The Father's House Read online

  As she turned to leave she caught her foot in a pile of cloth and nearly fell. She shone the torch on it, and saw it was a man’s raincoat. Thomas never wore a raincoat. He had his old gardening anorak and the tidy jacket that he wore when he arrived for work. Picking up the raincoat and draping it neatly over the handle of the lawnmower Lucy made her way round various objects towards the door. The torch might be useful, she thought. It surely wouldn’t count as stealing. After all, it was Thomas and his friends who had burned down her so-called home. When she reached the door she shone the torch over the window sill in case there was anything useful. There was a jam jar full of small screws and dead flies, and another with dried-up paint brushes, but nothing interesting. In the corner between the window and the door, just under the hooks where Thomas hung his anorak, were the sacks that she and Paul used to hide under when they played hide-and-seek. They weren’t in their usual tidy pile. Somebody had been in and rumpled them up.

  At that moment Lucy heard someone approaching along the main road outside. She quickly switched off the torch and stood holding her breath waiting for the footsteps to go past. Instead they turned into the driveway and crunched through the gravel. There was no time to hide. She grabbed Thomas’s anorak and, pulling it over her head, dropped down into the corner on top of the sacks just as the towering figure of a bald-headed man appeared in the doorway, a plastic carrier bag dangling from his hand.

  Dropping the bag by the door, he came towards the corner where Lucy crouched, kicked against a tin of paint, and then seemed to be feeling along the window sill. He muttered some swear words. Lucy guessed he was looking for the torch. She pressed her face down into the sacks and held her breath as he stumbled away towards the further end of the garage. He knocked into the lawnmower and swore again. For a moment he was silent and Lucy guessed he had discovered the neatly folded raincoat. She heard him shaking it out and then quickly making his way back towards the door. Lucy lifted a tiny corner of the anorak with her finger and peeped out. She could see him standing just inside the doorway, pulling on the raincoat. Then his feet crunched hastily down the gravel drive and she heard him hurrying away, almost at a run.

  She waited until the footsteps had died away before she dared to pull the anorak away from her head. Sitting bolt upright on the sacks, she listened. A few cars went by, but no pedestrians. Rain started to patter heavily on the garage roof.

  Panic swept over Lucy as she remembered Paul. She had no idea how long she had been there. Clutching the torch, she jumped to her feet, and looked round the door. She could see Thomas’s hammer and a handful of nails lying near the wrecked double gates, but she daren’t leave Paul any longer, and she left them where they were.

  The rain was pelting down. Lucy hurriedly put on the anorak and pulled up the hood. The plastic bag lay on the floor where the man had dropped it. She shoved the torch, screwdriver and awl into it and ran, with visions of Paul lying injured or dead from some terrible accident. Almost tripping over the bottom of the anorak she dashed across the lawn and out via the rear alleyway into the diplomat’s garden. Brushing against weeds and tall grass, she ran down the overgrown path and in through the back door, and straight to the little sitting room off the kitchen. The cartoon characters were still jumping about on the screen, and Paul was asleep in the armchair. Lucy nearly collapsed with relief.

  Taking the anorak off in the kitchen, she shook it outside to get rid of the drips. She draped it over the back of a chair and, feeling some bits and pieces in the pockets, she took them out and laid them on the table. There was a biro, matches, tobacco and cigarette papers, and a tiny notebook. Her nice new borrowed trainers were soaked, and she put them in the laundry room. Then she shut the back door, pulled down the blind, fished the torch out of the plastic bag, and stood it in the centre of the table. Her eyes were so used to the darkness that the sudden light made her blink.

  She emptied the bag onto the table. Apart from the screwdriver and awl, there was a bottle of milk, two wrapped sandwiches, an apple and a banana, and a Mars Bar.

  In the side room Paul was stirring and snuffling.

  “Come on, lazybones,” said Lucy, snuggling down next to him for a minute. “It’s time for tea. And you’ve been such a good boy, there’s something really nice.”

