Together
Published by Alexander Hawksville at Smashwords
Copyright A. Hawksville 2011
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Together
by
Alexander Hawksville
Josh sat at his computer. It was the latest kind. Of course it would be. Only the best For Josh Cameron, son of the great professor Cameron.
He was running the maths programme when his father came in. Of course it was a Wednesday and his father had a half-day to supposedly catch up with student papers and make preparations for his lessons. Not that his father was a maths expert. He was a professor of Psychology and Philosophy.
"How are the lessons going?" asked father. His thin face wore an expression of polite enquiry but there was that undercurrent of sarcasm there that was present in all his observations.
If only it stopped at sarcasm.
"I'm dealing with quadratic equations," said Josh.
His father examined the screen critically.
"What's this?"
"Nothing."
"You've been running through differential calculus. I thought I told you to wait until I worked these out with you."
"Yes but -"
"But what?"
"Nothing."
Josh stood up. He was nearly as tall as his father now and more muscular but his fine upper lip twitched in alarm.
He knew the signs.
"Is this what I have brought you up for, educating you privately with my money and my time? Who is the teacher here?"
"You are father."
"Then you shoudn't have advanced the lessons on your own."
"But I just thought -"
"Thinking is very fine, very fine indeed my boy, but I think you need a little lesson we don't normally have in the curriculum."
Josh hung his head.
"Please father."
"Please? Yes that's what you did. You pleased yourself. Steps have to be taken, just like your lessons. If you go in advance. What does that say?"
"I was exercising intellectual curiosity."
"Very well, that is a good sign. But young minds need discipline. I think we've had enough talk."
Professor Cameron crossed to the cupboard in the corner. There, among the usual schoolboy accoutrements was a long cane.
Josh moved back towards the open door. His computer buzzed merrily in the background. He was trembling now, like a young puppy.
"Don't, I didn't mean -"
"You never do? Do you? You never mean to trangress but you do. You're a bad boy Joshua." As he advanced the Professor snicked the cane rapidly from side to side, seeming to enjoy the low whistling noise it made cutting through the air of the small room.
Josh turned, but the cane caught him on the back of his legs stinging him through the thin material of his trousers. The sound of thin wood on flesh seemed to galvanise the professor. At the end of it he threw the cane aside.
"Perhaps that will teach you not to advance yourself at the expense of your education," said his father. "No supper tonight." He went out, locking the door behind him and went downstairs to prepare his own meal. They had no servants for obvious reasons.
Josh wept for a while but some of his tears were of relief.
This way was better than the boot in the ribs.
Being thrown down the stairs.
The Black Hole. He thought of the Black Hole often. He hadn't been in there for a while.
He hoped he never would again.
Anna sat looking solidly ahead. She was in her carved wooden chair, the one with the rockers. From time to time she moved backwards and forwards. Her carer, Charmain knew what to do, in a sort of way. She just had to talk to Anna, talk and joke and laugh until Anna came out of it.
"How are you today?" asked Charmain again.
Anna was a blocky girl. Her long chestnut hair cascaded down her back and seemed to belong on someone else, for Anna was big. Her face was fleshy and she wore big solid glasses.
"Come on Anna," said Charmain. "Don't you want to watch a film or read a book?"
But Anna did not respond. She rocked back and forth every few minutes tick-tock just like that then rested, pudgy hands staying on massive thighs that were encased in black cotton slacks.
They called it late-onset autism. The visible symptoms were that Anna seemed lost in a world of her own. She did not respond to the spoken word and would spend many hours just like this staring into space. At times like these she had to wear huge nappies because she would not even go to the bathroom and at eighteen stones it was an effort to get her there.
Brockbank, the Children's Centre, just didn't have the staff to cope with toileting her five or six hours a day. So the truth was that Anna sat there for days on end, her body functions going on quite happily while her mind circled round and round.
"Anna, would you like to hear some music ?" asked Charmain. No answer, nor did she expect one but she had to go through the process. They called it 'talk therapy' and Charmain spent an hour every day talking to Anna while she was like this. Charmain often felt like giving up and walking out, but after days, sometimes weeks the old Anna would come back, the Anna who could read and write, who liked to walk around the grounds (albeit slowly on her big legs and swollen feet) the Anna who could hold a sensible conversation and even seemed to show some signs of deeper intelligence.
But that Anna was retreating fast and her mother had contacted the Authorities when the lapses became more and more frequent until her daughter was like this; a blocky, fleshy statue with only the odd movement and her regular breathing to show she was still alive.
The periods of 'real-Anna' were growing less and less as she entered adolescence. Her own mind seemed to be an eternal verity to her. It wasn't like the autism Charmain had seen before where the symptoms were at least those of faulty socialisation.
"I'll open the windows," said the carer, "let a bit of fresh air into things, then I have work to get on with, okay?"
Nothing.
Anna sat and looked straight forward. She might as well have been alone. Charmain felt a flash of resentment. All this effort for nothing, then she sighed and opened the window. It was a beautiful day. She left Anna, looking back once as the door of Room 23 closed on her charge. Anna rocked forward her jowls quivered, then she was still. Charmain felt a tear spring to her left eye.
There was a sense of someone trapped in there.
Like a wild animal in a cage.
She shook the notion off and moved on.
