Little Bones

by N V Peacock

  Leo picks up his bag and walks out, colliding with Patricia as he does.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ she asks.

  ‘To his mum’s house,’ I tell her.

  ‘Oh, that’s a bad idea – you should stay together.’ She then gets a panicked look on her face. ‘Umm, I’m needed elsewhere. Are you all right alone?’

  ‘What? Has another boy gone missing already?’ Fuck, this could mean whoever took Robin is now finished with him and has a different toy to play with.

  ‘No, no, not another missing boy. Just another case. I’m the only family liaison officer in this area. They are spreading us a little thin due to budget cuts. I have to leave you for a bit. I’ll come back.’

  ‘I thought you said we all need to stay together?’

  ‘Sorry. Let me speak with Mr Duffill. I’ll go to his mum’s house with him.’ Patricia runs into the street to catch Leo before he drives away.

  ‘Knock yourself out,’ I yell, as I slam the front door on them both.

  I drop onto the couch and switch on the TV. I avoid the news. Instead, I click straight on to Grey’s Anatomy. The next episode comes on. I try to clear my head; even if it’s just for a few moments, but my mind refuses. I keep imagining how scared Robin is right now. I hear him begging me to find him. Closing my eyes, I will my imagination to stop the torture. Barely ten minutes into the episode, I switch off the TV. How can I help? What can I do? Maybe the answer is in my books upstairs? I’m about to raid my wardrobe when my phone pings. I pull it from my pocket and see a notification of a Google email with ‘Cherrie’ on it. I don’t want to look, but my finger clicks it before my mind has a chance to stop it. There are links to a freshly published newspaper article. Quickly, I scan it to find the piece says nothing too bad. It’s the comments below that make me cringe.

  Can’t believe she’d ruin her own son’s appeal.

  Little Bones is back! She’s already killed two boys. One her own son.

  Is anyone safe with her around?

  What if there’s a Mr Bones copycat out there?

  Like father, like daughter. Why don’t the police just arrest her already?

  Makes me wish we could pitchfork and torch the bitch.

  Comment after comment, insult after insult, and lie after lie. Pitchforks and torches; what am I? A Hammer House of Horror monster to run out of town? I’ve lost my son. Mrs Doncaster didn’t get abuse; she got sympathy. I wonder what dark deeds could be in her family’s past. For all they know, her great-great-grandfather was Jack the Ripper.

  Maybe I deserve it. Who was I to think I could just change my name and live a normal life? Cherrie Forrester’s life was on borrowed time. I just hope Robin isn’t paying for my naïvety.

  I throw my phone onto the couch, then watch as it bounces onto the floor.

  ‘Shit!’ I retrieve it. I expect to see at least a broken screen, something to distort my view, but it’s still intact.

  The front door suddenly swings open. I look up to see Tracy with her gran.

  ‘You shouldn’t leave your door open, love,’ Gran says.

  As they walk in, I see Gurpreet, Shania, and Kylie behind them all carrying Dawson’s Food bags. They walk in single file into the kitchen and start unpacking a mountain of groceries.

  ‘Mr Dawson closed the shop this afternoon. He told us to bring you some stuff over,’ Tracy explains. She lunges forward to hug me. I can’t bring myself to hug her back, so limply accept her support.

  ‘They’re going to find him,’ Gurpreet says as she puts the kettle on. ‘I’ll bet Robin’s case has nothing to do with the Doncaster thing.’

  ‘Yeah, people have a habit of making assumptions,’ Kylie says, moving her pregnant belly towards me to hug me too. ‘It’s happened a few times to me.’ When she lets me go, I see a familiar look on her face, guilt. Kylie has a secret too, but now is not the time to ask.

  I feel awful. These are my friends and, apart from Tracy, none of them have been to my house before. If I had known they were coming, I’d have cleaned up. Looking down, I see a random pair of Robin’s discarded shoes on the floor. I bend and pick them up, but once they’re in my arms, I can’t seem to put them back down again. I hold them close; their laces dangling down my chest.

  Shania takes the shoes from me. ‘He’ll need these when he’s back. You’ll put mum smell all over them. That’s what my kid tells me; stop putting mum smell on my stuff.’ Her voice disappears and she offers a thin smile as she gently places them alongside the other shoes by the door.

