The Hunted, page 21
It gave him the creeps.
The pasta and the sauce were soon ready. She set a place for him at the table.
‘Here’s your supper, honey. Eat and enjoy.’
She herself didn’t eat, but watched him for a while, then said, ‘I’ll go and make your bed up.’
He watched her go to and fro, taking pillows and sheets and covers, and going to make up the bed in the spare room.
‘Come and see,’ she said.
He put his plate in the sink and went to see his room. It was all decorated in blue.
‘Do you like it, honey?’
‘It’s nice. Very . . . nice.’
‘Is it a boy’s room, would you say?’
‘Yes. It’s a boy’s room.’
‘Good. Come on. Do you want some ice cream?’
She took him back to the kitchen and fetched two bowls. Then she took a tub from the freezer and scooped ice cream out. They sat and ate, and as she ate hers, she went on sipping at her wine.
It should have felt secure and comfortable, there in her apartment. And it was safe – safer than the streets, anyway – but somehow all the old feelings began to resurface. Tarrin felt the same as before, just as he always had, during those afternoons when he had had to please the paying customer, to keep them satisfied, to be who they wanted him to be.
I don’t want to be this any more. I want to be me. What about me? Who’ll be for me? Who’ll be for me what I want them to be? Be the mother I must have once had, the father I once had? What about me? What about my home? What about how I feel?
What about me?
Miss Davina was getting a little drunk now.
‘You’re so sweet, honey,’ she said. ‘You’re a poor, poor boy who’s all alone. But you mustn’t worry, because Mummy’s here now, and she’s going to take good care of you and won’t let those bad people come and take you away. You’ll be nice and safe here all the day. You can hide in here while Mummy’s working, and when she comes home, she’ll cook dinner and read you stories and everything will just be so lovely, so, so lovely. We’ll be one big happy family – my little boy and me. Isn’t that so, honey? Isn’t that so?’
She placed her hand over his, as it rested on the table. But whether this was to give comfort or to receive it, who could tell.
Tarrin looked at her little girl’s face. She gave him the chills, the way she was acting. But he felt sorry for her too.
‘Isn’t that so, honey? Isn’t that so?’
‘Yes, yes, that’s so.’
‘Say it properly, honey . . .’
‘Yes, Mummy, yes, that’s so.’
The little girl’s face beamed with pleasure. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She squeezed his hand. ‘My little boy,’ she said. ‘My little boy . . .’
Then she noticed the clock.
‘And my! What am I thinking! Look at the clock! It’s way past bedtime! I’ll find you a toothbrush and show you where the bathroom is.’
She left the things in the bathroom for him, then, as he was using the toilet, she called through the door, ‘Mummy’s got no pyjamas for you, but she’ll buy some in the morning.’
‘I’ll be OK. Thanks.’
She heard the toilet flush.
‘Remember to wash your hands,’ she admonished.
‘I know . . .’
She giggled. Still a little drunk.
‘You know who?’
He almost screamed. But he was afraid that if he broke the spell she might make him go back out into the night, and where would he sleep then?
‘I know . . . Mum.’
‘There’s a good boy. Be in to say night-night.’
He heard her go to the kitchen. He hurried to his room and got into bed. She came in, holding a glass.
‘Brought you some water.’
‘Thank you.’
He noticed that she was also holding a book in her other hand.
‘Would you like me to read you a story?’
‘I’m sort of tired . . .’
‘I’ll read you to sleep then.’
He was too tired to protest any further, too exhausted to care.
‘Once upon a time,’ she began, ‘in a land far away . . .’
But Tarrin heard no more than that, for he fell asleep immediately. Miss Davina saw his eyes close and heard his deep, regular breathing. But she still went on reading the story. Just to hear for herself about the far-away land and what had happened a long time ago.
15
All the Years and Days
Kinane knew he had him now. He sat in the car across the street and waited. Eight, nine, ten o’clock, ten thirty. Time drifted by like a slow-moving river.
Finally the curtains were opened and the face of a little girl looked out from the upper apartment window. She peeked down to the street, as if standing on her tiptoes in order to get herself up above the high window sill. She looked out at the grey sky and the light drizzle, then, seeming to not much like what she saw, she turned away and disappeared from view.
‘You want some breakfast, honey?’
Tarrin opened his eyes and saw her standing in the partially open doorway.
