Endangering Innocents

Monday, April 2nd 3.30 pm

He liked to watch the children coming out of school, the wind whipping the little girls’ dresses high above their white ankle socks, the boys clutching their bags, heavy under the weight of the toys, books and Pokemon cards stowed away in their rucksacks. He liked the way their innocent eyes searched for their collectors. Mostly mothers or childminders, some grandmothers, some grandfathers too. Occasionally uncles. He would like to be an uncle. A favourite, indulgent, kind uncle. He would like to see a little girl’s eyes light up as she saw him. He would like the little girl to run to him, her arms outstretched. And he would lift her up as that man was doing with
that
little girl, holding her above his head. The little girl was laughing as they ran together, hand in hand, through the rain before vanishing into a dark green People-Carrier. He sat in his car and watched and felt lonely.

Soon it would be Easter and for a couple of weeks at half-past-three in the afternoon the children would not be streaming out of school but would already be at home - or away on holiday - with their families.

He felt a sourness rise in his throat. He would be even more lonely then.

He too wanted a family.

He should have a family. He deserved a family - sometimes more than those who already had children.

Like the man who was clutching that little girl’s hand, looking down at her almost as though she was a nuisance,
almost as though he didn’t like her. Josh strained to hear what the man was saying to the little girl with the bobbed hair and the flat, expressionless face.

“‘Ad to leave a bleedin’ job to come and get you. Lose me money now. Bloody nuisance you are. And your Gran couldn’t come and get you. Oh no.” The man’s face had twisted into an ugly leer. “Oh no. Not ‘er. ‘Ad to go and and have her hair done. Typical. Well I’ll dump you off at Sandra’s shop. You’ll ‘ave to amuse yourself.” The man was pulling the little girl too hard. Josh wanted to intervene. “And be’ave yourself. Else she’ll not ‘ave yer again. And then what’ll ‘appen?”

The little girl was searching round. Josh believed she was hunting for someone. Someone like him. Someone who would be kind to her and lift her above his head. He bared his crooked teeth in a welcoming grin and the child scanning the car windscreen found him. For a moment they looked at each other. Then she smiled. The prettiest, most beautiful, most perfect smile anyone had ever given him. Except .…

Josh loved her.

He wanted to cry out when the man gave a final, vicious tug on the child’s arm. He saw her face twist with pain before she was bundled into the back of a van. A dog was in there too. He could not see the dog but he could hear him barking at her. It sounded a big dog. The last he saw of the little girl was her face peering through the rain-streaked window. She pressed her hands to the glass as though appealing to him. And he could not tell if it was rain which streamed down the rear window or the child’s tears streaming down her face.

For all that happened subsequently, logically or illogically she would always blame her sister.

Sunday April 8
^_th

“Honestly, Jo. You look great. You really do.” Matthew nuzzled up behind her as she surveyed herself critically in the mirror.

“I feel a fake,” she said. “A flowery, dressed-up, simpering fake.” She held out the skirt of flimsy material. A pink, floral summer dress, the neckline low and frilled, fitting snugly over her breasts, tight to a little below the waist before swirling out to mid-calf. Her legs were bare, still brown from a swift winter break, diving in the Caribbean. Her toenails were painted peacock blue. On her feet she wore white, strappy, high heeled shoes.

Matthew moved across to the bed, lay down with his hands underneath his head, his knees bent and continued to laugh at her. But Joanna was in a temper.

“I don’t know what posessed me to buy this dress. It was really expensive.”

“Well - why did you?”

Joanna made a face. “That awful shop woman cooing over me. I had to buy it, Matthew, just to get out alive. And after today I shall never wear it again.”

Matthew grinned and Joanna sat beside him on the bed. “I never wanted to do this thing. I don’t even
believe
in it, Matthew. I sometimes think Sarah landed me with this simply to watch me fry. Matthew,” she said for the umpteenth time, “I don’t want to do it.”

He was still laughing, his good humour untouched. “You’re making a big, silly fuss about nothing,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist. “I’ve been a godfather three times and it’s nothing. You simply promise to bring them up with a regard for religion, remember their birthdays.”

“And how am I supposed to do that when I can’t even remember yours?”

“Put them in your diary at the beginning of the year.”

She gave a great sigh.

Matthew glanced at his watch. “Come on, Jo.” He dropped his long legs to the floor. “We haven’t got all day. We should be on the road by now. Christenings aren’t like weddings. It isn’t fashionable - or manners - to be late.”

Joanna made a final, despairing face into the mirror, sprayed some Chanel around her neck, ran her fingers through her hair and picked her bag up from the bed. Then she followed Matthew’s leaps down the stairs, taking one step at a time in the three inch heels.

“And as for these shoes…” She was still grumbling as she locked the door behind her.

They picked their way along the narrow moorland road from Waterfall towards Leek, turning off just before the town to join the Stone road. The journey from Leek to Stone, once they had cleared the nightmare of the Meir, was a delight, taking the A-road south through the flat countryside of Rough Close and finally threading through the cutting and passing the mill until they reached the small market town.

