Love and Devotion (28 page)

 

Her first mistake, she realised, was not to have brought her coat. Now that she wasn’t running, she was cold. Her school sweatshirt and grey skirt was also attracting attention. One woman had already asked her if she should be at school. ‘I’m waiting for my mother,’ she’d told the woman. ‘She’s in the cake shop.’ Which was where she was now standing, her stomach growling for food. It would be lunchtime at school, and as she stared at the rows of iced buns, doughnuts and chocolate-dipped gingerbread men and breathed in the smell of freshly baked bread, Carrie knew that the next time she would have to bring some money with her.

Across the road, she saw a scruffy man in an anorak giving her an odd look. Carrie would have liked to stick out her tongue and pull a face at the nosy man, but she didn’t think it would be a good idea. Deciding she ought to keep moving to keep warm, she wandered down the main street and came to the cobbled area where Harriet had told her the original market used to be. Turning to her right, and walking along a short, narrow alleyway, she came to an area she’d never noticed before. It was cobbled like the old marketplace and was a bit dark. It reminded her of Diagon Alley, where Harry Potter goes to buy his wands and books. Ahead of her was a building that she knew had to be very old; it had black beams criss-crossing all over it. There was a green and gold sign above the door that said ‘Hart’s Antique Emporium’. She knew exactly what an emporium was; it was somewhere big and fancy that sold lots of nice things. It would also be warm, she thought. She was just making up her mind whether to go inside and have a look when she heard footsteps behind her. She spun round, suddenly scared that it might be the scruffy man in the anorak.

But it wasn’t him; it was the man who lived across the road from them.

‘Hello, Carrie,’ he said, ‘what are you doing here?’

She swallowed. ‘Um ... I’m just waiting for Grandma.’ She looked in the direction of the emporium, hoping it was the kind of place her grandmother would go in.

He looked surprised. ‘Why did she leave you outside?’

Carrie began to get flustered. ‘Because ... because I didn’t want to go in.’

‘Well, you look frozen to death. Come on in out of the cold.’

She held back. ‘It’s okay. I’ll wait here. I’m sure she won’t be long.’

He smiled and she suddenly wished she wasn’t lying to him. He was too nice to lie to. She saw that he was carrying two paper bags; one had a greasy patch on its side. She could smell food. A pasty? Or maybe a sausage roll? When she looked back at his face, she saw that the smile had gone and he was frowning. ‘Your grandmother’s not in there, is she, Carrie?’

How had he known she was lying? She shook her head and looked hard at her shoes.

He bent down to her. ‘And you’re not in school where you should be, are you?’

Again she shook her head. She noticed one of her shoelaces was fraying at the end.

‘Tell you what; I’ll trade with you. You tell me what you’ve been doing and I’ll share some of my lunch with you - half a sausage roll and an iced bun. How does that sound?’

She raised her eyes. ‘Will you tell on me?’

He stood up and took her hand. ‘Not exactly. But we will have to tell a few people where you are as otherwise they’ll be very anxious and call the police. If they haven’t already. Just think how upset Harriet and your grandparents will be if they think you’re missing.’

She tightened her grip on his hand. She was beginning to realise how much trouble she was in. But she had a worse fear. ‘I don’t want to go back to school,’ she said.

He smiled. He had a nice smile, she decided. It reminded her of Dad. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’ll make sure you have the rest of the day off.’

He led her inside the emporium and at once she forgot all about being in trouble. She’d never been anywhere like it. Everywhere she looked there was furniture - tables, chairs, bookcases - and china and sparkling silvery things and lots and lots of ticking clocks. There were mirrors, too. And those lights made of diamonds that hung from the ceiling. She could hear music playing. Sleepy piano music. It made her want to curl up in a chair and close her eyes. ‘What kind of place is this?’ she asked.

‘An antique shop. Do you like it?’

‘Yes. Is it yours?’

‘Not entirely.’

She let go of his hand and wandered over to a chest that had a glass dome on top of it. Inside the dome was a brightly coloured bird. It was a kingfisher. She knew because Granddad had pointed one out to her down by the canal. ‘Is it real?’ she asked.