  Shoving the contents of the anorak pockets up one end of the table, she set out the plates and mugs, and divided the plastic bag picnic into two equal shares. She hung the bag on the knob of a chair back to dry, and then they sat down and started with the Mars Bar.

  Later, in the dark on the Sunday night, Father Arthur was prowling round the outside of Copse House looking for Thomas. It was possible he might be here, helping in the kitchen. His shift in the hospital should have ended long ago, so why hadn’t he switched his phone back on? The lights had been off in his terraced cottage, and no-one had answered the door.

  Through the dining room window Father Arthur could see the aunts, who used to be his, laying a long table ready for the children’s supper. There was no sign of Sarah, nor of Thomas. He waited till the children started trooping in for their meal. They stood at their places like young sentries and bowed their heads in prayer, thanking the Magnifico for his generosity. At a signal from one of the aunts they all sat down and waited in silence as the meal was served. Fifteen children, all his plus a few discards, but Lucy and Paul were not among them.

  He needed somewhere to sit comfortably and think, and at the moment he had nowhere to go. The garage was out because it was obvious that someone else had been there and had seen his mackintosh. It might have been Thomas, but on the other hand it could have been one of Drax’s men snooping around – or a lingering fire officer. He couldn’t take the risk of going back there, and he was hungry. Creeping away from the window, he made his way back to the main road and, looking up and down in both directions, set off to find the nearest bed and breakfast. No-one would recognise him with his shaven head and stubbly chin. Tomorrow he would go into the woods behind Drax House and wait. Thomas occasionally worked in Drax’s gardens, and he might be able to catch his attention.

  With the light of the torch Paul and Lucy found themselves some clean pyjamas in the children’s bedrooms, and made themselves ready for bed before going downstairs to watch more television. Lucy settled Paul down in the armchair, and went to the kitchen to clear up their supper plates. She washed and dried them and put them away, just as Aunt Sarah would have wanted her to do. Then she looked at the bits and pieces from the anorak pockets.

  There was nothing very interesting, though the biro might be handy. The notebook was too small to be much use, and the writing in it was just numbers next to names. One name jumped out at her. ‘Sarah’ it said, and there was Aunt Sarah’s telephone number. Lucy had often answered the phone when it rang, and would recite the number politely before saying, “Father Copse’s private residence.”

  Lucy ran her eye down the list. There was Drax House, and ‘Father Drax private’ and, the good doctors, all followed by their phone numbers. Apart from that there was nothing familiar. At the end of the list were some capital letters, but all they said was ‘DRAX’. There was nothing Lucy could make use of. She didn’t even have a phone. She put the biro on the worktop and threw the notebook in the bin along with the lighter and the cigarettes. On second thoughts she retrieved the notebook. There were a few empty pages in it, and it might come in handy. She put it next to the biro.

  As for the plastic bag that had contained their supper, that was just what Lucy needed for the BWD file. If she had been carrying it on a night like tonight it would have been absolutely soaked, and her existence might have been washed away. It was important to keep it clean and dry. But however much she organised things for the time being, it was all pointless if she didn’t know how to reach the disposal cells. She sat down at the table and picked up the notebook again and stared at the figures. The problem of the code buzzed round and round in her mind.

  Paul wandered round the room,
humming.

  “Shush!” said Lucy. “I’m trying to think.”

  He climbed onto the chair opposite her and sat quietly until he was bored. Then he began to chant quietly to himself.

  “A, B, C,” he sang, “A is for apple, B is for boy, C is for cat.” He repeated: “A is for apple, B is for boy…”

  “Shush,” said Lucy again.

  She looked up. He was counting the letters on his fingers as he sang.

  “You don’t need to count A,B,C on your fingers,” she laughed. “That’s for when you count numbers, one, two, three.”

  “One, two, three,” sang Paul, counting on his fingers.

  “That’s right. Clever boy!”

  Paul looked pleased. Lucy tore a clean page out of the notebook and fetched the biro.

