School Run (35 page)

‘Stop it, Evie!’ yelled Natalie.

At the same time, the microphone burst into life.

‘Shut up, everyone,’ commanded the policewoman. ‘I can’t bloody well hear.’

They stopped. The voice was urgent and desperate.

‘They’ve got him.’ The policewoman was calm.

‘Is he all right?’

‘I don’t know. The reception was terrible. We can go in but I must warn you, Mrs Brookes, I don’t know what we’re going to find. It’s inadvisable, in my opinion, to bring your daughters with you.’

‘But—’ began Natalie.

‘Shush.’ Evie’s eyes flashed. ‘She’s right. It
is
inadvisable. But you’re still coming. Now.’

Following the policewoman, they ran across the road towards the shabby end-of-terrace house. Breathless, Evie pushed open the rusty metal gate, which was hanging off its hinges. The front door was open. She stopped. Her little boy was in this place: she could feel it. But that gut instinct inside her – the one that had made her fall for Robin and warned her against Janine – was telling her something she couldn’t ignore. This hideous little house, with its peeling brown wallpaper in the hall, stank of stale cabbage and death.

‘Mrs Brookes?’ A dishevelled policewoman took her arm. ‘He’s through here.’

She allowed herself to be led along the dark hall and into the narrow kitchen at the back. She gasped. Plastered on every inch of the wall were newspaper cuttings, many yellowed and curled with age and sunlight. Each one bore a gruesome headline: ‘Killed On Killer Road’; ‘Third Child In Year To Die On Busy Stretch’.

The sink was overflowing. The kitchen table had five cereal packets on it, all open. Next to them was an array of the free plastic figures that had come with them. At one end there was a high chair, the old-fashioned type with a wooden tray and plastic seat, and at the other, a wooden chair with a boy’s blazer draped round it. In the corner a box of child’s building bricks lay next to a bicycle with stabilisers. On the floor was a pile of what looked like school exercise books and a black school-bag with a child’s name written on the tag: Terry Holmes. On the old-fashioned yellow-and black-flecked plastic work surface she saw a large rectangular brown radio with round knobs. It was still on, as though someone had recently been listening to it.

‘Where is he?’ demanded Evie hoarsely. ‘I want to see him.’

She was taken to a small door at the end. Someone opened it and Evie dimly remembered thinking it was like her grandmother’s lean-to conservatory. There, on a policewoman’s lap, in a rickety old chair, was Jack.

‘Mum!’ he said delightedly. ‘Look! ’Eggo!’

He was holding up a piece of Lego, triumphantly.

Evie let out a howl, dropped to her knees and clasped him to her. ‘Jack, Jack,’ she crooned, smelling his hair, drinking in the scent of his skin.

‘Jack!’ said Natalie, crying. ‘Are you all right?’

Jack’s face was wreathed in smiles over his mother’s shoulder.

‘Lennie, Lennie,’ he said, holding out the piece of Lego.

‘See,’ said Lennie, sniffling. ‘I told you he loved me best, Nattie. I told you.’

Evie wasn’t sure how long she stayed there. She didn’t want to move. It was so comforting just to hold Jack even though he was wriggling to escape.

‘Why?’ she said, through his hair. ‘Why did she take him?’

The policewoman – the one who had driven them there – knelt down beside her. ‘Her son was killed in a road accident two years ago. She’s never got over it. See all these newspaper cuttings? The house is full of them. Apparently she’s got quite a name as a local campaigner for child safety.’

‘That doesn’t mean she’s entitled to take someone else’s child,’ said Evie, angrily.

‘How old was he, the boy who was killed?’ asked Natalie.

‘Sixteen,’ said the policewoman.

‘Only two years older than us,’ said Leonora, quietly.

‘I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you immediately that Jack was all right,’ said the policewoman. ‘The reception was bad and they couldn’t find him at first. She hid him in the conservatory when she heard them coming in. But it looks as though she’s been taking care of him.’

