Nowhere Child (3 page)

I looked at the treasure I had managed to nick. A sausage roll. It was still warm because I’d taken it from the hot cupboard, and now that the danger was past my mouth was watering. I decided to sit where I was, hidden under a bush that had huge pink flowers and shiny leaves but which was somehow quite empty underneath, almost like a kid’s den.

The boy was walking along the path and would pass me soon. I should probably have thanked him, but I was scared of showing myself in case the man came back.

‘You can come out, you know.’ The voice was totally unlike the weak, scared version I had heard minutes earlier. There was some sort of accent too, but I didn’t know enough to be able to recognise then that it was Scottish. He told me that later.

I stopped, the sausage roll halfway to my mouth, and stayed silent.

A face appeared between the leaves. ‘Can you spare a wee bite for your rescuer?’ He pushed his way through and sat down. ‘Budge up,’ he said.

I gave him half the sausage roll.

He was even skinnier that I had first thought. As he reached out his hand to take his share of the food I noticed the bone of his wrist sticking out like a golf ball, and his fingers were ridiculously long and white with torn, chewed nails.

I realised straight away how clever the boy was, though. Despite his scrawny build, I could tell there was nothing weak or shaky about this lad – voice or otherwise.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked. ‘I’m Andy.’

‘Harry,’ I said. He looked at me, his eyebrows raised, then took a bite of the sausage roll. ‘Right you are. Harry it is, then.’

*

I’ve stopped thinking about how much I’ve let Andy down and how I’m going to make it up to him. Better to think of nothing, so I stare straight ahead and try to empty my mind of bad thoughts. My attempt at peace doesn’t last long, though. I hear footsteps coming down the
tunnel, walking quickly as if somebody knows exactly where they are going and tiny prickles of fear run up my arms. I’ve got nobody here to protect me.

I huddle down, pulling a blanket we found a couple of days ago around my shoulders. I tug the visor of Andy’s cap down as far as I can. It might be that man again – the one who says there’s a reward for finding me. But he’s walking quickly – so if it’s him, he knows where he’s heading – straight to me.

The footsteps stop, right in front of me. But I don’t look up.

‘Hey, Harry – it’s okay. It’s only me. I got us some grub.’

Andy
.

I let out my breath.

‘It’s fresh grub, too. I was dead lucky. Some guy had all his shopping in one of those free carrier bags and the handle broke. Everything ended up on the pavement – so I helped him pick it up. When he wasn’t looking, I managed to grab a pack of sandwiches and shove ’em in my bag. I felt mean, though, ’cos he could see I was poor – probably homeless – and he gave me a quid for helping him. And I’d just nicked his bloody sandwich.’

It’s typical of Andy to bring me half of everything he gets. He could have scoffed the lot, and I would never have known. But he wouldn’t do that. It’s like he needs to protect me, to look after me. It seems to make him happy for some reason, and it feels good to me.

We don’t talk about the past. He pretends to believe I’m called Harry, even though everything he needs to know about me is printed on flyers lying all over the streets of Manchester, and Andy has got eyes. Even with my dark, cropped hair, my face is the same. I keep it dirty, and most people don’t bother to look at me: scruffy urchin boy with a filthy neck – why would anybody look twice? Unless it’s social services, and I can spot them a mile off. It’s the shoes.

So he knows I’m a thirteen-year-old girl; that my name is Tasha Joseph; that I’ve run away from home. But it was never my home. Not really. And the flyers tell only a small part of the truth.

Andy passes me an old a plastic bottle filled with water from a tap in a public toilet.

‘You okay now?’ he asks.

I’d told him I wasn’t feeling good and that’s why I hadn’t got any food. But I need to tell him the truth. It’s not fair to lie.

‘I’m sorry, Andy. I wasn’t ill – I just felt awful ’cos I saw Emma.’ He knows who Emma is; I told him her name last night. Everybody’s seen her because she’s always shouting about
Tasha Joseph, about how she wants her to come home and how her baby brother is missing her. I don’t believe it. She’s lying.

Andy’s gone quiet. Does that mean he’s mad at me? I don’t want him to leave me. I need him. He’s opening the sandwich packet, and my belly feels like it’s doing backflips.

Silently he hands me one of the two sandwiches and I take a huge mouthful.

