The Grasshopper's Child (26 page)

‘No, she never said.'

‘Her name was Molly. She had a heart defect, undetected at first. Before she was old enough, and strong enough, for the operation that could have saved her she died; quite unexpectedly. She was eight years old.'

‘I never knew. Is that her in the photographs? On the chest of drawers?'

‘Probably,' said Dr Gunn, without looking. ‘This was her room. Brook has the same defect. She had the operation when she was twelve. New heart muscle, built from her own cells, was implanted to replace the defective part. Unfortunately there was a rare complication: her body rejected her own cultured cells. She was left worse off than before. The other solution, a conventional heart and lung transplant, is no longer likely to be successful, even if a suitable donor should turn up. For the last three years she's been living under a death sentence. The Carron-Knowells are offering the prospect, as long as all goes well with their business ventures, of a very expensive trip to China, and the services of a renowned heart specialist. They're a remarkable couple.'

‘Everybody tells me that,' said Heidi faintly: trying to take in the bad news about Brook, with a sinking, sinking heart—

‘Indeed. My friends, Sai and Duushto Abdulrakhman for instance. Sai keeps my house in order for me: she and her husband run our village shop. They're good Muslims, kind and respectable people. They have indefinite leave to remain in this country; their children are both at Ag. Camp. But they are Chechens. Perhaps you know this means they are refugees from the Russian Federation, and could be suspected of spying against the Empire? If certain information fell into the wrong hands, it would be a shame. Luckily Mr Carron holds this information, and is protecting them. Then there's Cyril Staunton. His parents also have a great deal to be grateful for.' Dr Gunn paused as if reading over a list in her mind; surprised at how long it was. ‘I think we
all
have reasons to be grateful to the Carron-Knowells. Even you, Heidi.'

‘
Me?
'

‘Of course you are welcome in this community, though you might feel a little out of place. But after such a terrible experience, and with so many questions no one can answer, perhaps you'd prefer to move on? Portia may be thinking of arranging that, but I wish you would stay. Everyone knows your story, Heidi. In a different placement you could be much further from your mother's hospital. Or, heaven forbid, her hospital might find that she has to be moved. To somewhere not so nice. That would be a pity, wouldn't it?'

‘I don't want to move on,' said Heidi quickly. ‘I'd rather stay, forget all about this terrible experience, and everything go on the way it was.'

‘That would be best. You're sure?'

‘Totally. I'm well enough to get up now. I'd like to get back to work.'

Dr Gunn raised a wrinkly but elegant long-fingered hand. ‘No. Hypothermia is a dangerous condition, you were very wet and cold, for far too long. The Maylocks can wait.

You'll be staying in bed here, until you've seen a doctor.'

‘But—'

‘Thank you for agreeing to return to the Garden House.' The dog looked up, heaved a sigh, and flopped her muzzle back down on her creamy paws. ‘It's not ideal, but for the moment rather essential. Now, Heidi. You've been saying you want to talk to the police?'

‘Not really. I don't
want
to talk to the police, but—'

‘But they might want to talk to
you
. Quite right, they will. You'll all be interviewed. And I'm sure you'll all come through with flying colours. There's just one more thing.'

She held out a slim dark blue phone, a make Heidi didn't recognise.

‘You need a new phone. This is for you.' Dr Gunn reached for the dog's harness and rose smoothly to her feet, without any old-lady creaking. ‘Is there anything in
particular
you were planning to tell the police?'

Heidi shook her head. ‘The same as everybody else, I suppose.'

‘Good, that will be fine. Come on, Evie.'

‘She's a nice dog. Did you guys walk here, in all the rain?'

‘No, I have a car waiting. Portia Knowells sent it round. I don't know what I'd do without that splendid woman. Goodbye, Heidi. I'm glad we've had this chat.'

Heidi waited, hardly daring to breathe, until she heard the front door open and shut, and the car driving away. Then she jumped out of bed, picked up a photograph from the chest of drawers and stared at it. She carefully set it back in its place.

‘
Wow
,' she whispered.

She lay down, pulled the warm duvet to her chin, and stared at the ceiling. The rain hammered like rocks in a landslide.

The next day Tanya came round, bringing Heidi's rucksack with her own clothes and wash bag from the Garden House, and told her there wouldn't be another Exempt Teens session until everything had settled down. The morning after that a doctor from the Rural Area Group Practice arrived and passed her as fit to go back to work.

Heidi packed up her stuff and took her rucksack downstairs.

Daffodil was banging things in the kitchen. Heidi went out into the courtyard, where hens and ducks were wandering around, to look for Tim. Rose Healey was still in Eastbourne but her husband had come home: somebody had to look after the animals. She saw him through the window of a long building, a converted barn, but nothing like so big and fancy as the Corn Barn at Knowells. A handwritten notice on the door said PLEASE ALWAYS KNOCK, so she did.

‘You have to knock,' said Tim, as he let her in. ‘In case I have animals loose. The hedgehogs aren't a problem, but some of my customers might swiftly disappear. Or play merry hell with the poultry.'

‘Is this the animals' clinic?' asked Heidi, looking for the stores Brook had raided.

‘No, this is my laboratory. Rose and I are a team. She's the Conservator, I'm in Stewardship Research. I'm looking into ways to make life better for our native mammals.'

‘Oh. If they're wild, don't they just want to be left alone?'

‘I don't think so,' said Tim firmly. ‘Left alone, they have some very nasty problems.'