  The girls make tea, then manoeuvre me back into the living room. Gurpreet sits next to me, her arm around my shoulders.

  ‘That was nice of Mr Dawson to give you the time off,’ I mutter.

  ‘Yeah, we Creekers stick together,’ Tracy says.

  ‘What’s been on the TV?’ I ask.

  They all look at one another.

  ‘They’re saying you’re the daughter of the serial killer Mr Bones. Is it true?’ Shania asks.

  ‘Yes.’

  Silence. We are at the point I’ve dreaded for years. This is where all my friends abandon me – as my mother did. Disgusted at my bloody DNA, they walk out on me. Yet my friends don’t. Instead of looks of disgust, I see a mixture of sympathy and intrigue.

  ‘I also ruined the appeal,’ I add.

  ‘You’re kidding, Cherry Pie. You were a badass. You looked right at the camera and threatened whoever took Robin. I’ve never seen that before.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d be surprised if Robin isn’t carefully placed back on your doorstep with a sorry note attached to his jacket.’ Shania snaps her fingers.

  ‘The police weren’t happy with me,’ I admit.

  ‘The police are idiots,’ Kylie says.

  ‘Yeah, it’s not like they did much for the Doncasters …’ Realising what she’s said, Tracy’s sentence trails off.

  Closing my eyes, I imagine Robin is playing upstairs. He’s safe. The thought doesn’t last; an image of my baby screaming superimposes itself onto it. I have to drop my stare to avoid the girls seeing my tears starting to gather.

  Tracy’s gran, with her motherly logic, steps in. ‘None of that matters now. We need a plan to find Robin.’

  ‘We made flyers this morning,’ Gurpreet says. ‘They’re in the car. We’re going door to door with them.’

  ‘Won’t the police be doing that?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t trust the police. I say we do it.’ Kylie nods at me.

  ‘Umm, can I say something horrible?’ Tracy looks pensive. She’s going to say what everyone is thinking. Whatever monster took Thomas Doncaster now has Robin.

  ‘No, you can’t,’ her gran replies.

  ‘Yes, but what about Leo?’ Tracy continues regardless.

  ‘What?’ I say.

  ‘Forgive me, Cherry Pie, he’s lovely and all. Good-looking, great dad, but if he found out about your past, he might have done something silly.’

  Could Tracy have a point? ‘What do you mean? You think he took Robin?’

  ‘Well, you’re not married, and he could be worried about the Mr Bones thing. When did he find out?’

  ‘He texted me asking about Mr Bones while Robin and I were at the fair. I don’t know how he found out. I never got the chance to ask.’ After what happened to Robin, my son was all I could think about, all my other worries faded into the background.

  ‘Then Leo knew about your past. Who’s to say he didn’t find out earlier? Distracted you with the text and then took Robin.’ Gurpreet puts her hands on her hips.

  ‘Makes sense. Where is Leo now?’ Shania asks.

  ‘At his mummy’s house,’ I say.

  ‘He could be keeping him there. Just for a little bit. Then suddenly, he miraculously finds Robin. You end up looking like a crazy person. Full custody for Leo ahoy.’

  Tracy has a point.

  ‘There are police at Mrs Duffill’s house. Patricia went with him. She’s not the brightest bulb in the box, but she’d notice if Rob
in was there. He’s hard to miss.’

  ‘Is there anywhere else he could keep him? Even if it’s just for a bit, before he takes him to Granny’s house?’ Kylie asks.

  My eyes drift to the locked door of the extension. He would not. He could not, could he? Robin might be just a few feet away from me. It makes sense. Leo didn’t text me until I was at the fair; he deliberately distracted me so he could take Robin. He’s never let me go into the extension. What could be lurking behind that door? What has he been working on so diligently for years? The only room the police didn’t check, because he insisted that he check it alone for health and safety reasons.

  I propel myself off the couch and run to the door, my socks sliding on the floor. I grab the door handle and shake it, but it won’t open.

  ‘Robin! Robin! Sweetie are you in there?’

  The girls follow me. They put their ears to the wall to listen.

  ‘Where’s the key?’ Gurpreet asks.

  ‘The drawer, over there,’ I say, pointing.

  I hear her moving stuff around. ‘There’s no key in here.’

