Someone to Watch Over Me (21 page)

‘They seemed to think I was making up the flamingo story,' he said. ‘They kept repeating …
Norfolk beaches are not the usual stomping ground for your exotic bird Sir
,' and here Damian did a poor impression of a thick TV copper bent on obstruction.

‘I'm going to find out where he lives and go and talk to him myself,' said Damian. ‘He has to be hiding something.'

‘Shouldn't we just make an appointment with him through the community centre?' asked Carrie. ‘I'm sure he does one-on-one sessions.'

‘I'm not giving him the satisfaction of treating him like a professional,' said Damian. ‘The man's a cruel bastard and I'm going to get to the bottom of how he knows about Charlie.'

Despite Carrie's entreaties that he should cool down and think about it before he went ahead, Damian set off immediately for the community centre. At first all he managed to get was Simon Foster's work mobile phone number but in the end he persuaded the woman in the office that he really needed the medium's address too.

‘I've already tried ringing his number,' said Damian, who, despite being an honourable sort of man was also adept at lying, ‘but there is no answer, and I really need to pick my wife and sister up from there, they booked a session with him this morning.'

The receptionist knew that she really ought by rights to check with Simon, but it was almost lunchtime and she was more than a little ready for her tuna salad and besides which, the man really did have the most attractive colouring.

Simon Foster lived in a flat by the river, right next to the boathouse. Although it would have been much quicker to cycle or even walk across Midsummer Common, Damian was convinced that driving would be better. A couple of years living out of Cambridge had made him forget just how congested the roads were on a Saturday and he sighed and huffed and inched his way up East Road. In an attempt to divert him from his growing bad temper, Carrie switched on the CD player and was shocked to hear Ella Fitzgerald's familiar voice. She couldn't have contemplated listening to this record; just a few bars of it hurled her back to that car on that day, to the sight of Charlie in the mirror singing along. She looked at Damian in astonishment.

‘When did you last listen to this?' she asked.

‘I listen to it all the time. It comforts me,' Damian replied.

‘There's a somebody I'm longing to see, I hope that he, turns out to be, someone to watch over me.'

As the words washed over her, Carrie felt her eyes fill with tears and she turned her head determinedly to the window. She thought it was sad that she and Damian had been forced to suffer alone what they might have helped each other with. It was true that loss was a great equaliser; it was how you dealt with the loss that set you apart from each other.

There was some delay before Simon Foster opened the door. They had clearly interrupted his lunch, because he was still chewing something as he looked at them impassively.

‘Hello,' said Carrie, ‘I'm so sorry to barge in like this. I came to one of your sessions a couple of days ago and we were wondering …'

‘Exactly what sort of a scam you are trying to pull,' said Damian, interrupting her tentative introduction.

Simon Foster opened his door wider and stepped back.

‘Would you like to come in?' he said, and led them through into a very spartan living room. There was a table, which clearly served both for work and eating. There was a pile of neatly stacked books and papers at one end and on the other the remnants of the meal they had interrupted. The only other furniture was the sofa upholstered in grey tweed and a matching chair alongside it. The walls were white and without pictures, but the lack of decoration seemed simply to enhance the quality of the light that flooded in from a balcony overlooking the river.

‘Please, sit down,' he said, indicating the sofa. He sat down himself in the other chair and looked at them calmly.

‘I don't usually let people into my home without an appointment, but I was struck by the feeling in you when I saw you,' said Simon, looking at Carrie, ‘and I'm glad you have made contact again.'

‘How do you know about the flamingo on the beach?' asked Damian. ‘Was sssomeone you know there on that ddday?'

Carrie could tell that Damian was rather thrown by the other man's calm demeanour. He was stuttering over some of his words, something he only did when he was agitated or tired.

‘A boy came through to me who seemed to want to make contact,' said Simon. ‘Sorry … what's your name?'

‘Oh I'm … I'm Carrie Hudson and this is Damian Reynolds, my ex-husband.'

