you and Billy.’

  Grace smiled weakly at the policewoman.

  ‘Your amazing son has given us a record of more than a hundred instances of domestic abuse. Our priority is keeping you safe and making sure Billy is safe too. But first we have to make sure that he comes home.’

  Grace and Sergeant Chorley stepped out of the car, walked down the cul-de-sac, crossed the road and went up the garden path together. The door opened as Grace reached for the lock with her key.

  ‘You’ve been a long time! Is everything okay?’ Jeff smiled as his eyes darted from one woman to the other. ‘I’ve been worried. You weren’t answering your phone.’

  ‘Ah! That was my fault, Mr Lansdale. Grace has been helping us piece together some of the places that Billy used to like visiting as a small child. We’re already having a good response to the TV appeal and we’re hoping to get some firm information on sightings of Billy. Hopefully I’ll be back in the morning with any new information that comes up. Until then I can assure you that our night shift are working hard on the case. Finding Billy is a priority for us . . .’

  Jeff stood close behind Grace as they watched Chorley walk away.

  ‘You didn’t answer my calls.’

  His voice was gruff.

  ‘I couldn’t, could I? I was answering questions about Billy. You knew where I was. You left me at the police station earlier . . .’

  Grace eased out of her jacket and hung it on the peg. ‘No news here, I suppose?’ She kept her voice light, afraid that Jeff would know what she had really been talking about.

  ‘No. Nothing. I’ll teach that boy a lesson when he gets home. Putting us through all this worry. I’m on an early shift tomorrow so I’m off to bed.’ He turned and began to climb the stairs. ‘Oh, and there’s another bowl of something from that busybody down the street and she brought a load of cards with her. They’re on the kitchen table.’

  Grace watched him until he turned on to the landing and out of sight. She felt icy cold. How could she ever have believed this man loved her and Billy?

  She walked through to the kitchen. There was a casserole dish with a folded piece of paper sellotaped to the top. Opening it, she saw a black-and-white photocopied photo of Billy staring out at her, with HELP FIND BILLY underneath it. There was a Facebook address and a message asking for volunteers to come forward. In handwriting underneath was a note.

  Thought you’d like to see the poster we’ve made.

  Had a great response already and I’ve been

  collecting cards from some well-wishers.

  Chicken stew for you. Love Lorraine

  Next to the casserole dish was a pile of cards and notes on the table. Grace reached for the first one.

  So sorry to see on the news that your son has gone missing. Do call if you think we can help with anything. Pat and Tracy (79 Ballingdon Street)

  Grace had no idea who Pat and Tracy were, but it was kind of them to send a message. She picked up another.

  To Billy’s parents, we’re thinking of you at this difficult time, John, Jenny, Toby and Ella

  And another:

  Let me know if I can help! Suzie

  Suzie! Grace had forgotten about the envelope from this morning. It seemed so long ago. She went to the hall and reached into her jacket pocket. There it was. Inside the envelope was a neatly folded piece of A4 paper. On it was the name of a website and a printout of information about seeking safety. And below was a handwritten note. It said:

  I think I understand what is happening to you.

  I am here to help if you need it.

  I think you should have an emergency bag packed.

  Here is a list of what should be in it . . .

  Grace read it again.

  Then she opened the kitchen door enough to check that she could hear snoring coming from upstairs.

  She reached for a backpack from the cupboard under the stairs and very quietly she began to fill it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  It was only just becoming light when Billy heard car tyres crunching on the gravel.

  Was this it? Had Izzie not kept her word after all? Or the old man perhaps?

  He scrambled out of his sleeping bag and stumbled to the window.

  A car door slammed.

  Billy’s heart pounded.

  He dipped to the other window to see if he could see anything but Billy’s view was limited. He strained to see who was there, who was coming for him.

  And then he saw.

  He was tall and thin and wrapped in a big black coat. He walked hesitantly, as if he was trying to find his bearings. To find his way around.

  He looked as if he was searching for something.

  But the man only seemed to be interested in the graves. He peered int
ently at them, reading the names on each headstone before moving on to the next one. Billy watched him go steadily through the graveyard until he stopped on the furthest side from the pillbox, directly in Billy’s line of vision.