  ‘Let me look.’ Shania pushes her out of the way, and begins to shove the contents of the drawer around with more force. ‘She’s right; there are no keys in here.’

  ‘Did he take it with him?’ asks Kylie.

  ‘He opened the door last night; he must have only just taken the keys.’

  Did he go into the kitchen before he left? Fuck. I have to get this door down. I kick it, but it doesn’t move. Tracy kicks at it too. Gurpreet pulls a bobby pin from her hair. She jams it into the lock.

  ‘Robin!’ I yell.

  ‘Surely he’d answer you,’ Tracy’s gran says.

  ‘Leo could have drugged him. Knocked him out so no one would hear him,’ Kylie says. ‘But probably not, right?’ She instantly backtracks, but the thought is already out there.

  ‘Get it open now,’ Tracy urges.

  ‘I’m trying, I’ve never done this before,’ Gurpreet admits, as she wiggles the bobby pin around.

  ‘Fuck it, let’s look it up.’ Shania pulls out her mobile and we all stare at a YouTube video about lock picking. If we were in a comedy show, it’d be hilarious, but this is reality, so it’s just plain horrific.

  Kylie puts her skinny arm around my shoulders. ‘Is he capable of something like this?’

  I want to say no, yet even after all these years, I still don’t completely know Leo. Can you ever know anyone one hundred per cent? He can be childish and spiteful sometimes, like everyone else, but he’s also gentle and caring. No, he loves Robin, he’d never hurt him, so the theory that Leo has Robin instantly becomes the one I want to hang my proverbial hat on. With Leo as the abductor, Robin is safe. It also explains why he left the fair. I’d told my son so many times not to talk to strangers. Warned him never to go off with someone he doesn’t know. Leo taking him would make sense.

  ‘Got it!’ Gurpreet says, stepping away from the door. ‘It should be you who opens it, Cherrie.’

  I put my hand on the wood. It’s warm and smells of fresh paint. Whatever is behind this door will change my life forever, no matter what I find. The realisation that my boyfriend could hate me enough to cruelly take my child away, could break me. And then there’s another thought, one I haven’t shared with my friends: what if Leo also took Thomas Doncaster and I’m the clichéd girl attracted to men just like her daddy?

  I push open the door to find out.

  Chapter 20

  The smell hits me first, an artificial aroma of chemicals and paint. I squint. It’s too dark inside to see anything, so I grope across the wall for a light switch. When I find it, I flick it on, and find I’m in a nursery. Painted all blue and green, and featuring happy woodland creatures along the walls. It’s the last secret I would have guessed Leo was hiding.

  Tracy pushes past me. ‘Are you pregnant, Cherry Pie?’

  ‘No.’ I don’t look at my friend when I answer. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the painted, cheerful animals dancing around the walls. It’s a perfect room; one that will be even more perfect when the covers come off the bay windows to let in the light. This was his surprise, the promise of another baby. A brother or sister for Robin.

  I hear a squeak and look over to see Leo has left a window ajar. The cold breeze is pushing at a small, thin metal stepladder. That’s the noise I heard the other day.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you lot, but I now feel like a total bitch,’ Shania says.

  ‘Wow, I didn’t realise Leo was so good at this building stuff. He could have his own show on TV,’ Gurpreet adds, tactfully changing the subject from what we were accusing him of moments before.

  The relief that my boyfriend is not just normal, he’s planning our future together hits me like a punch in the jaw. I can’t speak. It hurts so bad, I feel the pain down to the nerves in my teeth.

  ‘Come on now, let’s sit back down. We need a new plan.’ Tracy’s gran takes hold of my arm and leads me out of the nursery. As we shut the door behind us, I suddenly remember Robin is missing, and scold myself for being able to push a single thought past the mental block of my lost son.

  ‘Let’s do the flyer thing,’ Kylie suggests. She downs the rest of her now-cold tea as if it’s a shot of whisky and heads for the door. The others follow her.

  ‘Oh, but I can’t go. Someone has to stay here, in case Robin comes back home,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ Tracy’s gran says. ‘This cold is playing havoc with my arthritis. I could do with a sit-down.’

