The Boy Under the Table (26 page)

‘Lockie, Lockie, Lockie!’ The little girl flew down the driveway and launched herself at her brother, who went, ‘Oof,’ but he steadied himself and wrapped his arms around her.

‘Lockie, Lockie, Lockie,’ she repeated, as if to make the moment real for herself.

The man stood and stared at his children, still without realising that he was indeed looking at both his children. He started walking down the driveway.

He began with an angry quick stride but the closer he got the more unsure his steps became. He was a big man in charge of a big farm but his steps became small and faltering.

Tina could see the disbelief spreading across his face.

Sammy let go of Lockie and took his hand. She started pulling him up the driveway. ‘It’s Lockie, Dad. Look, it’s Lockie, come look, Dad, Lockie’s home. He’s home, Dad. I knew he would come home. I told you, Dad. Look its Lockie. Lockie, Lockie, Lockie’s home. Lockie’s home.’

The man stopped a few feet away from Lockie. His mouth was open. He moved it once or twice, but no words came out, and then came a sound that Tina had never heard before. It was a moaning, keening sound, but rough with the depth of his voice. It was four months of agony and the ecstasy of this moment all rolled into one. It was his heart right out there in the open for everyone to see.

He opened his arms and dropped to his knees.

Lockie let go of Sammy’s hand and continued alone up the driveway towards his father. He was twisting his hands and pulling at his jumper. He walked into his father’s arms and was completely surrounded by the large man.

‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Dad, I’m sorry.’

At the bottom of the driveway Tina watched Lockie and his father. Lockie’s voice was muffled by his father’s arms, but Tina could still hear him repeating, ‘I’m sorry.’

Say it
, Tina begged the man silently.
Please, please, just say it
.

‘Oh, Lockie,’ said the man through his tears, his large shoulders heaving. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry, Lockie. I’m sorry. I’ve been looking for you, Lockie. Where did you go, mate? Where did you go?’

Pete

Doug stood up with Lockie still in his arms. Lockie’s legs were wound tightly around his waist and Pete could see the man’s hands moving along his son’s body, feeling the changes.

They stood like that for a few minutes. Samantha ran up the driveway to join her father and her brother. She wrapped her arms around her father’s leg and put her thumb in her mouth.

Tina and Pete stood together.

Pete knew he should be grilling the girl, getting the full story before details were lost, but he was too spellbound by the reunion.

The boy he was watching was so different.

There was no way to avoid the truth. Someone, a very evil someone, had hurt his boy. Pete felt his fists clench. Whoever it was that had turned Lockie into the skinny kid trapped behind his pain, he would pay. If he had to spend his whole life looking for him, Pete would find him and then he would make him pay.

The girl had obviously helped Lockie. He had no idea if she had found him or if she had been with him the whole time, but Lockie kept saying that she had ‘saved’ him. He was a clever kid and he knew what the word meant.

Pete liked the way she looked at Lockie—like a lioness, like a sister, like a mother.

The skinny girl with short messy black hair could have been anyone. She looked about fifteen but when she spoke she sounded a lot older. She was wearing a big coat but underneath that Pete had caught a glimpse of a short skirt and a tight red top. Not the kind of thing a nice girl would wear. Maybe she wasn’t a nice girl but she was smart. That was easy to see. She was watching Lockie with his dad and Pete could see her body sag with relief. She was relieved to get him home. It must have been a promise she had made the boy. Pete had no idea how she’d got him home. She didn’t look like she had a cent to her name.

He sighed. So many questions to answer and the worst part was that some of the answers would be things he did not want to hear. Some of the answers would keep him up at night for the rest of his life. He wished he didn’t have to know, but he figured that if Lockie had been through it his family should know about it. If Lockie had been one of the small skeletons buried in the yard in Sydney they would have only been able to imagine what he had suffered. Now they would know.

Which way was better?

