by N V Peacock
A dad with his young daughter swaps places with us. I make eye contact with him. We nod to each other with that unspoken parental camaraderie.
I have four more rides to go.
Just like his dad, Robin has an analytical mind; he investigates all the nearby attractions before choosing the next ride; the Ghost Train. It’s dark inside, and with the air cloaked in cloying dry ice it takes a while for my eyes to adjust. As the cart squeaks along the tracks, I spy fair workers dressed in Halloween costumes jumping out at the people in front of us. There are screams followed by laughter.
Movement. Someone is approaching our cart. I grip hold of Robin.
‘Don’t be scared, Mum. It’s all make-believe.’
As we slow down, an errant skeleton in a top hat jumps into the back of the cart with us. Fear slams into my body, but I can’t get out of the ride; darkness cloaks my surroundings. Grabbing Robin, I yank him over me to my other side, as far from the skeleton as possible.
Unperturbed by my reaction the skeleton asks, ‘Are you enjoying the ride?’ His accent reminiscent of The Count from Sesame Street, more vampire than skeleton.
‘It’s awesome!’ Robin replies.
The skeleton looks happy; when he grins, his bursting toothy smile creases the sides of his mouth, cracking his white make-up mask.
The skeleton brings with him a sweet musky smell. A normal person with a normal past might be fooled into thinking this is what a decaying corpse smells like – it’s not.
‘What’s your name, boy?’ The voice is deep and the accent is even worse when he says more than a few words. He’s dressed in a morning suit, with a top hat and frilly black trimmings, but you can see his painted white bones glowing in the dark beneath the clothes.
‘Robin.’
The skeleton puts his head back and indulges in a long, slow laugh ending in a cackle. ‘Good to meet you, Robin. Don’t tell Batman I’m here. See you real soon.’ He fist-bumps Robin and my stomach churns as they touch. I reach up to slap him away from my son, but he jumps back out of the way as the track veers towards the exit. ‘See you soon,’ he repeats and lifts his hat with a bow. Robin waves back, but I don’t. Adults who dress up as something they’re not give me the creeps. When dressed as someone else it gives you licence to act differently, almost as if it’s not you anymore. As if you can leave your stray, uncharacteristic actions tucked in the pocket of the costume when you take it off at the end of the night.
‘I told you skeletons were cool,’ Robin says.
I grunt at him.
We stop between rides to eat blue and pink cotton candy. We take one of each and play blind taste tests with the different colours. Robin is convinced the blue is raspberry flavoured and the pink is strawberry. I suspect they are just different food dyes. During the taste test, he drops pink floss down his red jacket, making it sticky.
‘Look, horses!’ Robin points at the Carousel. Like the Tea Cups, it has its own music. The closer we get, the more we can hear its sharp, old-fashioned piano tune over the fair’s pop music. It’s an old ride. I remember Dad taking me to a steam fair where we both rode on a similar carousel. There’s no queue, so we give up our tickets and climb aboard. I go to straddle a horse with Robin, but he pushes me away.
‘I’m old enough to ride alone,’ he whines.
The ride only goes round in a circle. He can’t get off and no one can get on, so I let him ride his horse alone. I climb up onto an angry-looking mare behind him. Its eyes are wild and its nostrils are large; as if it has figured out it’ll never manage to go anywhere, and will never stop jumping up and down and going around and around, no matter how fast it gallops. I keep my eyes on the back of Robin’s red coat. He’s waving his arms about, talking to Nostrom. I see it from time to time. He has a brief discussion about something he’s worried about and good ol’ Nostrom steps in to fortify my boy’s strength.
‘Both hands on the horse,’ I yell at him, earning a sour side-glance.
As the ride jolts forward, Robin yelps. I almost dismount to rescue him until I realise it’s a noise of excitement rather than panic. He waves at the crowd gathering around the ride. I yell at him again, ‘Hold on with both hands, sweetie.’