First he checked the holiday home for intruders. There was no-one there. Marcus felt a sense of relief. He looked at his watch. 9.30 am. He had managed to sleep for eight hours, he felt comfortable and relaxed. He went into the kitchen and poured cereal into a bowl, opened the fridge and took out the milk, poured it over his chocoflakes and sat down at the breakfast bar to eat. When he was finished he put the bowl and spoon into the sink along with the others. He poured a glass of water mixed with some diluting orange and went back to the breakfast bar, finishing the orange in a minute or two.
He looked at his watch.
9.40 am.
It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Plan it all out and put himself in a 'home alone' situation.
His mother and father had planned a second honeymoon in Florida. They had arranged for Marcus to stay with an uncle and aunt in Kent. His parents being computer buffs the whole thing had been arranged by e-mail. Marcus would leave Scotland by train, meeting his aunt at a station down in England. He would leave the same morning as his parents.
Two or three days before his parents went Marcus sent e-mails using his mothers address. These cancelled the whole arrangement, saying that Marcus was going with them instead but would spend most of his time in the 'kid's club' in the Biltmore Resort. He had intercepted his aunt's other messages and confirmed that the arrangement had indeed been changed. When he had said goodbye to his parents Marcus had simply entered the rail link at the airport to catch the direct train South.
He was twelve years old.
But instead he had stayed on the coastline, getting off at the next station, the keys of his parent's holiday chalet jangling in his pocket.
Now he had nothing to do. He was well-fed and comfortable. The chalet had underfloor heating for the cold Scottish nights and it was late July with nary a cloud in the sky.
He could do the dishes he supposed but that was hardly the reason why he had come here.
There was only one thing to do.
He would go into town.
There would be plenty to do there. He could go into the arcades and play some of the games or he could sit in a café and watch people go by - after all he had plenty of money. After that he would walk down by the shore near the municipal buildings. He liked it there.
Marcus had an IQ of 167. This meant that he was in the top two per cent of the country who with a greater intelligence than the other 98%. Intelligence isn't everything. In his 'Home Alone' planning he had forgotten one vital factor. He was on an adventure with no companionship. The two weeks holiday stretched before him like a sunny desert.
He was bored.
For Alana the situation was different, she had too much to do. Her parents were young and wanted to take her everywhere. They had already been to the theatre and an ice-skating show. The holiday still had ten days to run. Early this morning she had told her mother she was going a walk into town. Her mother had accepted this, while telling her to be careful. That was her well-adjusted parents for you. They knew children were at risk in today's society but they respected her right to make her own decisions - if she told them exactly where she was going.
Instead, she walked along the shore. This early, it was wild and free, the sea stretching back from the land, sand covered in pebbles. To her left the sand dunes towered above her. Old people walked dogs, mostly labradors, along the shore itself. Someone rode a horse in the distance, splashing hooves through the very edge of the sea itself. A thin wind whipped through the air making the salt air cold and pleasant enough to drink.
Alana took it all in. She was a small girl with a mop of curly hair and a little rosebud mouth. She looked a couple of years younger than eleven, especially in the cotton print dresses supplied by her mother. She herself would have preferred jeans and a t-shirt but her parents wanted their little girl to look like - a little girl. Her fingers too were short and pudgy. Her hands were clenched now as she ploughed determindly through the thin sand, her bare feet sinking in at every step, sandals clutched in her right hand.
She didn't like deceiving her parents but she was feeling smothered by them. Despite their avowal that they were 'modern' and that she was a free agent she had so little time alone that this was a literally a breath of fresh air for her. It was strange that while she was with her mother and father she still felt lonely.
She could see the holiday villas coming up and wished her parents had taken one of these. A boy stood away at the back of one of the buildings looking out to the shore. He was a minute figure in the distance but she vastened him and brought his image close. He had a scowling, ruddy, healthy look about him and wore a pair of long shorts and a grubby t-shirt. Alana had learned to keep her special abilities to herself even from an early age. This boy shouldn't have sensed what she was doing but he looked directly at her and grinned. The shock was so great she let go of her perception and viewed him once more with normal vision.
But he was waving at her now, a tiny stick-figure in the distance. Alana clenched her hands and climbed towards the sand dunes and the track that would lead her to him. At last, she had the goal she needed to find.
As Josh eased himself out of bed he moved with the caution of a soldier in enemy territory. In a sense this was true. His father slept in the next room. Josh was scared of his father in a far more fundamental way than that caused by the beatings and the bruisings, or even the incarcerations in The Black Hole in the study room. He was frightened of his father's unpredictability and scared by his affections.
Yet he risked all this for night hunger. But he was a growing lad and seemed able to eat endless amounts of food without filling out his long, skinny frame. Cautiously he trod the carpet in the middle of the stairs (his father liked the old-fashioned look) so he made as little noise as possible. Even his breathing was carefully measured to avoid loud gasps or catching his breath. After that he opened the kitchen door and went inside. His night-vision was excellent. Long hours spent in The Black Hole meant that he was able to use every little scrap of light to make his way. In fact he could have closed his eyes and would still have been able to negotiate the space between the bottom of the stairs and the roomy kitchen by his other senses alone. Once inside the kitchen he opened the fridge door. Two glasses of milk and a large meat sandwich would be enough to fill him before he went back to bed. The light of the fridge was glaring and as he reached for the carton of milk his sleeve fell back from his arm. His skin had a weal across it where the cane had connected with him when he had thrown up his arms. The milk was forgotten as Josh stood there gathering his thoughts together. He had looked at his bruises many times but this red channel in his flesh was different. An ache still went through it, even with the soft touch of the cotton. If he hadn't thrown up his arm the weal would have been in his shoulder. Or his face. It wasn't right that he should be growing up like this because of what someone else wanted him to do or be. Josh carefully closed the fridge door, his hunger gone and walked back up the stairs. To an observer it might have seemed like a pointless trip but then they might have noticed the sudden firmness in his step and the fixed set of his jaw as he climbed upwards. The young man paused in front of his father's door listening to the deep, dreamless breathing of his parent. For a moment an impulse filled him to go back down to the kitchen, fetch a sharp knife and stop that breathing for good.
