The Father's House (12 page)

Lucy didn't have time to be happy. Her mind was constantly working on how to get away. The prospect of marriage in less than two years' time preyed on her mind. Also, since her three nights in the cellar, and the new tenant's arrival, Dorothy's talk of abductions and disposals seemed more credible. If she didn't manage to get into the father's flat, she'd just have to leave without her birth record and hope for the best, but the more she thought about it the more difficult running away seemed to be. It was not just a matter of walking out of the door, because of Paul. She would never leave him behind, but how would she feed him, and keep him warm and clean if she couldn't get work? And how would she find out who was the proper person to go to for documents? Was it a policeman, or a court, or someone in the government? She wouldn't be able to ask any of them because they were all infiltrated. And she was just so ignorant! She knew absolutely nothing about the outside world.

These thoughts ran continuously through Lucy's mind as she and Paul played. The garden was huge, and full of places for hide-and-seek. She would shout to give Paul a clue from wherever she was, behind a shrub, or under the sacks in the garage, but her mind was elsewhere. If they went on the common no-one could see them behind the bushes that surrounded the pond and Lucy loved the privacy of their own secret world, but even there the same old questions were hammering away inside her head. Paul was fascinated by the tiny frogs and funny little insects that darted about on the water's surface, but it was hard to snap out of her own thoughts and share his enthusiasm. She tried her best, because his pleasure gave her pleasure and she adored the sweetness of his smile, his big hazel-green eyes and his soft curly hair.

One day, when the sun was shining and the night-time figure and rat were winter memories, and the leaves were beginning to unfold on the lime tree, Lucy climbed the ladder at the side of the garage and stepped over the turret onto the flat roof. She crossed over towards the garden wall and looked down into the gap between it and the garage. There was no sign of the rat. Perhaps she had imagined it.

A narrow wooden platform spanned the gap at one end creating a little bridge from the garage to the wall. Cautiously, Lucy tested the bridge with her foot. It tipped slightly towards her. She jumped back and tried again, planting her foot well into the middle. It seemed steady. Looking over the back of the garage she checked that Paul was playing happily with the earth and singing to himself. Then, with one firm step onto the middle of the bridge she took another step that reached the top of the wall. It was about eighteen inches wide. She lowered herself onto her hands and knees and, not daring to look down, crawled towards the overhanging branch of the lime tree.

Once in the tree she felt safe. The branches spread out comfortably in all directions from a good wide trunk that provided plenty of room for sitting. Lucy wondered if she would be allowed to ask Thomas to build her a tree house – though there was no point because she would be leaving. She would have to remember to say goodbye to Thomas before she went.

Looking at the ground below, she reckoned she would be able to swing down safely if Aunt Sarah were to call her. She climbed a bit higher and, seating herself comfortably between two boughs, she had a good look over the wall at the house next door. There was a large garden like the father's but with nothing of interest, just a big lawn marked out in faded white lines for tennis, and flowerbeds all round. The grass needed mowing, and the beds were full of weeds. According to Aunt Sarah the owner was a diplomat, and was always away in other countries. He should have arranged for someone like Thomas to come in and look after the garden. The father's garden was nice and tidy in comparison, and much more interesting with all its shrubs and trees and secret places.

She turned round in the hollow of the branches and looked up at the house. From an angle she could almost see into the father's flat on the first floor. If only Thomas's ladder were longer she'd be able to smash the window and climb in. It was a pity the drainpipe wasn't closer to the window because she could have climbed that easily. Pulling herself higher she moved up and over until she found a niche which gave her a better view. Her skinny little figure fitted nicely into the fork of a branch. The first-floor window was big and from here she could see down and into what she guessed was the father's living room. There was a desk under the window and beyond that two armchairs and a sofa. In fact, she could see right through the room and out through a window on the other side. It was lucky he was at work because he would have been extremely angry if he'd caught her staring in.

On the second floor the windows were small and the bars made it difficult to see anything more than the white sides of the casement, and the fringed edge of a partially drawn blind.

It was interesting to see the world from a different angle. Lucy sat there watching Paul as he pottered around humming to himself. She called to him and waved, and he laughed to see her in such a strange place.

A black cloud went over the sun and a breeze blew up. The bright spring leaves fluttered and Lucy felt a heavy drop of rain. As she was about to turn herself around ready to climb down she had one more look up at the second-floor window, and a face appeared. She didn't move. The tenant was looking down into the garden. Lucy could see that it was not a man, but a beautiful woman with dark brown hair.

She had been told many times never to bother the tenant, and she knew that if there was a complaint about her she would be punished, and the sin would be added to her record. Dorothy's warning about the dreaded disposal was never far from her mind. She pressed herself back against the tree trunk and hoped that her own brown hair was acting as a camouflage.

The woman looked up at the sky. The sun had gone behind a cloud. Perhaps it would rain, perhaps not. It would make no difference to her. Seasons would come and go, the leaves on the lime would change colour and fall and grow again. Nevertheless, as she looked at the tree, its sprouting spring foliage gave her pleasure. Suddenly she realised that gazing up at her through the lacework of twigs was a pair of big anxious eyes.

Lucy stayed still. She knew she had been seen. Two arms appeared next to the face and struggled with the window. The bottom section shot up with a bang and the face pressed itself up against the bars. Lucy twisted herself round to face the tree trunk and slithered down until she reached the lowest branch. For a moment she swung from her hands and then dropped. As she reached the ground she heard Aunt Sarah calling for her. Hot in the face, she sauntered as casually as she could over to the back door. Aunt Sarah emerged with a brush and pan in one hand, looking cross.