The music and motion of the ride are almost hypnotic. I close my eyes as my hair whips up in the artificial wind. I feel oddly relaxed. Mariah has to be wrong. Did I really think psychics were real? Everything is fine. I’m having a good time with my son. Opening my eyes, I see Robin is waving again. I’m about to yell at him when I see a flash of someone in the crowd. I can’t tell who it is, or even what they look like, but for some reason I have a sinking feeling.
The Carousel rotates around again. I sit up on my horse, cup my hands over my eyes, and scan the gathered people.
‘Both hands on the horse, Mummy!’ Robin shouts back at me, and then giggles.
I laugh and then yell back, ‘Quit looking at me and watch where your horse is going.’ The ride repeatedly rotates until it slows to a stop. We dismount and Robin runs over to me. As my feet hit the ground, I feel woozy. With as much effort as I can muster, I check out the fair-goers around us one final time, but don’t see anyone I recognise. Maybe I’ve eaten too many sweets and gone on too many rides. Your senses can only take so much.
‘Where to next?’ Robin asks, his eyes on a kiosk full of candy apples. I buy him a chocolate one; he devours it as if he hasn’t eaten in a week, even eating the core. I have to stop myself from making him vomit up the apple seeds in case he’s in danger of arsenic poisoning.
Walking back in the direction of the Ghost Train, we see people gathering for the Ferris wheel. We join the back of the line.
As we move to the front of the queue, I look up at the massive steel construction with its peeling paint and blinking fairy lights. My stomach drops, it looks like the very definition of a death trap. I want to back out of this ride, but if I do, I will disappoint Robin. The wheel stops and people move forward to fill each cart. As we get towards the front, my phone beeps. I look down. There’s a message from Leo.
‘Tickets!’ shouts another teenage boy in yet another ripped black T-shirt; it must be their uniform. You’d think they’d wear something warmer.
‘Hang on,’ I say.
Robin insisted on holding his own tickets; secretly, I hope he’s lost them and we don’t have to go on this ride after all. Dashing my hopes, he passes his ticket over. While putting my hand in my pocket to retrieve my ticket, I glance at my phone. On the screen in capital letters, I see the words MR BONES.
My ticket flutters onto the ground. The family behind me tut and huff. I grab Robin’s arm, pulling him out of the queue.
‘Mummmm,’ he whines. ‘I want to go on the wheel.’
I look back down to see my phone has flashed onto standby. I have to put in my PIN code to get Leo’s full message back up.
‘Mum!’
The dad from the Tea Cups is queuing too. He looks over at me and says, ‘He can come with us if you like.’ His little girl waves at Robin and blushes.
‘Mum, no, I want to go with you.’
‘Thanks, but it’s okay,’ I say to the dad.
My phone has a black screen again. I plug in my PIN and read the message.
I know about MR BONES. Why didn’t you tell me?
‘Mum!’
I look down at Robin. ‘Will you be quiet for one minute!’
Robin gives me the stink-eye.
It’s happening now. In the middle of a bloody fairground, the life I so carefully built is crashing down around me. It feels as if I’m in the centre of an explosion. Heat rises through my body, engulfing my limbs. I can’t stand up straight. Bending over, I try to catch my breath. I can’t have this conversation here and now on text. It has to be in person, so Leo sees I’m still Cherrie, that I’m not Little Bones.
I text back, We’ll talk when I get in. Please don’t be mad.
Leo texts back straight away, I’m not mad, I just can’t believe you never
told me, Leigh-Ann.
I’m not Leigh-Ann, I’m Cherrie. Please, understand; I was only 8 when it happened. I lost both my parents; you don’t know what it was like.
I look up to smile at Robin, but can’t see him. A moment of panic grips me until I see the dad from before pointing up at the Ferris wheel. Robin’s red jacket is in one of the carts. He went on by himself. I can’t believe he did that.
I wave up at him. He tentatively waves back.
My phone beeps.
Do you still speak with him?
I text back, No. He’s in prison. I haven’t seen him for over 25 years. He doesn’t even know my name now.
As I wait for his reply I wonder how Leo found out about me. The podcast may be gone now, but its damage was already done. What an idiot I was to think I was safe. I stare out across the fair at all the families having fun. There’s even an elderly couple awkwardly throwing balls at coconuts in the next stand. Would Leo and I make it that far? We’ve been together ten years; there were only two other boyfriends before him. The first I treated like a rash – I got him, scratched him and got over him. The second guy was in my life for barely a month; I struggle to remember his name now.