  “There now! See if you can draw me a tiny little picture while I’m thinking,” she said.

  There was silence for a little while as Paul drew his picture. Then he began again. “C is for cat. C is for cat.” He stopped, and Lucy looked up. He was counting on his fingers. Then he repeated, “C is for cat,” and plonked a thumb and two fingers flat on the table with the remaining two curled under his hand.

  “Let’s see your picture,” said Lucy. He scrambled down from his chair and came to stand by her side. Lucy studied the piece of paper carefully and managed to stop herself from saying, “What is it?”

  “It’s you and me,” said Paul.

  Light dawned. “Of course! I can see exactly what it is. That big circle is the gold chain – that’s me – and that little circle with the flowers is you.”

  “Yes. We hold each other safe.”

  They watched the ‘news where you are’ again. There was another request for the public to report any sightings of a girl who looked about eleven or twelve (what a cheek!) with a boy of three or four, but there was nothing really new, and no mention of David and the social worker.

  Later, as she lay in bed, Lucy’s mind searched for a way to get into the Drax cells. It was hard without really knowing what the actual entrance looked like. Perhaps she could dig a hole. If she went and had a look tomorrow some idea might come to her. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too late for Dorothy, but she couldn’t take Paul with her on a night like this. The screwdriver or the awl might not be enough to break a padlock, but they would do for scratching out some earth or poking into a keyhole. If it weren’t for the certainty that George’s parents would feel obliged to hand her over to the police or a social worker, she would have asked them how to break a padlock. She regretted now that she hadn’t taken the hammer and nails – she might have been able to bash it open. It would be too risky to go back for them now in case that man reappeared.

  As for getting to Drax House in daytime, that could be awkward because she would have to walk past the school, and she might be recognised in the street unless she could think of a disguise. She wouldn’t be able to leave Paul behind, and people would notice two children walking about in school hours. On the other hand, she couldn’t leave it too late because if the primary school had come out, George might be sitting on his gate. The best time to go would be just before three.

  Paul fell asleep almost immediately that night, but Lucy lay awake, her mind going round and round. Once she and Paul reached the shops no-one would notice them, but further on it would be risky. Drax House was on the left beyond the High Street and they would have to pass in front of it, as well as in front of Copse House which was on the opposite side of the road. If they managed to reach the narrow road that ran along the further side of Drax House they would be out of sight and safe. The entrance to the woodland was only a few hundred yards up that road. She could guess from David’s description where the opening to the passageway into the Drax House cells would be, and then the only remaining problem would be how to get in.

  In the end she decided she would have to cross that bridge when she came to it. Maybe she would be able to call out quietly to David, or even Dorothy, and they might have some ideas about the code or how to use the tools. Just as she was falling asleep she remembered the notebook and all those numbers. But none of them had six figures, and David had said the code was a six-digit number. The odd one out was DRAX which didn’t have a number at all, and was only four letters. Why would Thomas have written DRAX, when he’d already put in the Drax House phone number and the private residence? She would have another look at it in the morning. Suddenly something clicked in her head. Her heart beat rapidly. Paul and his fingers! Now she was wide awake and she crept out of bed and down the stairs. She couldn’t wait till tomorrow.

  Paul was objecting loudly. “I don’t want to!” he wailed, as Lucy struggled to pull some tights up his sturdy legs. “It’s for girls.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a disguise for boys,” she said firmly. “So no-one can recognise you. It’s like playing dressing up.”

  On the bed she had laid out a skirt taken from the little girl’s room, a jumper, an outdoor jacket made of cream-coloured fake fur, a woolly hat to hide Paul’s curls, and some suede leather boots.

  “You might be a bit hot as it’s only September,” she said. “But the fur will hide the shape of your body, and the boots will hide the shape of your legs, and of course, the hat will hide your head. So there’s no Paul left for anyone to see.”

  For herself she had the jeans she had worn yesterday, with a jumper, some clean trainers, a warm navy jacket, and a baker boy cap, all taken from the older boy’s room. When she had finished they looked at themselves in the floor-length mirror next to the wardrobe. She pulled the woolly hat further down on Paul’s face.

