Like One of the Family (22 page)

‘My surprise! my surprise!' she cried.

‘Okay,' Claire said, playing for time. ‘You wait here and I'll go into the shop. But you mustn't peek or the magic will vanish.' Ruthie nodded eagerly and climbed back on her bike.

Claire went into the shop and picked out a packet of sweet cigarettes then, keeping a watchful eye through the window, reached across the counter for a Lucky Bag and a comic. She hid them under the evening paper and, as she glanced around again, glimpsed Ruthie cycling past. She waved but the little girl did not see her.

There was a queue at the counter. Claire glanced at her watch and prayed that Mrs Cummins would get to her soon. The woman loved a bit of gossip and was reluctant to allow any of them escape before she exacted her toll. Claire sighed and tried not to mind. It was just the country way of life.

Ruthie weaved her way happily about the perimeter of the shops. Head down, she pressed the pedals as hard and fast as they would go, and sped down the laneway leading to the sheds at the rear. This time, she told herself, she would go all the way to the far wall, touch it and come back. Empty cans and mineral bottles were strewn in her way and she deftly circled them until she reached her target then, extending her fingers, brushed the brickwork. Done! She was so intent on her game that she did not notice how dark it had become as she clocked up yet another trip.

Two figures materialised out of the dusk and stepped in front of the bike. Ruthie saw them too late and was brought down with jarring suddenness, collapsing in a tangle of spokes and rubber. As she tried to get up, the handlebars spitefully sprang back at her, jabbing her agonisingly under the chin. Tears stung her eyes and she cried out with the surprise and pain of it.

When she recovered from the shock, she pushed herself on to her hunkers and weakly pushed the hair out of her eyes. Across the waste ground from her, at the level of her own eyes, she saw a pair of scuffed canvas runners. Slowly, she lifted her eyes past the jagged holes in the tattered jeans to the face lit by the reflected glow from the neon light of the chip shop. She climbed stiffly back on her bike and tried to ride on past.

‘What's your hurry?' Denis barred her way.

Ruthie opened her mouth and the words came tumbling out of her shaking lips. ‘Let me go,' she begged.

‘No-one stopping you.‘ Denis moved closer and put his hand on her arm. His face still bore the marks of the punch-up between Terry and himself. ‘Where's that big tough brother of yours?' he asked.

‘He's in the shop waiting for me.' She twisted her head away as Barney put his grubby hand on her hair.

‘Little Goldilocks,' he said.

Again, Ruthie attempted to cycle past them and thought she had succeeded in getting clear at last, when she felt a heavy weight bearing down on her back carrier. As she was dragged to a stop, she turned with a frightened little cry to face her persecutors.

Claire came out of the shop with her purchases and looked about. There was no sign of Ruthie. She sighed and resigned herself to a brief wait, fully expecting Ruthie to round the corner or pop out from some hiding place with a triumphant shout. Nothing happened. It occurred to her that Ruthie might have cycled ahead

She mounted her bicycle and headed back down the road. Even now Ruthie was probably with Jane having a giggle over giving her the slip. Little chancer, Claire thought with a grin, pedalling faster.

‘No, she's not back,' Jane said, looking up in surprise when Claire ran in. ‘I thought you were together.'

‘Oh, but we were,' Claire said, upset. She had been so sure the little girl would be there before her. ‘I was in the shop getting her a surprise and she wasn't meant to know what it was - ' she broke off.

‘But surely you could see her from the shop,' Jane asked, her sleepy expression vanishing. She stood up.

‘Yes... in the beginning but then I thought she was playing a joke...' Claire's voice tailed away.

‘Let's not panic,' Jane said, a slight tremor in her voice. ‘We must go back to the shop at once,' she decided.

Jane took the car keys from her bag and went outside. Garda Deveney was going in his door and she paused beside her car and called to him.

‘No, I didn't see Ruthie,' he said, then sensing Jane's agitation, ‘Do you want me to go down the road and look for her?'

‘That's most kind of you, Bill. With two of us searching we'll find her in no time. We're heading back to Cummins' shop,' she went on, as Claire slipped into the seat beside her. ‘That's where she was when Claire lost sight of her.'

