Nowhere Child (14 page)

Tom had stood there, the heat from the fire burning the skin of his face, wondering if he had done the right thing. He could have stopped this happening and he still couldn’t be sure he had made the right choice. He had taken a risk going there, but for his own sanity he had needed to check for himself that the policemen really had done as instructed – left the house
and not returned. He had enough on his conscience without the death of two of his colleagues.

Finally, with a last glance up to the bedroom where Ollie should have been sleeping, he had turned back towards the thick hedge that bordered the property, pushing his way through a hole he had made earlier that night before the man had arrived with his cans of flammables.

Walking quickly to the front of the house he had jumped into the police vehicle that he had borrowed earlier that evening and reversed out onto the road, pulling away from the house.

He had returned home, but not to bed. He knew he had a letter to write, and possibly the most difficult one of his life. It had taken him until sunrise to write, and now Philippa held it in her hand between finger and thumb as if it were a vital piece of evidence that she shouldn’t really be touching.

‘And this?’

‘I’ve no choice, Philippa. Tasha was our means of getting McGuinness sent down for life, and I let her go. I was put in care of Ollie by social services, and I let him go too. As far as they’re concerned, he should have been with me last night. It will appear that I blatantly disregarded the trust they’d put in me. I didn’t consult anybody about any of this – I just did what my brother told me to.’ Tom looked straight at Philippa. There was no point trying to make excuses.

‘Well, I think your brother’s influence is rather more extensive than you might have realised.’ Philippa was almost smiling. ’The reason I called you in this morning wasn’t because of the fire. I was going to tell you that there’s been a change in the charges against Finn McGuinness. Clearly Tasha is out of the picture now – but Finn’s wife, Julie McGuinness, is in.’

Tom’s head snapped back. Julie McGuinness had been found guilty of a whole range of crimes. She had run under-aged prostitutes from one of her houses and she had been involved in the kidnapping of Ollie Joseph. Her trial hadn’t been delayed, as her husband’s had, because she wasn’t ill. She had been given a hefty prison sentence, but had always sworn that she wouldn’t give evidence against Finn.

As his wife, she couldn’t be compelled to do so, and since being found guilty she had always said there was no chance of her saying a word against Finn.

‘What changed her mind?’ Tom asked.

‘Somebody has been getting to her, explaining that with the evidence we have against him, her husband would undoubtedly go down, but for less time than she would, as he couldn’t conclusively be tied to the kidnapping without a witness. I think the idea that he might get a lesser sentence than her made her blood boil, and so she’s going to sell him down the river. She knows there might be repercussions, but I think in the prison she’s in the other inmates will be more scared of her than she is of them, so it will be hard for Finn to find anybody to harm her. She’s quite a piece of work, but somebody clearly knew how she thinks.’

‘And you believe that was Jack?’

‘Well, not in person, no. But she’s been influenced, and my guess is that Jack’s found a way of making it happen. So – you don’t need to resign on that account.’

Tom smiled. ‘No – there’s just the fact that I allowed three people to leave the country on false passports and handed back a child that was supposed to be in my care.’

Philippa said nothing for a while and then picked up the telephone. ‘Can I speak to Siobhan Lewis, please? Tell her it’s Philippa Stanley.’

Tom knew exactly who Philippa was calling, but couldn’t work out from what height she was about to drop him in it.

‘Siobhan – thanks for taking my call,’ Philippa said. ‘Listen, I’m really sorry, but we had to take a very serious decision last night without consulting your team. I believe you have a colleague called Elizabeth Webster, who was dealing with the return of Natasha Joseph. Look – for reasons I can’t go into right now, we’ve had to take the whole family into protective custody. This has to remain strictly between you and me, as you know. Ms Webster cannot be informed – nor can anybody else. I will, of course, go through the formal channels and sort the paperwork, but at this end there are only three people who know, and I would prefer it if at your end it could just be you.’

Philippa listened for a moment. ‘Yes, I’m really sorry and I know it’s not the right way to go about things – but you may have heard about the serious house fire in South Manchester last night? That was the Joseph home, which I suspect you will hear about any time soon from a member of your team. It was arson – the plan being to kill Tasha Joseph. So you might understand the urgency on our part.’

