Lottie Project (23 page)

‘What did Robin say when you said all this?’ Mark persisted.

‘He mentioned his mum. Could he have run away to see her?’ I asked.

‘She lives in Manchester. How could he possibly . . .? But I know he’s been missing her ever since his last visit. Though he always said he wanted to stay with me when I talked to him about it. Oh, Charlie,
how
could you tell him I didn’t want him?’ said Mark, tears running down his face.

He wasn’t angry with me. Yet. This was far worse. I started to cry too.

‘It was a terrible thing to say but you were angry and upset,’ said Jo. ‘Everyone says terrible things when they feel really bad. Stop it Mark, she’s only a kid herself. Can’t you see how desperately sorry she is? Don’t blame her, blame me. I forced her into that day out. She wasn’t ready for it. We’ve been too close . . .’

I listened to Jo sticking up for me, making all these excuses. It made me feel worse, the worst person in the whole world.

Messages kept crackling over the police radio clipped to the policewoman’s shoulder. We froze each time – but it was never to say they’d found him.

‘I’ve got to go and search for him again myself,’ said Mark.

‘It’ll be light soon. I should wait till then,’ said the policewoman.

‘But Robin’s frightened of the dark—’

‘He’s probably tucked up in a corner somewhere, fast asleep. We’ve alerted everyone available. They’re all searching. We’ve got the helicopter up too. It’s got this special thermal imaging sweep that works even in the dark. The scanner picks up heat from the body—’

‘The body?’ said Mark, his voice cracking.

‘From the person, from your little boy, and it gives off a green image. It’s an amazing invention; we’ve had great success with it.’

But Mark couldn’t wait, couldn’t stay still, so he went off in one of the patrol cars cruising the area. Jo and I waited in his flat with the policewoman. She made us a cup of tea but when I drank it down it made me feel so sick I only just got to the toilet in time. I splashed cold water on my face afterwards and stared at myself in Mark’s bathroom mirror. I felt I was looking at a murderer.

I’ve never really felt bad about myself before. I could be cheeky, I could be bossy, I could be fierce – but I’d always thought I was one of the good guys. If any little kid at school was getting bullied I’d always charge in and send the bully flying. If
anything
needed sorting out then all the other kids would turn to me. Everybody liked me. Even the boys.

But now I’d done the meanest thing in the whole world. It didn’t matter that I was sorry. Robin had run away and maybe he was going to be lost for ever.

I felt myself folding up so that I was crouching on the bathroom floor, my head banging against the cold edge of the bath. I shut my eyes tight, banging and banging, trying to knock myself backwards, trying to make time tick backwards, so that I could undo and unsay everything. But no matter how I tried I couldn’t stop the hands on my watch moving forward, and every minute Robin was still missing.

I heard the whirr of the police helicopter overhead. I wondered if they’d be able to spot Robin staggering along a grass verge, crouching down beside a hedge, curled beneath a tree. He might look up and show Birdie this immense mechanical relation . . . No, if he heard the whirling noise he’d probably be frightened and hide in a doorway, a cardboard box, behind a dustbin, and then he’d never be spotted.

I could see him so vividly in my head, crying, shivering with the cold, clutching Birdie desperately. And then I saw a sinister shadow beside him, someone reaching out and grabbing him, a hand over
his
mouth so that he couldn’t scream . . .

‘Charlie? Charlie, let me in.’ It was Jo, knocking on the door.

But I needed to stay in there by myself. I scrunched up tight into a ball and I closed my eyes and I mumbled, Please let Robin be all right, Please let Robin be all right, Please let Robin be all right, over and over, until the words concertinaed. I didn’t dare stop even for a second – not until I heard the front door bang.

I rushed out of the bathroom. More police. And Mark – holding something small and shabby in his hands.

‘Robin?’ I whispered.

Mark shook his head. ‘I went to the park,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘It’s still too dark to see properly, but I thought I’d check the pond – I always take him there to feed the ducks. And he’s not there – no sign of him – but over by the gate the police officer stood on something. He thought it was a dead bird . . .’

Mark held out the cloth wings and the stained scarlet chest. Birdie.

LAW AND ORDER

OH MY LORD!
Baby Freddie is missing and I fear it is all my fault.

I was worn out and near to despairing with all three children. Freddie kept me up half the night wailing and whimpering, then Louisa would
not
wear her proper day dress and insisted on putting on her party silk – and then spilt her porridge all down the front. Victor gave me cheek all morning and when I remonstrated he kicked me hard upon the shin.

I was so cross with my disagreeable and disobedient charges that when we were in the public gardens together I parked the perambulator and stormed off for a few moments by myself, calling all three children as many bad names as I could think of under my breath. When I had calmed down a little I went back again. There was no sound from the perambulator so I assumed baby Freddie had gone to sleep at last. Louisa was over by the pond, feeding the ducks with crusts of stale bread begged from Mrs Angel, while Victor bowled his hoop round and round the pond, singing a vulgar song at the top of his voice.

I told him to hush and begged Louisa to take care because she was standing right on the edge. Louisa took no notice and hurled a crust wildly, lost her balance and toppled over into the water! The pond is not deep but Louisa went headlong. I had to hitch up my skirts to wade in and grab her. Louisa clutched at me wildly, convinced she was drowning – and over I toppled too.

Victor shrieked with laughter at the pair of us. I had duckweed streaming from my hair when I struggled out at last, Louisa under one arm. We were both sopping wet.

‘Quick! Home at once before we catch our death of cold,’ I said, shivering, conscious that we made a right spectacle. I took hold of the perambulator handle – and peered at the pillow. No baby Freddie! I pulled back the blankets frantically, tossing the pillow to one side. He was gone! I ran desperately around the perambulator, wondering if he could possibly have clambered out by himself. I wondered if Victor was playing another prank on me but one look at his white face made me see that this time he wasn’t joking.

Someone had snatched baby Freddie and stolen
him
away! I stopped passers-by and asked them if they had seen the little mite. Someone said they’d seen an infant in the arms of some scoundrelly looking creature and I started shrieking. I ran home with Victor and Louisa, pushing the empty perambulator. I had to tell the Mistress. I could scarce get the words out. She had a fit of the vapours at the terrible news and Eliza had to fetch the smelling bottle. Mrs Angel ran down the road to find her policeman friend and he took all the particulars. He swears he will search every thieves’ den in the town, for he thinks Freddie has been stolen to be held to ransom. He is going to write to the police station in the neighbouring district, and a piece will be put in the
Police Gazette
.