Pete thought about all the other parents who were waiting for the results of tests from the police. For a moment he let go of what needed to be done and what was to come and he offered up a prayer of thanks. Then he offered up a prayer for strength for all those other parents who would never again get to feel their kid’s arms around their neck.

And then he wiped his eyes because he was a grown man and a cop and he really shouldn’t be standing in the driveway crying.

Doug

It was getting really cold out in the yard, but no one was going anywhere. Doug could feel his body swaying. Swaying like it had when he held Lockie as a tiny squalling creature who refused to sleep. Swaying to comfort and calm the boy. Swaying to calm himself.

He turned to walk back into the house and felt Sammy curl her arms tighter around his leg. He looked back at Pete and said, ‘Keep Sammy for me.’

‘No, I want to come,’ said Sammy.

‘You come stay with me Sammy, we can play in the yard—I’ll push you on the swings,’ said Pete.

‘No,’ said Sammy, holding on tight.

‘Samantha, please stay with Pete,’ said Doug.

‘I want to go with you Dad.’

‘Come, show Tina your cows,’ said Pete. Doug felt Sammy loosen her grip. She loved showing off the cows. For the first time, Doug noticed the girl standing next to Pete. He had no idea who she was, but that was unimportant right now.

Right now he needed to concentrate on keeping himself under control. Inside, his gut churned. There was a war going on.

The joy of holding his son again clashed with the waves of anger that rose higher and higher with each passing moment. He thought he had known why Pete had arrived at the farm. He had pushed the fork into the soil and watched the earth turn over sure that the truth of their tragedy was about to be laid before them. He had watched the dry earth give up the rich brown soil and wanted to stay there forever in the cold garden just watching his fork move the earth. He had not wanted to hear what Pete had to say.

And now this . . . this . . . What did you call this? A miracle? What else could it be?

But this miracle was tainted.

He was not holding the same boy he had taken to the Easter Show. This thin child with shaved hair was not the Lockie he knew. Someone had taken that child.

They had taken his child and he could feel by the weight of him they had starved him.

Before the Show he had started to envisage a time when the wrestling game they played would involve real strength. Lockie was getting stronger every day and he remembered feeling proud that his son would probably grow up to be a bigger man than he was.

The boy he was holding now was lighter than Sammy.

Someone had done this to him. They had done this and god knew what else.

Doug walked slowly into the house, trying to find the right way to break the news to Sarah.

She was lying down in the bedroom again. These days she spent more time there than anywhere else.

As he walked Lockie dropped his head and closed his eyes.

Doug took a deep breath. Lockie would have to wake up. He would have to wake up and say hello to his mother.

Doug walked slowly through the house to the main bedroom at the back. It was the only room in the house whose curtains were permanently closed.

How damaged was his child? Would he ever be the same boy they had taken up to the Show? What had been done to him? Dear God, what had been done to him?

His ribs stuck out even under the jumper he was wearing. It was not his jumper. He had been dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, perfect for the warm day. He had a cap with a Bulldogs logo. What could have happened to his clothes? How long had he had the jumper?

Doug bit his lip. First things first.

He opened the bedroom door cautiously and looked into the gloom. Sarah was on her back. Her mouth was slightly open. She was fast asleep. The room smelled musty with the heater on. Sarah slept tightly wrapped in her covers.

Doug swallowed. He wanted to run into the room whooping and shouting that Lockie was home but Sarah was so fragile he had no idea how she would react. He walked over to the window and opened the curtains. Outside it was getting dark already but enough light entered the room to wake Sarah up.

She moaned and opened her eyes.

‘Oh god, Doug, please just close them. I’m so tired.’

Doug sat down on the bed and Sarah turned her back to him. She had not looked at him.

Lockie opened his eyes and looked around the room.

‘Ready to say hello to Mum, mate?’ Doug asked.

‘Hi, Mum,’ said Lockie to his mother’s back. His voice had changed. It was deeper and had an edge to it. He sounded older. He sounded like someone who had seen too much. But Sarah would know it was her boy.

