The Other Child (42 page)

I gulped. ‘That … that doesn't sound nice.'

Chad leant forward. ‘It'll only get worse. He's got sex on t' brain like a man, but t' mind and maturity of a child. So 'e can't control his lust. He don't even know what was happenin'. He's a menace t' every woman 'e meets. And Dad and I couldn't watch 'im all day.'

I thought I knew what was coming next, and relaxed a little. After all, it was something we had often talked about.

‘So you put him in a home,' I said. ‘I'm sure that was the most sensible thing you could do.'

Chad looked down at his glass again. ‘A ‘ome … right, we thought ‘bout it, Dad and I, but … there were some problems.'

‘Really?' I asked.

‘By gum, Fiona, don't be so daft! You can't just bring a young man like Nobody int' home an' say, Hello, this lad's been livin' with us the past six years but it can't go on, now you take him. I mean, we'd have trouble. Weren't proper, right from start. Nobody shouldn't have been with you evacuees. Mam shouldn't have taken 'im in. He shouldn't have grown up with us like our family secret.'

I remembered the dark November evening in 1940 and the field opposite Staintondale's little post office. The frightened children crouching and waiting …

‘But the evacuees' escorts agreed Emma could take him with her,' I said. ‘They didn't know what to do with him themselves. They wanted to check with someone higher up and then get back to her. But they never did. That's not our fault.'

‘But Mam should have told someone, when she saw they'd forgotten. She had no right t' keep Nobody. He weren't ‘er child or even a foster child. He were just
t' other child
, like Dad called him. You were here officially, not him though. She shouldn't have just let the years pass like that.'

‘She wanted to protect him. She meant well for him.'

‘My dad should have done summat, at least when she died. I don't know why he didn't, whether it were his laziness which put everythin' off, or loyalty to Mam. Don't matter which. Then t' war was over, I came back. I didn't do nowt. Somehow … didn't think to. We were used to Nobody, he didn't bother us. Until … well, that incident. Then I noticed 'e were a tickin' time bomb and we could get in right trouble. The woman could've taken us t' court. Lucky she didn't.'

I leant forward.
Where's Nobody?'
I asked slowly, emphasising each syllable. I was starting to fear they had drowned him in the bathtub or chased him out into the sea.

‘An opportunity came up,' said Chad. ‘My dad wanted t' sell his old plough, an' I told everyone around here. A farmer from Ravenscar came by. He saw Nobody, who were about like usual.'

‘And?'

‘He asked who 'e were. My father told 'im a bit ‘bout 'im. A lad evacuated t' our farm in t' war. With no parents or relatives. Someone we didn't rightly know what to do with … The farmer – Gordon McBright, by name – said 'e could do with a pair of hands on his farm. We warned 'im, of course. That you couldn't use Nobody for nowt, that 'e never understood you, and mainly was more trouble than ‘elp. Dad also pointed out ‘is enormous appetite, which was out of all proportion to the ‘elp he could be. But this McBright didn't let up. Said 'e could use Nobody. So Dad and I agreed.'

I could not help asking, ‘And Nobody … I suppose he didn't go willingly?'

Chad stood up abruptly. This part of the story seemed to agitate him more than the rest.

He stood with his back to me as he answered. ‘No. He didn't go willingly.'

He must have struggled, screamed, fought. The Beckett farm was his home, probably the only place he felt safe and maybe even secure. Chad and Arvid had put him in the hands of a complete stranger and sent him off. I knew Nobody and his violent emotional outbursts. I only had to look at Chad, who was no longer able to look me in the eye, to know.

He must have made a terrible scene.

I swallowed. ‘But …'

Chad whipped around, and now his face was distorted with rage.

‘Damn it, now don't be a prig!' he hissed at me, although I had said nothing except for a cautious
but
. ‘You got us into this! You brought 'im here! You weren't 'ere for years, you don't know what it were like t' be lumbered with this big ‘alf-baked lad! And no one were goin' t' blame you. You were a child then, only seventeen now. You got out of it all just fine. But me dad and me, we coulda got in a right pickle. Nobody shoulda been in a school for kids like him. A ‘ome. He shoulda been cared for by people who knew. Instead 'e grew up 'ere like a wild animal. We coulda been in ‘ot water ‘bout that. Even been dragged t' court!'