She pointed to the kitchen table on which, Evie now noticed, there was an egg cup with the remains of a hard-boiled egg in it. ‘Jack hates eggs,’ she said shakily.

‘Where is she now?’ asked Natalie.

‘We took her down to the station.’

‘Are you going to arrest her?’

‘We’re waiting for a doctor’s report first. We’ve got to get Jack checked over too, just to make sure.’

Evie held her son tightly. ‘Just to make sure of what?’

‘That he hasn’t been abused in any way.’

Evie gasped, holding Jack tighter. ‘But she wouldn’t . . . I mean no one would . . . Oh, God, how awful.’

‘It’s all right, Evie,’ said Natalie. ‘He’s here, isn’t he? Besides, there’s a girl in my class who’s been abused and she’s fine about it . . .’

‘Shut
up
,’ said Leonora. ‘For God’s sake, don’t you know when to stop?’

We ought to take Jack to hospital now,’ said the policewoman. ‘It won’t take long. Then you can go home.’

‘Home!’ said Jack. ‘Dad?’

Evie felt a stab of pain mixed with anger. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart.’ She hugged him again. ‘But Mum’s here. And Lennie and Nattie. We love you, Jack.’

Jack gave her a slobbery wet kiss on her cheek in return. Why wasn’t he crying? Jack had never been one of those clingy two-year-olds who refused to go to other people. Nursery had encouraged him to be sociable. But she couldn’t help feeling hurt by his acceptance of the situation.

‘And us, Jack,’ said Natalie, picking him up and jiggling him in her arms. ‘You love us too, don’t you?’

In answer, he laid his head on her shoulder and yawned.

‘He’s tired,’ said the policewoman. ‘Come on. Let’s get this over with.’

BETTY

‘Three blind mice, See how they run . . .’

No, please, don’t turn that off. He likes it. Terry always liked that one best. I haven’t hurt him. Honest. See? I let him watch a video with Terry until I heard a noise and had to hide him in the conservatory. He’s had his boiled egg and soldiers, he has, so he won’t need no tea tonight. Give us a kiss goodbye, then, love. I wish I could keep him. You’d like that too, Terry, wouldn’t you, duck?

FRIDAY P.M.

‘Duck down, Josh. And you, Alice. There are cameras outside. Right. You can come up now – we’ve gone past them. Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Y-yes, Dad. I told them who you and Mum were but they didn’t believe me. I s-said you’d name them on t-television but they j-just laughed.’

‘I’m starving, Mum. We haven’t had anything since lunch and that was disgusting.’

‘It’s all right, darling. We’re going straight home to a nice takeaway.’

‘Is Marty getting it?’

‘No, Alice. Martine has left.’

‘Good. Can you stay at home and look after us like Hugo’s mum?’

‘I wish we could, darling, but you know Mummy and Daddy need to work. I’ve found a very nice French woman to look after you for a while.’

‘I h-h-hate the French.’

‘Now, don’t be racist, Josh. It’s good to have French help. It should improve your school work. Damn. The cameras are outside the house. Duck, everyone!’

‘Why is Mummy still in hospital?’

‘Dad told you, Beth. She’s had an operation but she’ll be home tomorrow.’

‘Were you scared, girls?’

‘Not really. Miss Hayling was lovely. She got us to marinate.’

‘Meditate, stupid.’

‘Why did she do that?’

‘To help us relax. It’s really good. You just think of something really nice and concentrate. I’ll tell Mummy about it when she’s back. It might help her get better.’

‘Sure you’re OK?’

‘Not really. It was scary, Dad. Really scary. If Jason hadn’t locked up Curt and that lot, I don’t know what would have happened.’

‘Are you sure Jason doesn’t take drugs?’

‘
Dad
, I
told
you! He’s clean. But loads of kids aren’t at our school. They even try to sell drugs to the little ones. Let's not talk about it any more. I just want to get into the bath and close my eyes. OK?’

‘Where’s Dad?’

‘At the office.’

‘Doesn’t he know what’s happened?’

