Running on the Cracks (15 page)

From:
[email protected]

Date:
28 October 19:27

To:
missingpeople.org.uk/runaways

Subject:
Please forward to Leo Watts-Chan

Hi Leo

I hope that you get this email. We haven’t had any replies to the ones we sent to your old email address and I don’t know if you’ve even read them. But the Runaway Helpline man who phoned us said that if we sent one care of them, they’d print it out and do their best to get it to you.

Actually, Mum doesn’t know I’m writing this. She wasn’t so keen on the emailing idea, just passed on a message which I expect the man has given you. But there were some things I really wanted to tell you.

It was such a relief to get that phone call and to be told that you’re all right, even though we still don’t know where you are yet.

I’ve been dead worried about you. So have Mum and Caitlin. It’s been seven weeks now. We didn’t know if you were alive, or if you’d got into drugs or prostitution
or something. You read so much bad stuff in the papers, but I kept telling myself you’ve got your head screwed on and that nothing like that would happen.

Also, I’ve been feeling bad, well, terrible really, because I know me and Caitlin were pretty mean to you a lot of the time when you were here. I’m so sorry about that. Actually I knew all the time I should be being extra nice to you because of your parents dying, but somehow I just couldn’t. I think maybe it’s because of all that family history, what with our mums not really getting on. (My mum used to make jokes about your mum being a hippy, but I think she was always a bit jealous of her too, being so musical and everything.) But I don’t want to blame Mum because I know I was old enough to think for myself. Anyway, I am sorry, and if you want to come back and live with us I’m sure it will be different.

The next bit is going to be harder to write. I don’t know if you’ve read in the papers about Dad, how he’s been arrested for an attempted assault on a hitch-hiker. He’s trying to say that the hitch-hiker made everything up and I wish I could believe him, but I think there’s forensic evidence, and anyway it fits in with everything else. I need to tell you what’s been going on just so you know that he won’t be here if you do come back.

Caitlin and I didn’t know at the time, but even before you came to live with us there had been some complaints about Dad. A teacher from the convent school near us had reported that he’d been hanging round the school gates at home time, and the police had been round to the house about that. But of course he denied it, just said he was waiting for the bus or something. It got Mum suspicious, though – I’ve picked up that something similar had happened in the past.

Then, not long after you’d run away, my friend Lily started being funny and not wanting to come round to
our house. I kept asking her why and she just made excuses. But then her mum phoned our mum and told her the real reason. It turns out that one time when Dad had driven her home he’d stopped the car near her house and started telling her how pretty she was and things like that. It was all just talking, but she felt really embarrassed, and when she tried to open the door she found it was locked. He’d had these child locks fitted in the front as well as the back of the car, which we always thought was stupid. He did then unlock the door and made some excuse and Lily wondered if she’d been overreacting, but it still stopped her wanting to come round. Anyway, when her mum phoned, that was the last straw for Mum, coming on top of those other allegations. They had a huge row, and Dad moved out to a flat. He had to hire a van to take all the birds.

Caitlin didn’t know about any of the complaints, and she started off blaming Mum for the separation and being on Dad’s side. We found out later that she’d even been round there to feed the birds when Dad was away in Glasgow the first time. He told her to keep this a secret from me and Mum but in the end it all came out. He never said why he went to Glasgow but I know it must have been to look for you. I don’t know how he managed to track you down, and neither does Mum. Of course we’ve been keen to find you but he’s been acting separately from us, whatever he may have said.

Then another thing happened. He followed one of the convent school girls home and got reported to the police again. This time Caitlin found out, but at first she was still on Dad’s side and thought he was innocent. Dad was going to have to go to court, though he didn’t have a date yet. And now this hitch-hiker thing has happened. And the worst thing of all is, I can’t help worrying that maybe he was like that with you – maybe that was why you ran away.

We heard from the police that a sketchbook was found
in his car, and I’m sure it must be yours. So we know he must have found you. I’ve been trying not to think about that. At least you’ll get the sketchbook back eventually. I know it meant a lot to you.

Anyway, I so hope you are really all right. It would be great to know where you are and to see you again. Of course we wouldn’t pass on your address to Dad, and anyway he’s in custody till his trial. Mum says you’d be welcome to come back and live with us, but that no one is going to force you to do anything against your will if you have somewhere safe to live.

One more thing. We have given the birds to an aviary in a wildlife park. In theory they’re just having a holiday there till we see what the outcome of the trial is, but somehow I think they will end up staying there. If you come back to stay or to visit us, we can go and see them. I know how much you liked them and I hope you’ll be pleased that they have a bit more freedom now.

Please write back!