  The man stood there with such a sad look on his face. He raked his hand through his curls and across his eyes as if he was weary. And then he clamped his hand over his mouth and Billy realized that the man was crying. Slow steady tears rolled down his cheeks as he gazed at a headstone.

  I should feel ashamed to be standing here, spying on a stranger’s grief, thought Billy as his heart slowed.

  But he couldn’t draw back from watching the man. He thought of all the times when he was younger that Jeff had said, ‘Man up, Billy. Men don’t cry! Get some bloody backbone, can’t you? You’re an embarrassment!’ and of Jeff’s cocky, pushy idea of manhood. But here was this man with a beautiful face, openly weeping.

  Billy watched as the man stood in the quiet of the graveyard. After a while he dried his eyes and turned and walked away. A few moments later Billy heard the car door slam shut and the car drive slowly back down All Souls’ Lane.

  He let out a long sigh of relief.

  His secret was safe for the time being at least.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  2nd November, 24 Brownsfield Close, 8 a.m.

  Grace had been too anxious to sleep. She was staring out at the street when the two police cars pulled up outside. Was it news about Billy? Chorley hadn’t mentioned anything. Surely she would have called if she had any news? Maybe it was bad news and she wanted to tell Grace face to face?

  Grace couldn’t move.

  She couldn’t get up from her chair as she watched three police officers get out of one car and two out of another. People further down the street opened their doors and stared.

  Oh god, let Billy be okay.

  Please.

  They walked up the path – shapes of black and high-vis yellow. One stayed at the front gate. Lorraine was standing in her drive.

  Please let Billy be okay.

  They knocked on the door and the sound reverberated around the house. One of the constables stared directly at her through the window but Grace still couldn’t move. She heard heavy thuds down the stairs and the catch unlocked as Jeff opened the door.

  ‘Mr Lansdale? Jeff Lansdale?’ asked the police constable calmly.

  ‘Yes? How can I help? Do you have news about Billy?’

  ‘Mr Lansdale, I am arresting you under the Serious Crime Act of 2015. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ The constable reached out and clipped a handcuff round Jeff’s wrist.

  ‘What? I’ve got nothing to do with Billy going off! This is a mistake! This is a bloody outrage!’

  ‘This is not about Billy, Mr Lansdale. You are being arrested for years of suspected domestic abuse of your partner, Grace McKenna.’

  In the street the neighbours had their phones out and filmed as Jeff was bundled into one of the police cars and as it turned and drove slowly out of Brownsfield Close.

  Grace hadn’t moved. It was as if she had watched it all on a TV screen. She couldn’t believe what she’d seen. It didn’t feel real at all. But it was real. She was shaking all over. A young police constable stepped into the room.

  ‘Grace? My colleague here is going to make you a cup of tea. And then we’re going to talk through some of your options with you.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The old man arrived later than usual that morning. When he did he was wearing a red silk neckerchief and carrying a wicker hamper and a pile of blankets.

  ‘You look smart,’ said Billy as the man unpacked a foil-wrapped bacon sandwich from the hamper and handed it to him.

  ‘Well, my lad, tonight’s the night! This is what we’ve been working for. Still a bit of tidying to do but we should get it all done on time.’

  He rubbed his hands together eagerly.

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ mumbled Billy between mouthfuls. ‘I don’t understand why we’re doing all this or what it’s got to do with that poem. Is there gonna be some kind of memorial to that poet or something? Because I’d rather make myself scarce when people start arriving, if that’s the case.’

  The old man grinned.

  ‘You still don’t know what today is then? Don’t worry. You’ll see. And you needn’t worry about the guests. I promise you they won’t say a word. Now, we still need to clean a couple of the statues and there’s still a lot of weeds over Reverend Caldwell over there. You can do the grubby stuff, I don’t want to spoil me glad rags. I’m just going to rake up the leaves and get a bonfire going and then I’ll join you.’

  Billy finished his sandwich and watched as his companion walked off across the graveyard to get the wheelbarrow from beside the chapel wall. There was a spring in the old man’s step. He was clearly excited. Whatever was going to happen seemed to be making him pretty happy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  2nd November, 24 Brownsfield Close, 12 noon

  Grace clicked the door shut and stood at the sitting-room window. She waved goodbye to the police car as it pulled away from the kerb. She watched it until she could see it no more and then stood looking out at Brownsfield Close.