Tom could hear some speaking from the other end of the line but was so surprised at Philippa’s actions that he didn’t even try to decipher the words.

She hung up and immediately dialled another number.

‘Claudette, can you call the fire service, please. I need an urgent meeting in the next hour with the chief fire officer. I’m on my way as we speak.’

Philippa pushed her chair back and stood up.

‘A few loose ends to sort, and then I’ll see you back here in two hours. If you believe there are any family members who genuinely need to know that Emma and Ollie are alive, and I hope there are very few of them, you need to tell them now before Mr Concannon changes his statement and it’s announced to the whole world that they are well and truly dead.’

Switching on a piece of equipment standing next to her desk, Philippa picked up the first letter Tom had handed her and pushed it into the machine. The shreds fell into the bin below. She held out her hand to him, and Tom knew what she wanted. The message from Jack. Loath as he was to hand over what might be his last communication ever from his brother, he knew he had no choice.

Epilogue

I look around me at this strange place that Emma says is our new home. It’s hot here, even though it’s November, and people are speaking a language I don’t recognise.

The last day has been mad. Emma got a call from Tom yesterday evening – at least, I think it was yesterday. She started rushing around, throwing things into bags. I asked what she was doing, but she put her finger to her lips. The policemen downstairs weren’t to know what was going on, for some reason. But I didn’t know what was going on either.

‘Tasha, darling – do you trust me?’ Emma asked. Well, of course I do – she let me stay instead of Ollie. How could I not trust her?

‘Is there anything here that’s valuable to you that you would hate to lose?’ she asks me. I think of my beautiful bedroom, but I know that’s a stupid thought. Then I remember the painting at the end of the hall – the one of my mother that has hung there since the day she married my dad. Emma didn’t take it down even after my dad died.

I tell Emma what I’m thinking.

‘Oh sweetheart,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry – we can’t take it. It’s too big.’ She gave me a hug. ‘Wait a minute – I’ve got an idea.’

I heard her race downstairs, and after a minute or two she came running back up. ‘What do you think?’ she said, holding her mobile phone under my nose. She had managed to frame the picture perfectly, and the lighting was good. ‘When we get where we’re going, how about we get this blown up? I know it’s not the same, but it’s something isn’t it?’

I knew we were about to leave, to go somewhere else, but I was too frightened to ask where. As long as I could be with Emma, though, I was sure it would be fine.

Ten minutes later, there was a shout from downstairs.

‘Mrs Joseph?’

Emma went to the bannister that overlooked the hall.

‘We’re leaving now,’ the policeman said. ‘Mr Douglas has just pulled into the drive with Ollie. He says he’s going to stay for a couple of hours, and then two new policemen will be assigned to you for tonight. Are you okay with that?’

‘It’s fine,’ Emma shouted. ‘Thanks, and we’ll see you tomorrow.’

A few minutes later, Emma said to me, ‘Are you ready?’ I didn’t want to ask ‘For what?’ so I just said yes.

Tom was waiting outside in the car with Ollie, and we piled in. He gave some stuff to Emma, and she turned round and spoke to me carefully.

‘Tasha, I know I’m not your mum and I promise I will never try to pretend that she didn’t exist. But for now – even if just for today – could you please call me Mum? We need people to believe we’re a family, and I can’t take you out of the country if you’re not mine.’

They’re getting me away, I thought. They’re helping me to escape. But a sudden thought hit me. Are they taking me somewhere safe and then leaving me?

‘Don’t look so worried, Tasha – we’re all going. Your name is Ava, mine is Clare and this little chap is Billy. But you need to call me Mum – just for now. Is that okay?’

I nodded. I didn’t mind calling her Mum every day, if I was honest. The other lady – the one in the picture in the hall – had been my Mummy. A special lady, but Emma – no, sorry, Clare – was special too. And the name Billy suited Ollie.

Tom had taken us to the airport and helped settle Ollie/Billy in his pushchair. I heard him talking gently to Emma. She was crying, saying she was sorry, and Ollie’s little mouth was turning down too. So I reached out my arms for him, and we walked to one side for a little, me singing a silly song about an old man and a farm that my mum used to sing to me.