At this stage of my life, could I go through it all again with someone else? Tracy is single; she puts on a good show, yet I can see deep down how unhappy she is. I don’t want that. Leo may not be perfect, but I’m fully aware of those imperfections, and can handle them; but can he handle mine? He’s the father of my child, and he’s a great dad. What if he thinks Robin is in danger with me; that I could one day snap and hurt our child? Robin could so easily be taken away.
Looking back down at my phone, I see another text from Leo telling me we’ll speak later.
No kisses, no weird emoji my phone can’t read. Who am I kidding? I knew this day would come. I’ve imagined it so many times.
I watch Robin on the wheel. He can probably see for miles at the top; he must be so happy. I can’t believe I’m going to wreck everything. He’s a sensitive kid. Even if we don’t explain what’s going on, he’ll realise something is wrong.
The ride slows down and I look for Robin. Kids begin to push past me; just my luck he will be the last one to exit. Making my way through the disembarking people, I watch as the last cart slows to a halt by the step. Catching sight of his red jacket, I push forward to hug Robin. When I finally get my arms around my son, I look down to see a strange boy’s face. It’s not Robin.
Chapter 15
The boy in the red jacket is my son’s height, but his face doesn’t have freckles or dimples. His eyes are a different colour to Robin’s and he’s looking at me as if I’m crazy; there’s a mixture of embarrassment and fear slapped across his face.
‘Have you seen my son? He’s wearing a jacket just like yours.’
The kid shrugs, smirks, then runs off into the fair.
Could I have missed Robin coming off the wheel? Did he take his red Puffa off? I try to remember what Robin was wearing under his jacket, yet all I can see is the red. I rush forward and grab the fair worker’s arm.
‘Where’s my son? Did you see my son get off the ride?’
‘Hey,’ he yells, pulling himself from me. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘My son went on the ride by himself; he hasn’t come off. Is he still up there?’
‘Okay, okay. Let me check.’ He jabs at buttons like a monkey in a laboratory and carts slowly swing towards us. He checks them one by one. There are groans from the line of people behind me; I’m holding everyone up. I look across the crowd to see if Robin is hiding. Maybe he thinks I’ll be mad that he went on the ride alone. I see the dad from earlier. He comes over.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.
‘My son, he’s not here,’ I mutter.
‘Your son’s missing?’
‘No, not missing,’ I say, yet instantly question what I’ve said. I don’t know where Robin is – he is missing. ‘He went on the Ferris wheel alone. Did you see him?’
‘He wasn’t in our cart. Did you see him, honey?’ He looks down at his little girl.
‘He was lining up with us,’ she offers.
The teenager checks the last cart. Nothing.
‘You sure he was on here?’ the teen asks.
‘Yes, I saw his red jacket. He was …’ Was he? I saw a red jacket, but the other kid was wearing one too.
‘Fuck,’ I mutter, and get a disapproving look from the dad as he moves his daughter away from me. ‘Robin!’ I yell. ‘Robin!’
‘There’s a stand for lost children at the back of the Coconut Shy; ask there,’ the teen says, ushering fair-goers onto the wheel. New people are now crawling all over the last place I saw Robin, trampling crucial evidence I might need later. I shouldn’t move away from the wheel, but as more people flood onto it, they push me back, so I head towards the Coconut Shy. Would Robin go to a lost child stand? Would someone be kind enough to steer my baby there for me to find? I turn in a circle to locate the Coconut Shy. As I do, I catch sight of a small caravan. The sign outside says, Fortunes Told. I think of Mariah. She predicted Robin was in danger. How could I be so stupid? His hand should never have left mine.
In a daze, I stagger towards the lost child stand. Operating it is a skinny woman who looks about sixty; she’s smoking and drinking from a pink-tinged bottle. I can’t see any children. Are they concealed behind her tent, ready to pull out and parade before distressed parents as she croaks, Is this your child?