‘I'll take the station road so,' the Garda said, and seeing Jane's anxious expression added kindly, ‘Don't worry. She's probably just lost count of the time.'

Jane nodded and drove off. She was down the road before she remembered to switch on her lights.

A new group had gathered in the thirty minutes or so since Claire was in the shop. Mrs. Cummins sighed and shook her head at Jane's anxious questions. ‘Wisha, I know the young lassie well, so I do. And all of your children, Doctor. I'd surely remember if she was here. Indeed'n, I would. She was in yesterday right enough, but not today

Just that young Miss there,' she said, pointing at Claire.

‘But hold on now,' Mrs Cummins said, coming out from behind the counter. ‘Mick might have seen her, so he might. Nothing escapes that fellah's notice.'

They all waited in silence while she went to the beaded curtain, dividing the front of the shop from the back premises, and called her husband.

But no, Mick hadn't seen Ruthie either. He came out, scratching his head and puzzling over when he'd last laid eyes on the little girl. Mrs Cummins appealed to those standing about the shop and they willingly entered into the discussion.

‘Would she be about three or four?' one of them asked.

‘Ah, not at all,' said Mrs Cummins. ‘She's a big lassie, made her First Communion and all.'

Jane tried to contain her impatience, on knife-edge with worry. They were well-meaning, but of no help. She felt hysteria slowly building up as in a leisurely manner they thrashed it out between them. She cut them short as politely as she could and, in the sudden silence, thanked them for their help. She was conscious of their voices starting up again behind her as she left the shop. Oh God, Jane thought. She had gained nothing, merely wasted precious minutes. It was now almost fifty minutes since Claire had last seen Ruthie passing the shop door.

Jane knew she was beginning to panic and took a tighter grip on herself. She bent over the wheel, agonising it out. Claire watched her, miserably aware she should never have left Ruthie on her own. It was all her fault.

Jane decided to go back to the cottage. Bill might have found Ruthie and brought her there. Or he might have heard something, anything which would give them direction. Quickly the Rover covered the mile and a half distance. When Jane swung into the driveway and saw two figures standing in the doorway, her heart leapt. But it was only Sheena and Killian, puzzled at finding no one at home.

‘No,' Sheena replied in answer to her questions. ‘We haven't seen her. We just walked up from the quay to collect Claire and bring her back with us to the disco.'

Jane got back in the car. At least that was another route they needn't take. She was badly frightened, hardly able to hide her fear.

‘Will we come with you, Mummy?' Sheena called, but Jane shook her head. Someone should stay behind in case Ruthie returned. Or Garda Deveney.

With Claire beside her, Jane drove off again. She was now completely sober. It was pitch dark. She flicked on her full headlights. A car was coming towards them fast along the road. When it was almost up to them it slowed and stopped. Jane recognised Bill's car with - thank heavens - Ruthie's bike sticking out of the boot. Thank God, Oh thank God. She braked and got out.

‘I've got her,' Bill said. ‘She's all right. Just shaken. You'd best go to her.' She hurried around to the passenger side where Ruthie sat huddled on the seat.

Jane reached for her daughter and held her tight. It was a full minute before she realised that Ruthie's hair had been cut off.

‘Here, Doctor,' Bill appeared at her side. ‘Let me give you a hand with her.'

With his help, Jane put Ruthie into her own car. Claire climbed into the back and put her arms about the child.

In convoy, they drove back along the narrow roads to the cottage, Ruthie's bike bumping and clattering crazily behind. Bill carried Ruthie into the house and, in response to Sheena's gabble of questions, Jane tersely told her to make a cup of tea and sugar it well. Sheena rushed to obey.

Jane laid the shivering child on her bed and pulled the duvet warmly about her. Ruthie lay very still, her eyes closed, her butchered hair spiking unevenly about her head. Jane gave a choked cry and gathered her close. She sat like that for a long time.

When Sheena brought in the tea Jane gave Ruthie a sedative and fed her tiny sips of the hot sweet liquid. Then she left Sheena and Claire with her and went out to speak to Bill. He was sitting with Killian and stood up with a sympathetic cough, when she appeared. The boy tactfully disappeared into the kitchen.

‘Where was she, Bill?' Jane asked. She felt very old and tired.

