Power on Her Own (18 page)

‘As I said, a rugby man. No, he wouldn't want to train with the boys either.' And if he did, he wasn't going to get the chance. She hoped her voice was regretful enough. ‘So it looks as if we're stuck. Pity. The kids need the help.'

‘Couldn't we just bend the rules for once?' Derek appealed to his father.

‘No,' she said firmly. ‘I know the majority of people who interfere with children are men, but there are women involved too. I spend my life enforcing rules. I wouldn't want to bend someone else's myself. We'll suspend activities until I've got clearance – I'm sure the Met will respond quickly.'

‘I'll turn up this week,' Alec said. ‘Keep an eye on things. OK? And you need this.' He produced a glossy folded card. ‘This is our Code of Practice. I'd be grateful if you read it and made sure you observed the contents. Especially the part about physical contact with the boys. An incident like last week's must not be allowed to recur, Kate. For whatever reason.'

She stared: last week's incident? Marcus's asthma! But she'd been as careful as if these guidelines had been branded on her forehead not to touch him. Indeed, she'd done everything she could not to let Paul crowd him. She said nothing, waiting to be prompted.

‘With the asthmatic lad. Taking him home – that sort of thing shows – well, favouritism,' Alec continued.

What she wanted to do was ask what the hell she was supposed to do with an asthmatic child with no inhaler. What she needed to know was the source of his information. But the last thing she should do was bridle and deny.

‘He was quite poorly,' she said at last, ‘and his spray was almost empty. I didn't want him to have an attack on the bus home.'

Derek stepped in: ‘You should have left it to the officer in charge. Not tried to deal with it yourself.'

Despite all her first aid training? Despite her experience with Robin's wheezy children? And, most of all, despite her suspicion that Marcus wanted nothing at all to do with a man?

She took a deep breath, swallowing all she wanted to say. ‘OK. He's got a new spray now: Paul's put it in his desk, so we know it's full when we need it. And if one of you is with me during the sessions and there's an emergency, you can deal with it?'

The men exchange glances, but nodded.

‘Fine. So I'll carry on as usual, under supervision, and you'll check me out. Now: I really must get back to those kids. Calm them down with a bit of ball control!'

If anyone needed calming down it was her, of course. All these men wanting control! But if there was one thing being a police officer taught you it was to obey rules even when they seemed stupid. And this little Code of Practice wasn't stupid. A glance was enough to show her that sensible, but sensitive minds had been at work on it. She tucked it in her pocket, and turned to the boys.

‘Of course we take the issues seriously,' Giles was saying, as he carved roast pork. ‘An organisation like the BB's like the Scouts – a magnet for the little-boy-fancying weirdos of this world.'

‘I wish they were weirdos,' Paul said seriously. ‘The trouble is, they don't all come with dirty macs and staring eyes. Respectable people, most of them.' He turned to Kate. ‘There's even some in the police, one hears.'

She wouldn't bite. ‘I'm sure you're right. We've got paedophiles, wife-beaters, the lot. Wherever you've got people, you've got problems. You've probably got them in colleges like yours.'

He tore his hair: ‘We've got nasty teachers? Don't tell the media! At least the police don't have the media on their backs all the time. The way the press go on you'd think all the world's ills can be laid at the door of teachers. And the minister of education's leading the pack! All we want is a bit of support. Oh, and a bit of pay, too. We really are the Cinderella of the education world. You'll see what I mean when I show you round my college!'

Maz looked at Giles: Kate could see it was a significant and meaningful look. Well, she'd evaded marriage arrangers for years enough. Though she did seem to be playing into their hands by going to this concert with him. Time to break the growing silence. She thought she could detect an unusual stuffing for the pork: she could ask about that.

Graham greeted her arrival with a smile. ‘How was the football?'

‘Nearly non-existent.' She explained.

‘Good to know one organisation's taking the issue seriously.' He took the folded card and scanned it. ‘Hmm. Good for the BB. But it puts a hell of a responsibility on the Captain or the Minister.'

‘Both of whom would be trained,' she said.

‘Good.' He passed back the card.

‘Any developments?' she asked, sitting down opposite him. ‘Like keeping an eye on the school the kids went to?'

‘Volunteering? Yes, there's a team set up to keep obbo. Don't want a third victim. Though my bet would be that we're wasting our time. Chummie will already have moved to another source for kids to groom. But we'll do it anyway. And I'd like you to go in there tomorrow and sort out the names and addresses of any other angelic-looking kids. We can get Family Protection to question them – see if any approaches have been made. Of whatever sort. And you could check with the staff if there are any obvious targets.'

‘The quiet ones, you mean? Few friends to confide in?'

‘Right. And just keep your ears open generally. You're looking very smart, by the way.' His eyes said,
very attractive
.

‘Hmm. Not exactly working clothes, are they? But I've got to go to Symphony Hall, remember – Paul's got the tickets – so I thought I'd look the part. And I haven't got many clothes up here to choose from. Now I've got wardrobe space, I could do with a trip to the Smoke to collect some things.'

‘Is that a request for some time off?' His face became tightly official.

‘Hardly! Not until this lot's sorted. But I shall have to sneak an hour to get some curtains, Graham. Not just warmth, decency. You don't want me arrested for exposing myself to the denizens of Kings Heath.'

Paul was as proud of Birmingham's new city centre as if he'd designed and built it himself.

‘I can't believe you haven't made the effort to come and see it before this,' he said, gesturing. ‘I mean, it isn't as if you work in Solihull or somewhere. You're practically here. Why haven't you been in your lunch hour or after work?'

‘We tend to work through lunch when we're busy. Which is most of the time. And my memories of Brum are of a nasty dirty place devoted to the car. But this – it must look lovely by daylight.'

