Vengeance Child, Page 2

  Two

  Despite it being May, gusts of cold air made it feel like the approach of winter. In the grounds of Badsworth Lodge the children played on the swings. Usually, there’d be laughter. Today, they were so quiet it made the staff glance apprehensively at one another. Meanwhile, Nurse Laura Parris was determined to work a miracle. Age thirty, blue eyes, wearing casual clothes, strands of blonde hair being mussed by the breeze, she talked into the phone. ‘What happened to Maureen was a tragedy. Everyone here’s in shock. Yes . . . the funeral’s tomorrow. Eleven o’clock. You’re going to authorize permission for Lodge staff to attend?’ Laura paused as the Director of Child Care Services ummed, then tried to add provisos. ‘No, Miss Henshaw. Nobody will use it as an excuse to slip away for a long lunch. Maureen was extremely popular with both children and staff. So, I’ll have your written permission for us to go to the funeral, and that personnel cover will be provided? Pardon? I don’t know how long. As long as it takes to say goodbye to a dead friend.’ She struggled to keep her anger under control. ‘Another thing. Don’t cancel the children’s holiday. Postpone it a few days, but do not cancel. After what happened the children are traumatized. Yes . . . what do you think? There’s bed-wetting, emotional outbursts, bouts of social withdrawal. A couple of teenage girls have been self-harming. Yes, I really do believe that the holiday is essential. Goodbye.’

  Laura scanned the children on the swings. Listlessly, they swung to and fro. Their faces were so lacking in normal youthful exuberance they could have been plastic mannequins. A girl of fifteen sat on a bench. She appeared to be scratching an itch on her forearm. Laura knew better. Catching the attention of one of the carers, she nodded to the girl, then touched her own forearm. The carer understood and went to chat to the girl to distract her from inflicting another wound.

  A middle-aged man with a security pass clipped to his lapel appeared on the patio. He pretended not to notice the eerie appearance of the children who played as if someone had hit the mute button. ‘Nurse Laura Parris?’ He gave a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m Robert Cole, Human Resources. I’ve come to collect Maureen Hannon’s personal effects. We’re sending them on to her family.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll take you to her room.’

  ‘Terrible weather for May.’ Despite pretending to shudder at the cold he lingered on the patio without following Laura. ‘Absolutely arctic. They’re forecasting hailstorms for this afternoon.’

  ‘Really. I’ll get Maureen’s things before the children go to lunch.’

  ‘You’re doing amazing work here. It can’t be easy.’

  She sensed he was building up to say something of more importance. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

  ‘You’ve a boy here—’

  ‘Several, as you’ll have noticed.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ He laughed. ‘But they all aren’t as famous as . . .’ He scanned the children, trying to recognize a face. ‘Jay, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘The Miracle Moses Boy. The newspaper headline still sticks in my mind after, what is it now? Seven years.’

  ‘The children will be going to lunch, Mr Cole. If you’ll follow me.’

  He didn’t follow. ‘So he’ll be eleven now, won’t he?’

  ‘Mr Cole—’

  ‘Imagine what he went through. Four years old. A ship full of refugees sinks with the loss of over three hundred lives. There are sharks, storms and he’s there alone. A four-year-old boy in an inflatable dinghy. It makes you think, doesn’t it?’

  ‘The newspaper must have paid you plenty if you’re prepared to risk your job.’

  ‘N-Newspaper,’ he stammered. ‘I’m nothing to do with any newspaper.’

  ‘No?’ Laura glared at him. ‘The guy who came to fix the roof tiles swore he had nothing to do with a television company, but he had a video camera in his tool bag. Something told me he wasn’t going to use it to bang in nails.’

  ‘I was just intrigued about Jay.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘I am here to collect Mrs Hannon’s personal effects.’

  ‘OK, do it and get out.’ Laura turned to where a burly man dug a flower bed. ‘Mr Holt, would you do me a favour? Escort this gentleman to Maureen’s room to collect the box on her bed, then make sure he leaves the premises.’

