The Father's House (26 page)

The man was talking about a failure to identify the body of the individual who had died in Friday night's fire at 3 Mortimor Road. Examination of the site had established that the cause of the fire was arson. The owner was still abroad and could not be contacted. A woman who had allegedly been abducted by the owner had been returned to her family, and police were still waiting at the hospital bedside of another woman, believed to have been a resident, who remained in a coma. A young girl and boy were understood to have resided at the house and were missing. The public was asked to report any possible sightings to the police. A man caught at the scene was still being questioned. A fourteen year old boy, found on the common while the fire was in progress, had been detained for questioning, but had disappeared while in the care of an individual claiming to be a social worker.

Lucy's heart sank right down into the bottom of her stomach. The story was followed by something about council tax, and then the weather, but she heard none of it. If the fourteen year old boy was David, why would he have been released to a social worker? If anyone could have given information to the police it would have been David. She had no doubt that it was he who had hammered the nails into the tyres, and who had chained up the gate. He must have seen the whole thing from the bushes on the common – the perfect witness.

The news item buzzed around in Lucy's head. If the social worker was an infiltrator, David would not be safe. In fact he would be in great danger. He was probably in the cells at this moment, awaiting disposal along with Dorothy. She would have to do something! Her eyes were fixed on Paul as he pottered gently in and out of the furniture. How could she make a rescue bid with a little boy to look after? She couldn't leave him here on his own. Her mind reached out in all directions, seeking suggestions.

Paul was the least of the obstacles. Without the code she would never break through the padlock. She tried to visualise the contents of Thomas's toolbox. He had once sawed through a chain with a special tool, but it had been noisy and so heavy that she knew she wouldn't have the strength to use it. She remembered a time when he had locked himself out of the garage. He had poked the keyhole with a piece of bent coat hanger wire while holding the lock down with a piece of metal. That seemed simple, but it might not work on a coded padlock. Even so, it was the only thing she could think of. She would have to get to the garage and find Thomas's toolbox.

Lucy lifted the blind on the back door and peeped through into the back garden. It was already dark outside. If she could find the cartoons again perhaps she could leave Paul on his own, just long enough to find something in the garage – anything that might be useful to her.

“Paul,” she said, as the cartoon channel reappeared, “I've got to go out for a few minutes. You're not to move from that chair till I get back.”

She wondered for a moment whether to tell him the Magnifico would be watching him if he moved, but felt sick at the thought.

Paul was absorbed in the bright dancing colours.

“Did you hear me, Paul? You are not to move till I get back.”

Paul nodded his head, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

Dorothy lay on the bed in a heap. The key turned in the lock and two kitchen aunts appeared. One of them guarded the door while the other one put a tray on the table.

“Eat up,” she said. “We made something especially nice for you.” She stepped over to the bed and took Dorothy's hand in hers. “It'll be days yet. Perhaps they'll give you time to repent and let you come back to us, you never know.”

“And even if they don't,” the aunt at the door said kindly, “you'll be better off than in other countries where they get stoned to death or shot. You'll just feel a tiny prick in your arm and you'll go to sleep. No more worries.”

Everything went black and when Dorothy came to, the aunts had left.

She slid off the bed and went over to the table. Never ever would she be able to eat another morsel. What was the point? It made her feel sick to look at it. She covered the tray over with the table napkin and shoved it away next to the copy of the
Holy Vision
. Of course, as the aunt had said, they might give her a chance to repent. She brightened a little at the thought. And the fact was now that she had experience of some of the nastiness in the outside world, the Magnifico's world had a lot to be said for it. An orderly existence where everyone knew their place without protest or disturbance must surely be a good thing. If she followed the rules she'd be safe, even if she was stuck in the kitchens or the breeding rooms for the rest of her life. She opened up the
Holy Vision
and started to read. She'd have to know her stuff if she was to put forward a convincing plea.

After a while she closed the book. It was so boring and, anyway, it had been dinned into them so often at school she more or less knew it by heart. As she sat back thinking how best to convince the Holy Leaders that she had reformed, she heard heavy footsteps coming down the corridor from Drax House. She put her ear to the door. There were men's voices. Her heart seemed to stop. Was this it? Then she heard a key being inserted in a lock, but it wasn't the lock to her door. She waited. Someone was being settled into the cell next to hers.

“That's it, mate,” said a voice. She recognised the commune caretaker's deep growl. “Good luck, that's all I can say.” The door clanged and the footsteps faded away up the corridor.

There was absolute silence. Then, through the thickness of two doors, very faintly, she heard a muffled voice call, “Dorothy! Are you there?”

“David, I'm here,” she yelled at the top of her voice. Holy Mag! She mustn't do that. They'd hear her up in Drax House if she wasn't careful. The sudden joy in her heart turned to horror. How did they catch him? She would never plead for forgiveness and leave David to face his fate alone.

Lucy let herself out via the back door in case someone happened to be passing the front of the house. She ran along the back alley and into the father's garden. Her eyes quickly became used to the dark. The sight of the rubble and ruined walls was a shock, but she had no time to linger.

Following her old route she crept silently behind the shrubs, along the garden wall round to where the garage still stood. She went down the gap between the garage and the wall and came out in front of the doors. For a moment she stopped to look around. All that remained of the high laurel hedge with its arch through to the front garden was a collection of black branches twisted like great pieces of charcoal. The big double gate with its diamond-shaped holes was totally wrecked, leaving the gravel driveway open to the world.