‘In the chip shop,' Bill said. ‘They brought her in there after one of the lassies caught some boys tormenting her and chased them off.'

Jane felt her knees give and sank down on the settee. The memory of Ruthie in her First Communion dress, her golden hair spread out on her shoulders beneath the snowy veil, came back to her. It was only last year. Another picture flashed into her head. Eddie's face the day he carried Ruthie home from the Nursing Home. Proud and doting, smiling down at the little silky head.

Her beautiful hair.

Oh God! Jane thought. What kind of brats would mutilate an eight year old? Bill disappeared and came back carrying the whisky bottle. He poured a tot and handed it to her. ‘Take this, Doctor,' he said. ‘You've had a bad shock.'

Jane took a sip and thrust it from her. No. She wanted to keep a clear head. Enough had been drunk today. Oh, why couldn't she have stuck to the wine? she thought in anguish. She never regretted anything so much in her life as that indulgent glass of brandy. Without it, she would never have allowed Ruthie and Claire go off in the dusk on their own.

Jane took a deep breath and, turning to Bill, asked him who could have done such a thing. He said from what the girl had told him it appeared that it was two local lads. One was in his late teens, the other older and slow-witted.

Jane supposed she had known all along.

Which reminded her that Terry was still out. When Garda Deveney departed with a last sympathetic glance, she called Killian and asked him to go down to the disco and see if he could find Terry. They should all be home tonight, Jane said. He went off at once, glad to have something to do.

Jane went back into the bedroom where Claire was sitting with Ruthie and suggested to the older girl that she might like to go upstairs and begin her packing. Claire got up obediently.

‘Thank you, Claire,' Jane said, gently dismissing her and closing the bedroom door.

Ruthie was still awake despite the sedative, and she lay submissive and uncomplaining while Jane carried out her examination. She was as gentle as she could be, but it was important to know just what had occurred. The child's knees were grazed and there were ugly scorch marks like cigarette burns on her thighs but when she gently felt between her legs there was no evidence that she had been assaulted. Jane caught her breath on a sigh of gratitude and relief.

Ruthie lay with closed eyes all the while Jane tended her, saying never a word. It broke Jane's heart to see her so silent and withdrawn. She would rather have had crying, screaming, abusive even. Anything rather than this terrible stillness.

When Terry came in shortly afterwards Jane left him in charge, and went down to the police station. She told Sergeant Flynn what had happened and he listened with a troubled expression. Dr McArdle was well liked and respected in Dualeen. She had always been quick to respond to emergency calls, even though she was on holiday, and there was nothing but sympathy and respect for her amongst the townspeople. The sergeant remembered the tragic case of her husband and son and thought it was a terrible shame that such a decent woman should have so much hardship in her life.

‘I'm really sorry for your trouble, ma'am,' he said gently. ‘If there's anything at all in my power to do, believe me, I'll do it.'

His sympathy snapped Jane's control. ‘Dear God, Sergeant,' she said brokenly, ‘What kind are they to do such a thing?'

‘It's a sign of the times,' he said, with a troubled look at her. ‘Crazed by drugs and drink. They don't know what they're doing half the time.'

‘Oh no, Sergeant. I won't accept that one,' Jane cried. ‘That's too easy. That lets them out of responsibility. Those same delinquents broke into my cottage last week while I was away and terrorised my family.'

Sergeant Flynn looked alertly at her. ‘Did you report this?'

Jane shook her head. She didn't know why she hadn't. Perhaps she had been too anxious to believe it couldn't happen again. Or too willing to try and put it behind them.

The sergeant briskly reached for pen and paper. ‘With this we'll be able to get them before the district court,' he said. ‘Breaking and entering, assault and attempted rape. Then we'll take it from there.'

Jane was relieved. The sergeant gave her forms, helped her to fill them out, then witnessed her signature. She thanked him and drove back to the cottage, feeling emotionally washed-out.

She found a subdued household on her return. Every last thing had been packed in readiness for the journey next day, the cottage swept and tidied and even the bikes lined up in the hall, to enable a quick departure. Jane was touched almost to the point of tears. How responsible they had become all of a sudden, she thought. There was nothing like trouble to hasten the maturing process. She only wished it could be some other way.