Instead Josh went back into his bed and lay there looking at the ceiling.
His eyes were wide open as he made plans for a future without hurt, humiliation and pain.
A future without his father.
Charmain remembered that Saturday the way you do a momentous event like a car accident. It was to affect the rest of her life and those of many others. Not that it had an auspicious start. She went into the room and changed Anna, washing her from a basin of nice warm water and smoothing her down with talcum powder before fitting the huge nappy to her nether end. It was strenuous work for Anna provided the minimum of help, only responding to sharp orders to move this way and that on her bed. Once changed and dressed she lumbered over to her chair and sat down while a triumphant but exhausted Charmain took away all the cleaning accoutrements and brought back her cooked breakfast which Anna ate rapidly with great efficiency and complete indifference.
While this was going on Charmain spoke with great cheerfulness and told the young girl all the latest news. Anna, of course, received this with an air of ignorance but once or twice Charmain thought she saw a glimmer of understanding break though in her expression. Would the cycle ever be broken?
Two hours of constant attendance is exhausting. Charmain turned to Anna.
"Would you like the windows open? It's a beautiful day?"
Anna ignored her.
"Look I'll go and get a cup of tea then I'll be back to see you and find out how you're getting on."
For all Anna responded Charmain might as well have been reciting a silly poem or giving her the latest betting scores. Yet there was something... Anna told herself she was being silly, that Anna was just sitting there, lost in her own mind, that nothing had changed.
She would curse herself later for not listening to her own feelings, for overriding them with flawed logic.
As she opened the long French windows Charmain found herself breathing deeply. It was a beautiful summer day. They weren't that far from the coast and the air was redolent with a million different scents, all carried there by a cooling breeze. Charmain pulled the curtains wide to make sure Anna would get the full benefit of the warm weather and the breeze without sitting directly in the flow of air - then stood back and looked at her charge.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?"
Nothing.
"You know it's a beautiful day for a walk."
Still nothing.
Charmain left and went for her cup of tea. It was hard to deal with Anna, depressing even. If only the girl would do something, anything. Even if she showed signs of anger that would be fine. It was the terrible indifference that made her so difficult to comprehend.
She came back from her break refreshed and walked into the room with a bright 'hello' that faded as soon as she saw that it was as empty as if the girl had never been there.
Anna had taken her advice after all, she had gone for a walk.
A long one.
The girl stood looking at him. He stepped back from her.
"Hello," she said cheerfully. "My name is Alana, what's yours?"
"Marcus," said Marcus. "What are you doing?"
"Talking to you of course," said mockingly.
"I don't mean that."
"I was supposed to be taking a walk in town."
"Can you come back here again?"
"Why not?"
"All right. Can I go a walk with you then?"
"If you like. Mum n' dad'll be waiting for me. They think I've gone to look around the shops."
They were on the move already. The shore front was beginning to hot up. At this time of the year when the weather was especially good, cars of all types and sizes lined the front. Couples with children set up their little pitches in the sand. The beach was littered with these fair weather visitors.
The two children headed towards the main town. Really, there was only one main street. Marcus looked down at his new companion. He guessed she was about the same age as himself. As they walked he said little but he was evidently mulling something over in his mind.
"How did you do that?"
"What?"
"That thing down on the shore."
"What thing?"
They were nearing the hotel, a big white building, a long conservatory down one side. He stared at her. She noticed that his eyes were pin-sharp.
"I'm not stupid. You brought me close when I was far away. You can do that. Just as I can do future imagining."
"I vastened you."
"Is that your name for it."
"Yes."
"And what do your parents know?"
"Nothing."
At this moment a woman in her early thirties came out of the hotel. She looked concerned, only relaxing when she saw Alana.
"There you are. You took a long time over your walk."
"Yes mother," said Alana meekly.
The mother straightened up when she saw Marcus.
"And who are you, young man?" she asked with mock severity.
"We met while - while I was walking," said Alana.
"I thought your daughter was lost," said Marcus gravely, "so I offered to show her back to the hotel. May I see her again?"
"Where are you from?" asked Alana's mother.
"I'm on holiday in one of the shoreside villas," said Marcus. He glanced at Alana, but she was keeping quiet.
This young boy with his grown-up ways charmed her mother.
"Certainly," she said. "It's good for her to be with children of her own age."
"I'll see you after dinner then?" said Marcus to his new friend.
"Aye," said Alana, her eyes twinkling.
"Goodbye Mrs -"
"Stewart," supplied her mother.
"Goodbye Mrs Stewart, see you shortly Alana," said Marcus. As he walked off he heard Mrs Stewart say.
