The Father's House (18 page)

“I'm making a pretty pattern,” he said.

Sarah snatched the pipe out of his hands. His smile vanished and he started to yell.

“It's mine, mine!”

Holding the pipe in one hand, she yanked him away from the flowerbed with the other. Lucy looked on in silent astonishment. Paul screamed.

Thomas came up behind them.

“What's going on?” he said. Then he saw the blue granules. “Holy Magnifico! What's happened?” He lifted Paul in his arms and took him over to a bench and sat him on his lap. Waiting for a gap in the howling he gently asked, “Did you eat any of it?”

Paul renewed his howls. Thomas tried again.

“Did you eat any of the blue stuff?”

“No,” wailed Paul, tears streaming down his face.

“Did you touch any of it with your hands?”

“No. It came out of the pipe.”

“That's good,” said Thomas. “Stop crying now. Everything's alright.”

The sobs subsided and after a few hiccups Paul climbed down.

“It's mine,” he said.

Sarah plonked herself down on the bench next to Thomas clutching at her chest and panting. Gradually her breathing eased. She pulled a duster out of her apron pocket and wiped the sweat off her face.

“What is it?” asked Lucy. “That blue stuff.”

Sarah glared.

“Don't you act all innocent with me, Miss. It must have been you who moved the barricade. Paul couldn't have shifted it.”

“What barricade?”

Sarah's face was purple.

“You know perfectly well what I'm talking about,” she said furiously. “Always playing around by the garage and climbing things and touching things, and hiding in corners and bushes, and pretending you're praying when you're not.”

Lucy didn't dare say any more.

“I'm sure Lucy wouldn't have moved the barricade,” said Thomas soothingly. “Perhaps the workmen thought it was spare wood and used it for something.” Taking a piece of flat stone he scooped all the blue crystals off the flowerbed into a plastic bag and thrust the bit of piping in after it.

“There. I'll get rid of this safely, and no harm done.”

Trembling, Sarah gathered herself up and, grabbing Paul by the hand, led him off to the safety of the kitchen. Lucy stood forlornly watching them go in, and then went into her special hidey-hole under the spotted bush.

They missed the Wednesday prayer meeting that evening. The three of them sat down at the table for tea, but neither Sarah nor Lucy could eat any of the chocolate cake. Paul enjoyed it immensely.

The following day was Thursday, the first day of the autumn term.

“The aunts said you tried to kill your little brother,” said one of the girls from Drax House.

“Don't talk such stupid rubbish,” snapped Lucy. “Anyway, I haven't got a brother.”

“Of course you've got a brother. All Father Copse's children are your brothers or sisters. How can you be so ignorant?”

“No they're not. Some of them are discards.”

“The aunts said you tried to poison him with rat poison. I'm going to tell them you said they talk stupid rubbish.” The girl laughed and ran off.

Lucy was tense as she walked home. If the girl reported her to the aunts she would be punished. But why had she said that about killing her brother? Someone was making up stories about her. Perhaps David was right. Perhaps Father Drax did want to make her look bad. It was a nasty feeling. And Aunt Sarah would have told her if Paul was her brother.

“What's the matter, misery guts?” shouted George, but she ignored him.

He jumped down from the gate and grabbed her arm.

“What's the matter?”

Lucy stopped and looked at him.

“I'm afraid,” she said.

“What of?”

“I don't know.”

Her eyes filled with tears and he let her go.

In the house Aunt Sarah was preparing food. The father would be gone first thing tomorrow. She had no intention of cleaning the stairs or his flat until the Monday morning just before he came home. Her stern countenance softened as Lucy came in.

“There. I've made you a nice tea,” she said.

“Thank you,” murmured Lucy.

“I know you wouldn't have moved the barricade,” said Sarah. “It's just I was so frightened for Paul. I got in a panic and acted unreasonably.”

“Yes,” said Lucy. “I understand.”

She went to her room and sat on the bed until Sarah called her.

“It's only right I should ask your forgiveness.”

Lucy patted Sarah's hand.

“It's alright,” she said. “Who did move it?

“It must have been one of the workmen. I found the sheet of hardboard propped up against the fence by the gate.”

“In school they say I tried to kill Paul,” said Lucy bleakly.

Sarah's face flushed scarlet with anger. It was that Drax House lot. She knew without being told. Who had passed on such evil gossip? Something was up and she didn't know what. She had to calm down before she could speak.

“Just ignore them,” she said lamely in the end. “They'll think of something else to lie about soon.”

“But how did they know?” wailed Lucy. “It was only us there.”

“Maybe the workmen saw something,” said Aunt Sarah, “and made five out of two and two. Oh dear,” she sighed, “what have I done with my false accusations? It must be all my fault. I'll go over to the Copse House commune tomorrow and get the aunts there to spread the word and put it right.”

“They're saying Paul's my brother.”

“We are all brother and sisters in the eyes of the Magnifico.” Sarah gave a scornful sniff. “Even that Drax House lot.”

Father Copse was sitting upright at his desk, slowly sipping his wine. The sound system was switched off. He couldn't be bothered to listen to silly women talking their usual rubbish. All they seemed to think about was clothes, or the colour of their hair. There were far more important things on his mind. He was troubled by a rumour.