  When she was alone again Laura crossed the lawn to where Jay sat on a bench under a tree. The breeze sighed mournfully through the branches. As always, the boy was by himself. Before speaking to him she paused. Laura took pains to avoid having favourites. However, she often found herself thinking about Jay. He always seemed so alone and so fragile. Once a carer commented that he looked like ‘a changeling’. Laura had googled the word. The search had revealed myths about human children being stolen soon after birth by goblins. Then the goblin family replaced the human child with one of their own. It wasn’t a happy fairy story. The changeling child looked different to other children – Jay certainly did with those uncannily large eyes – and brought unhappiness to its human hosts. Bad luck would haunt them. Other children in the household might become sickly. Crops would fail. The parents finding themselves with a changeling substitute might be advised to treat the goblin cuckoo in the midst badly, either by beating, starving or even placing on a shovel and holding over a fire. The theory being the real parents would snatch the changeling child back to prevent further suffering. In order to maintain the supernatural balance the real human child would then be returned to their mortal parents. But Jay doesn’t face the prospect of a he-lived-happily-ever-after ending. She’d been standing behind Jay. He’d not turned back once. When he spoke it took her by surprise.

  ‘Do you hate me too, Laura?’

  Smiling, she sat beside him. ‘Of course I don’t. What makes you say anything as daft as that?’

  He regarded her with those huge dark eyes that were wise as they were mournful. She, too, remembered that face seven years ago, when it looked from every television and newspaper in the world. The Miracle Moses Child, cast adrift on the high seas. Three hundred and ninety refugees died when their ship sank in the Atlantic. Only one inflatable craft had been found amid shoals of hungry sharks, and on that craft had sat a solitary boy. All this flashed through her mind in a second, but the look in her eye must have told Jay a lot.

  ‘Why am I different to everyone else, Laura?’

  ‘We’re all different from one another.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘That’s what makes us individuals.’

  He sighed. ‘I’m too different. I frighten people.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ She tried to sound cheerful. ‘Now . . . Jay. I haven’t told anyone else this, but I’ve asked my boss to rearrange our holiday.’

  He gazed at her. ‘The others are blaming me for what happened to Maureen.’

  Air currents whispered through the tree. Laura found herself glancing up into the branches half-expecting to see a frightening face. She brushed the disquieting notion away. ‘Why should they blame you?’

  ‘You know, Laura. It’s happened before.’

  ‘Coincidence. Nothing more. Come on, time to eat. There’s apple pie today.’

  His eyes became even graver. ‘Maureen knew something bad would happen.’

  Laura tensed. ‘Did you say anything to her?’

  ‘The others told me I was saying her name – over and over.’ Gusts shook the branches. ‘But I don’t remember doing that, Laura. Only what I did later.’

  ‘And what was that? What did you tell Maureen?’

  His eyes became vast, dark pools. ‘I went to her room. I told her I was going to take her for a little walk.’

  ‘A little walk?’ she repeated. ‘Why would you do that?’

  His voice appeared to merge with the breeze. ‘I wanted to make her happy before she died.’

  ‘It was an accident. Nobody could possibly guess. How did you know that she was going to die?’ She took his hand. ‘Jay, tell me how you knew.’

  At that moment a piercing scream r
ang out. In the play area everyone stopped to stare at the teenage girl who clutched her arm. A boy raced across the lawn toward Laura. ‘Ruth found a knife. She’s cut her wrist again!’

  Three

  When the school party, comprised of a dozen fifteen-year-olds, reached Chapel Hill Victor Brodman hung back as the teacher, a dark-haired beauty with scarlet nails, delivered the lesson. ‘Class, listen up. This is one of the highest points of the Isle of Siluria. Just a hundred yards away from us across that channel is England. Over there is Wales. This is one of the largest river islands in Britain. Until 1875 it had its own parliament and referred to Queen Victoria as the “foreign dame”. Being surrounded by the river means it rarely drops below freezing point, allowing more exotic species of insects to survive the winter.’ From time to time Miss Hendricks caught Victor’s eye. ‘The Isle of Siluria is named after which ancient kingdom? Gary?’

  ‘Wales.’

  ‘Very good. Siluria is indeed the old name for Wales. Tricia, what are the deer called?’

  ‘It’s in the fact sheet, miss.’

  ‘Humour me, Tricia. I’m the educator, you are my acolyte.’