"How sweet, you have a boy...."
"If you say boyfriend," said Alana calmly, "I'll tell him to get lost."
Marcus turned the corner and found that he was chuckling to himself.
His boredom had vanished already.
He was looking forward to the afternoon.
If all that was to be made was to be then she would be in all that was. Time did not pass for her as it did for them. Her breath came in and out and she sometimes wondered why it did this or why she had breath in the first place. This was a road she told herself, it went somewhere but she did not know how and why just that it was there and she was too but not in the manner of the road. Her world was one of few divisions with even the terms she, he and it meaning less than nothing to her. Life was life and she was part of life. In some ways she was life itself.
A bus drew to a halt before her and she took out money, remembering just enough of the old life to do that. The bus driver seemed somewhat startled to see her. She could see the lines of discomfort around his head in waves of sickly green and dark blue.
He made noises at her that were those of the speech she had almost left behind. She nodded her head, handed over the money and began to walk down the bus. Waves of disgust and fear came from some of the smaller male things.
Anna took a double seat to herself.
She waited for what was right.
It took a long time to feel the rightness of the world outside this roaring, thundering being. She lumbered to her feet and moved forward again. The driver thrust something into her pocket as she passed him. It was her change, the money from the twenty pounds she had given him but she no longer cared about money or even had the vaguest notion of what it did. She got off the bus in the main street. Waves of colour surrounded her from the holidaymakers. Most of the waves were coloured by the sight of Anna herself. She could sense a lot of displeasure, disquiet and even disgust, but she could also sense kindness and sympathy. The last two emotions were in the minority.
This body was tired now. Sustenance was needed. Rest was required. Turning herself several times she looked for The Source, the reason she was here in the first place. An elderly woman came up to her.
"Are you all right my dear? I couldn't help noticing you looked quite lost."
"Goodbye." Said Anna bringing up one of the speech-words that were so distant to her. She crossed the road, her legs aching. The body would not last much longer without physical dissolution.
<Walk on> said her mind without using those actual words. Her thoughts were a series of dancing light images flashing across an unimaginable space bigger than this world yet inside her own head.
Down a side street, drawn there by some protective mechanism she began the long a gruelling half-mile walk to the beach where The Source was located.
It wouldn't be long now.
Josh was intelligent. He dared not run away without preparation. He was tall and could easily pass for eighteen if he wore the right clothes. He spent several days following the plan he had worked out in the reaches of the night, packing the right clothes and taking the right precautions. The Thursday his father was at the University was a big day for him. He was supposed to be studying the differential calculus his father had sat and worked out with him the night of the recent caning. He would go no further than directed, of course, even though he could do more complicated work without many problems. The problem was his father had to be better.
Always.
But on the Thursday Josh wasn't the least bit concerned with the computer. Instead he collected his clothes from where he left them under his bed and took some food from the store cupboard - a tin of sardines, some bread and a bottle of cola - and put them in his flight bag along with the rest of the gear. Then he did something he would never have considered if he hadn't been leaving. He went to look for his father's wallet. This he found in the left-hand drawer of an old-fashioned tallboy that his father had inherited from grandfather. Like the rest of the room it was old-fashioned, nothing beyond 1958. His father even used bedcovers instead of a duvet. The wallet had the tangy scent of leather. Father used credit cards when he went to petrol stations and paid for meals so he rarely used his ATM card. Josh found this tucked beside a couple of twenties and some loose change. Gingerly he took it. His father had showed him how to use the hole-in-the-wall when he was eight, when he had opened Josh's junior bank account. He had blithely typed in his pin number on the assumption that the young Josh would forget it after a few days. Josh never had. He could remember everything that had been said - or done - with breathtaking clarity. 8228. The numbers floated into his head. He closed his hand around the blue square of plastic, and put it into his breast pocket trying not to think too much about what he was doing. The breath seemed to catch in his throat and his heart was hammering inside his chest. With care he returned the wallet to a remembered position. He carefully closed the door and went downstairs.
He shrugged on his blue jacket, the one with the hood and the warm red lining. He might need it later when he reached the South Coast of Scotland and the night was falling.
A few minutes later he went out of the front door and began to walk down the road. It was past nine on a summer day and roses were blooming all around him. He drew in his breath and dragged himself away from a building that tugged at him with invisible bonds.
As Marcus went back towards the villa - 'Beachside' as it was called - he thought about his meeting with Alana in the afternoon. He had plenty of money. He would take her to the arcades and they would play some games and then they could go for a McDonalds. He was looking forward to seeing her already. Companionship was more than important it was necessary for life. Dreamily he did some future imagining. It was odd, but although he could see as far ahead as 48 hours - which was the reason he had been able to plan for his mother and father leaving him alone - he had not predicted the appearance of his young friend.
Now he future imagined as he walked. But there was something wrong. A very big something or rather someone was getting in the way of his future with Alana. He couldn't see all the details, all he knew was that there was a person involved. A very big person. As he came closer to Beachside, his head was filled with the image but even then he was not prepared for the reality.
Anna was sitting or rather squatting on her haunches and looking at him with a totally expressionless face. Her black slacks sullied with the grains of dark yellow sand and tufts of the straggly grass that grew around here. He felt himself groaning inwardly, wondering how she had got there and who she was.