They chatted on the way, Matthew taking the wheel steadily. And as always his good humour mellowed her, so by the time she stepped out of the car outside the church she was smiling with him. She gave him a
soft brush with her lips on his cheek. “You are a gem,” she said, “for putting up with me. I must drive you mad.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “You can make it up to me later,” he said.

They were all waiting for them on the steps of the church. The family, Joanna acknowledged, with irritation. Her mother and her sister proudly displaying the white christening robe and its contents. Sarah gave her a dry peck on the cheek. “Thought for a minute you were going to chicken out.”

“I nearly did.”

“We should have asked Matthew to do it,” her sister complained. “
He
wouldn’t have made such heavy weather of it.”

“But he wouldn’t look half as nice on the photographs,” her brother-in-law chipped in.

Sarah’s eyes were on Matthew’s tall figure and the flop of blonde hair which dropped over his right brow. “Oh - I don’t know about that.”

She moved towards him, linked one arm through his and together they cooed over the baby. It sent a shudder up Joanna’s spine. Matthew looked so - absorbed.

Even her brother-in-law seemed to read plenty into their attitude. “Fond of kids, isn’t he, your Matt?”

Joanna nodded warily.

But Jeremy was not about to clamber onto the traditional bandwagon. He met Joanna’s eyes with a surprisingly perceptive gaze of his own before he lent forward and gave her a kiss. “But not for you, eh, Sis.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact.

Her mother bustled up, leading three-year-old Lara by the hand - like a trophy. “Joanna,” she said, all loud voice
and makeup. “Well, at least you’ve decided to dress decently.”

Which is more than you have
, Joanna thought resentfully. Her mother’s suit was apricot, too weddingy and too tight. If she couldn’t keep off the chocolate she wouldn’t fit into the suit at all.

Joanna gave a huge sigh and wished she was on her bike, out on the moors, speeding down a hill, the wind streaming through her hair, the chilling bite on her face, the only sounds the squawks of crows and pigeons, the harsh cries of kestrels. She did not belong here, in polite, familial society. It was a cold, sunny Sunday. Spring and the moorland beckoned. She should be there.

The vicar was standing in the doorway of the church, a beatific smile on his face. “And now for the blessed family. Godparents please …”

“Get out of here. Why can’t you stay in your bloody bedroom?”

Madeline stood, paralysed, in the doorway. What was her Mummy doing? Why was she lying down on the settee in the middle of the day? Why was Darren doing up his trousers? Had he been to the toilet? Darren walked towards her and she fled. Back up to her bedroom. She slammed the door behind her and fished something from under her bed.

He was a magician. He could do things. Anything. Magic things. She’d seen him. He could make eggs disappear and find them right behind your ear. He could make balloons into shapes like sausage dogs and snakes and funny little men that bounced as they walked. He could make you choose a card and then find it under the kettle or up his sleeve. He could make
voices
come from a doll. He could make flowers talk. He could do all those things. Magic things.

Maybe he could make her invisible. And then Darren wouldn’t always be cross with her. And her mummy wouldn’t slap her legs until they went red. And then she wouldn’t have the teacher asking all those questions she didn’t want to answer. Because she was afraid. But none of this would happen if the magician would work his magic. On her.

She heard someone coming up the stairs and pushed herself under the bed.

Her mother’s feet were bare. She had bony toes with chipped pink nail varnish.

Her mother was angry.

A hand came under the bed to fetch her out.

Madeline bit it.

“People of God, will you welcome this child …”

“In baptism this child begins his journey in faith. You speak for him today. Will you care for him …?”

Joanna responded. And caught sight of Matthew’s encouraging grin; she smiled back. He winked. She relaxed.

“Do you reject the devil and all rebellion against God?”

Again she responded.

“Do you renounce the deceit and corruption of evil?”

“I renounce them.”

And soon the worst was over.

She even posed with baby Daniel in her arms and squinted into the camera eye without scowling. She felt Matthew sneak an arm around her shoulders while they shared the baby. The shutter clicked as he planted a
huge, sucky kiss on her cheek.
And they were frozen onto developing paper, the happy family.

Then the baby started screaming and her mother clicked towards her, heels tapping out an impatient rhythm on the tarmac. “You’re not holding him right, Joanna. For goodness sake. Give him here.”

Joanna eyed Matthew balefully once they were alone again inside the car. “And how long do we have to stay at the wake?”

He was still grinning at her bad humour. “Oh - an hour,” he said. “Two. Three at the most.”

“Hmm.” She turned towards him. “And don’t go getting any ideas,” she warned. “This is a duty. No more. Certainly not a practice run.”

Matthew opened the car window and let the wind ruffle his hair. “Enjoy the day, Jo. Just enjoy the day.”

She stared out of the window.