  I shrug on boots and a coat, then slip my mobile into my pocket. We march out together. As we do, I notice a group of strangers lingering at the bottom of my driveway on the public footpath. One, a middle-aged woman with frizzy dark hair rushes forward and thrusts a mobile phone into my face. ‘Where are you going, Little Bones?’

  A fit of familiar anger raises within me.

  ‘We’re going to poster the streets. You got a problem with that?’ Kylie asks, her pregnant belly aimed at the woman like a weapon.

  The other reporters stay back, watching their elected scout with keen eyes.

  ‘Do you have anything to say to whoever has your son, Leigh-Ann?’

  ‘Why don’t you leeches fuck off and do something useful.’ Tracy puts her arm around my shoulders. The woman dashes back to her group.

  ‘This is private property. I’m calling the police. I suggest you all bugger off now.’ Shania dramatically gets out her mobile to dial two nines.

  As if they are of one hive mind, the reporters scurry away. They separate and climb into the cars they have haphazardly parked along my street.

  Tracy steers me towards her car’s boot. She opens it and a rainbow of Robin faces stare back at me. They’d printed the flyers on all different coloured paper. There’s even a reward at the bottom for information leading to his safe return: £5,000.

  ‘Where did the reward money come from?’ I ask.

  ‘We took up a collection at the shop this morning. Made enough for the reward as well as to print the flyers,’ Tracy explains.

  ‘We don’t have a lot of customers,’ Shania says, ‘but the ones we do have are oddly wealthy. One guy gave us over four grand. Just handed it over in cash. Like he’d found it in one of his pockets on washing day.’

  ‘That’s so wonderful. I need to thank everyone,’ I mutter. ‘I can’t believe a stranger would just give up four grand for someone else’s son.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get to work.’ Gurpreet grabs a wad of flyers and divides them up for us. She then points us in all different directions. Everyone starts canvassing, except Shania and me. Clutching the flyers and rolls of tape to our chests, we stand together.

  ‘Cherrie?’

  ‘Shania?’

  ‘My mum died when I was small too. Everyone told me growing up that I would end up just like her – a whore with a coke habit – but I didn’t. DNA doesn’t work like that. You’re not your father’s daughter. Just as I’m no
t my mother’s daughter. We’re good parents. This isn’t your fault. Shit happens and it’s horrible it happened to you. We’re gonna find Robin.’

  I hug her. Who knew we had so much in common.

  ‘I’m not saying your dad was like my mum and into the booga-sugar or anything, although in the early Nineties it was all the rage.’

  ‘Stop talking now,’ I whisper.

  We hug a little longer, then set off in opposite directions with our flyers.

  I tape my son’s face on lampposts, garden walls and the sides of houses. I knock on door after door. Everyone tells me how sorry he or she is and takes a poster to put up in their window. Part of me was convinced they would slam their doors in my face. Most are of an age to remember Mr Bones; some had probably referred to me as Little Bones. Odds are they listened to that bloody podcast, but it seems they have forgiven me the sins of my father, or are too polite to let slip their retrospective outrage.

  As I move through the estate, I feel a tiny bit better. I’m actively doing something. It may not be a theatrical investigation akin to Sherlock Holmes; however, I am paying attention. Every time a door opens, I look for a young boy’s shoes in the hall, and take a deep breath, searching for Robin’s tell-tale scent to ignite my maternal brain.

  It’s not until I reach a tattered yellow poster of Thomas Doncaster that I waver. The hesitation feels like it lasts for ages, but in reality is only a moment.

  I tape Robin over Thomas’s face and move on to the next house. As I do, my mobile vibrates in my pocket. Is it Leo? Has he heard something?

  Chapter 21

  Looking down at my phone, I see it’s not a text from my boyfriend, but another email from my Google Alert. I’m not sure I can take any more internet trolls digitally name-bashing me, but I have to look. I open it up to discover this one is not about me; it’s the alert I set up for sex offenders and kidnappers in Northamptonshire. There’s a name along with a news story. Mr Oscar Greer last year accused of kidnapping and having sex with a minor. The alert picked it up from a comment on a blog. Scanning the short blurb beneath the link, I see he lives on the Hallow’s Gate Estate, only a twenty-minute walk from my house, and one of the estates that backs on to Black Friars Park. I drop the flyers. The autumn wind instantly sucks them down the street in a multi-coloured swirl, like dead leaves.