"Come in," he said. Anna rose with all the lumbering gait of a brown bear and followed him as he went in through the porch and opened the twin doors leading to the dining area. He could hear the thudding of her footsteps as she walked across the wooden deck of the porch. For a moment he had a vision of her falling straight through and being hurt on the foundations below.
He turned as she came in through the doors. Somehow he knew what to do with her.
"Sit down," he said. The chairs in the dining area were those from a patio set, made of green moulded plastic. They were roomy, knowing the girth of western holidaymakers, but even as she sat down he had the alarming thought that the one she had chosen might start to warp and sag, throwing her to the ground. That it held was a testament to the makers.
He turned and pulled at the raffia blinds so that they were both concealed from any holidaymakers who might see the villa from the beach.
Anna sat looking straight ahead but he poured her a large glass of juice and put out a bowl of cereal liberally laced with milk.
"Here have this," he told her. She ate with mechanical perfection and the odd grunt but still did not speak. He studied her. This giantess was so unexpected, like Alana. When she was finished eating and drinking he took the dishes away.
"Now," he said, "tell me about it."
Josh got off the bus near the outside of Glasgow in an area called Shawlands. Unaware of prices, he had just enough on him to get him here. He looked around for an ATM machine for his father's bank and found one close to an area liberally sprinkled with shops and warehouses run by people of Indian and Pakistani extraction. The women walking around were exotically dressed in blues, yellows and greens, their legs covered by long trousers of blue silk. Josh had never met their like before, being taught at home and knowing only his fathers friends he had met few people with black or brown skins. Another feature of his isolation.
In mild panic still trying not to think he went to the ATM and allowed himself to use it with the minimum of fuss, letting his fingers recall the numbers. He blinked at the amount of money shown in his father's account, which went into double figures. His mind was screaming at him by now.
Go back! You've still got time. Do It Now.
True, it was still early in the day. Instead of going into the unknown he could go home and do his homework. He wouldn't, couldn't have it finished by the time Professor Cameron returned. That would mean a punishment already. Then his father might have called.
The professor usually phoned Josh three to four times a day, always to ask about little domestic things or just to ask if he was getting on with his homework. There was never any emotion in these calls. They were just a way of making sure that Josh was where he belonged.
Where he belonged. Yes that was it. Josh could only exist in the home by himself. Outside he would be with his father at every turn.
And that's the way it should be screamed his mind. Your father knows best. Of course he punishes you now and then but can you honestly say you've never deserved it? He's given you a home for all these years. You've never wanted for anything. You ungrateful little turd. Go across the road now, wait for the bus and go home. You're safe there. You don't know what you're going into. You stupid, stupid young man.
That was one of his father's favourite expressions. Of course Josh was academically learned but only, his father told him, because he, Professor Cameron was guiding him, Josh, through life.
He reached forward, through the storm in his mind and typed an amount. It seemed vanishingly small compared to the amount of money in there but when the bundle of brown notes was in his hand he felt the panic again.
That was enough. He wanted nothing else from his father. Carefully he thrust the card into the nearest bin, shoving it as far down as he could.
Slinging the leather bag across his shoulder he waited for the bus that would take him out of Glasgow and his former life.
Forever.
Alana was surprised when her new friend didn't want to enjoy himself. It wasn't his nature to act like this. He appeared at the hotel as promised, met her father (and charmed him too) then took their daughter off into town. But they didn't stay there for long.
He knew that telling her was almost impossible. She had to see what he wanted.
"Come to the Villa with me," he said.
Alana went, though she had been warned by her mother not to go out of town. They made a nice young couple as they walked. Marcus looked down at her several times as they made their way to 'Beachside.'
To his relief the girl was still there. In his mind he had visions of her walking about the beach or just standing there massively outside the building. But his future imagination had told him the truth long before his return.
"This is - what's your name?" he asked the massive girl. She ignored him, did not even look up as he came in with Alana.
"I'm Alana," said that young person standing cutely in front of the huge girl.
Still nothing.
"I've just noticed," said Marcus gloomily, "look at the shape of her. She's wearing a giant nappy. You know what that means."
"She'll be needing changed at some point."
"Oh no." Marcus had seen people burying their faces in their hands on TV. Now he knew why.
"Well she's not really our problem," said Alana brightly. "Are you?"
The huge girl looked straight ahead. A slight creaking noise was all they heard as she tried to rock back and forth in her plastic seat.
"I suppose we could phone the police or social services," said Marcus doubtfully.
Alana gave him a wide-eyed innocent look.
"But you're not going to."
"She's not the only one who'll get into trouble. Get real Alana-dumpling."
"Dumpling? Are you calling me names?"
"Shh, we've got to get this - get her - into the front room. Get up," said Marcus clearly. "Walk through."
It was like watching a mountain come to life. Her face still impassive, she got up from her seat. Marcus guided her gently by the arm, leading her into the front room of the villa. Naturally she took the sofa, springs creaking as she sat on her huge buttocks.
"There's a reason why she's here," said Alana.
"Of course," Marcus gave her a faint look of contempt. "We've already worked that one out."
"You really are a pain at times."
"I know," he smirked.
"We've got to break through to her." Alana bent forward and grasped the hand of the other girl. It was small and strangely delicate. Alana gave a gasp of shock and pulled away.
"Anna," she said. "Anna, that's her name."
"Try again," said Marcus, excitement in his voice.