  ‘You what?’

  Miss Hendricks shot Victor a smile, then fixed a steely eye on the girl. ‘Tricia, I ask questions, you answer them. So, dear, give me the name of the deer, dear.’

  The students laughed. They clearly liked their teacher.

  Tricia read from the sheet. ‘“Saban Deer. Growing no larger than a Labrador dog . . . they have golden body fur, black fur to head and distinctive blue eyes. Said to be a unique species, but probably a mutant variant of roe deer.”’

  ‘Thank you, Tricia. The name alone was what I wanted.’

  A boy with an Afro hairstyle pretended to be scared. ‘Mutants, miss. You mean like with ten eyes and tentacles.’

  ‘No face-sucking monsters here, unless you include yourself, Theo. Seeing as I noticed you smooching with Pippa at the back of the bus.’ More class laughter. Miss Hendricks was a hit. ‘The deer are mutants in the sense of being a biological offshoot of the common roe. So, no bloodthirsty rampages today.’

  The children took advantage of the teacher’s discourse being interrupted. ‘Can the island ranger take the class?’ asked one. ‘I bet he knows all kinds of stories.’

  ‘And what time the pub opens,’ Tricia added.

  Miss Hendricks took it in her stride. ‘You’ve juice and sandwiches so no need to waste your time in some stuffy tavern.’

  ‘We don’t mind, miss.’

  Theo eyed the channel between the island and the mainland. ‘I bet I could swim there and back in twenty minutes.’

  Tricia shivered. ‘In this weather? It’s f-f-fu-fur-freezing.’ The class laughed.

  Victor enjoyed the lively banter. ‘Swimming isn’t a good idea. There’s a current running at over ten miles an hour round the island. Not to mention whirlpools and rip tides. You’d be safer playing with a hand grenade.’

  ‘So that’s why there are a million signs with danger plastered all over. Cool.’ Theo was impressed. ‘Anybody drowned recently? Have you ever seen a drowned man, Victor?’

  ‘Mr Brodman to you lot.’ Miss Hendricks’ eyes twinkled at him.

  ‘No, Victor’s fine. I insist.’ He smiled back.

  Tricia tapped him on the arm. ‘So – Victor – what’s this about your Saban Deer being the ghosts of drowned children?’

  ‘And isn’t it true,’ asked a boy in a bush hat, ‘that the population of the deer always matches the island’s human population, which currently stands at two hundred and eighty-two?’

  Victor was surprised. ‘That’s not on the fact sheet.’

  Tricia wore a pained expression. ‘Please excuse Greg. He always researches a place before we visit. Hormones, I think.’

  Theo winked. ‘He’s never kissed a girl.’

  ‘All right, class,’ Miss Hendricks announced. ‘More walking, less talking.’

  They moaned.

  Miss Hendricks advanced on Victor. ‘So, how long will it take us to walk from this end of the island to the castle at the other?’

  ‘It’s just over two miles, so I reckon we can do it in forty-five minutes.’

  ‘If them mutant deer don’t gore us to death,’ Theo added with a huge grin.

  ‘If they do –’ Miss Hendricks pointed the way along the path – ‘interpose your youthful frame between the savage beasts and us.’ As they walked the teacher dealt out the facts. ‘At its widest the island is a mile, narrowest just a hundred and fifty yards. Access is by the ferry you dear children arrived on. Its main settlement is the village of Penrow. Tony, pick up your gum and deposit it in the bin provided yonder. Siluria derives its income from tourism, farming and some cottage industry such as pot-making, weaving, and baking.’

  Victor nodded. ‘And there are some locals working in website design, PR and we’ve even got a couple of television script writers.’

  Tricia piped up as they walked along the shoreline path. ‘Miss? Miss, a word please, miss.’

  They continued to stroll along as the teacher waited for Tricia to catch up. Victor led the way as Theo asked if there was shop that sold rolling tobacco. Even though Tricia and the teacher were now at the back of the group Victor could hear the young girl’s excited whisper. ‘I saw how you were looking at Victor. You fancy him, don’t you, miss?’

  ‘Tricia, that’s not an appropriate topic of discussion.’