‘The boy wanted to make contact with Carrie,' Simon resumed. ‘I'm thinking that you must be his mother?' he asked gently, looking directly at her again.

‘Yes. We are his parents,' said Carrie.

‘Don't tell him anything,' said Damian. ‘That's how these characters work. They pump you for information, and the next thing you know they are “talking” to your long lost gran who has passed over. Isn't that the term you lot use? “Passed over”? Bloody criminals with an obsession with euphemisms.'

‘I've heard him since that first time,' continued Simon, taking no notice of Damian's outburst. ‘Sometimes it's hard for me to recognise individuals. Some days I can't even hear myself think. But your boy's voice is very clear.'

‘What else has he said?' said Carrie, unable to stop herself from asking.

‘Don't give him the satisfaction,' said Damian, getting to his feet furiously. Carrie took him by the hand and pulled him back down to the sofa.

‘You've somehow managed to fool the police,' said Damian, ‘but you're not bloody fooling me.'

‘I believe I answered all of their enquiries and they were satisfied that I had no part in your son's disappearance,' said Simon quietly, but with an edge to his voice that indicated that he hadn't been happy to be the focus of police attention.

‘What else did the voice say?' asked Carrie again.

‘We will have to arrange a proper time to focus on this. Would you like me to make an appointment for you? Would you both like to come?'

‘Oh, and how much is that going to cost?' said Damian. ‘This is a sting, Carrie.'

‘I charge fifty pounds an hour for a personal consultation,' said Simon.

Damian got to his feet again, and this time Carrie couldn't stop him.

‘I've heard enough of this crap now, thanks. No, I wouldn't like to make a fucking appointment. But I'll tell you what I
am
going to do. I'm going to make sure I find out how you operate, and when I do, I'll shut you down.'

Damian left the room. Carrie heard the door slam behind him and got to her feet.

‘I'd better go,' she said.

‘Your boy is OK, Carrie,' said Simon, and the words pulled at her as she turned from him. On her way to the front door she caught a glimpse of his bedroom. The blanket was tightly tucked, his shoes placed neatly under the very end of the bed as if he was ready for an inspection.

Molly and Max stood frozen to the spot. After recovering from the shock of seeing Rupert, Molly's first impulse was to pull Max towards her and to start to walk backwards away from him. It was as if she had to keep him in her sights, keep him pinned away from her with her eyes; just turning her back on him felt like a dangerous thing to do. He was sitting between them and the safe room. There was no way that they could get to the door before he did. She felt for her mobile phone in her pocket and to her horror discovered it wasn't there. She frantically tried to remember where she had seen it last and remembered with a sinking heart that at one point she had thrown herself after Max's toboggan. She imagined the phone lying somewhere in the snow. Rupert got to his feet, smiling, holding out his arms to them both.

‘Aren't you pleased to see me? Come and give your dad a hug,' he said and Molly could feel Max stiffen and look at her as if asking what she wanted him to do.

‘I've been away, but I'm back now and I've missed you so much. I'm better now, Moll. I'm much better. Did you like what I left for you the other day?'

She stopped again and held on to Max's hand. In her mind she was rehearsing the route away, trying to shave seconds off their escape; the car keys by the sink in the kitchen, Max's shoes thrown off by the front door. The switch on the wall, the small delay as the garage door opened, the fumble in the dark to get the keys into the ignition. Why had she not fixed the light in the car? Would it be better to forget the car and try and get to Kate's house? She couldn't remember if her nearest neighbour's house was dark or whether she had seen their living room light on as she had driven past. She thought of the mud along the road by the house and of Max trying to keep up. She knew they couldn't make it. He was too fast for them. ‘Go and give Daddy a kiss,' she said, ignoring the pale, fearful look her son gave her.

‘Come on, don't be shy,' Rupert said, and bent down so that Max could kiss him on the cheek. He scooped the boy up in his arms and swung him up onto his shoulders. Molly saw with a shudder that he was strong. Wherever he had been for the last six months, he had been working out. Gone was the slightly stooping man who had left, and in his place was this man who seemed young again and full of vigour. Max looked down at her from his father's shoulders and it tore at her to see that he was trying to smile.

