The Father's House Read online

  The tenant’s eyes opened. Her lips were still moving almost inaudibly. Lucy had a good look out of the window to see if there was any possibility of jumping out, but they were high up, and without the father’s soft leather cushions it was unlikely they would land safely. Dorothy was looking out too, and shook her head slightly at Lucy.

  “I’m going off shift now,” called Walter from the doorway. “My replacement’s come. It’s Fred. Got to rush.”

  “Bye,” said Edna, without taking her eyes off the tenant. “See you!”

  He went out and shut the door.

  The voice on the bed rose into a definite murmur. The tenant moved her head slightly and looked around. The sound became clearer.

  “Lucy, Paul, Lucy, come back, Lucy, Paul, Lucy,” she said. “Lucy, Paul, Lucy, come back.”

  “She must have heard you shouting,” the nurse said to Edna. “It’s sparked her off, so you’ve done some good there! This might be all she needed.”

  “She’s probably thinking of the fire,” said Lucy. “We had to leave her behind when the paramedics came. We knew she’d be alright with them.”

  The tenant closed her eyes and there was silence for a while. The nurse made some more notes on the record sheet and prepared to leave. “That’ll be it for a while, I expect,” she said.

  There was a movement on the bed. The tenant’s eyes opened and tried to focus on the three faces hovering over her. “Where are they?” she said. Her voice was low and husky. “Lucy, Paul?”

  Lucy picked up Paul and sat him on the edge of the bed.

  “Put him down. Get away from the bed, both of you,” snapped the nurse. Lucy ignored her.

  “Here we are,” she said soothingly. “This is Paul, and I’m Lucy.”

  The tenant turned her head slowly towards them, and looked into their faces.

  “Hello,” she whispered.

  Paul started to hum. The nurse pulled Lucy away and plonked Paul down on the floor.

  “I told you to get back!” she said crossly. “Now, all four of you, get out. You can wait outside. Police or no police, the patient comes first.”

  “And don’t you dare move from there,” called Edna after them.

  The tenant closed her eyes and turned her head away, and the children hurried out of the room. Fred was standing by the door. Dorothy looked up at him and smiled.

  “We’ve been told to leave,” she said. “Someone’s coming to take us to a safe place, and we’re going to wait for him down in the foyer.”

  “S’long,” said Fred.

  They walked calmly though the double doors, down the stairs and across the foyer. As they left the main entrance behind them they passed two police officers on their way in.

  Back in the hospital room the tenant stirred again. Voices floated and faded, and floated back again. Warm and comfortable. Was she dead? Was this heaven? Then nothing. Just sleep. They came again, the voices. This was nice. Perhaps her mother was here somewhere, and her father. Could she see the blue front door? No. She couldn’t because her eyes wouldn’t open. Too much of an effort. She felt safe. Then, nothing but darkness. Sleep. Voices again, louder this time. She’d heard those names – Lucy, Paul. She could see a baby, pink and pretty, and then another one. The names were important, but she couldn’t place them. Never mind. This was very pleasant. She breathed deeply, once, twice, and again. With each breath a mist lifted slightly. Now she remembered her own name – Maria. Her pulse quickened. There was a fire. Two children. She lifted her head slightly.

  “Where have they gone?”

  The three adults had no need to bend forward to hear what she said because her voice was clear. Bill started writing.

  “Where are my children?” She tried to move. “They were here just now.”

  “Can you tell us your name, love?” said Edna gently.

  “I’m Maria. Where are Paul and Lucy?”

  “They’re outside with the guard. I’ll fetch them for you, Maria.”

  There was a knock on the door and two police officers entered with Fred just behind them.

  “They’ve gone,” said Fred. He sounded embarrassed. “They said they were being fetched.”

  From behind his newspaper Father Drax had his eye on the main entrance to the hospital. He needed to catch Thomas when he came out, and he wished he’d hurry up. The shift must have finished at least twenty minutes ago. He was fed up with this damp bench and did consider sitting on his briefcase, but decided against it. It might crush it out of shape, and it had been very expensive. All his documents were in that case – his bank accounts and different pin numbers and aliases and passports, as well as all his children’s birth records.