‘In a manner of speaking. It died a long time ago. It’s stuffed.’

‘What with?’

‘Do you know, I haven’t a clue?’

‘Hello, hello, hel
lo
, and who have we here?’

Carrie turned round to see a very peculiar man coming towards them. He was wearing a suit the colour of Ribena with a spotty bow tie. On his feet were the strangest slippers she’d ever seen; the fronts were very pointed and curled like pigs’ tails.

‘Carrie, let me introduce you to Jarvis. He might look like something from another world, but he’s quite harmless. Jarvis, this is Carrie Knight, a friend of mine. She’s got herself into a bit of a fix and I’m going to sort things out for her.’

‘Well my dear, any friend of Will’s is a friend of mine. How do you do?’ He leaned forward and held out his hand. Carrie giggled and held hers out just as she knew she was expected to. ‘Enchanted,’ he said. ‘Now correct me if I’m wrong, but did I hear you enquiring with what this splendid creature is stuffed?’

She nodded, at the same time trying to get her giggling under control. He really was the funniest man.

‘Permit me to explain. You see, what you have to bear in mind is that the Victorians believed this to be a form of conservation. Of course, these days, we have a very different approach to that.’

 

From inside his office, Will watched Jarvis carefully lift the glass dome off the kingfisher. He reached for the phone book on the shelf behind him and within seconds was ringing the local primary school. The next call he made was to his neighbours, Bob and Eileen. There was no answer.

 

 

 

 

Harriet switched off her mobile and leapt to her feet. This couldn’t be happening. What had got into Carrie? First she’d tried to scare the other children at school half to death, now she’d turned truant. What next? Drug dealer?

Shutting down her computer and gathering up her bag and jacket, she forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath while she thought how to make an exit from her office without attracting attention from her new boss. She would have to feign illness, and not some girly stomach ache or headache, or she’d be branded Princess PMT from here on. An asthma attack would be better. A nice unisex illness, the kind that even a great lump like Howard Beningfield might suffer from.

A knock at her door made her jump. It was Dave Carter, one of the junior analysts - a decent enough bloke if you forgave him his big buckled belt and cowboy boots, and the two lost causes in his life: real ale and Manchester City. His office nickname was Dangerous Dave on account of him being as action-packed as a loaf of stale bread. ‘How’s it going?’ he said. ‘I just thought you might like ... Hey, you okay? Only you look a bit pale.’

Pale? It must be the shock. She covered her face with a hand and staggered a little as though she might faint any second. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she rasped, ‘but it’s an asthma attack. I’m going to have to call it a day. I’m so sorry.’

‘Will you be okay to drive?’

‘I’ll manage,’ she said, already out of the door and making for the reception area. ‘I’ll be in extra early tomorrow,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘if anyone asks.’

By the time she was driving out of the car park, she was beginning to worry that she really did have an asthma attack looming. There was a niggling tightness in her chest that didn’t bode well. But she couldn’t reach her inhaler — it was in the bag on the back seat where she’d thrown it in her haste.

Once Crantsford was behind her, she tried to relax. There was nothing to worry about, she told herself when she had to stop for some traffic lights and was tapping the steering wheel impatiently. Carrie was quite safe. Admittedly she wasn’t where she should have been, but she was safe. That was what was important, as the headmistress had pointed out on the phone. Apparently school hadn’t been able to get hold of Mum and Dad when they realised Carrie was missing, and when she’d tried Harriet’s mobile there’d been no answer because, until ten minutes ago, she’d switched it off while she was in a meeting. But thank goodness their neighbour, Will Hart, had spotted Carrie in town and taken her in, then phoned school. She would for ever be grateful to him. Even if he was now probably sitting in judgement on her and wondering how a child in her care had so nearly come to harm.

I’m doing my best, was all she could say in her defence. Then suddenly it wasn’t Will to whom she was defending herself, it was Felicity, and her sister’s presence was so palpable she felt her scalp prickle. ‘Oh, Harriet,’ she imagined her sister saying, ‘I thought you’d take good care of Carrie. I trusted you. My precious baby could have been snatched by some vile perverted beast while your back was turned. She could have been tortured. Tortured, then murdered! Her violated body tossed into the canal. Her short life snuffed out because
you
didn’t care about her.’