Sarah was
such
an organiser. Everything was so perfect in their huge, beautiful house. The drive was packed with cars. Jaguars, Rovers, BMWs, Audis. Two Mercs. Matthew slid his BMW into a space near the front door next to the white catering van and they moved inside. The house looked and smelled wonderful. Black-frocked maids passed through like ghosts wielding salvers of canapes. Prawns, cheese, ham, tiny biscuits holding wafers of salmon topped with lemon and others displaying cream cheese and caviar. Joanna took a couple and a glass of wine and peered around. In the dining room beyond, a long mahogany table was spread with a lace tablecloth, a three-tiered cake its centrepiece adorned with a blue crib. The champagne waited in ice buckets. Glasses sparkled in the spring sunshine.

Matthew found Jeremy cradling his little son and handed him the blue tissue-papered parcel.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You must be proud to have a boy.” He held his hands out. “Here,” he said. “Let me hold him while you unwrap.”

Her brother-in-law eyed Joanna quizzically. “I like to guess,” he said, “what gifts people give to a tiny baby boy about to embark on the dangerous journey of life. Rather reflects things, doesn’t it? The donor’s attitude to what the future will hold for my little boy. Some of the gifts have displayed a rather flippant attitude to sproglets: vinyl pigs, tankards anticipating his first pint. Plastic toys etcetera. And then there is the contribution which illustrates the prejudices of the older generation, in praise of their traditions: terry-towelling nappies, Beatrix Potter china money boxes and Premium Bonds. So, I wonder, what has my practical, policewoman sister-in-law thought fit to set my son on his path through life?”

“Don’t get too deep, Jeremy,” Joanna urged, sipping her glass of freezing champagne. “Just open the parcel.”

“No, not yet. Not yet.” He palpated the gift. “Spoil the fun? At a guess. Something lasting. Something lucky. Something old. Something beautiful from you two.”

“Open it.”

Matthew was distracted by the baby sucking his fist.

Jeremy tore open the package and crumpled up the paper. In the palm of his hand lay a Victorian silver rattle in the shape of a jester’s head, silver bells to test the baby could hear, an ivory ring to chew his first teeth out of their gums.

Jeremy held the rattle in his hand and jingled it softly. “I’m speechless, Jo,” he said, brushing his lips against her cheek. “You have managed to combine everything - good taste, durability, beauty and practicality. Even, I
suspect, an investment.” He held it up. “There are teeth marks on the ring.”

“Proof of authenticity,” she said lightly, pleased at his response. “I’m glad you like it.” The proud father held his arms out for baby Daniel and shook the rattle in front of his face. “Look, you lucky little devil.”

“You can’t call him that in front of his godmother, Jeremy.”

“Sorry.”

All three of them looked at baby Daniel.

Coincidence, Joanna decided, but the tiny fist seemed to close around the ivory ring and he gave a sleepy, contented smile. Matthew watched. “Look,” he said. “He likes it.”

Jeremy ushered them both back into the dining room. “You two must eat. I don’t want to be feeding off soft crackers and fishy caviar for the next few days.”

She was hungry. She was frightened too. And felt sick. She never had seen her mum so angry. She had never been hit so hard. It had made tears jump into her eyes. But she had bit her lip and not screamed. Screaming would make her mum even more angry.

Her mum had bent down on her knees to drag her out from under the bed, hissing all the time, like a snake. “You s-s-simply don’t want me to have anyone in my life, do you? Just you. Just you, you selfish little thing.” The spit was in her face, bubbling through her lips, dribbling down her cheek. Madeline could feel the spray all over her face. She wanted to wipe it away. But she did not dare. She was frightened to look at her mum because her face looked so ugly, like a witch, full of hate. Madeline didn’t know what she was most frightened of. The shouting, the hating - or the hand twisting her arm
.

If
she made a noise her mum would be more angry. She said the neighbours would complain. And report her to the police. And she would be put in jail. Even if she was only five. That was no excuse. And she was even more frightened of the police than of her mum - or Darren. She bit back her screams.

She wished as hard as she could that she could find the magician. And she would ask him to make her invisible so she could creep down to the kitchen and find something to eat.

“Have another vol-au-vent.” Sarah was looking pleased with herself.

“Thanks.” Joanna took a bite and the vol-au-vent collapsed. She picked the crumbs from the floor under Sarah’s critical eye and wondered what would be the earliest opportunity she and Matthew could escape without causing comment.

Nine o’clock. Every time they had gravitated towards the door another relative would exclaim that they hadn’t met Matthew properly yet. He would turn to them, chat for a while, Joanna hanging on his arm, trying to tug him away. She watched his easy, pleasant face express interest in various cousins and their lives, her aunts’ health and travels … Her mother’s blood pressure problem and the young mums’ neuroses over their children.

How could he be so interested?

Someone was standing at her side. Not making any attempt to speak. Just watching her. She could feel eyes appraise her and turned around.