With love from
Your cousin Flo

25 Dalgowdie Street, Glasgow

29th October

Dear Flo,

I’m really sorry you’ve been worrying about me. I should have tried to get a message to you sooner – but it’s been difficult, because of things to do with your dad. I hope that now we’re in touch we can arrange to meet soon.

Thanks for letting me know what’s been happening in your family. That must have been hard for you – living through it, and then telling me. Actually, none of what you said came as a huge shock because it fits in with my
own experience of Uncle John. I can tell you more when I see you. Don’t worry – none of it is any worse than the things that have happened already.

The Helpline people have put me in touch with an organisation called Aberlour which helps runaways like me think about their future. I’ve had a couple of meetings with a nice woman called Shereen who works there, and she suggested that I invite you and Aunt Sarah up here for a meeting in their office.

Aberlour run a Refuge, but I don’t need to stay there because I’m lucky enough to have met some very supportive people here in Glasgow. Some are family and some are friends, though I kind of think of the friends as my family too, as they’ve all been so good to me.

I’m staying with a couple called Marina and Kenny. Marina has a doughnut stall and Kenny keeps homing pigeons. Yes – more birds! Yesterday he let me come with him when he was taking some new ones on their first training flight. He put them in a crate, drove them a block away
and then set them free. I was worried they’d get lost or just fly away but they all found their way back to the pigeon loft.

Marina and Kenny are very kind, but I’m not planning to stay here long. It was really nice of your mum to offer to have me back, but I have a different plan, which is one of the things I’d like to talk about with you and Aunt Sarah. It is to move into a flat with my Chinese cousin Jacqueline. She’s living at home at the moment, but it’s really overcrowded, and she came up with the idea of looking for somewhere for the two of us to share next term, when I’ll be sixteen.

Jacqueline is a student at the Glasgow Art School, and I would love to go there too. But I need the right qualifications. I’m planning to enrol in a college next term to do English and Art and maybe some other subjects. And Jacqueline’s mum is teaching me Chinese. It’s really hard, but I’m determined to learn. It’s funny how when Dad was alive I felt completely English, whereas now I definitely feel half Chinese. I think it’s because of meeting so many
of his relations and hearing their stories.

My grandfather is not so friendly as Jacqueline and her branch of the family, but he does now seem to have accepted that I exist. Jacqueline and I went to visit him yesterday in the Elderly Centre, and I tried to remember the song about the galloping horseman which Dad had told me was his favourite. I sang a little bit of it, and when I got the tune wrong he corrected me and finished the song off. That felt like a turning point. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.

Anyway, Flo, you can see that I feel kind of settled here, though maybe I could come to you in the Christmas holidays, if you’ll have me. It will be funny not to share with the birds.

Please give my love to your mum and to Caitlin.

With love from Leo

‘Walk quite smartly,’ said the dog trainer. ‘Then your dog won’t look around and get distracted.’

He was talking to the owners of a husky dog, a Jack Russell, a boxer puppy and another dog which looked like a mixture of all of these with a dollop of Labrador thrown in.

Finlay sat in the community hall watching the four dogs being walked by their owners round a square made of strips of black matting. This week some mangy-looking tinsel was festooned over the windows.

Every now and then the dog trainer called out ‘Halt!’ or ‘Forward!’ or ‘Change direction!’ and the owners (but not necessarily the dogs)
did their best to follow these instructions.

The Jack Russell, named Perdita, was a newcomer to the dog-training class, and her owner was none other than Ailsa Coutts from Finlay’s school. Dogs are often said to resemble their owners, and although in this case there was little physical similarity, Finlay reflected that Perdita was a model of deportment like Ailsa and had lost no time in becoming the teacher’s pet: ‘That’s a smashing wee dog you’ve got there,’ the dog trainer was saying.

At Finlay’s feet, Zigger strained on his lead, eager to join in the fun. ‘It’s all right, it’ll be our turn next,’ Finlay told him unenthusiastically. Going to these dog-training classes had been the condition his parents had insisted on when they agreed to let him keep Zigger. Boy and dog had already attended five sessions without Zigger making any marked progress, and Finlay wasn’t particularly looking forward to being scrutinised by the immaculate Ailsa.

Next to him sat Ailsa’s mother, a birdlike, breathless woman, who turned to him now and asked him, ‘Are you looking forward to the holidays?’

‘Yes,’ said Finlay. There was only one day of term left.

‘You’ll have to bring Zigger round to play with Perdie,’ Mrs Coutts said. ‘I’m sure Ailsa would like that – she’s told me so much about you!’

Just then Ailsa and the Jack Russell were walking along the strip of matting nearest to the chairs and Finlay fancied she had overheard her mother’s embarrassing remark, as she coloured slightly before moving briskly past. Finlay wondered what she had found to tell Mrs Coutts about him.