The doors to the garage were slightly open and Lucy slipped inside. She felt on the window sill to the right for Thomas's torch. It was still there. Stepping around the gardening equipment, tins of paint, and an old bike, she crossed over to the shelves at the far end. The toolbox was in its proper position on the middle shelf. She shone the torch into it trying to keep the light as low as possible and took out a screwdriver and the awl. There were gadgets and other tools on the shelves and on the floor, but there was nothing that looked as though it would help her pick a lock or break open a padlock. She wondered if long nails would do the trick. At the thought of nails she remembered David and the tyres, and noticed that the hammer was missing.

As she turned to leave she caught her foot in a pile of cloth and nearly fell. She shone the torch on it, and saw it was a man's raincoat. Thomas never wore a raincoat. He had his old gardening anorak and the tidy jacket that he wore when he arrived for work. Picking up the raincoat and draping it neatly over the handle of the lawnmower Lucy made her way round various objects towards the door. The torch might be useful, she thought. It surely wouldn't count as stealing. After all, it was Thomas and his friends who had burned down her so-called home. When she reached the door she shone the torch over the window sill in case there was anything useful. There was a jam jar full of small screws and dead flies, and another with dried-up paint brushes, but nothing interesting. In the corner between the window and the door, just under the hooks where Thomas hung his anorak, were the sacks that she and Paul used to hide under when they played hide-and-seek. They weren't in their usual tidy pile. Somebody had been in and rumpled them up.

At that moment Lucy heard someone approaching along the main road outside. She quickly switched off the torch and stood holding her breath waiting for the footsteps to go past. Instead they turned into the driveway and crunched through the gravel. There was no time to hide. She grabbed Thomas's anorak and, pulling it over her head, dropped down into the corner on top of the sacks just as the towering figure of a bald-headed man appeared in the doorway, a plastic carrier bag dangling from his hand.

Dropping the bag by the door, he came towards the corner where Lucy crouched, kicked against a tin of paint, and then seemed to be feeling along the window sill. He muttered some swear words. Lucy guessed he was looking for the torch. She pressed her face down into the sacks and held her breath as he stumbled away towards the further end of the garage. He knocked into the lawnmower and swore again. For a moment he was silent and Lucy guessed he had discovered the neatly folded raincoat. She heard him shaking it out and then quickly making his way back towards the door. Lucy lifted a tiny corner of the anorak with her finger and peeped out. She could see him standing just inside the doorway, pulling on the raincoat. Then his feet crunched hastily down the gravel drive and she heard him hurrying away, almost at a run.

She waited until the footsteps had died away before she dared to pull the anorak away from her head. Sitting bolt upright on the sacks, she listened. A few cars went by, but no pedestrians. Rain started to patter heavily on the garage roof.

Panic swept over Lucy as she remembered Paul. She had no idea how long she had been there. Clutching the torch, she jumped to her feet, and looked round the door. She could see Thomas's hammer and a handful of nails lying near the wrecked double gates, but she daren't leave Paul any longer, and she left them where they were.

The rain was pelting down. Lucy hurriedly put on the anorak and pulled up the hood. The plastic bag lay on the floor where the man had dropped it. She shoved the torch, screwdriver and awl into it and ran, with visions of Paul lying injured or dead from some terrible accident. Almost tripping over the bottom of the anorak she dashed across the lawn and out via the rear alleyway into the diplomat's garden. Brushing against weeds and tall grass, she ran down the overgrown path and in through the back door, and straight to the little sitting room off the kitchen. The cartoon characters were still jumping about on the screen, and Paul was asleep in the armchair. Lucy nearly collapsed with relief.

Taking the anorak off in the kitchen, she shook it outside to get rid of the drips. She draped it over the back of a chair and, feeling some bits and pieces in the pockets, she took them out and laid them on the table. There was a biro, matches, tobacco and cigarette papers, and a tiny notebook. Her nice new borrowed trainers were soaked, and she put them in the laundry room. Then she shut the back door, pulled down the blind, fished the torch out of the plastic bag, and stood it in the centre of the table. Her eyes were so used to the darkness that the sudden light made her blink.

She emptied the bag onto the table. Apart from the screwdriver and awl, there was a bottle of milk, two wrapped sandwiches, an apple and a banana, and a Mars Bar.

In the side room Paul was stirring and snuffling.

“Come on, lazybones,” said Lucy, snuggling down next to him for a minute. “It's time for tea. And you've been such a good boy, there's something really nice.”

Shoving the contents of the anorak pockets up one end of the table, she set out the plates and mugs, and divided the plastic bag picnic into two equal shares. She hung the bag on the knob of a chair back to dry, and then they sat down and started with the Mars Bar.

Later, in the dark on the Sunday night, Father Arthur was prowling round the outside of Copse House looking for Thomas. It was possible he might be here, helping in the kitchen. His shift in the hospital should have ended long ago, so why hadn't he switched his phone back on? The lights had been off in his terraced cottage, and no-one had answered the door.

Through the dining room window Father Arthur could see the aunts, who used to be his, laying a long table ready for the children's supper. There was no sign of Sarah, nor of Thomas. He waited till the children started trooping in for their meal. They stood at their places like young sentries and bowed their heads in prayer, thanking the Magnifico for his generosity. At a signal from one of the aunts they all sat down and waited in silence as the meal was served. Fifteen children, all his plus a few discards, but Lucy and Paul were not among them.

He needed somewhere to sit comfortably and think, and at the moment he had nowhere to go. The garage was out because it was obvious that someone else had been there and had seen his mackintosh. It might have been Thomas, but on the other hand it could have been one of Drax's men snooping around – or a lingering fire officer. He couldn't take the risk of going back there, and he was hungry. Creeping away from the window, he made his way back to the main road and, looking up and down in both directions, set off to find the nearest bed and breakfast. No-one would recognise him with his shaven head and stubbly chin. Tomorrow he would go into the woods behind Drax House and wait. Thomas occasionally worked in Drax's gardens, and he might be able to catch his attention.