  “See, no-one would ever guess it’s you!” she exclaimed. “It’s like being invisible.”

  Paul didn’t look happy.

  “Now,” said Lucy, “the only thing wrong with me is my hair.” It was too long and heavy to go under the cap, even if she wound her pigtail round her head.

  In the kitchen she found some long pointed scissors in the knife drawer. Her plait was too thick to cut through, so she pulled off the elastic band and shook her head vigorously. Soft brown hair sprung up around her face and over her shoulders in a mass of curls. Bending over the bin she hacked it off in bits until it was short enough to get the scissors near the scalp. She ran her fingers all over her head and cut away the lumpy bits until it felt like a furry ball. They studied themselves in the mirror again. Lucy was satisfied. She looked exactly like a boy, especially when she put on the cap.

  “Paul and Lucy have disappeared,” said Paul. “We’re invisible.”

  Lucy pulled the blinds up slightly to let the daylight in, so that she could study the little notebook yet again. She sat down at the table and turned the pages.

  Paul distracted her for a moment.

  “It’s too hot,” he said, pulling off his woolly hat.

  “Yes, it is hot. I won’t be long.” It was quarter to three. “We’ll go soon,” she said. “Be quiet now for a little while. I just want to double-check this.”

  She picked up the scrap of paper with Paul’s drawing and turned it over. On the back she wrote: D = 4; R = 18; A = 1; X = 24. She set the numbers side by side: 418124. Yes, there were six digits, no mistake.

  “Paul! You might be a genius,” she breathed. “Only might be, but it’s worth a try. Come on. Let’s go. We’re going to get some fresh air.”

  She burrowed among some shopping bags hanging on a hook in one of the kitchen cupboards, and found a canvas shoulder bag. The BWD file, wrapped up in the plastic bag, went in first, and then the screwdriver, the awl, and the torch. The notebook and the scrap of paper with Paul’s drawing went in her pocket.

  “Right! Off we go!” she said. “And if anyone stops us on the way, don’t speak. OK? I’ll do all the talking. You are not to say a word. Not a word.”

  They turned right out of the back gate into the alleyway, passed the father’s house and two more houses, and then turned right again towards the main road. As they emerged onto the pavement
they bumped straight into the woman who lived on the other side of the father’s house. She stopped and looked at Lucy suspiciously.

  “What have you two been doing round the back there? I hope you’ve not been up to mischief, and why aren’t you at school, young man?”

  Lucy thought quickly.

  “We’re looking for our cat.”

  The woman did not seem convinced.

  “Oh yes?” She sounded very slightly disbelieving. “And what does your cat look like?”

  “He’s ginger. His name is Marma, short for Marmalade.”

  The woman stood with her hands on her hips.

  “You should be in school, not looking for cats. What’s your name and where do you live?”

  “I’m George, and this is my sister, Elizabeth.”

  Paul started to hum.

  “We live over there, number 38 South Hill,” said Lucy hastily. “I was allowed a short break. I’m going back to school now as soon as I’ve taken Elizabeth home,” she said, waving her hand towards the other side of the common.

  The humming grew louder.

  She smiled nervously at the woman and hoped she couldn’t see that she was shaking inside.

  “Goodbye!” she said. “Come along, Elizabeth.” She stepped away firmly pulling Paul with her. They crossed the road and made their way as fast as they could over the common. The woman stood staring after them, trying to think where she’d seen them before.

  On the common nobody took any notice of the young lad pulling his little sister along by the hand. Lucy kept her eyes open for suspicious characters, but it was a cold, windy day, and there was no-one around other than two joggers and a woman with a dog. As they approached the backs of the houses on South Hill they could see a drunk sleeping against a tree near the path, a bottle in his hand, and a couple of empty cans on the ground beside him. They tiptoed past. He opened one eye and shouted “Oy!” and they took to their heels and ran.