Emma seemed to have calmed down a bit, so I walked back. I heard Tom explaining that she couldn’t be in contact with anybody ever, but that he would get in touch with her father.

‘I promise I’ll explain it to him,’ Tom said. ‘But I wouldn’t be surprised if Jack hasn’t already thought of that.’

Jack?

I stopped dead in my tracks. I remember that name. What could he possibly have to do with all of this?

*

We had to catch two planes, and Emma picked up another envelope at the first airport. Our names had changed again, but only our surname, thank goodness. I think the first airport was somewhere in America, because people were rushing everywhere, talking like people in
films, and it was so busy. I think it was called O’Hare airport – but I don’t know where it was. We didn’t have long to wait for our second plane, though, and now here we are – in this strange country where I don’t understand a word anybody is saying. Emma says they’re talking Spanish, but she says there are lots of different languages spoken in this country, so we’re going to have some studying to do.

A car has been sent to pick us up. I thought Emma looked a bit disappointed by something. I’m not sure what. Perhaps she was expecting somebody to meet us. She seems both nervous and excited. She keeps banging her nails together really quickly. I can’t work it out – but I don’t want to ask. I’m just keeping quiet, playing with Ollie/Billy and watching. Emma has explained to me that we’re going to start a new life, and I realise that because of me, Emma has had to give up everything.

‘No, Tasha, you’re wrong,’ she says – forgetting to call me Ava. ‘Everything important to me is right here, right now. Don’t ever forget that.’

The car is turning up a lane, and I sense we are nearly there – wherever ‘there’ is. The trees are lush and juicy looking, with fat shiny leaves – not like the trees that we left behind in Manchester, and Emma says there are monkeys here too. That makes Ollie laugh.

Emma’s leaning forwards in her seat, almost willing us to get to our destination.

And there it is – ahead of us. The road stops here, so it has to be where we are going. There’s a house built of wood with a bright-green roof. The mountain rises up behind, covered in the same fat-leaved trees, and down below I can see the sea. There’s a veranda that goes all the way round the house, and I can see a hammock swinging from a beam. I wonder whose house this is.

A man walks out onto the veranda. He’s wearing shorts, and his legs are very brown. He has a mop of wild, black, curly hair that stops just short of his shoulders, and he is smiling as if his face is going to break in two.

I hear a gasp from Emma. ‘Jack,’ she whispers, her voice almost cracking.

He walks towards the car and pulls the door open, reaching in a hand to help Emma out. They stand looking at each other and don’t speak. He lifts his other hand and strokes her face with the back of his fingers.

‘Your hair,’ she says – and I can’t think why on earth those are her first words to this man.

He laughs and lifts his hand to ruffle it. ‘Couldn’t stand the skinhead look,’ he said. ‘I’ve been growing it back.’

I’m sure they’ve forgotten us as they stand and stare at each other, but then they seem to remember they are not alone, and at the same time they laugh and turn back to the car. The man lifts Ollie out and passes him to Emma. Then he reaches out his hand to me. I ignore it and refuse to move until he withdraws. I can see Emma frowning, but I don’t care.

Finally, I shuffle across the car seat and get out on my own. The man doesn’t hold out his hand to me again, he just gives me a smile and says, ‘Hi, Ava. I’m Jack.’

‘I know who you are,’ I say. ‘You’re the man who killed my mother.’

*

It’s morning now, and I haven’t slept a wink. It’s a small house, and Ollie and me went to bed early – Ollie because he was tired, and me because I didn’t want to be in the same room as
him
.

Jack took my outburst well and barely blinked. Emma, though, looked frightened. I don’t know why.

‘Ava,’ she said, ‘please don’t think that about Jack – even for a second.’

I hate the name Ava now, because he must have chosen it.

‘Don’t call me Ava,’ I say. Emma knows nothing. She wasn’t in the car when my mother called out this man’s name.

Ollie and me slept in the same bedroom, and after a while I realised that Emma wasn’t going to come and take the other bed. There are only two bedrooms, so she must have been sleeping with him. I don’t know how she could.