"No," said Anna looking at them both for the first time. "There is one still to come." Then, in front of their astonished eyes she lapsed back into her own mind.
Josh took the bus to the West Coast. Although he was only within driving distance of his father he felt a lot safer than when he was within Glasgow. He had arrived in Ayr by early afternoon, travelling all the way to the bus station. Getting off, he had waited at a local stop for the next bus back to Prestwick. He knew as well as anyone that every new trip added to the confusion and made him less traceable.
His mind was confused about what he should do next. He had thought far enough ahead to reckon on booking a room with a landlady. But his money wouldn't let him live that way for long. The ATM had allowed him to take £400. It would run out in a very short time at this rate. He didn't care, it was enough to get him started. He hadn't wanted to be contaminated by anything else to do with his father.
Why had he come to the West Coast anyway? He supposed it was because he had come here as a child when his mother was still alive. He hadn't known her very well and it was only when she died that his father had become so - demanding.
His mind stopped short at the understatement. He couldn't bring himself to think of Professor Cameron as he really was. Anyway the arrival of the local bus jogged him out of his train of thought. You had to give the exact fare now. Lack of change meant he had to pay over the odds, an adult fare to boot. He climbed on board, ducking his head as he entered and walking down the aisle. He was thin, but he would pass for eighteen due to his height.
He would get a job in a couple of weeks. They were always looking for office juniors and there was no doubt he would be able to manufacture a past with reasonable ease. As for somewhere to live, once he had a job he would at least be able to pay for rent if little else. He wasn't worried. He would get by.
As he dropped off the noisy, smelly bus he looked up and down. Bed & Breakfast establishments with names like 'Balmoral' and 'Dalriada,' lined the main road but they looked expensive. He wanted something cheaper and headed down a side street. He was only a few hundred yards from the sea. A sudden impulse came to him to walk towards one of the villas set at an angle to the beach.
Indeed the door was open in the building he had picked. Josh climbed over the wooden porch and found himself in a kitchen looking at three assorted figures: one was the biggest girl he had ever seen, the other girl seemed like a pixie with wavy hair and blue eyes, while the boy had a wide, humorous grin.
Marcus was the first to break the silence.
"It's about time you got here."
When Javed saw the card go into the bin he thought his lucky day had come. It was Xmas and New Year rolled into one. Not that he celebrated either of those events but he had been largely brought up in Glasgow. He kept an eye on theyoung man who had dumped the ATM card. He was a tall, nervous-looking individual who kept glancing around as if he expected someone to stop him at any moment. Clearly he had stolen the card and used it by default. Javed waited until the young man took the Ayr bus then came out of the doorway where he had been waiting for his chance and dug down into the muck in the council bin, uncaring, until he found the cool rectangle of blue plastic.
He took the card home, knowing as well as Josh that only a limited amount could be withdrawn.
Like opportunists Javed was quick. He had been keeping an eye of the young man since Josh had used the ATM and had heard Josh mumbling to himself as he typed the numbers. He had heard enough.
The next day he got up early and went out to the Bank Machine a couple of streets away from where Josh had been served. He tried the numbers perhaps twenty times, taking the card out each time. But he gave a cry of frustration and annoyance when, on the 21st try, the machine flashed up a message:
Due To Circumstances This Card Will Be Withdrawn From Service.
Worse still a blue-topped car came around the corner just as the message flashed. Javed dropped his nervous hands to his sides and walked casually away, forcing himself to whistle loudly and look the police right in the eye.
But it seemed they had a purpose here.
A large policeman who looked as if he was over-fond of curries and beer opened the passenger door as the young Indian passed him.
"Hop in son," he said casually.
Javed ran as soon as the words were out of the policeman's mouth. He rounded a corner and headed down Alison Street. Let them find him about here where all his friends lived!
Too late he saw another car identical to the first appear at the entrance to Victoria Road.
Javed stopped, turned rapidly and began to walk in the opposite direction but the policemen in this vehicle were younger and fitter. He heard footsteps hurrying behind him and a large pink hand grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Right, we've got you."
"Please, officer, it's a case of mistaken identity," said Javed humbly.
"That's for us to decide sonny ma boay," said the policeman jovially when he saw that there was to be no trouble. "You have the right to remain silent..."
Javed thought about the matter as the words rolled over him. It wasn't the first time nor the last he would hear this speech. Already he was planning his first call.
To his lawyer.
Professor Cameron was not a difficult man, he told himself. Being reasonable he would wait to find out what was wrong. But his dinner wasn't on. Usually when he walked through the door the air was filled with the aroma of food cooking on the old gas stove. He liked stews and potatoes and fresh boiled vegatables just like those served by his mother many years ago.
But of course his cack-handed son had taken over the cooking. He had shown the boy how to prepare a meal years ago using the best cookbooks and his own experience. It should be second nature to the boy now.
Of course Cameron had been in conference today deciding on the structure of his course for the next academic year. This meant he had not been able to phone home as usual just to keep the boy on his toes. (And to prevent him from going out.)
A sneaking suspicion began to form that this was precisely what had had happened. The house felt empty. Besides, Josh would never have dared defy his father like this. Normally he would have been at the foot of the stairs by now. Cameron decided to give the boy the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he was absorbed in the maths problems he had been given the previous night. A frown line appeared between the Professor's eyes. There had been the little difficulty with the boy that he wanted to get ahead of himself. He had been trying to work on when he needed to pace himself.