On the wall behind him Heidi saw a big, vintage celebrity poster of David Beckham with his son Brooklyn; aged about six. The poster was framed in football scarves. Little Brooklyn was wearing Manchester United strip and grinning—

She could hear Brook, in her dry way, saying
could be worse. I could've been Romeo
.

Tim Healey was a short man with a bald patch, who wore small, rimless glasses. He was calm and approachable, trained by years of soaking up Mrs Healey's nervousness, Heidi thought, but his round face was haggard now, and there were black circles under his eyes.

‘Come and look at this,' he said cheerfully.

Three tiny chestnut brown, primrose-fronted weasel kits were bouncing around in a clear-walled pen. The boldest of them jumped onto Tim's hand, as he reached down.

‘They're lovely. Is there something wrong with them?'

‘Not yet. They're captive bred. There's no reason you should know this, but 90% of wild weasels are infected with a nasty, painful parasite; it's what kills them. The shrews they catch carry tiny nematode worms. The worms get into weasels' sinus passages, bore through bone and eat into the poor animals' brains. You can see the holes, look here.' He recovered his nibbled hand, went over to his desk, and gave Heidi a tiny, beautifully polished skull.

‘I'm going to infect those little guys. Harsh, but it has to be done. I have to find out if the alteration I've made to their sinus mucus kills the nematodes.'

‘Okay,' said Heidi. ‘But then what if we're overrun with weasels?'

‘Good question, and an interesting puzzle in stewardship. Predator versus prey, it's tricky to nurture them both, but both are essential to the ecology—'

Heidi was thinking how
quiet
everything was. Daffodil said all the living ‘poor unwanted kids' had been taken away. There were only rows of bodies now; the count had gone up to 23 apparently: lying in the Learning Centre, waiting to be moved to a proper mortuary. It was gruesome, the hall wasn't refrigerated. Yet despite the shocking death toll Mehilhoc wasn't full of noisy reporters. It was as if nothing had happened.

‘Daffodil says our shipwreck wasn't even on local tv.'

‘It's not the sort of thing that gets on the news, Heidi. Bad for morale.'

‘I suppose. How's Brook? Is she still getting better?'

‘I spoke to her this morning. She'll be home with us again soon,' Tim smiled sadly. ‘She's made it, one more time. I can't begin to say how grateful we are, Heidi.'

‘I didn't do anything,' said Heidi. ‘It was Chall. I'm so glad she's better. I came to tell you I'm off. Cleared by the doctor. And thank you very much for looking after me.'

‘What, right now? At least let me get you some lunch.'

‘That's okay,' said Heidi. ‘I'm fine. I think Ms Dyson's busy in the kitchen.'

They grinned at each other. Neither of them wanted to tangle with Daffodil.

‘I haven't got the van, but if you give me a moment, I'm sure I can organise a lift.'

Portia will send a car
, thought Heidi.

‘Really, don't bother. It's stopped raining, and I could do with the exercise.'

Walking into her attic felt like coming home and returning to prison, at the same time. The Bad Dream Cat wasn't around. She opened her window. The rain had stopped, the air felt warm. She put away the things Tanya had brought to Heaven, and sat on her bed.

So it had happened. She had joined Mehilhoc's conspiracy of silence.

Look the other way, because if you don't, the Carron-Knowells can really, really hurt you.

Trust nobody. Say nothing; it'll get you nowhere. That's what Dr Gunn had told her, unless she was very much mistaken. It was frightening, but she felt calm. Having Dad with her again made all the difference. But you, she thought, looking at the phone in her hand, are just a nuisance because I can't trust Dr Gunn any more than the rest of them. Why should I?

Tallis was in the book room, monkey-hunched behind her old desk in a dressing gown that needed washing, hair a grey bird's nest: pretending to read as Heidi walked up.

‘Hello,' said Heidi. ‘I'm back.'

Old Wreck slowly peeled her eyes off the page, as if she'd been lost in a literary trance, and really couldn't be bothered dealing with a talkative skivvy.

‘Good,' she said at last, and stuck her nose back in the book.

Not even you, thought Heidi sadly.

The kitchen was tidy, but nothing was where it ought to be. She wondered who'd been in here. Not Portia, the lady of the manor; just some stooge, of course. She chopped vegetables, set things back in order and sat at the table with her brand new phone: to text Brook in hospital, and send a cheerful email to her mum.

Dear Mum
. . .

Dear Mum, I won't lie, I know you
hate
lying, but there's a lot I can't tell you, so all you're going to get is a nice, nothing message. I can only talk to Dad about what's really going on with me now. But I'm okay, I'm on the case. I have a plan, and I'll tell you about it soon as I ever get the chance.

22: No Take

The Exempt Teens were all called for interview at the same time: except for Elaine, who hadn't been on the picnic, and Brook, who was still in hospital. Clancy didn't turn up. The rest of them sat in a row in a Learning Centre corridor, with two friendly young uniformed police officers, a man and a woman, keeping an eye on them. Sorrel complained she was being made to relive the trauma, and she'd probably get PTSD. George told her to shut up. Nobody else said a word. They hardly looked at each other. There was no smell of death, only disinfectant, but everyone knew the bodies were still here, still waiting for mortuary space. Heidi couldn't stop thinking about them. What was it like to think you were being saved, and then die in the roaring cold sea? Struggling, gulping water, choking—