The Game of Shepherd and Dawse (20 page)

“Not nearly enough”, he said with cheeky grin.

Shirley stood up to leave. “Oh, and before I start typing these letters, I’ve got something for you”. Shirley handed him a packet of twelve thirteen-amp fuses.

David looked puzzled. “Uhh, thank you Shirley. How did you know I wanted fuses – let’s say as opposed to a new Ferrari”?

“It’s for the six kettles we have sitting in the corner. You’re not the world’s unluckiest person when it comes to buying kettles. We’ve been having power surges. Kelly Fincham’s had the same problem down in HR,” said Shirley, as she went out through the office door.

“Blooming fuses! Why didn’t I think of that?” David asked himself, shaking his head.

Joe wasn’t angry about the letter but more upset than anything. He quietly wondered what the world was coming to. "All I want to do is make sure the kids get home from school safely and now I’m not allowed to do that because the council deems it to be unsafe,” he scoffed. Joe reasoned with himself that he would only have done his job for another two weeks anyway. Charlie was moving up to the bigger school next term and perhaps the universe wanted him to retire early.

He put his disappointment in humanity away in the shed with his fold up chair and left them both there. He looked back and thought of all the children's faces he had come to know over the years and how he had seen so many of them grow up. He made up his mind to pop round and see Betty later, but before that he’d make himself a salmon sandwich and drink a glass of celebratory whisky to mark his ‘retirement.

“You don’t have to worry about coming straight home today. If you want to hang about with your friends for a bit that’s fine by me,” said Tracey.

“Thanks, mum,” Nettie said enthusiastically with a smile on her face that almost went from ear to ear.

“Just make sure you’re home by four thirty”.

Nettie gave her mum a big hug and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t be late”.

Charlie was waiting for Nettie out front. They had fallen into the habit of walking to and from school together.

“Hurry up, Nets, we’re going to be late,” Charlie smiled, while Nettie was putting the last of her books in her bag. Together, they hurried to catch up with the rest of the Three C crew and made their way to school.

As it was, Charlie ended up leaving school early that particular day. Angela had picked him up before his last class so they could go to the hospital to see Joe. He had been rushed there late the night before with a bad bout of food poisoning.

Joe was as white as a sheet when the pair popped into his room, but he still managed a great big smile for them both and sat up in the bed. The last time he’d felt this bad was just after he returned from the POW camp after the war. Everyone was so happy to see him alive, though thin as a stick, and Betty had given him a tin of salmon to help ‘fatten him up’. But after months of being starved and underfed in the German camp, Betty's salmon ended up being too rich for Joe’s stomach to handle and he’d become very sick as a result.

“Joe!” Charlie exclaimed, as he ran straight to Joe’s side and gave him a big hug. Joe did his best to return the gesture and gave Angela a wink as she walked toward the bed.

“He’ll be in for another few days, I think,” the nurse told Angela, as she came to check on Joe. “Are you his daughter”?

“Niece”, replied Angela with her fingers crossed.

“You can stay until visiting hours are up at eight o’clock”.

“Thank you”, replied Angela. “And thanks for taking such good care of my favorite uncle”. She winked at Joe as she said this.

“Are you coming with us, Nets”? Carl asked Nettie. She was sitting on the grass bank next to the steps leading out of the school.

“No. I’m going to sit here for a bit, but thanks Carl”, Nettie replied with a content smile on her face.

“Okay, we’ll see you tomorrow then”, Carl replied, as he turned to make his way down Daisy Lane with his friend, Chris.

For the first time ever, Nettie didn’t have to belt home and she was going to savour every minute of it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

NETTIE WANDERS OFF

“
Be careful what you ask for because you might just get it.” ~ Tracey Furnella

Mrs Dot was the last one to leave the school that day, not relishing the thought of the large pile of books she had to mark that evening.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way home, Nettie”? Mrs Dot asked with genuine concern.

“No, it’s alright Mrs Dot. I don't have to be home until 4.30”.

Tracey Furnella was feeling pleased with herself. She was sitting in her front room watching one of the children’s television programmes that Nettie always loved. She had always moaned about these programmes in the past, calling them ‘silly childish nonsense’. It had never dawned on her that the makers of the programmes inserted a fair amount of adult humour into the shows and she found herself now quite enjoying this particular programme. Tracey made a mental note that she wanted sit down and watch the telly with Nettie every now and again from here on.

As the last programme finished, the announcement for the six o’clock news came on and Tracey suddenly realised that Nettie still wasn't home yet. Her initial reaction was one of anger. “For Christ’s sake! Give ‘em an inch and they take a blooming mile”, she ranted and lit a menthol cigarette.

As she went to grab her coat, she could feel the anger of the old days rearing its ugly head again as she felt herself slipping back into the ‘old Tracey’. She then remembered the words Joe had said to her at Nettie’s party, that if she ever got really angry with Nettie - before she did anything - she should count to 10 and then make the decision about what she was going to do. Tracey was furious, but she decided to give it a go. By the time she counted to four the anger had gone. She was amazed. Such a simple little technique, but it worked. She calmed herself down and thought through the situation, deciding upon an approach of firm but fair punishment and explaining how worried she was. It was the first time that Tracey had realised how nice it was to be nice.