Early tomorrow he was supposed to be flying out for his interview for the Deputy Envoy post, and now he was wondering if he should go. He had had a sense of danger for weeks. There had been nothing he could put his finger on until today when an anonymous caller on his office phone had whispered, almost inaudibly, “Watch Drax. He's after the red-headed one.” Later, at a lawyers' conference, a man he had never met before had approached him giving the infiltrators' hand signal. He had muttered “Watch your back. Drax is after you,” and walked straight on past.

The father cast his mind over the women in the Copse House commune. There was one redhead, but she had been there for years and was almost ready for disposal. As for Claudia in the top-floor flat, Drax could never have seen her, or even known about her, unless of course he had his spies at work. He shrugged. The women upstairs were secure. No-one could reach them.

More pressing were his financial problems. If the Holy Envoy discovered that he was in debt there was no hope that he would be appointed as his deputy. He fetched his files, as he did most evenings, and looked at his accounts.

He would happily be rid of the expense of keeping the redhead, but not to Drax. If only he could bring himself to get rid of the other woman – the real woman. She had already served her true purpose by providing him with children, and he might avoid a lot of difficulty if she were disposed of. But he couldn't do it.

In the end he decided to fly tomorrow as planned and sort things out when he got back. After all, if the interview was successful he could forget about Drax and money problems, and concentrate on winning the woman over. He had every hope of getting the job because Drax's commune had suffered two casualties this year – that boy John with the twitch, and the girl Dorothy who had absconded. It all reflected badly on Drax. His own embarrassment over Lucy seemed small in comparison, especially as he had pleased the Magnifico by dealing with her so firmly at the time. If he didn't get the deputy post he'd just have to be ruthless and dispose of a couple of kitchen aunts. He'd think up some justification. As for his woman upstairs – his Belinda? The ring of pain pressed into his head and suddenly he had a brilliant idea. Suppose he just kept her hair? She could go then. The good doctors could take her away.

He was unaware that at that moment Claudia was carefully, but unsuccessfully, investigating every nook and cranny, every bit of furniture, and every scrap of carpet, curtain, and cushion, for bugging devices. She had climbed a chair and was tapping the ceiling.

“If we could only find a hollow sound,” she whispered, rustling a tissue in front of her face, “we could break into the attic and find our way out through the roof.”

“I've tried that. I've been trying everything for years,” Maria said softly, “but you never know, I might have missed a bit.”

She fetched a chair and started tapping.

On the Thursday afternoon, a rumour started to circulate through the school in whispers. Someone had heard that Dorothy had been moved from one place to another, but still no-one knew where she was.

“Perhaps she's in the upper rooms,” David said quietly to Matthew as they waited to cross the junction after school. “I'll have to try and reach her. You must help me.”

“We'd probably be wasting our time.” Matthew replied. “More likely they've sent her to another commune. That'd be easier than keeping her upstairs with everyone nosing around.”

“Surely the aunts must know. Do you think they'd tell us if we asked?”

Matthew laughed. “Not likely! Forget it for now. Wait and see if anything happens overnight.”

“We've got to listen,” muttered David. “The aunts are sure to let something slip.” He was just wondering if he dared tell Matthew about the secret listening place in the linen cupboard when the lights turned green, and they pedalled hard up the High Street one after the other.

“I tell you what,” said Matthew as soon as they reached Drax House. “I'll go to the kitchen and offer to help them lay the table for supper. I might hear something while they're gossiping, and I'll earn some good marks for being helpful at the same time.”

“Gosh thanks! You're a true friend!”

Matthew dashed off to put his bike away, and David followed more slowly. There was an hour still to go before supper – enough time to get to the linen cupboard and listen for himself, provided nobody saw him. He had been there almost every evening since Dorothy had left but had heard nothing useful except for when she'd been caught and then, yesterday, that she was to be moved.

Now, yet again, he crept up the stairs to the walk-in cupboard above the kitchen. He looked around but there was no-one in sight. The door closed quietly behind him and he stood in complete darkness. He felt for the light switch and looked quickly around at the slatted wooden shelves that ran down both sides of the room. They were piled high with sheets and pillow cases, and blankets and towels, and everything was as normal. He pulled again at the light switch and his disembodied self was plunged into a pitch black pit. Was this what the black hole had felt like when the world began, he wondered, almost expecting to be whisked and swirled up into a suction of nothingness. He felt his way along the right-hand shelves until he reached the end, and then dropped down and rolled under.

He lay in the corner with his ear pressed close to the floor. Voices floated up from the kitchen below, sometimes clearly and sometimes fading away or disappearing altogether. The aunts were discussing the supper menu. Not very interesting, and he hated macaroni cheese. Once or twice he recognised Matthew's voice, mingling with the clatter of plates and cutlery, and he laughed to himself. Good old Matthew, he thought, a true friend. He waited.

Suddenly, the door opened. A beam of light streamed in from the landing, and then someone pulled the light switch and came in. David held his breath. He could feel his heart thudding. A pair of sensible lace-up shoes marched up the narrow gangway and stopped almost opposite his face. For what seemed like a billion years the owner of the shoes shifted or sorted the piles of sheets above David's head, and tutted and sighed. At one point the piles separated and light pierced its way down through the slats. David instinctively pressed his silver-blond head back against the wall.