I feel my nostrils flare and my mouth pulls down at the corners. It’s an automatic reaction, and I think Andy will be cross with me because I’m ungrateful. But he just laughs.

‘Sorry – not my choice,’ he says with his mouth full. ‘It’s mingin’. That guy obviously has weird taste in sandwiches.’

‘What is it?’

Andy passes me the packet. ‘Falafel, spinach and tomato,’ I read from the label. ‘What the hell’s a falafel?’

He just shrugs, and we both take another mouthful, wishing it was cheese, or tuna or something we’ve tasted before. But it’s food.

We don’t speak again until the sandwich has all gone, and I wait. I know he’s got something to say.

‘I saw Emma in town today too. I was looking for her.’

I stare at him. I’m confused. Why would he go looking for Emma?

‘I wanted to hear what she had to say about the reward – the five thousand pounds that’s being offered for you.’

I say nothing. Does he mean he was going to turn me in – take the full reward himself?

‘Harry,’ he says. ‘Emma said nothing about no reward. She didn’t mention it.’

‘So?’

‘So don’t you think it’s funny that if she’s really offering a reward for you, she doesn’t bother to mention it when she has a crowd of very likely customers for her money right in front of her? She offers cakes and all sorts if people will try to find you, but I asked around. She’s never offered money.’

I look at Andy. He doesn’t have to say it, but I know he will anyway.

‘If Emma’s not offering the money, and we know it’s not the police because they just wouldn’t, who the hell is it, Harry? Who wants to find you so bad that they’re offering five bloody grand for you?’

I say nothing. I know the answer; I just refuse to say the name out loud.

5

‘Emma, hi. It’s Tom. Sorry it’s taken me a while to get back to you.’

‘Oh Tom, thanks so much for calling. I know how busy you are with work and stuff, so I’m sorry to bother you.’

Tom felt another pang of guilt.

‘Did you hear the message – that I’ve seen Tasha?’ Emma asked, the excitement shining in her voice. ‘That means we know she’s in Manchester – in the centre. That’s good, isn’t it? If we can narrow down the search it should be easier to find her, shouldn’t it?’

‘It certainly should be easier than not knowing which town she’s in, yes.’

Before calling Emma, Tom had spent half an hour trying to come up with a strategy to deal with her expectations, but he had failed miserably. He felt doubly guilty because he should be seeing more of her now – at least, more of Ollie.

Three months after the trauma of Ollie being abducted, Emma had decided to have him christened. She had asked Tom to be Ollie’s sole godparent, and he had been very happy to accept.

It was during the christening that she had asked if he could spare an hour after the other guests had left.

‘I’ve got something to ask you, Tom, and please feel free to say no.’

Tom had been sure it was going to be something to do with Tasha, but he was wrong.

‘I’m so pleased you agreed to be Ollie’s godfather, but I can’t help thinking about what would happen to him if I was ill or, worse case, if I died. He’d be an orphan. He couldn’t go to my dad in Australia – his lifestyle would never suit a baby or a little boy, and there’s nobody else in my family that I would consider to be a good parent.’ Emma had paused and taken a sip of her wine as if she needed courage. ‘But you
are
a good parent, Tom. I’ve seen you with Lucy, and you’re so balanced. You let her think for herself, and try to guide her, but you never sound like a dictator.’

Tom interrupted.

‘It’s very kind of you to say these things about me, Emma. But they’re not entirely true. I can be a grumpy bugger when I’m tired, so don’t be under any illusion that I’m the perfect father. I’d love to be, if only I knew what that was.’

Emma laughed.

‘I don’t much believe in perfection. But I do believe in always trying to be the best we can, and I think that’s what you’re like. I’m serious, Tom. You’re a good parent, and I respect your values. That’s why I’d like to ask if I can name you in my will as Ollie’s guardian.’

Tom had been about to say something about Emma being ridiculous thinking about death at her age. But they were standing in her kitchen, on the very spot where her husband had been murdered – murdered because Emma had disobeyed the gang’s instructions and informed the police of Ollie’s kidnap. The gang – and in particular its enforcer, Finn McGuinness – hadn’t liked that one little bit, and David had borne the brunt of their anger.