I walk up to her. ‘Can you help me, please?’
‘Who have you lost?’ Her voice is calm as she stubs out her cigarette on the table; the last tendrils of the smoke twist outwards, reaching towards me.
‘My son – have you found a little boy?’
‘Yes, how old is your son?’
They have Robin. Thank God. I look around.
‘How old is your son? Where did you last see him?’
‘He’s eight. His name is Robin. He was on the Ferris wheel. Can I see him now? Where is he?’
‘Sorry, the boy we found tonight was by the Ghost Train. And he’s no more than four. Let me put a call out, see if anyone else has found your son.’ She picks up a radio and speaks quietly into it. The fair has a loudspeaker nearby; the music is drowning out her whispers. Would Robin go to a fair worker for help? I wish I’d had a plan; told him what to do if we were separated. I’m so stupid. This is my fault.
The woman lights another cigarette and moves towards me. ‘No one has seen your son. They’ll keep an eye out. Is there somewhere in the fair he wanted to go? Kids usually end up in the place they wanted to go to most.’
I think through her question. ‘No, he was choosing the rides.’ I shake my head.
I look out at the crowd again. Maybe I’ll see his face. Perhaps this is all a massive mistake. I’ll laugh about it later … The Ghost Train, maybe he went back there. He liked the dapper skeleton.
‘The skeleton in the top hat in the Ghost Train. My son might go to him, maybe.’
‘Eh?’ The woman grunts. ‘There’s no one dressed as a skeleton in the Ghost Train.’
Chapter 16
Someone dressed as a skeleton has abducted my son.
I pull out my mobile and dial 999. My hand is shaking so much it takes two tries to hit the final number. I ask for the police, then, as calmly as I can, tell them I’ve lost my son.
The female operator asks, ‘Where did you see him last?’
I will my voice to stay calm. ‘By the Ferris wheel at Crazy Clive’s Fair in Black Friars Park.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘I’m still there. I’m at the lost child stand at the back of the Coconut Shy. Can you send someone to help me, please?’
‘Where is his dad? Are you still together?’
‘His dad is at home. Yes, we are still together.’ I hope.
More questions follow and my answers string together like beads on a heavy, ugly necklace.
‘Has he ever run away be
fore?’
‘No, Robin is a good boy.’
‘Did you argue with him today?’
‘No, no, not really.’
‘Not really?’
I cringe as I reply, ‘He wanted to wear his Halloween costume to the fair, but I said no.’
‘Do you live near the fair?’
‘Yes, a ten-minute walk.’
‘Would he go back home for the costume?’
My head is hurting. I drop the phone, and stumble around in a circle trying to catch a glimpse of Robin in the crowd. This has to be a mistake. Hearing the distant voice of the operator, I pick my phone back up. She speaks, but I understand nothing. I recognise the sounds, not the words.
‘Please, just call the police. They need to come here,’ I finally push out.
‘I have already dispatched them. There’s a unit on its way to you now. I’m recording this, so keep talking. Keep giving me information.’
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘You’re not married to the father?’
‘What does that matter?’
‘Most children are taken by people they know. Estranged parents, grandparents and the like.’
‘Leo didn’t take Robin.’
‘Where in the fair are you now?’
‘I already told you, I’m at the back of the Coconut Shy.’
Sirens. I head towards them, my phone hanging limply in my fist. I can barely hear the woman on the other end now. She asks, ‘Has he ever run away before?’
‘He hasn’t run away; the skeleton has him. The skeleton!’ I sound crazy. My voice is distant to me; it’s as if it’s not coming from me at all.
I’m about to drop my phone again when I see a policeman barrelling towards me.
‘Cherrie Forrester?’
‘Yes. My son is missing. Please help me.’ I all but fall into this strange man’s chest.
‘It’s all right. We’re looking for Robin now. I’m DC Kimmings. Do you have a recent photo?’
I scroll through the photos on my phone. The last picture I took was one of Robin on our holiday in Devon over a year ago. He’s wearing swimming trunks on the beach, stray sand dusts his hair, and he’s wielding a red plastic spade.