‘She said you were brilliant in that show. It was your own song, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh, that.’ Finlay had taken part in the end-of-term talent contest. He had originally put himself down to sing ‘Stone Sacrifice’ but
had then decided that the song was too heavy for the battered old acoustic guitar which he had had since he was a kid. To his own surprise he had quite quickly written a song called ‘Running on the Cracks’, and had sung that instead. The song was inspired by his adventures with Leo, but the words were too obscure for anyone to interpret them at all coherently.

‘Well, Ailsa was dead good too,’ he replied. It was true. Ailsa had astonished Finlay with the ferocity of her cymbal crashes and the dizzy whirr of her drumsticks. It was fascinating to watch her usually settled curls flying about wildly as she threw herself into the performance.

‘I hear you might be going to join the band,’ said Mrs Coutts, beady-eyed with interest. Did she and her daughter spend all their time talking about him?

‘Only if I can get myself an electric guitar,’ he said gloomily.

Ailsa and Perdita returned, and it was Finlay and Zigger’s turn to pace the square, along with a poodle, an Alsatian and a low fluffy dog who was being pulled along in a sitting position.

‘Lead in the left hand, dog treats in the right hand,’ said the trainer. ‘Keep telling them they’re really good, they’re smashing, they’re awful clever, and give them a treat at every corner.’

‘You’re smashing, Zigger, you’re really good,’ said Finlay mechanically. Zigger was as usual tugging at the lead, much more interested in the poodle’s bottom than in the treats in Finlay’s hand.

‘Zigger’s so gorgeous,’ said Ailsa, once Finlay had returned to his seat. Finlay swelled with ownerly pride as she caressed one of the dog’s silky ears.

‘He’s not too bad as long as no one’s wearing a hat,’ he said.

Mrs Coutts’s eyes grew even beadier. ‘Have
you tried gradual exposure?’ she asked.

‘No, what’s that?’

‘It’s getting them used to something in stages. You could try putting a hat on the floor, quite a way away from you, then moving it a little closer, and then, when he’s used to that, putting it on your knee – gradually moving it nearer and nearer to your head.’

‘That’s a good idea. I’ll try it,’ said Finlay, though he couldn’t help feeling pessimistic.

The class continued with attempts to teach the dogs to sit and stay, and to come when called – predictably successful in the case of Perdita and less so with Zigger.

‘Don’t worry – he’s just a strong individual like you, Finlay,’ said Mrs Coutts, nudging her daughter. ‘That’s what you said about him, isn’t it, Ailsa?’ Ailsa busied herself with Perdita’s collar as if she hadn’t heard.

The trainer was making his farewell speech. ‘So, do a wee bit with them every day, and your dog will come on in leaps and bounds,’ he said.
Finlay privately thought that Zigger was all right at the leaps and bounds – it was just everything else that was the problem.

‘That’s us for the night then, folks. Have a Happy Christmas, but remember, don’t let them choke on the turkey bones. I’ll see youse back here in January.’

‘See you tomorrow,’ said Finlay to Ailsa as they emerged into the mild damp December air. He wished Mrs Coutts a merry Christmas and then let Zigger drag him home.

‘The girls are both here already,’ said his mother. Finlay couldn’t think for a moment who she meant, but then remembered that Leo and Jacqueline were coming round for Leo’s final evening before she left for Bristol the next day. Jacqueline had been characteristically mysterious on the phone when they had arranged this pre-Christmas get-together: ‘I’m like my mum. I like surprises,’ she had said. ‘But don’t get a present for me because I haven’t
got you one. I’m going to wait till it’s the Chinese New Year.’

‘Everything’s set up in the sitting room,’ said Mrs Grant now. She seemed to be in on this surprise, whatever it was. ‘But I don’t know if it would be a good idea to let Zigger in.’

It was too late. Leo had opened the door and Zigger raced into the room and was demonstrating one of what the dog-trainer called the ‘bad habits which are much easier to teach than the good ones, believe you me’, jumping up and licking the two girls’ faces effusively while they did the opposite of what they should have done, petting him instead of looking the other way and pretending they hadn’t noticed.

‘What’s all this?’ asked Finlay. A chair had been set up with a kind of checked cape draped over it, and opposite it was an easel.

‘I asked Jacqueline to paint your portrait,’ said Leo.

‘And I said Leo should do it, but I lost the battle,’ said Jacqueline.

Finlay lifted the cape. Underneath it was a curved pipe, and a checked cap with a peak.

‘It’s a deerstalker,’ said Leo. ‘You’re going to be Sherlock Holmes. It’s a Christmas present for Mary.’

‘She’ll just love that!’ said Jacqueline, even though she had never met Mary.