‘Don't think much of the changes in interior design,' Rupert said, indicating the dining room door with a snigger. ‘Took the opportunity of cutting the phone line. Seemed a little unnecessary, don't you think?'

Molly knew that it was important to try and stay calm and not to show Rupert how scared she was. She needed to try and convince him that she was glad he was back. She sat down on the armchair and smiled at him.

‘Would you like some supper?' Molly said.

‘If you're offering,' he said, patting his stomach. ‘It's been a while since I've had a good home-cooked meal.' And he looked suddenly as he had looked all those years ago when they had first met; so sure of himself and of her. He bent over so that Max could slide off his back and the boy came over to his mother and sat on her lap.

‘Still a bit of a mummy's boy I see,' said Rupert. ‘Still, now that I'm back that will all change, won't it, son? Have you missed me?'

Max didn't speak, just nodded his head and then pressed himself against Molly. She could feel the tension in his arms and could hear the rapid beat of his heart. She gave him a reassuring squeeze and then told him to go up to his room to play a bit while she made them all some supper.

Over a hastily made spaghetti bolognaise, Molly ensured that Rupert's wine glass was always kept topped up and as soon as Max had finished his food she told him to get into his pyjamas and to wait in bed for her to come up and read him a story. After she had cleared the plates away, she left Rupert sitting on the sofa with another glass of wine and went upstairs. She quickly pulled a bag out from under her bed. Max was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and she went into the room with him and closed the door quietly. In a whisper, she quickly explained what she was planning to do.

‘You and me are going to go away this evening once Daddy has gone to bed. You must pretend everything is normal. Do you understand, darling?' Max nodded at her, his eyes wide and solemn.

‘Before you go to bed, get dressed in your jeans and a warm jumper and socks and put your trainers on. I will come and get you from your bed; we will have to be as quiet as mice and creep downstairs. We won't be able to go in the car because that will make too much noise. We are going to try and get to Kate's house, OK?'

‘Shall I wear my trainers in bed?' he asked. ‘I might get the sheets dirty.'

‘Don't worry about the sheets,' she said.

‘I'll get my torch too.'

‘That's a good idea, my darling. Now go down and say goodnight to Daddy.' Molly gave her son a kiss on the forehead.

It felt funny being in bed with his trousers and shoes on. He had been clever and kept his pyjama top on over his jumper, even though his mummy hadn't told him to. His daddy wouldn't realise if he came into his room to say goodnight again that he had all his day clothes on. When he had kissed him his skin had felt all rough and he smelt funny, not like his daddy used to smell. He felt scared, but he wasn't sure why. He could hear his mummy downstairs laughing and he could tell that she didn't really think it was funny. When his mummy thought something was funny she laughed a bit like a machine gun and her eyes went really small. He wouldn't go to sleep. He would stay awake until his mummy came and got him. He sang quietly under his breath to make the minutes go by.

After drinking more than a bottle of wine, Rupert had been ready for bed quite early. Molly had only been able to shove a few things into her bag; some warm clothes, their wash things, Max's inhaler, her purse, and their passports. She put the bag in the hall cupboard and she spent as much time as she could without arousing suspicion on brushing her teeth and combing her hair, hoping that he would be asleep by the time she got to bed. She had no chance of getting dressed without waking him up so she wore her warmest pyjamas and hoped that her Wellington boots and her winter coat which she placed by the door would keep her warm enough. She had stuffed Max's gloves and scarf into her coat pocket.

With a sinking heart she saw that Rupert was sitting up in bed when she went into the room. She made sure not to shut the door behind her because it made a grinding noise when the handle was turned. He looked at her substantial striped pyjamas and raised one eyebrow in what she knew he fondly imagined was a rakish way.

‘Got your passion killers on, eh?' he said in the pretend lecherous voice he put on when he was referring to sex. She wondered if she had ever found it funny or endearing. She must have done in the early days, now it just made her flesh crawl. He patted her side of the bed.