Flattered though Tom had been by Emma’s suggestion that he be Ollie’s guardian, he had put forward lots of arguments. His job had unpredictable hours; it was a long time since he’d looked after a baby; Ollie didn’t know him that well.

‘Sorry, Tom, but that’s a daft argument. If he was put into foster care, he wouldn’t know the people he was living with at all.’

In the end, Tom had admitted that he was honoured to be asked, and, although hoping it would never come to it, he would be delighted to be Ollie’s guardian. Which was why he should be seeing more of the child, rather than staying away because of the inevitable arguments with Emma. Well, maybe not arguments – but heated discussions at least.

And now Emma had seen Tasha – which was wonderful news on many levels, but it would inevitably resurrect the same disagreements.

‘Can you tell me exactly where you were when you saw Tasha, and precisely what happened?’

‘I was on Market Street – the pedestrian bit – outside the Arndale. I was shouting out, telling her to come home. You know what I do, Tom – you’ve seen me. I said there would be cake for people who came to listen to me, and that guaranteed getting some of the homeless there. They’re the people who’ll know where she’s hiding, I’m sure.’ Emma paused and took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, I looked up, and there was a kid – looked like a young boy – standing at the edge of the crowd. He was wearing a dirty-looking hoody and a black
baseball cap. I couldn’t see much hair, but what was poking out at the back looked dark, as though it had been cut with a pair of garden shears.’

‘And you thought it was Tasha?’

‘I
knew
it was Tasha. It was the eyes. When I’d got over the fact that she was there – listening to me – I leaped off the box and hurried towards her. I really thought she wanted to see me, Tom. That she wanted to come home. But she turned and fled, skipping round people walking in the opposite direction. She disappeared down one of the side roads and I couldn’t catch her. I combed the streets for hours afterwards, hoping she’d taken refuge in some doorway that I’d missed or something. But she’d disappeared without a trace.’ Emma took a deep breath. ‘The important thing is that we know she’s alive, Tom – and that she’s not left Manchester. That’s the best news I’ve had for months.’

‘We’re looking for her too, Emma, and it’s a big help knowing she’s somewhere close. We need her to help us put Finn McGuinness away for a long time. We won’t make the kidnapping charge stick without her. We all know that Finn set up the abduction and coerced Tasha into stealing Ollie, but he was never seen with your baby.’

‘But he had a gun, Tom – he threatened me.’

‘Yes – he threatened you when you were in the car, but he didn’t force you into the car at gunpoint. Look, Emma, I’m not trying to be clever here, but although we have a case against McGuinness, it would be a lot stronger if we had Tasha. I’m worried that because you’re trying to get the whole world to find her, you’re pushing her further underground, scared to come out in case she’s recognised.’

There was silence at the other end of the line, and Tom could almost sense waves of indignation wafting his way. But he was right, and he’d been telling Emma this for months.

‘All I care about, Tom, is getting Tasha home safely. If McGuinness doesn’t get life, that’s tough as long as Tasha is safe.’

Tom knew there was no arguing. He had tried before, but Emma was adamant.

She had seen for herself what a vindictive bastard Finn McGuinness was, but she seemed to be choosing to ignore it. If he was free, who knew what havoc he might decide to wreak on the lives of those responsible for his arrest. Tasha, for certain, wouldn’t be safe.

If they could get the evidence to put him away permanently, they could finally rest easy in their beds.

6

I’ve been out again today. I’m not sure if it’s safer to be out where there are hundreds of people walking around or better to stay below ground. If I’m out in the open, I think it’s harder for somebody to grab me. People aren’t always interested in what’s happening around them, but I’m sure somebody would react if a kid was being dragged off the street. You’d hope so – but maybe not.

Andy gave me some money so I could phone Emma. He said we need to know for sure that she’s not the one offering a reward for me because if it’s not her, we need to start worrying. He still thinks there’s a chance it is Emma, because he doesn’t think she would announce such a vast amount of money to the world at large – five grand is wealth unimaginable to the poor of Manchester. People would kill for less – Rory Slater for one. He’d have topped somebody for a grand, I’m certain. Or worse still, he would have done it for nothing, just because Finn McGuinness told him to.

Andy thinks it’s more likely that Emma might have chosen one or two people she thinks she can trust and given them the task of finding me in return for a reward.