Tracey made her way down Daisy Lane, but there weren’t any children playing there and there was no sign of Nettie either. Tracey figured Nettie must have gone into the allotments. Lots of children liked to mess about at the allotments. They weren’t supposed to, but they still did it. She had a look at the allotments but she couldn’t see anything. Tracey went up and down calling for Nettie but to no avail. The day's light was starting to fade and the street lamps were starting to flicker on. Tracey never realised that she'd actually been out for three hours and she had looked everywhere. The only places left were at home, at Charlie’s or at Joe’s.

In times past, Tracey had thought how convenient it would be if someone kidnapped her daughter and whisked her away to some childless, wealthy family who desperately wanted a child. It would have been a neat ending to her troubles – or so Tracey had thought. But things were different now. As she walked back to Shepherd Road she tried to put these guilt ridden notions to the back of her head, for fear that providence had taken her seriously.

Nettie wasn’t at Charlie’s or at Joe’s, or Mrs Bottal’s or any of the other houses on the street. Tracey had knocked on every single door. Her earlier anger had quickly turned to concern and now to desperation. The inhabitants of the street were all outside with worried looks on their faces, while also enjoying the drama of it all - as so many people seem to do.

Tracey was becoming hysterical when someone finally thought to ring the police. Unfortunately, timeliness was not a part of their protocols and a patrol car eventually arrived two hours later. The police apologised for not having anyone available to look for the child at that time, though some knew better. They knew that law enforcement often turned a blind eye when it came to less affluent areas and Shepherd Road certainly fit into that category.

When someone asked the officers when they might consider getting around to actually looking for Nettie, they said they would do so as soon as someone was available, which most assuredly meant later versus sooner.

The officers who did eventually turn up appeared to be indifferent to Tracey’s plight saying, “I wouldn’t worry, Mrs Furnella”, they told her in a slightly condescending manner. “Your daughter will be back before you know it. Kids do this all the time, you know. She’ll come round when she gets hungry, no doubt. So don’t you worry now”.

This wasn’t what Tracey needed to hear.

The officer took down a description of Nettie and told Tracey, “If she’s not back by the morning, call us again. We’ll get the local paper to post her picture. I’m sure she's fi...”

The officer abruptly ended the conversation and turned away quickly to answer a more important call coming in over his radio.

“Urgent assistance needed in the Alverstoke area. All units to make their way to Tebora Drive”.

Apparently some local yobs had been harassing a man outside of his house by threatening his wife and throwing stones at his window. In desperation, the man had clouted one of the youths and the boy had called the police. The police were only too happy to arrest the poor man and press charges against him for having the audacity to protect himself and his family.

True enough, the dark forces of the Dawse had gnawed their way like rats into all aspects of society, from bottom to top, and all decent people of the world were now being made aware of it – even those who lived on Shepherd Road.

Sally Sour had decided to give herself a congratulatory two-week holiday, so she rented a small cottage in Bournemouth and hired a taxi to take her to the train station. It was, as she put it, a reward for a good job done well – except the taxi part. This would cost her extra, though she was forced to take one as she had no friends to ask to drive her to the station and she couldn't afford to park her car there while she was gone.

On her way to the train station that morning, the taxi happened to take her past Shepherd Road. She noticed two patrol cars parked along the street, just down from Joe’s house, and she muttered to herself, “Joe must be at the police station right now and with any luck, they’ll be grilling him”. She said this just loudly enough for the cab driver to hear, hoping he would ask for more details of her juicy story. (He heard Sally, but he didn't care.) Although the thought of Joe being interrogated gave her a twisted glow, Sally Sour was actually glad to be getting out of the area - at least until some of the furore had died down. She was amazed she hadn’t realised up until now that this was exactly how God had wanted her to work and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t been more like this years ago, and her ego swelled three sizes.

“That will be £4.75 please, madam”, the taxi driver said as he pulled up to the train station.

“Well, I must say”, blustered Sally. “I think it’s a disgrace that anyone who has their own church should be charged so much. I really don’t think I should have to pay at all”.

“Oh, yeah”? Said the taxi driver in an exhausted but firm voice, a voice that said he'd been down this road before. “Why don’t you tell that to someone who gives a damn. Its £4.75, luv. Now pay up or I’ll take you to the police station”.

Sally Sour knew when she had been out-gunned, so she reluctantly decided to pay the man quickly and exit the taxi. Besides, her congratulatory holiday awaited her.

“If I didn’t have a train to catch, it would be you being arrested and not me”! She spat back at the driver as she straightened her outdated skirt and slammed the door behind her.

The seasoned cabbie didn’t bother to say anything more. In the meantime, sour Sally spent the rest of her glorious holiday willing the cabbie to be in a serious car accident. She visualised the twisted wreck and the way his family would be devastated. She didn’t feel any sympathy for him whatsoever, nor any guilt for herself for having such thoughts. Instead she consoled herself, saying he would have brought it upon himself and that’s what happens when you’re on the wrong side of God

With the disappearance of Nettie, David Pru, from the Council, now knew he had no other choice but to inform police of the complaint letter they had been given by Sally Sour. David also knew Joe hadn’t had anything to do with Nettie's disappearance. He didn’t have any hard evidence for this but he knew in his heart of hearts that it just didn’t fit. Fortunately, David knew Darryl the desk sergeant from childhood, when they used to ride their motorbikes illegally and on occasion had eluded the police while being chased.