Doug saw Sarah’s whole body tense at the sound of Lockie’s voice and then she reached her arm behind her and twisted the skin on her back with such force Doug knew she would have left a mark.

‘It’s not a dream, Sarah,’ he said quietly. ‘He’s home.’

Sarah sat up, her eyes wide.

‘Hi, Mum,’ said Lockie again.

‘Hello, my boy,’ said Sarah softly.

Softly, as though he hadn’t been missing for four months.

Softly, as though he had just been away for a day.

Softly, as though she hadn’t been trying to die slowly.

Softly she said, ‘Hello, my boy.’

Doug could see her chest heaving.

‘We’ve been looking for you,’ she said, and then she held out her arms.

Lockie climbed off Doug’s lap and onto his mother’s legs. She wrapped her arms around him and pushed her nose into his neck, finding his scent and identifying her child.

Lockie buried his head against her breasts and then he began to cry. Just soft little sobs that were soon matched by his mother’s tears.

Doug wanted them to stop but tears were good. He would have to get used to tears.

They sat like that for a while until Sarah pulled away a little and got a tissue. She wiped her nose and face and then put the tissue to Lockie’s nose.

‘Blow,’ she said, and Lockie did as he was told. He was too old to be treated in such a way but Doug could see that he would have to go back a little before he could move forward again.

When the call had come from Pete about the security guard, Doug had known that he was the one who had taken Lockie. The certainty was a stone in his throat.

It was too coincidental. The police had interviewed every security guard at the Show and Doug had even watched a few of the interviews but he couldn’t have picked Edwin Bleeker out of a line-up. That was the man’s name. Edwin Bleeker. He was a small, scrawny person who looked like he would have trouble growing a proper moustache.

Doug had read about him online in the early hours of the morning after Pete had called. He knew the newspapers would have the story. They always did. He didn’t want to know but he had to know.

The rage had burned. Rage at the police for missing the man and rage at himself once again for having left his children alone. Lockie would have trusted a security guard. He had grown up knowing that the police were there to help. He would not have been dragged away kicking and screaming. He would have gone willingly.

Maybe he had stepped away from the stroller and found himself lost and even turned to the security guard for help.

What kind of a world was this?

Doug had known that he was the man who had taken Lockie and he knew that it was only a matter of time before the call came to confirm that one of the little skeletons found buried in the man’s garden belonged to Lockie.

He had not been able to tell Sarah. He had not been able to tell her and he had done his best to put it out of his mind until the end. He was glad the man was dead. A man like that needed to be killed. He needed to have his life ended in the worst possible way.

Doug had moved soil and milked the cows and he had carried his phone everywhere. He knew that he needed to be the one to take the call. He needed to be the one to tell Sarah.

Today he had woken up sure that it would be the day for the call. The landlines were down and he had let his mobile run flat.

He hadn’t really meant to do it.

He had meant to do it.

A few more days of hope for Sarah. It was the only gift he could give her.

And now his son was home. He had not been buried in the yard with the other kids. Doug did not have to be one of those fathers who had to choose a small coffin for his child.

He was home and he was safe and Doug could not believe his luck.

The man had surely been the one to take Lockie and yet here he was and the man was dead.

Doug couldn’t get his head around it.

He stroked Lockie’s head. He was lying on the bed next to his mother and she was singing softly—a song about a train full of sleeping children. Lockie’s eyes were closed again.

The boy was obviously exhausted.

He would leave them alone for a while. They would need the time.

Sarah began to talk quietly, keeping her voice low so that Lockie would keep sleeping. She whispered words that told him how things would have to work. Doug could hear the old Sarah knocking. The clever, educated Sarah trying to get through. He nodded. They would do things her way. He was fine with that. Right now he was fine with anything.

He had left Pete and Sammy out in the garden with the girl Pete had brought with him. She was obviously connected in some way to this whole thing, but how?

He stood up to go and find out.

Tina

Sammy was chattering away. She had dragged Tina to the side of the garden and clicked her tongue to summon her cows.