  She put the kettle on and made another cup of tea. Each sound seemed too loud against the quiet of the house. She walked from one room to another with her mug. In her mind’s eye she remembered how it used to be when it was just her and Billy in their own flat – a bit chaotic, but cosy. Magazines and books, her basket of knitting, Billy’s drawings on the mantelpiece, his toys in the tub by the sofa and everywhere else for that matter! Now? Now it looked like a show home. There was no evidence that she and Billy lived here. There was one photo of her and Jeff on the sideboard but Billy was nowhere to be seen. How had it happened? It was almost as if he had been erased from his own home long before he had left. How could she not have noticed? Grace picked up the picture of her and Jeff and dropped it into the kitchen bin.

  Then she went upstairs to the room she shared with Jeff. She stripped the bed and took Jeff’s pillow. She bundled the sheets and duvet cover into the washing machine and took the pillow outside and shoved it in the rubbish. With fresh bedding she remade the bed, putting her own pillow in the middle of the clean white sheet. She looked around the room and her eyes rested on the wardrobe. On her knees she pulled out boxes of shoes, and there, at the back, she felt the tin.

  And there they were. One picture after another of her life with Billy before Jeff. Photos of Billy as a baby, snuggled up in her arms. The nursery outing in a raincoat that was too big for him, rolled up at the sleeves. Yellow wellies. Big grin with tiny teeth. Their camping holiday in the leaky tent. School photos with that tuft of hair that would never stick down. And the drawings by Billy – pictures of them both with spiky fingers, round eyes and scribbled hair. The later ones of carefully coloured squares spelling out the letters for MUMMY on graph paper or a heart coloured in with felt-tip pens. She took them all downstairs.

  With another mug of tea Grace spread the pictures out and began to prop them up around the room, tucking them into the edge of picture frames and lining them up along the mantelpiece. With each one a set of memories came tumbling back. Grace felt sad and happy at the same time.

  Come home, Billy. Come home.

  Her fingers worked faster, rummaging through the tin and putting the pictures, one after another after another, around the room. Then she stopped at one photo. It was of the two of them in the park. How long ago? Ten years? Eleven? They had taken a picnic to sit by the lake but the ducks had come and pecked away at their sandwiches. Billy had laughed, rolling about on the ground, ducks hopping around him to get at his crisps. They had giggled so much that she couldn’t hold the camera still and a passer-by had snapped it for her. Grace and Billy rosy-cheeked from laughing, wide grins,
her hair dishevelled and catching the light.

  Grace took the photo upstairs and into Billy’s room. She laid it on his folded pyjamas and sat on the bed, looking around. Everything was in order. Neat and tidy.

  Come home, Billy. Come home.

  The doorbell rang.

  Grace jumped.

  Was it Billy?

  The press?

  One of the neighbours?

  Jeff?

  As she walked down the stairs she saw the tall slim shape through the frosted glass of the front door. Not Billy then. Her heart sank. She opened the door a fraction and peeped through the gap – chain still on.

  There stood a tall, thin man in a long dark coat. He had a long woollen scarf wrapped round his neck, dark curls and twinkling blue eyes.

  ‘Hello, Grace!’ he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  They worked all day. The old man seemed in good humour and whistled as he went back and forth with his barrow, raking leaves and picking up the stray branches and brambles that Billy cleared from the few remaining overgrown headstones. By mid-afternoon Billy had done all he thought he could find to do. He stood back and surveyed the graveyard.

  The transformation was remarkable. Where there had been long grass, nettles, bindweed and brambles with only the occasional stone peeping through, there were now clear spaces round each headstone, the variety of shapes clear to see in contrast to the walkways between them. Surely they were done? He found the old man poking at a pile of burning leaves.

  ‘I think we’ve done it all. This place is as cleaned up as it can be, I reckon.’

  The old man straightened and looked at Billy, his eyes watery from the smoke. ‘Oh, aye? Grand. Then maybe you can just finish off by filling that bucket by the tap and giving that old angel a bit of a clean-up?’