‘But I do care about her!’ Harriet said out loud, a rush of panicky sickness consuming her as the reality of what could have happened to Carrie sank in. ‘She’s safe, Felicity. Please don’t make me feel any guiltier than I already do.’

She grasped the steering wheel and groaned. Oh, God, she was going mad. She was arguing with her dead sister.

She parked as near to Hart’s Antique Emporium as she could — which wasn’t close at all — and ran all the way. The tranquil scene that greeted her was totally at odds with the state she was in — sweating and out of breath, her chest heaving and wheezy, her mouth dry. But there on the other side of the shop was Carrie, sitting in a wing-back armchair with a wooden tray on her lap, her legs sticking out in front of her. She was polishing a silver teapot, concentrating hard on its spout, and humming along to a piece of music that was playing. Nearby, a couple were smiling at each other in amusement.

‘You must have driven like the wind.’

She turned to see Will sitting behind an untidy desk in a small, cramped office, a pile of paperwork before him. There was something different about him. Then she realised he was wearing glasses, a smart frameless pair that made him look more like the corporate lawyer he had been. Removing the glasses and tossing them onto the desk, he came towards her. ‘The kettle’s just boiled; would you like a cup of tea? You look like you could do with one.’ His kindness was too much, and overcome with relief that Carrie really was okay, she felt foolishly tearful and sank into the nearest chair. The tightening in her chest had worsened to such an extent that she fumbled for her inhaler in her bag. But she’d gone too long without it; her fingers were numb with pins and needles. She felt light-headed too and knew that she must have been hyperventilating for some time. Panic kicked in, which made her throat constrict even more.

 

Will was concerned. ‘What is it, Harriet? What can I do?’

‘Asthma,’ she wheezed. She pointed to her bag. ‘My inhaler. It’s in there.’

Not wanting to waste any time, Will tipped the bag upside down onto the floor, scattering pens, tissues, personal organiser, lip gloss, tampon, cheque book, wallet. And finally, an inhaler. He passed it to her.

‘Okay?’ he asked, when she’d pressed it to her mouth for a second time and he’d put everything back in her bag.

‘I will be,’ she rasped.

‘How about a drink?’

She shook her head. ‘I should take Carrie home.’ They both looked over to where Carrie was oblivious to anything but the shiny teapot in her hands.

‘I hope that’s not too valuable,’ Harriet mumbled, getting to her feet.

‘Silver plate, circa yesterday.’ He thought Harriet looked in no state to be going anywhere, and that maybe she ought to calm down some more before dealing with her niece. ‘It’s no trouble, you know, that cup of tea.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Come into my office and relax while I keep an eye on Carrie from the doorway.’ She did as he said and after he’d moved some papers from a chair and flicked the switch on the kettle, he said, ‘Carrie’s really been no bother and I realise it’s none of my business, but I made a bargain with her. I said she wouldn’t get into too much trouble if she told me exactly what she’d been up to.’

‘Well, of course she’s in trouble. She can’t expect to skive off school at her age and not realise there are serious consequences.’

He let it go. It wasn’t his place to tell someone else how to go about the sticky business of parenting. Privately he thought Harriet and her parents would need to get to the bottom of what Carrie had done. She struck him as a good kid, not the sort who would ordinarily get into trouble. ‘Milk and sugar?’ he asked.

‘Splash of milk, no sugar.’

When he’d dunked a teabag and stirred in some milk, he handed her the mug. ‘Feeling any better?’

‘Getting there. I’m sorry for snapping just now. It was rude of me. You’ve been very kind. I haven’t even thanked you for taking care of Carrie.’

Her words were in the shape of an apology, but her tone was so stiff it sounded more like she was reading from a script. ‘Oh, shucks,’ he said good humouredly, ‘now you’re embarrassing me.’ He expected her to smile, but to his horror her face crumpled and she began to cry.

‘I’m a failure,’ she murmured, her head lowered. ‘A total failure. I haven’t got a clue how to bring up children and today’s proved just how bad I am. I feel so guilty. So useless.’