Meanwhile Gardens (13 page)

With relief Ollie, Nicky and Auntie Em drank their tea. The only sound in the house the gentle wheeze of Auntie Gem snoring.

After a while Nicky asked, “Does she have family?”

“Bridlington or somewhere I think,” Ollie replied. “Up north anyway.”

“Shouldn’t we contact them?”

Ollie breathed out heavily. “I think that would be the worst thing we could do. Didn’t you see her body?”

Both Auntie Em and Nicky shook their heads.

“She was adamant we turn around when she got in and out of the bath,” Auntie Em said.

“And made sure there were lots and lots of bubbles,” Nicky added.

“Well – ” Ollie shook his head, he couldn’t understand how people could do that to anyone let alone their own children. “ – there’s bruising around her arms and neck
and
two very nasty cigarette burns – ”

Nicky stopped him. “Cigarette burns?” she asked in horror.

Ollie nodded, “ – on the underside of each wrist.”

Auntie Em winced.

Ollie told them all he knew about Rion, about her family, about Jake. When he had finished Nicky and Auntie Em sat staring straight ahead.

“It’s not surprising she ran away,” Nicky said.

Auntie Em welled up, “The poor, poor child.”

“Anyway she’s the one I told you who needed our help, the one I thought might move into number lA.”

“She’s staying here for the time being and that’s that.” There was no arguing with Auntie Em when she used that tone of voice. “We’ll think about lA if and when – ok? At the moment let’s just get her better.”

After Ollie and Nicky had left Auntie Em went in to the spare room. Rion was muttering in her sleep. The words didn’t make sense to Auntie Em. Something about omelettes and what sounded like ‘Blondie’.

Auntie Em wiped the sweat from the girl’s brow. Before settling herself in the armchair in the corner of the room Auntie Em lifted up Rion’s wrist. There, like Ollie said there would be, were two sullen red scabs.

Auntie Em grimaced. This one wasn’t going to be taken away from her, she vowed, not this time.

G
orby arrived for work early the next morning. In the daylight the birthmark that gave him his nickname was visible. It spread magnificently over the left side of his bald head like a Rorschach test in red ink.

“I thought you weren’t on until later?” one of the night guards enquired as Gorby changed into the off-green uniform of the cemetery keepers.

Gorby smiled and tapped his nose, “Overtime.”

Senior grunted and returned to his paper.

Gorby made his way past the tombs of Oxford Avenue, carrying on all the way down until he had almost reached the canal. The only burial place of note in this otherwise unvisited section was the simple grave of Marigold Churchill, the infant daughter of Sir Winston and Lady Clementine.

This was about the place, he reckoned, where he had seen the young girl the previous night. Over the years several homeless men had bedded down in the cemetery only to be thrown out by the guards. But this was different.

This was a young girl.

If she were homeless she would be perfect. No one would miss her. No one would know she had gone.

It didn’t take him long to notice the track snaking through
the overgrown headstones. He followed it until he came up against the iron railings of the boundary fence. Seeing the path continued on the other side Gorby pushed the broken rail, squeezed through and carried on along an increasingly narrow trail between the trees.

Thinking he could go no further Gorby turned sideways, inching towards an opening on the other side of which he could see an open space.

Gorby pushed through to find himself in an overwhelmingly muddy clearing. On one side he could see a dirty pink blanket hanging across what looked like a doorway.

“Hello?” he moved closer to the opening. “Kensal Green Keepers, is there anyone there?”

Gorby pulled the covering to one side, his nose wrinkled automatically at the rank, dank smell of the chamber.

He tied the heavy blanket back and entered, immediately realising that this was where the young girl had been hiding.

Gorby opened the chest of drawers, reached in and took a souvenir.

He smiled in satisfaction. She would be perfect.

Entering the cemetery Ollie knew he had to find Jake. The only clue Jake had given him was that he lived, ‘round here’, and that the marijuana he grew was called, ‘headstone homegrown’. Where on earth would he start? Looking at the sea of graves and mausolea before him he wondered if he should rephrase the question.