‘I don’t think so or he would have rung. Are you sure you’re all right, Kate? You look awfully pale. Bruce,
please
put your head back in the car.’

‘I’m waving at the cameras.’

‘Well, don’t. We’ll be home soon and then we’ll have some tea. Are you hungry?’

‘Starving.’

‘I’m not. I feel sick, Mum.’

‘I’ll eat hers, then. Can we have it in front of the telly?’

40

FRIDAY NIGHT

NICK

‘So relax with Classic FM to soothe you through Friday evening towards the weekend . . .’

Nick turned down the volume and poured himself a large glass of Chablis. He did the same for his daughter. She was grown-up now.

She sat opposite him on the sofa, her face creased with determination just like her mother’s had been when she wanted to make a point. ‘It wasn’t his fault, Dad, I’ve told you. Jason doesn’t do drugs. It was the others. He tried to stop them but it was difficult. They’d have got him if he hadn’t pretended to be part of it. Anyway, we’re safe, aren’t we? No one’s hurt.’

Nick was still trying to make sense of what had happened. According to Julie, there were two factions at school who had been selling drugs to younger pupils. Why no one had cottoned on to this earlier, he didn’t know. An argument had broken out and one of the gangs had demanded money in return for the kids. But Jason and his mates – including Julie – had got them out.

Thank God his daughter was all right. And Evie had been lucky too. His suspicions about the woman in the pink coat had been right. Harriet had rung to say she’d heard they’d found the little boy, thankfully unharmed. Evie probably didn’t know he’d helped but that didn’t matter. He hated to think of the poor kid in that woman’s clutches. ‘I think we ought to have an early night,’ he said to Julie.

‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

She clung to him and he put his arms round her, breathing in his wife’s scent. Correction. Breathing in his daughter’s scent. A woman who had a different identity from Juliana and himself; a young woman whom he had to learn to release. ‘What for?’

‘Everything. Being difficult. And for lying to you, the other night. I was driving without L-plates because Jason didn’t have any.’

Nick stiffened. ‘It’s breaking the law.’

‘I know. But I want to drive so much. I want the independence.’

‘I understand. But it was stupid and
incredibly
dangerous.’

‘And I miss Mum so much.’

He held her tight. ‘I know that too. I wish you’d talk to someone about it. It might help. I could talk to school – they have people for this kind of thing.’

‘Maybe next term.’ She sniffed.

‘Wipe your nose on my shoulder.’

She giggled. ‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can.’

‘OK.’

They both smiled through their tears. ‘There’s something else, Dad,’ she said slowly. ‘Well, two, actually.’

Nick’s skin crawled with apprehension.

‘That woman today,’ she began. ‘The one who’s got that hyperactive kid.’

‘She’s just a friend,’ said Nick.

‘I’m not having a go. I liked her. She’s got a kind face. And I’ve been thinking about how I have all the fun and you’re just here, working. Maybe I’ve been unfair. If you want to go out with someone, I suppose that’s all right, providing she’s like that woman and not like that photographer. She was a tough bitch – you just didn’t see it.’

‘She was?’ Nick was shocked.

‘You’re so naïve sometimes, you men.’ She grinned.

‘Thanks. And the second thing?’

Julie twisted her hair nervously, the way her mother used to.

‘I’ve sort of done something you might not approve of . . .’

Nick took a deep breath. ‘Go on.’

Julie tossed her head defiantly. ‘It’s like this.’

And then she told him.

KITTY

‘Gosh, you’ve had quite a day, then.’

Kitty shrugged. ‘You could say that.’

The man opposite her at the fashionable restaurant, looked concerned. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right? We could leave now if you want to.’

If she’d been honest, Kitty would have admitted that she would much rather go home and have an early night. But when she’d got out of school and made sure, along with the other teachers, that the children were safe (amazingly, no one had been hurt although some had been in tears and needed comforting), she had made her way home on the bus to find Duncan already at her door. ‘Sorry I’m early,’ he had said. ‘Terrible habit, I know, but I’m still getting used to this part of London and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t late.’