The Father's House (30 page)

Dorothy lay in the copper bath, a neat little radio playing music on the stool next to her, and a soft fluffy bath robe waiting for her to slip into it. A scented candle cast a gentle light too faint to be seen through the Austrian blind that draped the frosted glass of the window. On the floor in a far corner of the bathroom lay a bundle of shapeless black clothes.

She closed her eyes and tried to let the warmth of the water wash away the terror. Don't panic, she told herself. Everything's going to be alright now.

Downstairs Paul lay asleep on the sofa in the television room in a snug pair of pyjamas taken from the little boy's room. Thanks to David's interpretation of the symbols on the washing machine in the laundry room, the fake fur coat and the rest of the disguise outfit were twirling around on the wool cycle. With shaking hands Lucy was laying the kitchen table with pretty plates and glasses that she'd found in a sideboard in the dining room. David made a silent inspection of the freezer. He took out four frozen pizzas and put them in the oven, pressing what he hoped was the right button. The television was just a floating murmur of voices as Lucy listened out for the music that would herald the news. The regional news would be another hour yet, but she didn't want to miss it.

Although they had the electric power there was still no lighting, and they ate in silence by torchlight.

The pizzas were edible but no-one, except Paul, could taste a thing. David, moving mechanically, put the plates in the sink, and Lucy scooped out the ice cream into bowls. When they had finished doing their best to eat they cleared up, and Lucy fetched a jigsaw puzzle from upstairs. She and Paul sat in the torchlight at the kitchen table, and quietly put it together.

“I bit the monster's leg,” remarked Paul.

“So you did!” said Lucy, as calmly as she could. “You were very helpful. I'm proud of you. He's gone now and he'll never come back, so we're safe.”

Her hands were still trembling as she pressed the jigsaw pieces into place.

Dorothy and David were huddled silent and ashen-faced on the sofa in the television room. The screen flickered in front of their faces, but they didn't see it. All they saw was the disposal cells. Outside the wind blew up. A shrub brushed against the window, and they clutched at each other.

“It's only the wind,” whispered David.

Dorothy closed her eyes and breathed deeply. If only her heart would stop thumping she might be able to think properly.

The jigsaw was completed and put away, and Paul and Lucy joined the others in the television room. Lucy turned the sound up slightly. “It'll be the news in about fifteen minutes,” she said quietly, “so it's important that we listen out for it.”

The others nodded. Nobody spoke, until Lucy remembered something horrible. “What about Matthew?” she whispered.

“Dead,” said David. “Serve him right.”

Dorothy was roused from her semi-stupor. “What on earth?”

“I'll explain it all sometime. He was an infiltrator! My so-called best mate!” He stood up and paced around angrily.

Lucy's stomach lurched. “I felt the car bump over him.”

“What are you talking about?” Dorothy was sitting up straight.

“He was following me. These men caught Lucy and put her in the boot, and it backed right over Matthew.”

“Holy Mag!” exclaimed Dorothy. “What have I missed?”

“Please don't use that expression. It makes me feel sick. Anyway, I locked him in a cupboard because I couldn't get rid of him and, obviously, he got out. The aunts would have guessed where I was. They knew something was going to happen at Father Copse's house.”

“Save our souls! And everyone really liked him!”

“That's why they chose him, I suppose.”

“What with him and Thomas I don't see how we can ever trust anyone again,” said Lucy.

“We can't,” said Dorothy, taking a deep breath. “We'll have to face the fact that we can only trust ourselves.” She glanced at the television. “Come on, David. Sit down. It's nearly time. They might tell us something on the news.”

They sat subdued, squashed together on the sofa, and waited.

Suddenly they sat up straight. The national news was announcing a police siege outside a religious commune suspected of having connections with an alleged abduction and a recent fire at a London property. Drax House and the cordon round it appeared on the screen, and both Dorothy and David gasped as they recognised the caretaker and Senior Aunt Sonia being escorted to a police car.

There was a fuller story on the local news. Three men had been brought out of a tunnel at the back of a religious commune known as Drax House, and various members of the household had been taken into custody. The whereabouts of the so-called Father Drax who ran the commune were unknown. One of the men in the tunnel was believed to be the owner of the house in Mortimor Road that had burned down on Friday night.

A picture of the remains of Father Copse's house appeared briefly on the screen.

The public was asked to report any sightings of a stout elderly woman with two children, a girl and a boy aged about eleven and three respectively, who had gone missing from the burned-out house. A next-door neighbour had been unable to help, other than to say the girl always wore her hair in a long plait. She had described the family as keeping themselves to themselves. The body found at the scene of the fire had still not been identified. Another body, found in the road outside the house, had been identified as a teenage resident of Drax House.

The children were absolutely riveted. The Magnifico's world seemed to be collapsing before their very eyes.

Later that night, as he clambered into the big bed, Paul whispered, “We're safe now, aren't we, Lucy?”

“Of course we are,” she said. “I expect the monster man is in prison by now, all tied up in chains.”

Paul stroked the gold chain that lay round Lucy's neck, and gently fingered the circle of daffodils until he fell asleep.