Finlay picked up the hat. Immediately, Zigger gave a menacing growl.

‘We’d better shut him out,’ said Leo.

‘Unless I try gradual exposure,’ said Finlay in an expert tone. ‘That’s what Ailsa’s mum suggested.’

‘Ailsa – aha, I knew you were a lady’s man the first time I met you,’ said Jacqueline.

‘Don’t be daft.’ Finlay hoped that he hadn’t gone pink.

He placed the hat on the floor in the opposite corner of the room and then returned to the armchair. ‘Stay, Zigger. Good dog,’ he said.
But Zigger, hearing the sound of a tin-opener in the kitchen, raced out of the room.

‘Let’s get on with the portrait,’ said Leo.

‘I hope I’m getting a fee for this modelling.’ Finlay put the cap on his head and the cape round his shoulders. He pretended to take a puff of the pipe.

‘That’s great – hold it there!’ said Jacqueline behind the easel. She laughed. ‘Actually, I don’t think you look a bit like Sherlock Holmes. He didn’t have cute rosy cheeks like you.’

Finlay thought it more dignified not to reply, and he was relieved when a frown of concentration replaced Jacqueline’s normal teasing expression.

‘Don’t you think it’s a great idea?’ said Leo. ‘I’ve checked with the ward, and they’re going to let Mary hang it in her room.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. She’ll probably decide I’m the long-lost leader or something,’ said Finlay.

‘I don’t think so. I went to see her today and
she was much more her old self, giving me all the ward gossip and beating me at pool. She’s put on a bit of weight too.’

‘It must be all the Chocolate HobNobs the Godfather’s been bringing in for her.’

‘Jim Docherty said she’s got a discharge plan. She should be out some time in January.’

‘But for how long? Won’t it just happen all over again if she refuses to take the pills?’

‘Apparently she doesn’t have to take them any more. She’s agreed to have a depot injection every month.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I think it’s more or less the same stuff that’s in the pills, but injected into the body and then released slowly.’

Jacqueline interrupted them. ‘Could you two stop discussing the wonders of modern science for a few minutes – I’m trying to get Finlay’s mouth right. And Finlay, can’t you look a bit more sleuth-like?’

‘How do I do that?’

‘Think about dumplings, maybe.’

After a few minutes of obedient silence and dumpling thoughts, Finlay started to feel fidgety and hungry. He was also a little annoyed because Leo was now standing behind the easel and looking as if she was trying not to laugh.

‘I think I can stop now,’ said Jacqueline at last. ‘I’ve got the outlines – I can do the rest from memory.’

‘Let’s have a look.’ Finlay joined them behind the easel.

‘No! Wait till it’s finished!’ Jacqueline laughed and tried to cover up the picture with her little hands.

‘I look about ten years old,’ said Finlay.

‘I think it’s a really good likeness,’ said Leo, ‘even if he looks more like a cherub than a detective.’

‘I can’t help that – Finlay just
does
look like a little angel,’ said Jacqueline.

‘Thanks a lot,’ said Finlay, who had spent
much of the past year cultivating a satanic image.

‘Anyway, I bet it’ll make Mary’s Christmas,’ said Leo.

‘That reminds me,’ said Finlay. ‘I’ve got something for you, Leo.’ He fumbled under the Christmas tree and handed her a small, inexpertly wrapped packet.

‘Thank you! Can I open it now or do I have to wait till I’m in Bristol?’

‘Open it now! I want to see it!’ said Jacqueline.

Leo tore off the cheap Barras Father-Christmas paper and Finlay felt a flutter of anxiety.

‘Oh, Finlay, it’s lovely!’ Leo looked quite overcome as she examined the little old book bound in maroon leather. ‘
Macbeth
, by William Shakespeare’ said the faded gold letters on the front.

Jacqueline nudged her. ‘What about Finlay’s present?’ she said.

Leo put the book down. She hesitated, then spoke slightly nervously: ‘Finlay, I need to explain something first. Now that I’m back in touch with Aunt Sarah, I’ve found out about my parents’ will. The money has come through, and I wanted to get you something special.’

‘I know – it’s a bag of doughnuts!’ said Jacqueline.

Leo was looking a bit embarrassed. ‘It’s a bit more than that,’ she said. ‘It’s a thank you present for being a really good detective and a really good friend.’

She reached under the sofa.

‘Sorry the paper’s not very fancy,’ she said, as she drew out a long, flat box wrapped in plain brown paper embellished with hand-drawn musical notes.

Finlay tried not to gasp, in case he was wrong. But he couldn’t be, surely. That size and that shape of box …

‘Go on, open it!’ said Jacqueline.

Finlay unwrapped the paper. He opened the box.

Inside it lay a black and silver electric guitar.