  The hat was pressing into his forehead. It was much too small for him. He wasn’t used to hats, but the brim was fairly wide and it hid his yellow hair. If it weren’t for his hair no-one would recognise him now – not after more than a week of sleeping under those filthy railway arches. This was the first time he’d dared to come back to the area in daylight since his commune was raided, and he hoped he just looked like a very tall tramp. He stooped his shoulders to make himself shorter, and bowed his head. Thomas would get him away somehow so that he could lead a normal life, but first he must help him find those two treacherous brats of his. He’d stop their mouths for ever – especially the girl. She’d started it, and she’d ruined everything for him – her own father!

  A police car pulled up outside the gates and he buried his face in the sports page as two officers walked purposefully towards the main entrance. He peeped out sideways as they went up the steps, and then he swore quietly to himself. As cool as four cucumbers his son and daughter, plus a couple of Copse’s kids, sauntered down the steps, past the police officers, and out through the gates. There was no need for Thomas now. Pulling the hat down even tighter he stood up, picked up the briefcase, and followed the children, throwing his newspaper in the bin as he went. It had his face on an inside page but no-one would recognise him in this get-up. Even so, he took the paper out again and crumpled up the middle bit and then put it back in the bin.

  “We’ll go along the Southcote Road first,” said Dorothy, “and pick up some food.”

  They followed her down a side street to a long road that ran behind the hospital, full of market stalls. Some of the traders were beginning to pack up. Dorothy picked up a fallen apple and popped it into Lucy’s canvas bag. A few yards later on she found a small bunch of bruised bananas.

  “We’ve got quite a long walk in front of us,” she said. “I’m going to take you to where I hid when I ran away from Drax House. It’s under a railway arch, and lots of people like us go there, and they can light fires and keep warm and cook things. The police will be looking for us near the hospital, so they won’t guess we’ve gone so far. Maybe that boy called Tom will be there, and he’ll help us.”

  A tiny flame flickered in her heart as she thought of Tom.

  They trudged along pavements for over an hour. For a while they followed the Thames, but they felt too exposed, and turned in towards the back streets. Paul was exhausted and was dragging on Lucy’s hand, whining. They came to a small triangular playground with swings, some dreary bushes, a bit of grass, and public conveniences. There was nobody else about. Dorothy shoved her hand into a rubbish bin and groped around, and pulled out two cardboard coffee cups.

  “We’ll stay here for a little while,” she said, sitting down on a bench. “Here, Lucy, take Paul into the lavatories.” She handed her a cardboard cup. “Wash this really thoroughly till you’ve got rid of all the germs, and then make sure you both have a good drink of water because we might not get another chance for a while.”

  When she and Paul returned Dorothy dished out the bananas, and they all had a couple of bites of the apple. Huddled together on the bench, they tried to work out a plan of action, but without much success.

  Dorothy’s spirits rose as she thought of Tom.

  “Once we’ve had a good night’s sleep, we’l
l be fine.” She smiled as she remembered the laughter in his voice and his cheery acceptance of life under the railway arches.

  “I’m too tired to think,” said Lucy. “They’ve caught Thomas, and Father Copse, so the only one left is Father Drax. I suppose the Holy Leaders will see that he gets away safely.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Dorothy slowly. “It may be that they want to get rid of him so they can pretend he’s nothing to do with them. They might even try to dispose of him unless he’s got the sense to escape.”

  The children sat in silence, recovering their strength. Paul leaned on Lucy and fell asleep. It was nearly dark.

  “I’ll have to carry him piggyback,” said Dorothy, “otherwise we’ll never get there. It’s only about another mile.”

  They woke Paul up and made him stand on the bench behind Dorothy. She pulled his hands round to the front of her shoulders, and wrapped his legs round her waist.

  “Holy Bag! He weighs a ton!” Her legs buckled momentarily, and she straightened herself up. “Right, now we’re going to have to try to follow the railway line.”