The Professor believed in pace. It was the way he worked with his students and he had the satisfaction of knowing that they rarely failed his course if ever. Then there was the Angeline question. He frowned at that one and immediately dismissed her from his mind. Angeline was one of his more compliant students, after all a man had, well, needs...
Immediately he dismissed the thought of 19 year old Angeline from his mind. He had more pressing problems, like his dinner. Not that he was obsessed with food. When engaged in his work he would often fail to eat for days at a time, but the food was a symbol of something else. Command, control and respect. Important factors in his relationship with Josh.
Command control and respect.
It was unimaginable to him that the boy had defied him enough to leave the building. A smile of grim satisfaction played about his slash of a mouth. The boy knew what he would get.
"Josh!" shouted Cameron again. He mounted the stairs ignoring the faint twinges of arthritis. Control was everything.
The computer room was empty. Professor Cameron looked wordlessly at the undisturbed dust covers on keyboard and monitor. He went through to Josh's bedroom, a wild hope springing to his mind. The boy was ill.
Neat and sparsely furnished, the bedroom was empty. Cameron tore through every room in the small building. All empty.
The unimaginable had happened.
When Charmain went to see the Matron of Brockbank, Mrs Kennedy, she tried to be low key.
Mrs Kennedy was a big woman who tried to be professional. She smoked like the proverbial chimney, but usually concealed this from her staff by keeping a fan on her desk and the ashtray and cigarettes in the left-hand drawer of her desk. Smoking was banned.
"What are you trying to tell me? That we've lost one of our residents? This is a disaster."
"Not necessarily," said the therapist. "It could be a good sign."
Mrs Kennedy stared at her and her plump fingers twitched towards the drawer of her desk.
"How could it be a good sign?"
"This is Anna we're talking about."
"Anna is gone?"
"If she can move, she's out of it, her inner space. She's in the real world."
"Oh good," said Mrs Kennedy staring through her thick glasses. She tended to revert to sarcasm when stressed. That was why her staff tended to leave her alone. "Very good, one of our residents has vanished. If the papers get hold of this we'll be in real trouble."
"Look this might seem unorthodox, let me go out and try to find her. This is Anna, she can't have gone very far."
Mrs Kennedy blinked behind her thick glasses.
"There will have to be a report."
"There will be, on your desk tonight, I promise. Just let me find my charge. I left the windows open, it's my fault."
"So you keep saying." Charmain could almost see the Matron's mind racing. "You think she won't be far away?"
"I don't see how she could be otherwise."
"Very well, if this can solve our problem you may go ahead. But we can't let this go for long."
"I understand that."
"You may go."
"Thank you." Said Charmain. She headed for the door then stopped and turned back to smile gratefully but the Matron was already breaking her own rules and lighting a cigarette in front of a member of staff, taking huge nervous puffs to steady her nerves. Charmain might be upbraided for the loss of a resident, but Kennedy was the one who would be charged with neglect if that person was harmed.
As she went down the twisting stairs of the home Charmain pictured where she was going to make her search. The grounds would be good start. That would take her a fairly short while. Then she would try the main road. She hoped Anna was in the grounds, for the main road was busy. A chill went through her as she thought of the girl in dinner-time traffic.
Shrugging on her leather jacket Charmain went outside. The grounds were fairly busy, because it was a nice day and some of the children were playing outside already. She began to walk around Brockbank keeping an eye out for Anna, her heart sinking when there was no sign of the girl.
It would have to be the main road then.
The four young people sat or stood around the front room of the villa as they desired. Marcus was talking non-stop while Alana was standing with her hands on her hips staring at him. Josh was in one of the armchairs looking at the two who were standing and now and then taking horrified, covert glances at Anna. He couldn't help himself; this silent, corpulent creature out of a dream, or a nightmare shocked him.
He thought she was weird.
"Yeah, I knew there was something odd goin' on," said Marcus. "Never in a million years would I pull a 'Home Alone' stunt like that. I mean, even I've got more sense than that."
"A stuffed teddy bear has more sense than that," said Alana sweetly.
"Says Lady Muck," mocked Marcus. "Something about people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."
"Except your glass house is bigger."
Josh watched them in envied silence. Except for the early days when he had gone to nursery school he had never mixed with children of his own age. He didn't know how they managed their easy banter.
"I suppose you two have known each other for years," he said cheerfully.
"We've known each other for exactly one day," said Alana.
At least his words had a dampening effect on Marcus.
"I never expected to encounter - this," said Josh. "I thought I was running away from home."
"We didn't expect to be here either. Neither did this young lady," said Marcus, indicating the hulk on the couch.
Anna made no sign that she had heard him.
"Listen, I've got to go," said Alana. "It's early afternoon."
"So what?"
"Well, unlike you three my mum and dad'll be on my tail if I don't get back. We're going to a show this evening."
"You got time to go to the shops?" asked Marcus.
"What for?"
"Essential provisions. And we'll have to go to the chemist's."
Alana gave a smile of understanding.
"I don't envy you two boys."
"Well," said Marcus, "it is a far far better thing I do than I have ever done."
Alana giggled at him. Josh, understanding neither of these exchanges looked at them with something akin to desperation.
"You're going away?"
"I have to," said Alana, "but Marcus'll be back shortly, won't you?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Will you be all right?"