Perhaps, ‘Where in Heaven?’ might be more suitable.

Or, he shivered, ‘Where in Hell?’

Deciding Jake might be in the chamber by the canal or that, at least, he might have left a note there for Rion, Ollie thought it best to head there first.

Seeing there was no-one around he let Hum off the lead. As soon as he had done so he realised it was a mistake. The dog immediately raced after a squirrel, scattering graveside vases of flowers in the process.

“It’s dog-training for you,” Ollie cursed under his breath. He felt like crossing himself as he saw Hum cock his leg over several simple tombs in the distance. He watched as the hound made instinctively for the broken railing in the border fence and jumped through.

Arriving in the same spot Ollie saw a man emerge from the direction of the chamber. The man was dressed in the dull green uniform of the cemetery guard. He was wiping his nose with what looked like a handkerchief which, upon seeing Ollie, he hurriedly stuck in his pocket.

“You haven’t seen a dog in there have you?” Ollie tried desperately not to look at what was an exceptional birthmark on the man’s head. “Black, shaggy, mischievous?”

“All dogs must be kept on leads,” Gorby said gruffly, annoyed at the owner of the dog that just moments before had nipped at his heels. “Didn’t you see the signs at the main gate?”

“No , I – ”

The man squeezed past the broken railing and pushed past him. “Well read next time. They’re put there for a reason.”

Just as Ollie thought of something snappy to say in return Hum appeared, barking in delight at seeing him. The dog jumped through the railings, sat at his master’s feet and looked up at him with twinkling eyes.

“
Now
you’re good aren’t you?” Ollie clipped the lead securely to Hum’s collar.

As he headed towards the Anglican chapel in the middle
of the cemetery Gorby looked round to see the owner petting his dog by the fence.

The guard reached in his pocket, took out Rion’s flimsy white underwear, caressed it between his fingers and carried on his way.

With the guard no longer in sight Ollie thought it safe to venture forward. Just as he was about to push the railing aside a four-note whistle-stopped him. Ollie turned to see Jake coming out from behind a large tree about fifteen yards away.

“Is Rion with you?” Jake asked concerned.

“I was coming to tell you she’s ok.”

Ollie could see the relief on Jake’s face.

“I knew she’d be with you if she had any sense. It’s best if she stays there for the time being too. That guard’ll be back.”

“Well, she’s sort of ok.”

Jake’s face dropped.

“I mean, she will be ok,” Ollie continued, “she has a terrible fever and – ”

Ollie thought it unnecessary to fill Jake in on how Rion looked when had she staggered into his house the previous night, nor about the chaos and confusion that ensued with Auntie Gem.

“ – she’s tucked up in bed at my neighbours’. The worst thing that can happen is she’ll be mothered to death.” Ollie suddenly thought of Rion’s family history and wondered if he couldn’t have phrased Rion’s condition a little more delicately. Luckily Jake hadn’t noticed.

“I wasn’t sure of your address but I was sure I could track you down,” Jake smiled for the first time that morning. “There can’t be too many Ollie’s, nor too many mews beneath Trellick Tower.”

“People know the dog,” Ollie bent to scratch Hum between the ears. “They might not remember me but they always remember Hum.”

Jake headed for the chamber, “We’d better get her stuff. They’ll be back and soon.”

It didn’t take long to get Rion’s worldly possessions. The few clothes packed easily into the plastic knapsack, the old magazines, now damp, and the dog-eared copy of
Face The Fear & Eat It
went into the elegant GHOST carrier.

“I should have been in Stoke Newington hours ago but I had to make sure Rion was ok.” Jake took something out of his overalls and gave it to Ollie. The simple business card advertised his services as a painter/decorator with the well-worn slogan
No job too big or too small
. A number for a mobile lined the bottom. “Let me know how Rion’s doing, get her to call if she can. The next few days are the worst for me,” Jake grimaced, “and I’m working late all week.” He quickly glanced at his watch, “I have to run.”