‘Even better by night, I reckon. Look at the lights in that cascade. Isn't it magic?'

She had to agree it was.

‘Now, we'll walk through the Forum past the Rep to Symphony Hall. Good job it isn't raining.'

Paradise Forum had to be the naffest bit of civic development in years – what other public place would have as its focal point the Lottery stand! – and she wasn't sure about the squiggles of coloured lights on the face of Symphony Hall, but she fell for the ICC interior, suave and elegant compared with the scruffiness she remembered of the old Town Hall. And the acoustics were all they were cracked up to be. Although Paul had booked seats right up in the highest tier, the sound was excellent.

‘You're not bothered by the height?'

She shook her head.

‘Only some people say it's bad for vertigo. I was afraid you might find it made you dizzy.'

It would have been sensible to check before he'd booked them, then, wouldn't it. But she'd abseiled down post office towers with the best of them, and had never understood – though never doubted – that grown men and women could be reduced to shaking and gibbering at the thought of going up a ladder. She settled back to enjoy the concert.

So would Maz and Giles still be up watching TV when they got back to the Manse or would they have beaten a tactful and tactical retreat so Kate would have the pleasure of Paul's company solo?

A compromise. They were drinking coffee in the kitchen. So it would be in the kitchen that Kate would sit. And she would discover the need for an early night.

Maz and Giles were in the middle of an argument, however. Not the raised voices and slamming fists she'd so often seen. But she sensed there was some passion, nonetheless. Field sports, and whether they should be made illegal. Kate had her own views, which involved the impossibility of forcing big silly men on bigger, sillier horses to do what the law wanted them to do. Or not to do.

‘And if you ban hunting, are you going to ban other sports that involve killing?' Giles demanded. ‘Pigeon-shooting? Angling?'

‘You'll have to forgive my husband, Kate – he's country born and bred and try as I might I can't civilise him. Yes, I'd ban angling, Giles. All those maggots. Imagine coming home and finding your husband or son had left a tin of maggots open! Happened to a friend of mine once – came down in the night for a drink, thought she was walking on sugar and found – well, I can't go on,' Maz laughed.

Kate was laughing too. Oh, yes. Very funny.

‘They'd be very sleepy,' Paul said. ‘Apparently if you want to make them lively enough to be any use you have to put them in your mouth.'

‘And remember not to eat your sandwiches!' Giles cackled. ‘Actually, when my Gran was young, if you had earache, you put a maggot in your ear.'

Kate forced herself to speak: ‘Haven't they started to treat bad bruises with leeches again?'

Paul nodded. ‘And they're using maggots to clear wounds which have become gangrenous – just like in the First World War. I wonder if you'd feel them, munching away –'

Maz shuddered dramatically. ‘Enough!'

Giles grinned. ‘OK, I'll ban fishing – but only because of the maggots. And it's townies that fish.'

Say something or go and be sick. She swallowed her saliva and tried: ‘I'd ban the townie-fishermen.' Yes, she had her voice under control. Nearly. ‘They're like darts players – all beer-gut and no muscle.'

‘Like slugs,' Paul suggested.

Kate thought he shot a look at her.

‘Far worse,' Maz laughed. ‘At least slugs have no choice. Fancy allowing your body to – ugh! More coffee, anyone? Biscuit?'

The men patted their trim waistlines, preening. Kate, to take the taste from her mouth, took two.

The biscuits didn't work. But at least she kept them down until Paul had kissed her a public and affectionate goodnight. And then she'd just reached the loo in time.

‘You all right?' It was Tim, pink and ruffled in his pyjamas.

‘Fine,' she whispered, wiping her mouth.

‘Something you ate,' he said wisely.

‘Something I ate,' she agreed.

‘Better have a drop of Dad's brandy.'

‘No: we mustn't disturb anyone.'

‘You sure?'

‘Sure. Off you go to bed. I'm fine, now.'

‘You sure?' At last he seemed to accept it, and padded off.

Before she'd even closed her bedroom door, there was a gentle scratching.

‘Tim! You should be in bed!'

He produced a shapeless teddy bear. ‘He's not my best one. But he always used to look after me when I was ill.'

‘And he'll look after me now? Tim, you're a sweetie. Night-night!' She kissed his cheek.

Getting into bed, she surveyed the bear. How many germs, viruses and microbes had it had to deal with in its lifetime? Perhaps it could deal with a phobia too.

Kate had phoned the headmistress to ask if she and Colin could slip into the school assembly. At one level it would be easier than scanning pages of posed photographs, searching for children who might attract unwanted attention. At another, she wanted to see for herself the little community which had been so cruelly bereaved. Darren was back. They were trying to see if everyday life would help him recover. But he was still not speaking.

‘Not much therapy finding one of your mates is dead,' Colin said, unfastening his seat belt.

‘But they don't know quite how he died. Any more than we do.' She cut the ignition.

‘Come on: you feel it in the twitching of your thumbs!'

She nodded, then added, ‘Supposed to bring bad luck, quoting that play.' She was crossing her fingers despite herself.

On their way in, they walked past their colleagues, spending the day in what appeared to be a ordinary decorator's van. Not a nice day, either. Hot in even the autumn sun. Cramped and smelly. And Sally only a couple of weeks before she left – was mixing with the young mothers. Was there anyone watching the children who didn't seem to have brought a child? Anyone, in other words, prospecting for a victim?

The children washed and swirled round the playground, busy in their own worlds. Colin and Kate slowed to watch, penned behind a chainlink fence separating children from the adult entrance. The school had done its best with security. And even as she turned to speak to Colin, an adult approached them.