Attica (23 page)

It was as simple as that.

‘If that woman comes I shall say I just found myself here,’ she reasoned, ‘and have lost my memory.’

She didn’t like telling lies, but there was no other option. If the police were called at least she would get home and she could convince her mother of the truth: she would eventually believe her daughter. Ben would be a tougher nut to crack, but Dipa would win him over.

Alex’s voice
floated down to her as if from many miles away.

Chloe began to descend the stairs. The cat stopped washing and regarded her with interest. One of the stairs suddenly creaked rather loudly. A woman somewhere in her forties – the same that had put the box in the attic – came out of a room and looked at Chloe. There was a frown on the woman’s face, but it looked like one of those frowns some people wear permanently. She stared up at Chloe with penetrating eyes.

The cat very sensibly wandered off into another room, leaving the humans to their rituals.

Chloe steeled herself for an angry or shocked attack, but none came; instead, the woman’s voice had an exasperated tone to it.

‘Oh,
there
you are. Where have you been, child? The dinner’s getting cold.’ The woman peered up at the landing. ‘And what have I told you about leaving on the landing light? Electricity costs money.’

Despite being stunned by her reception, Chloe’s natural instinct was to defend herself.

‘I didn’t switch it on.’

‘Please, Sarah, do give me
some
credit for intelligence. No one’s been up there but you.’

‘You were. You went to the attic.’

A befuddled expression came over the woman’s face, then she simply said, ‘Oh. Well,
do
hurry up. We’re all waiting for you. What
have
you been doing in your bedroom? On that silly computer, I expect. I told your father when he bought it we’d never get you away from it. Why can’t you be more like your brother? He gets out in the fresh air.’

The woman was
quite thin and anxious-looking, wearing a black dress, pearls and high-heeled shoes. Her hair was tight around her head, almost like a black swimming cap. She was dressed as if she were going out for the evening. Suddenly she reached out and pulled one of the ends of Chloe’s string which had been tied in a bow. ‘What on
earth
are you doing?’ The woman stared upwards at the length of string, which led to the open trapdoor of the attic. ‘Have you been up there?’

‘No, you left it open.’

The woman was clearly very irritated by the puzzle.

‘Why have you tied yourself to that string?’

‘I – I just wanted to.’

‘You really are a most peculiar child.’ She stared hard at Chloe, before adding in a low voice, ‘I’m glad you’re not mine. I’m glad
none
of you are mine. If I had my way …’ There was a call from inside the room: a deep male voice.

‘Are we going to eat, or what?’

The woman put on an attempt at a smile, pushing Chloe into the room before her.

‘Here she is. Playing computer games again, George. We should really limit the children, shouldn’t we? I try to be reasonable about this matter, but it’s become an obsession with them.’

Chloe said flatly, ‘I was
not
playing computer games.’

The man, balding, a little overweight, wearing a suit, white shirt and tie, pointed to the chair next to him with his dinner fork.

‘Never mind all that now. We’ll be late for the theatre. Sit down, Sarah, and eat your dinner.’

Chloe sat, absolutely bewildered by all this. She had been willing so far to put everything down to mental illness on the part of the middle-aged woman. But clearly everyone else in the room accepted her as one of the family. One of their own. Were they
all
mad? It seemed unlikely. Perhaps she’d wandered into a television programme, one of those reality shows? Yet there was no evidence of cameras or cables or any of the trappings of such.

And who really
was Sarah? Would she come wandering into the room at any moment, a mirror image of Chloe? Or was there no Sarah, just a family waiting to trap one, to draw a Sarah into itself like a fish into a net, with lures of commonplace gatherings and home comforts?

The whole thing was mystifying.

It frightened her more than a confrontation would have done. Something surely lurked around the corner: some terrible truth that would swallow her up with its awful ordinariness.

‘Sarah, eat your vegetables,’ said the woman, over-sweetly. ‘They’re good for you.’

There were two other children there.

A boy about half Chloe’s age and a girl not more than three. The girl looked impish, with golden curls and a grim smile. She gripped her spoon as if it were a club and she was about to beat the overcooked cabbage to death. The young boy had a snub nose, freckles and a dirty collar. A football boy. A woodsy, ditchy, scouty, catapulty boy. He seemed wholly taken up with his dinner, shovelling the food down his throat with gusto. The father, George, looked a bit pompous, rather flabby and soft about the gills, but nice enough. He smiled at Chloe.