His voice lowered. ‘Look around, Fiona,' he said bitterly. ‘We're strugglin' t' survive. Me dad's done all but nowt since Mam died, and I were at t' front. All broken and abandoned 'ere, and we've got debts left, right an' centre. I work like a dog from morning t' night. I just can't be ‘avin' any trouble, any investigation, where I might need to get a lawyer – God knows I couldn't pay one – just because I put Nobody in a home, and people ‘eard of 'im. So should I wait for 'im to rape a lass? Should I wait for 'im to kill someone, because the person ‘ad summat he wanted? What should I tell t' police then? Easy to raise your eyebrows now, Fiona, but what would you've done?'

I stood up and came over to him. I wanted to show him that I understood him, that I was not against him. After all, I loved him!

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘I didn't want you to think I was judging you. How could I? You didn't do it lightly.'

He shook his head. ‘No, I didn't.'

We stood close to each other. I could feel Chad trembling. I wanted to ask a question, although I was afraid that it would lead to another angry outburst, as it started with another
but
. I still asked it.

‘But … why did this Gordon McBright agree? He could get in trouble too, if he took on Nobody.'

Chad shrugged. ‘We told 'im. But 'e said it wouldn't worry 'im.'

‘He can't just lock him up. Or chain him up.'

Chad shrugged his shoulders, and bit his lip. I suddenly had the impression that this was just what Chad's unspoken fears were, that Gordon McBright would do just that: lock up Nobody, or keep him chained up until he needed him for work. Keep him like a slave.

‘What's … this Gordon McBright like?' I asked nervously.

‘Don't rightly know,' replied Chad, looking out of the window into the night.

‘But you met him.'

It was clear that Chad just did not want to answer this question.

‘Don't matter.'

‘Where does he live?'

‘Near Ravenscar. Outside t' village, on a farm on its own.'

Ravenscar was not too far from Staintondale, just up the coast towards Whitby.

‘I could visit him,' I suggested. ‘Nobody, I mean. And meet McBright.'

‘Don't! Nobody will go crazy again, seein' you, and McBright …'

‘Yes?'

‘He'll put ‘is dogs on you, or face you with a gun. He get irate if someone just approach ‘is farm. He don't get on with other people. I doubt he'd let you within a thousand yards of ‘is land.'

‘How do you know?'

‘I asked a few people in Ravenscar ‘bout him,' murmured Chad uneasily.

How had he and Arvid given Nobody to such a man?

I did not dare ask this question out loud, as I was afraid I would make Chad angry again. He felt cornered by me, needing to justify himself and yet – that was obvious – he himself had a bad conscience when he thought of what had become of Nobody. I shared that feeling. I could scarcely hide my horror. I had never exactly, been close to Nobody, he had been a pain in the neck, but somehow he had been part of life on the Beckett farm. With my new maturity at seventeen I felt that I too shared responsibility for the helpless boy.

I resolved to visit him at his new home, even if Chad's warning scared me. I told myself that Gordon McBright could hardly kill every harmless walker who arrived at his farm – else he would have been put in prison long ago.

‘I'm tired,' said Chad. ‘I 'ave to get up early tomorrow. Think I'll get to bed.'

I had thought – hoped – he would ask me to sleep with him. I had thought we would spend the night holding each other tight. But he did not say anything else. He just left the kitchen. Then I heard him going up the stairs.

I drank some more water, then turned off the light and went upstairs. Nothing had changed in my old room, except for the thick layer of dust on all the furniture and the bed linen. The sheets were the same set I had used in 1943. The bed had obviously not been stripped. The sheets smelt musty. I quickly opened the window and let in the fresh, cool night air. I pressed my hands to my hot face.

It was all too much. The magical hours at the beach. And then the sudden change of mood when we talked about Nobody. And the painful distance between us which had come with it. It hurt me as much as seeing the Beckett farm so rundown, dirty and bleak.

