The Four Last Things (37 page)

He smiled, and for an instant the plainness of his face dissolved. ‘All right. But I still think we should go out.’

She shrugged, suddenly tiring of the discussion; it was easier to give in, and safer to be with Oliver than by herself. It took her much longer than usual to get ready. Everything distracted her – not the fact of Lucy’s loss but little, unnecessary things. Twice she counted the money in her purse, but she still could not remember how much she had. She hesitated over which of two jerseys to wear, her mind swinging restlessly between them, before realizing that it didn’t matter because her coat would cover the jersey, and in any case, she wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

At last she declared herself ready, not because she felt that she was but because she did not want to keep Oliver waiting any longer. He untangled the cars and they drove down to the Heath in the Citroen. They parked in Millfield Lane and walked south from Highgate Ponds towards Parliament Hill.

There were a few other people scurrying along the paths; the weather wasn’t warm enough for sauntering. She eyed them warily as they passed, ready for hostility, ready to assume that they belonged to a different order of humanity from hers. In a world where they stole children, anything was possible.

She walked close to Oliver, partly because she was scared in this green wasteland and partly because she was terrified that they would not hear his mobile phone if and when it began to ring. At first they did not talk. Then Oliver said something which she had to ask him to repeat.

‘I had a letter from Sharon this morning. She’s met someone else.’

‘Do you mind?’ Sally heard herself saying.

‘I feel relieved. I think we both felt guilty when we separated: guilty because the marriage hadn’t worked. If she finds someone else, it means the marriage wasn’t one of those permanent mistakes that can’t be put right.’

Like the death of a child.

‘So as soon as you find someone else, it will all be sorted out.’

‘That’s the theory. There’s a lot to be said for being able to start again, for second chances. But I suppose you wouldn’t condone that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Isn’t marriage meant to be for eternity?’

‘Yes. But you know very well that even committed Christians get divorced.’

‘Even clergy?’

The question took her aback. For an instant, Oliver’s meaning – or rather a possible implication of what he was saying – penetrated the fog of unhappiness and fear in Sally’s mind. ‘These days even Anglican clergy get divorced. Their bishop may not like it, but it happens.’

She glanced up at his face, and on the whole liked what she saw. He smiled down at her. It seemed bizarre and inappropriate that they should be having this conversation, that she should be thinking these thoughts at this time.
Your will be done
. It was too easy to drown in the mess of your own life. You had to cling to commitments, like spars, and hope they would keep you afloat.

‘Sally,’ Oliver said. ‘Have you ever –?’

‘Do you mind if we go back to Inkerman Street now?’ she interrupted.

‘What’s wrong?’

The fear flooded back. Oliver loomed over her, his face wooden, the features suddenly seeming exaggerated to the point of horror, like a gargoyle’s; she remembered thinking in that horrible little church in Beauclerk Place that David Byfield now looked like a gargoyle. David must have been a sexy man when he was younger. All her defences were down, she realized; she was vulnerable.

She shivered. ‘We must get back. I think something’s happened.’

‘I believe many are saved, who to man seem reprobated … There will appear at the Last day strange and unexpected examples both of his Justice and his Mercy; and therefore to define either, is folly in man, and insolency even in the Devils.’

Religio Medici
, I, 57

No time. No time to lose. No time to wonder about consequences.

Leaving Lucy asleep, Eddie ran upstairs to his bedroom and pulled open the wardrobe door. In the bottom was a brown canvas bag strengthened with imitation leather and fitted with a zip and lock plated to look like brass. It had belonged to Eddie’s father; every year Stanley would take it away with him on the Paladin camping holidays.

Eddie pulled out the bag, which had been squashed almost flat under several pairs of shoes. He unzipped it and glanced wildly round the room. He pulled a shirt from the wardrobe and stuffed it into the bag. Socks and pants followed. He opened the drawer where he kept his papers and riffled through the contents. He couldn’t find his cheque book so he pulled out the entire drawer and upended it on his bed. His cheque book and wallet joined the clothes in the bag. As an afterthought, he also threw in his birth certificate and his building society passbook. He returned to the wardrobe and rummaged around until he found the thickest jersey he owned. All the time he listened for the sound of the van pulling up outside.