‘You should listen to Jane,’ he said. ‘Not watch too much TV.’

‘Not television,’ Jane said, ‘
video
games.’

‘Oh, yes,’ replied George, wiping his mouth on his napkin. ‘Video games. Never understood the interest.’

‘That’s because
you’re no good at ’em,’ interrupted the boy with his mouth full of food. ‘You’re
hopeless
.’

‘That’s enough,’ ordered Jane. ‘George, why do you encourage them to be so insubordinate?’

‘In-sordy-nut,’ said the little girl and banged her spoon on the table. ‘INSORDYNUT.’

‘That’s enough, Chantelle,’ said George mildly. ‘Get on with your dinner. Don’t you like it? Jane cooked it specially.’

‘She means I’m cheeky, don’t she, sis?’ the boy said, grinning at Sarah. ‘She always uses them long words.’

‘Who’s
she
, the cat’s mother?’ asked Chloe, repeating an old family saying then, realising she really was speaking out of turn, said, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I should think so,’ Jane said, pursing her mouth. ‘Really, George.’

‘We ought to be going,’ said George, putting down his napkin and looking at his wrist-watch. ‘We’ll be late. Can you put the children to bed, Sarah? Don’t wait up for us, we won’t be in ’till one or two. You’ll be all right, won’t you? You’ve got my mobile number. I can’t switch it on during the performance, but I will at the interval, and after, of course. Leave a message if there are any problems.’

‘She’s not putting me to bed,’ growled the boy. ‘I can put myself to bed.’

George said, ‘You’re to go up when Sarah tells you.’

He left the room. Jane swept the faces of the children with an icy stare. ‘One of these days …’ she muttered.

‘We were here first,’ growled the boy. ‘You came after.’

Jane glared at him but left the battlefield.

George came back into the room wearing his own coat and carrying another for Jane.

‘It’s snowing,’ he said. ‘I knew it would. Do you think we should cancel?’

Chloe said quickly, ‘No – it’ll be
all right – Dad. You go.’ She glanced out of the window. ‘It’s not coming down too hard. It won’t settle. Look, I think it’s clearing already.’

He patted her head with chubby fingers. ‘You’re a good girl, Sarah.’ Then in a whisper as Jane went to find her gloves, ‘I know it’s hard at the moment, but she’ll come round.’ He nodded at the doorway through which Jane had disappeared. ‘We’ll win her over, you’ll see.’ He smiled at what he clearly believed was his daughter. ‘You’re growing up fast. You’ll soon be a woman yourself and then you can be friends. I don’t think Jane has any objections to friends at all. Look after the other two. Sorry to leave you with them, but you know we don’t get out often, and Jane does love her theatre.’

‘I don’t mind,’ said Chloe. ‘Honestly I don’t.’

‘You’re a good girl. I always said so. Now, would you mind going and hurrying Jane up. We’ll be late. She’s lost her gloves.’

Chloe felt daunted at this small task. Hurry Jane up? Why, the woman disliked Sarah intensely. Chloe was a very bright girl and she quickly decided there was jealousy there. Jane was jealous of the children, probably because they had a past history with George – their father – and she was new on the scene. Chloe didn’t think Jane was naturally aggressive. She was terrified of having to fight for her place in an established household. Realising this she went into the bedroom where Jane was still searching for her gloves.

‘Can I help?’ she said. ‘Where did you last see them?’

Jane looked up quickly, a suspicious expression on her face.

‘What are you smiling at? Have you hidden them?’

‘No,’ replied Chloe, ‘I wouldn’t do such a thing. I don’t dislike you, you know. Look,’ she faced Jane full on, ‘this is difficult for all of us. We – us children – are worried about you, whether you’ll like us or not. That’s why we’ve been a bit awkward with you, I suppose. I’m sorry for that. We could start again. We could easily be friends. It would be nicer for – for Dad – for George – if we were. Would you be my friend, please, Jane?’

Jane stared at her
for a long time.

‘I can be nice,’ she said at last. ‘If people are nice to me.’

‘Well,’ Chloe laughed, ‘you know what my baby brother is like – he’s a rotten little ruffian and we won’t get much niceness out of him, but he’d be the same in any family. As for Chantelle, well, she’s been spoiled by Dad a bit, but if we’re firm with her, she’ll be all right once she goes to school. It’s you and me who have to make the running in this.’