“Where have you been? You're supposed to be looking after Paul.”

“I was just looking for another trowel to dig my garden,” said Lucy. “Paul's been using mine.”

“Well, don't leave him like that again. Goodness knows what he'll get up to. I'm much too busy to be watching you all the time. Quick, come in both of you. It's raining.”

Paul was humming his little tune, and singing the one and only song that he knew. “I can see you, I can hear you, I can watch your every action,” he sang. He abandoned his garden and followed Lucy into the kitchen.

“Aunt Sarah, I saw Lucy up in the sky.”

“Did you indeed!” said Sarah. “Come and play indoors now while it's raining, both of you, and don't get under my feet.”

There's something up with that child, thought Sarah.

Lucy was tense and fidgety for the rest of the school holidays, and hardly ate her food. Each day she waited for the tenant to put in a complaint about her, and for the father's massive hand to grab the back of her neck. She couldn't help wondering how unsuitable girls were disposed of. Would it be the lethal injection, the same as Dorothy's mother? Lucy longed for the beginning of term so she could ask Dorothy more questions – even though she might not want to believe the answers.

When the summer term began in the first week of May Dorothy was no longer there. Lucy looked for her in the corridor and in the cloakroom but there was no sign of her. At lunch time she searched in vain in the bushes surrounding the playing field and behind the bicycle shed. Nobody referred to her absence, and eventually Lucy asked one of the girls from the Drax commune where she was.

“We don't know. She went to bed one night and wasn't there in the morning. We're not allowed to talk about it.” The girl ran off.

That evening Lucy waited in the corridor for David to come out of the boys' cloakroom. She studied the noticeboard with one eye on the cloakroom door. There was a note saying that the Wednesday prayer meeting had been cancelled because the Holy Leaders were away on the Envoy's business. Why on earth couldn't people pray without the Holy Leaders? Next to it was list of the last end of term exam results. There was her name, and she'd done well. In fact she had by far the highest marks in her class. At least the father couldn't be angry with her for that.

Dorothy's name was not listed.

A group of boys emerged from the cloakroom shifting their satchels onto their backs and pulling on their caps. Lucy moved as casually as she could away from the board, and stood aside as they went past. David was among the stragglers. His blazer was spotlessly clean and his silvery-blond hair was neatly combed down ready to face critical inspection by the aunts at Drax House. He and Matthew were whispering about something a teacher had said. Matthew put an arm round David's shoulder.

Catching Lucy's eye David wriggled away and put his satchel down on the floor and rummaged through it. “You go on,” he said to Matthew. “I haven't got my homework book. I'll have to go back.”

Matthew joined the group of boys in front and disappeared down the steps. Lucy walked past David and he fastened up his satchel. Out on the steps she slowed down until he was alongside her.

“Do you know where Dorothy is?” she asked, looking straight ahead and scarcely moving her lips.

“Gone,” muttered David through clenched teeth. “But I don't know where.”

He moved one step down ahead of her just as the headmaster emerged from the front door. At the bottom of the steps he turned left as always, towards the entrance to the bike shed, and Lucy stepped over to the traffic lights. The headmaster waddled past David and climbed into a car parked at the side of the building. David lingered until he had driven off, then fetched his bike. Instead of following the other boys as they aimed for the High Street he pushed his bike towards the lights, and stood behind Lucy.

The green man appeared and, as Lucy moved off, Matthew looked back.

“Hey! David! Why are you going that way?” he shouted.

“Bike practice!” David called back.

He was too late to catch the green man and Lucy had already crossed. She glanced over at him, and walked on slowly up the hill.

He bent down and fiddled with one of his tyres. Out of the side of his eye he watched as Matthew cycled up the High Street towards the Drax House commune. When the green man came again he crossed and waited until a red double-decker bus blocked Matthew from view, then he hurriedly pushed the bike up South Hill. When he caught up with Lucy she was talking to a scruffy-looking little boy of about ten who sat on the gate at number 38.

As David came up George turned towards him. “Here's another snoot from the snooty sect. A nutter from the nuthouse.”

“Nutter yourself,” said Lucy, and moved on wishing she had a better vocabulary for dealing with insults. David ignored George. He hastened up the hill alongside her.

“He's right,” he said. “They're a bunch of nutters. They're crazy and they're evil.”

“I don't know what to believe,” said Lucy. “I just wish I knew where Dorothy was.”

“So do I. But she'll be alright, as long as she doesn't get caught. All I know is that if some of the mothers manage to get away they have to make sure they're not caught.”

“What happens if they are?” asked Lucy, hardly wanting to hear the answer.

“Disposal.”

Lucy's heart plummeted. She didn't want to believe it, but she was terribly afraid it might be true. Fear for Dorothy clutched at her insides.

“How will we ever know what happened, if we never hear from her again?” she asked tremulously.

David's voice cracked. “We won't.”

They turned into the lane towards the common.

“Listen,” said David. “You can trust me for ever because you didn't tell on me about the hymn singing, but don't trust anyone else. I must go back now.”

He jumped onto his bike. Lucy stared after him. The silver-blond hair that he had smoothed down so neatly was now blowing all over the place in the wind, and his shirt had come out at the back. The aunts at Drax House would not be pleased. They took pride in their reputation for clean and tidy children. As Lucy walked over the common all she could see was Dorothy's cheeky smile, and she felt bereft. If Dorothy could have seen the misery on her face at this moment she would have said, “Stop looking so dismal! Hold your head up and be proud. You'll think of something.” When she was halfway along the path Lucy turned round and could see George sitting on his back wall, staring after her. He waved.