On impulse, he took down the picture of the dark-haired girl from the wall, the picture his father had given his mother. He would have liked to have taken it but he knew it wouldn’t be practical. He tossed it on to the pillow. His aim was bad; the picture slipped off the end of the bed and fell to the floor; there was a sharp crack as the glass shattered in the frame.

Eddie carried the bag into the bathroom and collected toothpaste, toothbrush and shaving things. His legs were so wobbly that he had to sit down on the side of the bath. It was so unfair that all this should have come together – that he should have to cope with this while he was ill. He would need a towel. His own was wet so he took Angel’s, which smelled faintly of her perfume. The smell made him feel nauseous, so in the end he fetched a clean towel from the airing cupboard.

He went slowly downstairs and into the kitchen, where he opened cupboards at random. He might need food and drink. He added biscuits, two cans of Coke and a tin of baked beans to the contents of the bag. He checked his wallet and purse and, to his horror, discovered that he had only a few pence. He emptied out the jar of housekeeping money into the palm of his hand. There was less than five pounds, all in small change. He pushed the loose coins into the pocket of his jeans. He would need more than that, he was sure. He couldn’t rely on being able to get to a bank or a building society.

He remembered Carla’s green purse. It was in the basement, along with the Woolworth’s bag containing the conjuring set he had bought for Lucy on Saturday and had still not given to her.

Eddie went into the hall and pulled on his coat. He stood hesitating by the open door to the basement. He had not wanted to go down there. He peered in. Lucy was still asleep. Both the conjuring set and the purse were on the top shelf of Angel’s bookcase, far above Lucy’s reach. Eddie tiptoed down the stairs. He reached the bottom safely and, still carrying the brown bag, crossed the room to the shelves. He had to stand on tiptoe to reach the top one.

‘Eddie.’

In his surprise he dropped both the purse and the conjuring set. ‘What?’

‘Is it getting-up time?’

‘Well,’ said Eddie, answering a question of his own, ‘I don’t know.’ He bent down, picked up the purse and glanced inside the wallet section. There were at least three ten-pound notes.

Lucy wriggled out of bed and stared at the purse. ‘That’s Carla’s.’

‘Yes.’ Eddie scooped up the conjuring set. He slipped it and the purse into the brown bag.

‘What are you doing?’

Eddie stared at her. She looked enchanting in those pyjamas with the red stars on the deep yellow background; except that now the red stars made him think of splashes of blood. Everything was spoiled.

‘I have to go out for a bit.’

‘Stay with me,’ she wheedled.

Eddie smiled at her. ‘I wish I could.’

‘I don’t want Angel. I like you.’

‘Angel’s not here,’ Eddie said, and then realized that this might be a mistake. ‘She’ll be back in a moment. She’s just popped out.’

‘Don’t leave me.’ Her face crumpled. ‘Want Mummy. Take me to Mummy and Daddy.’

Eddie’s legs gave way and he sank down on the bed. Lucy put her hand on his leg. He felt her warmth through the material of his jeans. None of the other little visitors had been so trusting.

‘Nice Eddie,’ she murmured encouragingly.

He found that he was staring at the door to the room of the freezer and the microwave. If he left Lucy here, she wouldn’t be warm for much longer. In a very short time she would probably be as cold as ice. He couldn’t leave Lucy to Angel. Yet he could hardly take her back to her parents’ flat in Hercules Road or drop her in at the nearest police station. ‘Hello, my name’s Eddie Grace and this is a little girl called Lucy I kidnapped four days ago.’ There must be a way round the problem. But his head hurt too much for him to find it immediately. He and Lucy needed time. They needed a place where they could go and where they would be safe from Angel, safe from the police, safe from Lucy’s parents, safe from the whole world.