Chloe paused, wondering how far to take this, but finally put out her hand.

‘Would you shake on it?’

Jane looked down, seemingly uncertain. ‘This is very silly.’

‘I know, but I want to
try
to help us all get on better together. A handshake – well, it’s symbolic, isn’t it?’

Again Jane looked at her for a long while, before saying, ‘If you’re playing a game with me …’

‘I’m not, I promise,’ replied Chloe, hoping that the real Sarah would prove to be as receptive to tenderness as she would be. ‘I’m just fed up with all this sniping. I get enough of that at school with other girls and I’m sick and tired of it.’

Jane’s eyes went a little moist. ‘So am I,’ she said. ‘Weary to the bone with it.’

Suddenly, they were shaking hands and Chloe was flushed with triumph. Oh, please don’t let me down, Sarah, she thought. This will be so much better for you.

George came into the room, saying, ‘What the heck is happening up here? I said we would be late—’ He stopped in the middle of the room and stared.

‘What are
you two up to?’ he said, looking puzzled. ‘Making a pact?’

‘You could say that,’ murmured Jane.

She went forward and straightened his tie possessively, then realised how this looked and turned back nervously towards Chloe.

But Chloe knew the move had been instinctive. Jane had been using these tricks for some time now and they were hard to throw off. Both females knew what had happened and Chloe was determined it would not interfere with this new relationship she had set up.

‘You two have a good time tonight,’ she said, smiling broadly. ‘Off you go. Don’t worry about the kids.’

Jane looked relieved and smiled.

‘Didn’t I tell you she was a good girl?’ George cried.

‘You did,’ agreed Jane, a smile almost reaching her eyes.

‘My two best girls,’ he said with genuine affection. Then a look at his watch and, ‘Come on, Jane. We
must
go.’

They all bounded down the stairs together and George opened the front door. It had a frosted stained-glass panel depicting a robin on a bough. He took one more look at the snow, then stepped outside.

Once the door had slammed, Chloe turned to the boy.

He said aggressively, ‘I ain’t going to bed yet.’

‘No one’s asked you to.’

Chantelle, still at the table, was hammering her cabbage with her spoon, sending green bits flying all over the tablecloth. Chloe was at a loss for a moment, then went in and gathered her up in her arms. Chantelle kicked and struggled until she was put down, saying, ‘I can do it. I can do it.’

‘Upstairs, young lady,’ ordered Chloe.

Amazingly the
youngster did as she was told. The cat had appeared again and got its fur pulled by Chantelle on her way past. Chloe followed, calling up to Alex as she went beneath the open trapdoor, ‘I’ll be a while yet.’

She bathed the little girl, found a nightdress and put her into it, and then told her to get into bed while she let the bathwater go. Chantelle obediently trooped off to one of the rooms and was sitting up in bed sucking her thumb when Chloe joined her.

‘Story!’ said Chantelle, taking her thumb out for a second. ‘Big Red Boots!’

When Chloe simply stood there and looked helplessly around, Chantelle got out of bed, found the book she wanted and handed it to her. Chloe sat on the side of her bed and read the battered, dog-eared pages. It was a tale of an elf who had been given big red boots for his birthday. Even before Chloe had finished the story, Chantelle was asleep, her golden curls decorating the pillow.

Chloe went downstairs again and found the boy watching television. She still did not know his name.

‘You’re next,’ she said.

‘I don’t have to go up yet.’

‘You’ll go when I tell you to.’

‘Bossy boots.’

Still, she left him there for a while and studied the programme herself. It was a quiz show. Chloe didn’t recognise it, but then she never watched quiz shows. They just bored her.

‘What’s this called?’ she asked.

‘You know.’

‘No I don’t, or I wouldn’t ask.’

He was lying on the floor, his head propped up on his elbows. He turned to look at her. ‘It’s called
You Know
. That’s what it’s called. You daft, or what?’

‘Don’t be
cheeky.’

‘Bugger off.’

‘And don’t swear. I’ll – I’ll tell Dad.’

‘Don’t care.’

Chloe knew this was going nowhere. She had a younger brother who could be just like this one at times. She tried to focus on why she was down here, in this house. What she had to do was find out where the house was located. It was no good asking this boy. He would look at her as if she was stupid. Instead, she got up and went to look in the drawers of a bureau that stood in the corner. If she could find a letter, she could study the address.