  Trains thundered past overhead as they plodded on slowly through dimly lit back streets.

  “Is it here?” asked Lucy nervously, as they reached a railway arch seething with dark figures.

  “No, not that one,” whispered Dorothy. “Come away from there. That’s a bad one. Keep going.”

  She put Paul down.

  “I can’t carry him any longer. It’s not much further.”

  David and Lucy each took a hand and pulled him along as best they could. Then they linked their palms and sat him on their hands with his arms clutching their shoulders.

  “You’re too tall,” said Lucy. “We’re lopsided.”

  “It’s you. You’re too short,” said David.

  For a moment the strain left their faces and they looked at each other and laughed.

  Every few hundred yards they stopped and changed sides.

  “Paul, you’ll have to walk now,” groaned Lucy eventually. Her arm felt as though it was about to drop off. “You must try to be big and strong.”

  They put him down, and all four children trudged on, too tired to complain. A wind blew up and it started to rain. David pulled up his hood. Big cold drops fell on Lucy’s head.

  “I left my cap in the hospital.”

  “Never mind,” said Dorothy, pointing to a flickering glow two hundred yards ahead. “Look, there it is.”

  At last they came to an arch where a fire was burning and a delicious smell of sausages wafted out towards them.

  “Let’s see if Tom’s there,” said Dorothy quietly.

  They stepped somewhat fearfully into a great black cave, lit fitfully by the leaping red, yellow and orange flames of the fire.

  “That’s Tom!” whispered Dorothy. She pointed at a young bearded man in a brightly-coloured cap propped up away from the fire against the right-hand wall of the arch.

  Stepping over a body to reach him, she said softly, “Hello, Tom. It’s Dorothy.”

  He looked up with glazed eyes. His arm crept round the shoulders of a woman leaning next to him. Her head flopped sideways, and he muttered, and his eyes rolled up till only the whites were showing.

  “You won’t get nothing out of him, love,” laughed someone. “He’s been stoned for days.”

  Dorothy’s heart sank. She stepped back to the others. Trying to keep the shock and disappointment out of her voice, she said quietly, “He’s very tired. Come on. Let’s go in the farthest corner out of the way, and try to sleep for a while.”

  No-one took any notice of them as they snuggled down together, and despite their hunger and the mouth-watering sausage smell that washed over them from the fire, they slept the sleep of exhaustion.

  When they woke dawn was casting a faint grey light into the entrance of the archway. The fire had gone out and sleeping bodies lay around the embers. Dorothy stood up and stretched. Tom and his woman friend were wrapped around each other, their faces a ghastly white against the black of the wall. A syringe lay on the floor beside them.

  Dorothy tried to push away the dull ache of misery inside her. Living in a commune made you pretty naive about the outside world but, even so, she felt embarrassed that she had believed in Tom. And she was ashamed that she had brought the others here. It had seemed so friendly, even cosy, when she had been here with Tom all those weeks ago. Now it just seemed sordid. Well, at least it had given them shelter for the night, and they could leave now, before everyone woke up. There was nothing to keep them. She breathed deeply, trying to quell her nausea, but the air was full of dust and ash, and the delicious whiff of sausages had settled into the sickening smell of grease.

  Ok. So she too had been betrayed by a friend. Too bad. It was time to pull herself together. She looked down at her nice red skirt. It was dusty and crumpled. She brushed it down briskly with her hands and fluffed up her hair, and glanced over to the further side of the fire. In the dim light she could just distinguish some of the sleeping shapes and features. She breathed in sharply.

  “David,” she whispered. “Look who’s over there, beyond the fire to the left.”

  She pulled at his arm and he stood up. In the dim light from the mouth of the archway he could just make out the curled-up shape of a very tall man with thick golden blond hair. His head rested on a black briefcase, and his face was relaxed in sleep.

  “He’s followed us,” murmured David.

  “Or perhaps he’s hiding from the Holy Leaders. Whatever it is, let’s go!”