‘Don’t like Angel,’ Lucy confided. ‘I like
you
.’

Automatically he patted her hand. ‘And I like you.’

Angel might come back at any moment. There was no time to waste. Lucy, the little coquette, was peeping up at him through her eyelashes in a way that reminded him of Alison all those years ago in Carver’s.

Alison in Carver’s
. That was it: that was the answer, at least for the short term.

‘We’ve got to get you dressed quickly if we’re going out.’ Eddie opened the chest of drawers and began to pull out clothes at random: jeans, socks, pants, vests, jerseys. All of them were new, all of them bought over the last few months by himself and Angel. ‘Quick, quick. It will be cold outside so leave your pyjamas on.’

Lucy’s surprise at this unorthodox way of getting dressed lasted only a few seconds. Then she decided to treat it as an exciting new game. The only problem was that there were no shoes. Eddie could not find the red leather boots which Lucy had been wearing when she came home with him. He had rather liked those boots. Then he remembered that in the cupboard in the basement there was a pair of lace-up shoes which had belonged to Suki. He got them out and tried them on Lucy. Lucy squealed excitedly at the idea of new shoes, partly because these were blue and decorated with green crocodiles. They were two or three sizes too large for her but she appeared not to mind. Eddie made up the difference with extra pairs of socks which would help to keep her warm.

‘Going away?’ Lucy asked as he helped her put on the second jersey. ‘Never coming back?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Never see Angel again?’

‘No.’ Eddie hoped he was speaking the truth. He ruffled her hair.

‘I’m hungry. What’s for breakfast?’

‘I’ve got some food in the bag. We’ll have breakfast after we’ve left.’

Lucy’s eyes widened with excitement. She needed a moment to assimilate the information. Then: ‘Jimmy? Mrs Wump?’

‘You want to take them? Put them in the bag.’

She squatted and pulled open the bag. When she saw the conjuring set, she sucked in her breath. ‘Look – for me, Eddie? For me?’

‘Yes.’ Eddie added a few more clothes for Lucy. By this time the bag was bulging. ‘We must go.’

‘From Father Christmas?’

‘Yes. Come on.’

In the hall Eddie hesitated, wondering whether to bolt the front door. It was already locked, but Angel would have taken her keys. He struggled to think out the implications. His head was hurting. Angel would come round to the back if the front door were bolted. She would guess that something was wrong, but not what. What if he bolted the back door, too, and if he and Lucy stayed inside the house? Would Angel break a window? Or ask Mr Reynolds for help?

Bolting the doors wouldn’t be any use: either Angel would succeed in getting in, and be furious; or the uproar would lead to neighbours, even the police, coming in and finding Eddie with Lucy.

Better to go at once, to leave the house deserted and the front door unlocked. To his consternation, he found himself giggling at the idea of Angel walking into the house and finding that, in her absence, 29 Rosington Road had become the
Mary Celeste
of north-west London.

‘What’s funny?’ Lucy asked.

Eddie took her hand and towed her towards the kitchen. ‘Nothing important.’

‘Where we going?’

He opened the back door and the cool air flooded in. ‘We’re going to my secret place. We’re going to hide from Angel.’

Lucy did not reply, but her eyes seemed to grow larger with excitement and she jiggled up and down. Perhaps the absence of her morning dose of medication had made her livelier. Certainly, Eddie could not remember seeing her so vital before, even on that first evening when he saw her in Carla’s backyard.

‘Coat,’ Lucy said. ‘I need my coat.’

‘Where is it?’

Lucy pointed towards her feet. ‘Down there.’

‘Wait here.’ Eddie dropped the bag on the kitchen floor and hurried back into the hall and down the basement stairs. The green quilted coat was at the bottom of the chest of drawers. It had a hood, which would be useful, and as he carried it upstairs he discovered that there were gloves in the pocket.