The children spent the next few days quietly, apart from a couple of scares. Once somebody knocked on the door and went away. Then two men looked around the garden at the back of the house. They didn't seem to notice the missing pane in the back door, and they too went away. Occasional peeps through the upstairs curtains showed that the visits of officialdom to the site of the fire were diminishing, and they began to relax. Their appetites returned and David worked out how to use the microwave.

“We've been here nearly a week,” said Dorothy. “We'll have to think about what to do next. We can't stay here for ever. Supposing the people come back?”

Where could they go? The same thought ran through all their minds. The outside world was daunting, and they would never find anywhere as luxurious as this, so they might as well try and unwind for one more night – or perhaps two.

“I've got a friend,” said Dorothy slowly. “His name is Tom. He helped me before and if we can find him he might help us again. He went away but he should be back by now. I think I'll know where to find him.”

Their spirits lifted a little. “We'll have to tidy up here before we go,” said Lucy. “It's bad enough that we've used their stuff, without leaving a mess.”

“Well, at least we've got no baggage to weigh us down,” said David. “All we have to do is get on our feet and walk. Easy!”

“What about your bike?” asked Lucy. “It could be useful for carrying stuff.”

“It's a nice bike,” said Dorothy. “Almost new.”

“Yeah, but I don't want it. I don't want anything they've given me. Someone can find it and keep it.”

“It's a shame,” said Lucy. “I always wanted a bike. It seems such a waste.”

Dorothy agreed. “Perhaps we could sell it and get some money.”

“Tell you what,” said Lucy. “That's if you don't mind, David. When it gets dark I'll nip across the road and fetch it, and we can clean it up and think about it. If you really and truly don't want it I could find a use for it.”

“I'll fetch it,” said David. “Someone might recognise you, even if you have turned into a boy.”

“You'll have to watch out for the nosy neighbour.”

Later that evening they gave the bike a good wipe down in the kitchen, and it gleamed in the torchlight.

“Are you really sure you don't want it?” asked Lucy.

Dorothy turned on her sharply.

“What would you want it for?” she asked. The old panic grabbed at her. “You're not going somewhere without us, are you?”

“No! Of course not! I don't even know how to ride a bike. It's a friend who helped me, and I said he'd have a reward in due course. I didn't have anything for him so it was an empty promise, and now I've had time to think about things I feel really bad about that.”

Lucy turned to David. “You've met him. He's George, the one on the gate who said about nutters.”

“I remember him. He was right. They're worse than nutters. He can have it if you like.”

Lucy studied the bike a bit doubtfully.

“It might be much too big for him. I think he's only ten. He's still at the primary school.”

“That's alright,” said David. “All he has to do is lower the saddle and the handlebars, just here.”

“His father will know how to do that. He can do everything.”

“Right then,” said David.

“I can't imagine what would have happened to me, and to Paul, and even the tenant, if George hadn't shown me how to get a key out from the other side of the door so we could find my existence record and escape.”

They were silent for a moment. Then Dorothy said, “And if you hadn't escaped, you couldn't have rescued David and me.”

The enormity of their gratitude to George began to sink in. Lucy took Thomas's biro out of her bag and tore a page from the little notebook. She wrote:
For George, his reward from Lucy and her friends. You saved our lives. Thank you for ever
. Using a piece of ribbon she found in the kitchen drawer, she tied the message to the handlebars.

“Aren't you afraid to go out again?” asked Dorothy anxiously. “We'll come with you. Or why don't you wait till tomorrow? I don't want you to go. It's such a risk.”

“I'll be less noticeable on my own, and I'd rather do it tonight while it's dark and get it over with. I don't think I'll ever be as scared as I was in the Drax House garden. I'll be about twenty minutes,” she said, pulling the baker boy hat firmly down over her curls. “Ten minutes there, and ten minutes back.”

She wheeled the bike out along the back alley and down to the road. There was no-one in sight. It was dark, and on the common she was afraid. Supposing that drunk had come back, or, even worse, supposing the monster had escaped from the police? If only she could cycle. It must be a wonderful sensation to be mobile and free, and able to escape if someone chased you.

It was late-night shopping in the High Street and there were still quite a few people about when she emerged from the lane onto South Hill. Down at the bottom of the hill the tube station was disgorging its late commuters. Lucy hoped they wouldn't see anything suspicious about someone who looked like a boy pushing a bike when he should have been at home having his supper. No-one took any notice of her as they made their weary way up the hill. The pavement cleared and she was relieved. Then, suddenly, a group of youths burst out of the Underground and swaggered up the hill towards her.

She tried to cross the road but there was no gap in the late rush hour traffic, and the gang was upon her before she could duck into a front garden. Somebody grabbed the handlebars of the bike, and another boy pulled off her cap and threw it up into the air.

“Where d'ja think y're goin', Curly locks?” sniggered one of them. “Nice bike you got there. It'd just suit my young brother.”

“Look! He's tied a pretty ribbon to his handlebars!” jeered another, and they all laughed as he pulled it off. The little note fluttered to the ground. The boy leaned over and grabbed Lucy by a tuft of hair. “Let's see if we can tie up his girly curly locks with ribbon and make him look sweet!” he cried, to approving guffaws and whistles.