  The children crept out into the street. As they left Father Drax lifted his head and then clambered stiffly to his feet. He picked up his briefcase and looked around for his hat – his disguise. It wasn’t on the ground. There it was two feet away, adorning the medusa-like locks of a sleeping youth. Nits? No thanks! Never mind the hat. Clutching the briefcase he stepped over several bodies. Then, keeping well back, he followed the children as they hurried up the street.

  After a few hundred yards Dorothy slowed down.

  “At least he didn’t see us,” she said. “I’ve got to find a phone. We don’t need money to phone the police.”

  They half-ran along the back streets looking for a public telephone. There wasn’t a soul to be seen in the early morning light apart from one sleeping body in a doorway. They sidestepped past it quietly, and it didn’t stir.

  The first phone was vandalised and it took them some time to find another.

  “No wonder people use mobile phones,” grumbled Dorothy.

  At last they found a phone outside a pub, and it actually worked. The children sat on the pavement next to the booth. It took Dorothy some time to get through to the right person and to make herself understood. David and Lucy were desperate to move on. Paul’s attention was caught by a cyclist, and then, far away at the bottom of the street, by a tall man with fair hair.

  “Yellow hair,” he said. “Father Drax had yellow hair.” David and Lucy followed his gaze, but, apart from the cyclist who was coming up towards them, there was no-one to be seen.

  “His hair’s not yellow,” said Lucy. “It’s his cycling mackintosh.”

  Dorothy was giving directions to the railway arch.

  “He’s tall and blond,” she said finally. “You’ll have to hurry or he might be gone when you get there.” She put the phone down and pulled David up from the pavement by his sleeve. “Come on, quick!” she said. “Let’s get away from here in case they trace the call to this phone box.”

  Scuttling down a narrow side street lined with parked cars, they didn’t see Drax as he turned the corner at the top end and followed them with cautious steps. They found their way to the South Bank of the river and sat on a bench looking at the sunrise. The sky was a soft pink and silver. Somehow it soothed them, and the tension that had gripped them for days started to seep away. They relaxed a little. Drax stood watching from the far side of a parked car about two hundred yards away.

&n
bsp; “Let’s make a pact,” said Dorothy. “We all stick together through thick and thin.”

  “Agreed!” exclaimed David.

  Lucy pulled Paul to her and nuzzled her face in his woolly hat. “We’ll agree too. Won’t we, Paul?”

  “Agreed!” he shouted, and they all laughed.

  “Even if we’re caught by the Holy Leaders, and even if one of us finds our mother, and even if all of us find our mothers, we’ll be blood brothers and sisters for the rest of our lives,” said David.

  “I’ll never find my mother,” said Dorothy bitterly, and no-one spoke.

  Lucy broke the silence. “You don’t really know,” she said. “What you heard may not have been true. It may have been said just to frighten you into not being so cheeky.”

  Dorothy straightened herself up. “Maybe. Anyway, David’s my half-brother so I’m very lucky. You are too because you’ve got Paul. If we’re all four of us blood brothers and sisters, we’ll have each other, so we’ll be even luckier. We’ll be a family. Not everyone gets the chance to create their own special family.”

  A surge of excitement swept through Lucy.

  “We really are the luckiest people in the world!” she exclaimed. “We’ve not only managed to escape, but we’ve got each other!” She took in great gulps of the sharp morning air. “None of us has ever had a family before.”

  She dug in her bag for the awl.

  “We’d better not actually draw blood with this,” she said, “in case we get an infection. But if each of us gives each of the others a poke with it, and says, ‘I swear to be your blood brother (or sister) all the rest of my life,’ that’ll bind us together for ever.”

  David took the awl. He held Lucy’s small hand in his. It was very grubby, but it was warm and soft, and it pleased him to hold it.

  “This is a strong, brave hand,” he said quietly. “It saved our lives.”

  Lucy left her hand in his. She was too taken aback to say anything.

  Dorothy smiled. “You’ll embarrass her,” she said. “But it’s true.”

  She turned to Paul and picked up his plump little paw. “This is a strong, brave hand too,” she said, giving it a loud kiss, “and it belongs to a strong, brave boy.”