“Wait,” Ollie tore off a small piece of Jake’s card and wrote his number on it. “Just remember Meanwhile Gardens Mews, mine’s the only house with a yellow door.”

Jake put the paper in his pocket and disappeared.

Ollie took a last look around the muddy chamber. Without Rion’s presence and belongings it looked sadly uninhabitable. He was about to leave when something caught his eye. Moving to the bed he carefully took down the treasured cutting of Blondin crossing the Niagara. He decided to leave the picture of Jesus with arms outstretched and open heart. Whoever stayed here next might benefit from His presence.

Ollie was just about to knock on Gem ‘n Em’s door when
it opened in his face. Dr Gidwani came out followed by Auntie Em.

“The infection will go but she needs rest. Call me if the condition gets worse. I’ll check back after surgery hours Miss Nelson,” the doctor nodded at Ollie before leaving.

“What’s the diagnosis Auntie Em?” Ollie asked but Auntie Em just looked at the handsome Indian as he walked out of the mews. “Such a nice man,” she sighed, lost in thoughts of multi-coloured saris, incense and writhing acrobatics.

“Auntie Em?” Ollie prompted but it was a few seconds before the elegant woman returned to reality. When she did she seemed surprised to see Ollie in front of her.

“Auntie Em,” Ollie began once more, “what did the doctor say?”

“Nasty chest infection coupled with ‘flu of Asian origin, sweetness, and everything aggravated by asthma.”

“So – ?”

“Lots of rest, antibiotics and few visitors,” Auntie Em again smiled and looked into the middle distance. “Be an angel, angel, and get this from the chemist,” she fished in her pocket and gave Ollie a recently written prescription.

Rion was barely awake when Ollie came in, his arms full of magazines.

“They’re all this month’s,” he put the glossies on the bedside table before sitting beside the pale young girl. “Did Auntie Em tell you I got your stuff?”

Before Rion could speak Ollie put up his hand to stop her. “She says you’re not to get tired – doctor’s orders. Just nod for ‘yes’, shake the head for ‘no’ – ok?”

Rion nodded then shook her head. With her finger she spelt out J in the air.

“Jake?”

Rion nodded.

“He knows you’re ok. He’ll be in when he can but he’s working late all week.” Ollie stroked Rion’s hand, “I have a surprise for you.”

He stood up, smiled, and retrieved something from the confines of his wallet. Ollie carefully smoothed out the creased piece of paper before asking, “Where shall I put it?”

When there was no answer he turned round to find Rion, her head lolled to one side, her eyes closed, deeply asleep.

Ollie put the cutting of Blondin on top of the magazines and tiptoed from the room.

Gorby quickly showered in the tiny cubicle before changing into a fawn pair of slacks and a dark green turtleneck. He pulled on his favourite cardigan that, luckily, was also the cleanest, opened his back door and stood on the stern of
Longfelloe
, the longboat that was his home. Gorby inhaled deeply. He loved this time of the evening when the day slipped into twilight and the dull waters of the canal changed to a slick black.

Waving to his neighbours several boats down, Gorby crossed the gangplank linking him with the adjacent larger boat. He gave his familiar knock and pushed open the door to
Morrisco
. Entering the cozy interior he found his friends busying themselves around a table set for supper.

“Bang on time!” Ted turned with a grin, his neck forever stooped by the barge’s low ceiling.

“What can I get you? Wine, orange squash or – ” his wife called shrilly, “ – tea?”

“I think he drinks enough of that at work eh?” Ted smiled at Gorby and handed him a glass of red wine.

Gorby raised his glass to his immediate bosses, “Cheers Ted, Mary.”

He looked at the couple he had known for many years. Gorby often wondered how old they were. He figured they must be between sixty and seventy five years old – although how close or far from those ages he could never tell. One thing, though, that he knew would never change would be their love of tweed. Ted was kitted out in worn tweed trousers with a cotton tweed shirt, whilst Mary looked fetching in her tweed blouse and skirt, her outfit garnished by a tweed apron in shiny plastic.