Josh stole a look at the still, menacing figure of Anna. He was frightened to be with her but he couldn't admit this to the two younger people.
"I - you won't take long will you?"
"No. Feel free to use the facilities. We have plenty of milk, cereal and orange juice," said Marcus regally. "Come on snookums."
"I'll snookums you," said Alana. "You pain," but she followed him to the front door. "Nice meeting you Josh," she said, and blew him a little kiss. Then she was gone. Josh was surprised to find he was blushing.
Reluctantly he returned to the front room and the silent Anna.
She sat there, waiting.
When it came down to the wire he didn't like the thought of being fooled. Professor Cameron sat with the telephone in his hand. The police would find the young idiot. But then it would get out and into the papers. Josh was only fourteen years old. Besides, didn't they get all sorts of people involved when a person was reported as missing, such as the social work department?
"Can I help you sir?" asked a voice at the other end of the line.
"Wrong number," said the Professor before hanging up. Even if they did call back they wouldn't get his number, he was unlisted.
Restlessly he walked upstairs. His mind wouldn't allow him to take on food while he felt this way even though his body demanded sustenance. He ignored the hunger and paced about his own room. He had to control himself.
Control.
That was the answer to everything.
He calmed down the way a pot of heated water calms just before it is about to erupt into boiling fury.
The boy had to have had some money. He didn't have his own passbook, because that was kept in the bank itself, by arrangement, and he had to have a co-signature from his father to get any money out. It was an unusual arrangement but he had explained to the bank that his son was slightly brain-damaged and was likely to take out all the cash in one fell swoop and spend it on useless fripperies.
That meant...the professor drew in his breath finding that he was breathing out through both his mouth and nose so great was his need for calming oxygen. He went into the drawer where he kept his wallet.
He didn't know how much was there originally but he had a feeling it was just a couple of twenties. There they were, with their crisp white edges, totally intact.
Good, that meant the boy would have to walk wherever he was going. At this rate he would be back by nightfall.
The wallet had several pockets for credit and bank cards. The blue edge of his ATM card usually stuck up. He searched each pocket then searched again. His mind could hardly take in the thought. The boy had robbed his own father.
The screaming eruption of fury surprised even the professor. He came to and found that he was standing looking at the computer or rather what remained of that machine. He had taken his thickest and most durable hill-walking stick and shattered the machine into a thousand pieces. Keys lay about everywhere like the letters from a scrabble board while the box had broken open revealing the machinery inside. The monitor lay on its side near the door, the grey plastic casing cracked.
"You little shit," said the Professor, "you little shit, you are dead for this." With a supreme effort of will he put the stick down and walked out of the study room, crunching letters underfoot as he did so.
Charmain was puzzled. A girl who weighed 300 pounds couldn't just disappear could she? Of course Brockbank was beside a country road, and set well back from the main town, so it was hardly surprising that few people had seen her leaving early in the morning. Charmain wondered what to do. Then she flipped up her mobile phone.
Mrs Kennedy."
"Yes."
"It's Charmain here."
"Yes?" the voice was now faintly tinged with annoyance. "Have you found the girl?"
"No, but listen, I'm going to try and search further afield."
"Why?"
"Because she might have walked for several miles."
"All right. But don't take long."
Charmain switched off her phone. She didn't want Mrs Kennedy hassling her while she was trying to find Anna. She walked down the country road. If not for her anxiety she would have thought it was a nice day. The sun was high now and she had to take off her jacket and fold it across her arm. To her left was the roomy coastal road. Besides Brockbank a number of holiday homes peppered the roadside.
One of these was almost directly across from the home. It was inhabited by and elderly couple. On impulse Charmain went across the grey road and opened their front gate. Before she could check herself she was knocking vigorously on the door, impatience showing in every line of her slim body.
"Yesh, what is it?" asked the elderly lady who answered the door. "Are you here for the meals?"
"Meals?" said Charmain, dazed.
"Meals on wheels, we've been waiting, me an' Bertie." Said the old lady. She was about eighty and bent over, holding a thick walking stick. "Bring 'em in then," she began to turn.
"No, it's nothing to do with that," said Charmain desperately. The old lady turned with great effort.
"Oh? What d'ye want then?"
"What time do you get up?"
The old lady considered this unusual question happily. "Well let's see, Bertie an' me, we go to bed about ten, tops. I suppose. Well I gets up first. Then it depends if he needs to go to the toilet in the middle of the night then it wakes me up an' by the time I get back to sleep..."
"What time?” asked Charmain through gritted teeth.
"About six am dear."
"Right, in that case, did you see anything unusual this morning, about half eight?"
"Not really. I was put watering my roses."
Charmain began to move, disappointed, not really having expected much.
"Of course there was the big girl."
"Who, where?"
"Why do you look so flustered dear? The big girl who was waiting for the bus. She looked about sixteen, but so big, I said you wouldn't ha' believed it to Bertie. I said -"
"What did she do?"
"Got a bus o' course."
"Who's that woman in a hurry?" asked Old Bertie walking shakily up. His wife shrugged.
"Someone a bit mad I think. Come on, I'm phoning, meals on wheels should be here by now."
"You're asking for them," said Marcus.
"Why?"
"'Cos you're a female."
"Oh get a grip."
Together they went into the chemist shop. A tall man with sparse black hair frowned at them from across the counter.
"What do you want you weans?"
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