The old nurse lady entered the derelict
warehouse and immediately noticed the dog was lying on the boy’s bed, right
next to him, his snout on the boy’s chest. She went to the cot but the dog half
rose on its hackles and growled at her protectively.
“Alright, alright,” she said. “I’m not going
to hurt him, but I have to change his bottles.”
Carefully she went about her business, and
when everything was done to her satisfaction, she sat down again and began to
read the paper she had brought in with her.
“LOCAL PEOPLE FORM SEARCH PARTY FOR COMA BOY
– MAYOR WARNS AGAINST VIGILANTISM”
The colour drained from her face as she read
further. She had told the woman…no press…no police…or else. Halfway down the
page there was a picture of her from her younger days with the caption: “CHILD
THIEF” and below that a picture of her son in full drag. “HER SON – RONALD”
said the caption.
“Noooo,” she shouted into the empty room, so
loudly that the pigeons nesting in the rafters took flight and circled crazily
about her head until they could settle again.
“That’s not my son. What are they saying? They
are trying to trick me. This is a trick…that’s what this is. A trick to get me
to come forward…..well I won’t. I still hold the joker. They gotta come to me.”
She read further. The search was being organized
for tomorrow, it being Saturday and all citizens available. Tonight, it said,
there was going to be a meeting in the town hall to allocate boroughs to each
group. The newspaper had also printed the very precise details about how she had
wanted her son to be delivered to her at the City Limits motel. Well, she could
forget about that now. She would have to find some other way. But her mind had
become numb and she could hear a noise ringing in her ears. She couldn’t think.
None of this boded well. She was fairly confident that no one would ever think
of looking here, but you never knew. And now she couldn’t walk about in broad
daylight anymore because someone might recognize her. Things had taken a turn
for the worse. She clenched her fists and looked at the sleeping boy. If they
didn’t give her boy back…then this one would die.
Clara woke up with the mother of all
hangovers pounding in her head. When she moved she felt her brain wobble
painfully and the nausea climb up into her throat. She opened her eyes and felt
the lids rasp like sandpaper over her bloodshot eyeballs. She lay back
carefully and let the memories of the last few days flood into her
consciousness. She felt strangely calm though, almost as if it wasn’t happening
to her but to someone else. She seemed to have reached a level of detachment
that gave her room to breathe, a vantage point removed from the immediate
action that gave her a calm view of events.
She remembered threatening Samuel - poor
dear, he had looked like a terrified rabbit in the headlights - but she was as
much, if not more, to blame for all this. She cringed when she remembered what
she had said to him. She might have been drunk, but even that was no excuse.
She’d never be able to take those words back. She had said some very horrible
things. No one deserved that. She had just been frightened out of her wits and had
taken it out on him; which was just as well in a way, because had she been an
introverted type of person she would probably have killed herself by now. Never
mind. She still had a situation to deal with – one that she couldn’t escape –
but it was no good running around like Al Capone with his head cut off.
An urgent pressure in her bladder forced her
to brave the pain in her temples and go to the bathroom. As she sat on the loo
she realized that if she hadn’t chased Alice out of the house, she probably
would not have gone to the papers. Well, maybe not. Why did she hate her so?
She was no real threat to her. She was just using Alice as a focus for her
unhappy life. Oh well, there was no getting off this train. Might as well get
up and face the music. She pulled the chain and went back to her dressing
table. This part she didn’t remember. The mirror was broken. Seven years bad
luck. She laughed at that, and then she sat down and cried. God she missed her
mother, bitch that she was. At least her life had been….looked after. She was
looked after. She supposed that was what Samuel had been doing all these years.
She hadn’t given him any credit for that. Now for the first time she was forced
to take matters in hand and she didn’t like it one bit. She was just no good at
it. Samuel, for all his high handed ways, was. She couldn’t go on blaming
Samuel for not bailing her out of trouble. They were equal partners in this
business now. Both were to blame. She had to stop behaving like a spoilt
princess. Stop behaving as if life didn’t concern her. As if she was just an
observer. She examined herself in one of the remaining shards of glass in the
mirror. She didn’t like what she saw…but it was her. It was all she had.
“You’re a middle-aged woman already. Time to
grow up and shoulder your load.”
“Hi mom,” said Beulah, looking in the door.
“Hi, sweetie. Come in.”
“You alright?
“Yes. I’m fine. Had a bit of a meltdown,
didn’t I?”
“Something. I brought you some tea and an
aspirin.”
“How did you know? You don’t drink too…?”
“No. Daddy suggested it. Said you’d have a
hangover.”
“Where is he?”
“Laying low,” she said and smiled. “No, he’s
gone out to speak to the old woman’s son again. See if he can find out anything
more.”
She wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t come
back. It was over between them. Things had gone too far. No one would want to
live with a mad woman anyway. Alice understood him, and they were good
together. She didn’t quite know how she was going to cope on her own, but as
long as she got Joshua back, she would make the effort. If not……..well.
“And the reporters?”
“Still there.”
So this is what it takes for us two to be
nice to each other, thought Clara. She looked at her daughter and for the first
time noticed how beautiful she was.
“I need to go to the cemetery again.” The
sentence was so out of the blue that it surprised even her. “But I don’t know
how we’re going to get there with all the newspaper people out there.”
“I’ll phone Jack.”
“Jack? There’s a Jack?”
“He has a car.”
Clara didn’t say anything, she just nodded. She
was going to have to start being nice to people if she needed any help.
“Thanks. That would be great.”
Clara turned to the windows. There was a
grey day gusting outside with heavy storm clouds threatening overhead.
“Hello
Mrs Mitke, nice to meet you,” he said, opening the car door for her.
“Hello Jack.” He was a pleasant fellow with
an open face. “Thank you for doing this.”
“No probs. Glad to be of help. Awful about
your son. You must be going spare.”
Beulah sat in the back seat with her mouth
hanging open. She’d never heard him say so many sentences one after the other.
And he was being so nice to her mom that it nearly had her in tears. Her heart
was definitely warming to him. He drove off smoothly and smartly, slipping away
from the crowd of vultures with ease. In no time at all they were parked
outside the graveyard…the scene of so many recent travails. A rumble of thunder
reminded Clara of her need for haste. Jack switched off the engine and got out
to open Clara’s door.
“You want me to come with you?” asked Jack. Wasn’t
he a bundle of surprises, thought Beulah.
It was beginning to rain now.
“No, I’ll be alright…thanks.” She flashed
him a fleeting smile, and gathering her coat about her, hurried in through the
gate.
She didn’t quite know what she was looking
for but steered towards her mother’s grave. In the back of her mind she had the
misguided thought that the old lady would be there waiting for her.
Well, she had been partially right. Even
from a distance she could see that something had been written on her mother’s
tombstone in chalk….a message….she was sure it was a message from the old lady.
She ran forward through the rain, breath rasping in her lungs, screwing up her
eyes to try and read what it said, but it was bucketing down now, washing in
waves against the chalk marks and melting them into a thin sheen of white
water. By the time Clara got within range the writing was indecipherable. She
collapsed to her knees, the last link with her son dribbling away in the
gutters. She had been seconds too late. For a moment she felt like clawing at
the headstone to try and retrieve the message, but then her mind turned inwards
and the light in her eyes went out.
A human being can only stand so much
disappointment. She sat in silence…soaked to the skin…unhearing and unknowing. She
was no trouble to Beulah and Jack who gently took her by either arm, raised her
up, and led her to the waiting car.