  ‘He’s really dead good-looking, miss. You like him. I can tell. When we get back to the hostel why don’t you invite him to the pub?’

  ‘Thank you, Tricia. I’m perfectly capable of arranging my own romantic liaisons.’

  Victor took a moment before glancing back. When he did Miss Hendricks shot him a winning smile.

  Once more Laura Parris found herself fighting a battle to protect the children at Badsworth Lodge. The self-inflicted cuts on Ruth’s wrist had been minor ones, not much more than scratches really. Nevertheless, Laura knew the warning signs when she saw them. The teenage girl grieved for Maureen even though she hadn’t so much as shed a single tear. A lot of the children at Badsworth Lodge did that. They’d conditioned themselves to repress emotion. Because in their old homes emotion equalled weakness. Weakness invited bullying. So, as she peeled off the latex gloves smeared with Ruth’s blood, she headed to her office where she telephoned City Hall.

  ‘Miss Henshaw, have you rearranged the visit to the island?’ Laura sighed as she heard a negative reply. ‘The reason I sound ill-tempered is that I’m angry because a friend and colleague of mine has been killed. I’m angry because one of your staff came here today and started asking questions about Jay Summer, leading me to wonder if the press have found out if Jay’s now living here. All the more reason to get away for a break.’ In the heat of the moment she steamed on. ‘Badsworth Lodge is a volcano that’s about to blow itself sky-high. Our children are self-harming, and they’re either not sleeping or having nightmares when they do. Come down here, feel the tension for yourself. Everybody’s wound up so tight you’d swear this place will be torn from its foundations when the shit finally starts to fly.’ Lights in the building flickered. It didn’t take a leap of faith to believe this was a sign of an emotional conflagration building. A child shouted in anger in the corridor. Another symptom that nerves had been rubbed raw. Barely suppressed rage simmered in the air. ‘A holiday, Miss Henshaw. Fix it today.’

  The voice wheedled in her ear. ‘It’s not possible to rearrange one just like that. Maybe in a week or two?’

  ‘Today, Miss Henshaw. Give me confirmation today.’ A crash sounded from the corridor.

  One of the carers leaned in through the doorway. ‘John’s throwing chairs down the stairwell again!’

  Before hanging up Laura shouted into the phone, ‘Today, Miss Henshaw – or lives are going to be lost!’

  They were bright kids. Full of energy, too. Victor Brodman had escorted them to the castle at the far end of the island
. They’d been interested in the Giant Men of Siluria’s Graves, the name given to slit-shaped pits dug into one of the beaches where boats had been kept in years gone by. One pupil had been reluctant to surrender the notion that there weren’t really men thirty feet high, striding round the island centuries ago.

  ‘It’s just a colourful name for holes in the beach,’ Victor told him. ‘They didn’t have the resources to build a proper harbour. But those trenches kept the boats safe when storms struck.’

  ‘Only they do look like graves for giants.’ With a wistful expression Greg photographed them. ‘Any chance I might get shots of the Saban?’

  ‘They’re shy animals, but you might catch a glimpse.’

  Miss Hendricks strolled up. ‘Greg, go remind Theo to read the danger signs. He’s getting too close to the water.’

  Once Greg had jogged away down the beach Miss Hendricks flicked back her raven-black hair. ‘So, Victor, we’ve seen the wildlife, what’s the night life like round here?’

  He smiled back. ‘Not what you’d call red-hot.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘There’s the Three Impostors pub.’

  ‘Oh? I wondered what it would be like. But it won’t be much fun for me drinking alone.’

  ‘I’d ask you to join me for a drink tonight, Miss Hendricks, but what about your class?’

  ‘Oh, they can do with a break from me for a while. The hostel staff will make sure they don’t wreck the place, so, what do you say to—?’

  ‘Miss?’

  ‘What is it, Greg?’

  ‘It’s Theo.’

  ‘Oh, Lord, he’s not fallen in the river, has he?’

  ‘No, he’s feeding the fishes.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Feeding the fishes,’ Greg repeated. ‘Throwing up, puking, vomiting, barfing . . .’

  ‘Yes, yes, I get the picture.’

  ‘Lots of others are feeling ill, too, miss. It must be those cheeseburgers.’