And I understood something else. I was disappointed in Chad, and that hurt the most. I had always forgiven him everything: the dismissive way he had treated me at first, the fact that he had not told me about the death of his mother and his signing up for the army, that he had barely ever answered my letters, that he had left me in the dark as to whether he had survived the war. I had not taken any of that personally. I knew him, after all. He was not a communicative person, he never would be. I could live with that. However, the way he had got rid of Nobody horrified me. That evening I did not yet realise the full extent of my feeling. Poison had trickled into our relationship, and it would work slowly. Chad had told me his motives, and I had understood them. I could see why he did it. I still did not think they were reason enough to do to a person what he had done to Nobody.

I consoled myself with the thought that perhaps everything looked bleaker to me than it was. Of course, there was also the possibility that everything was worse than I could imagine.

I could not sleep that night. I brooded.

I was sad.

14

The next day I set off for Ravenscar. I made a point of not getting up when I heard Chad banging about in the kitchen early in the morning. I did not want him to ask me what I was going to do, as I would have had to lie. So, although I was wide awake and nervous, I stayed in bed and only got up when I had not heard any noise coming from downstairs for a long time.

Chad had definitely gone. The all-terrain vehicle was no longer in the yard, which gave me the hope that he was some distance from the farm and might not come back too soon. I could not see Arvid anywhere either. He was probably still asleep.

I did not dawdle over breakfast, but was soon running over to a shed where Emma used to keep her bike. It was still leaning against a wall, and even still carried the basket in which she used to put her shopping.

My eyes became moist. I suddenly missed Emma terribly.

The tyres were a little flat, but I hoped they would get me to Ravenscar and back. I could not see a pump anywhere, and did not want to waste time rummaging around. After all, I did not know when Chad would return.

It was a cloudy day; a northerly wind had picked up overnight. The air was cool and dry. It was just right for a bike trip. The dirt track was not easy to ride down, but once I got to the narrow road I was much quicker. My mum had packed chocolate in my rucksack. I had not touched it. I put it in the basket for Nobody. He would like it, and I would promise to visit him often and always bring something nice for him. That would be sure to cheer him up, if he was down at all. I might find him a contented boy.

I felt more positive in the daylight. Although at night I had painted a dark picture of Nobody's fate, that morning the whole thing did not look too bad. He would be better off with Gordon McBright than with Arvid, who was obviously letting himself go completely, and with Chad, who would not have a moment to spare for Nobody. At least he would have something to do on McBright's farm, and even if the man were a tough nut, like most farmers round these parts, that did not mean he was necessarily inhumane and cruel.

Ravenscar is only a cluster of houses. At the time it was not much smaller than it is now. It has a lovely location on the crest of a hill, with a wonderful view down to the nearest bay and across the rolling green hills. Here and there you can see a farm, a blotch of another colour in the green. Of course I did not know which one belonged to McBright, but I had decided to ask around.

Someone would be able to tell me.

‘McBright?' asked the woman standing behind the counter of a roadside stall, where she sold lettuce and beans she had grown. ‘What do you want with
him
?'

‘I want to visit someone,' I said truthfully.

She looked at me as if I had lost my mind. ‘You want to visit Gordon McBright? Dearie, you'd be better off not. He's …' She tapped at her head.

I did not find that encouraging, but I still got her to tell me how to get to his farm. I went the wrong way the first time, and had to ask at another farm. There too they could hardly believe me.

‘You're a brave lass,' said the farmer, amazed.

‘I just want to visit an old friend,' I murmured, before turning away and getting back on my bike. I had secretly hoped that someone would ask me about Nobody. He had been living for almost half a year at McBright's place, so someone might have known he was there. It would have been an immense relief to hear someone reply to my
visit an old friend
with, ‘Oh, you mean that nice young fellow who lives with Gordon! A little touched, the lad, but doing fine. Great help on the farm. Almost like a son to Gordon!'

How naive I was to wish that! How hard I was trying to twist the facts to something I could live with. Nobody was a
little touched
. He was so
touched
that he could barely be used for any work at all, not even simple menial tasks. Even for those he needed to have some understanding of what he was being asked to do. The only way I could imagine getting the Nobody I knew to work was through physical violence, which would break the resistance of his clouded mind. But of course I did not want to imagine that.