‘Want some breakfast or would you like to sleep longer? We were up late, weren’t we?’
‘What time is it?’
‘It’s just after ten.’
‘I’ll get up. Yes. Some breakfast please. Thanks.’
He dressed and went to the bathroom, then joined her in the kitchen.
‘I have to go out,’ she said. ‘I have to work. First there’s a rehearsal and then a matinee, then another evening show. I’ll get back in between if I can; if not I’ll try to pop out and buy some things for you and see you here when I get back later.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Do?’
‘Tidy up?’
‘If you want to, honey. Here – there’s the cereal. Help yourself. Mummy’s got to go now.’
He shuddered. She noticed.
‘You cold?’
‘N-no. Just . . . you know . . . stretching . . . waking up.’
He watched her get her things ready, check that she had her stage clothes, her dancing shoes.
‘What do you do?’
‘Sing, dance . . . be a little girl. Be what people want. You know.’
‘I know.’
‘Come and watch one day. One day soon. But not today.’
‘Yes. That’d be nice.’
‘OK. I’ll see you later, honey. Be good. Maybe better stay in today, huh?’
‘Yes. OK.’
‘Bye, honey.’
‘Bye . . .’
She waited expectantly.
‘. . . Mum.’
She smiled, then, satisfied and content, she left the apartment, and her steps echoed and seemed to fall like coins down the well of the stairs.
Tarrin went to the window and watched as she hailed a cab and got in, and as the cab drove away. Then he returned to his breakfast. The doorbell rang, but he didn’t answer it. It was probably the postman, but he wasn’t going down. It rang a while longer, then the postman must have given up and left the parcel or whatever it was with a neighbour.
When Tarrin had finished, he washed the plates and bowls up, then looked around for a pen and some paper, which he brought to the kitchen table. He sat and began to write.
Dear Miss Davina,
Thank you so much for all your kindness. I really do appreciate your offer to me and I hope you don’t feel I am letting you down. I wish I could be the son you are looking for but I cannot. I have to be me, just me, though in many ways I don’t even know who that is – and that is what I have to try to find. I’m looking for someone too, you see. Maybe a memory, maybe a dream, I don’t know. But I can’t stay and give up on all I’ve been searching for, not now. I’m so very sorry and I hope you won’t think bad of me or that I took advantage of your kindness.
Thank you again and good luck to you always and I hope that you can be happy.
Your friend,
Tarrin.
PS – I think you are very pretty. Maybe the prettiest person I have ever seen. I would love to hear you sing and see you dance one day. Bye.
He folded the letter and left it in the middle of the kitchen table where it could not be missed. Then he gathered his things and found his coat in the wardrobe where she had hung it up for him and he got ready to leave.
Where he was going he did not know. All he knew was that he couldn’t stay. All he had was himself and the clothes he stood up in and a handful of memories, which he wasn’t even sure were memories at all.
That was all he had. The light coming through the trees and the warmth of the sun and the smell of the freshly cut wheat, or was it corn, and the perfume of the woman and the sound of her singing and how she picked him up and held him in her arms, and he was just a baby, only a baby, a long, long time ago.
In a green land.
Far away.
His hand reached for the door. The streets waited for him. With the fear and the freaks and the failure of mankind’s great hopes for life eternal.
And in that moment Tarrin realized the truth at last – which was that he would never find her. He would never find the woman in the memory and the dream. He would never find her, nor the sunlit avenue of trees, nor the man who stood by her and took him from her and held him up high so that he was tall as a mountain and the ground was far below. And then the man laughed and spun him around and he smelt nice too, warm and of animals and the scent of leather.
In the green land.
Forever lost now.
Forever.
Tarrin looked around the apartment one last time. He knew where he was going now: how to find them, how to be reunited. There was a way, after all.
He opened the door, closed it softly behind him and walked down to the street. He still didn’t know where he was, but he knew that if he walked then sooner or later he would find it. You always did. It was always there in the end. So he could have chosen left, but he chose right, but what did it matter if all roads took you to the same place in the end? It was just a matter of how long the journey was, that was all. But all the roads went there, eventually.
He walked on, lost in thought, absorbed in all the sadness of his own short and unhappy life. Neither feeling bitter, nor sorry for himself, just wishing that it could have all been otherwise.
Kinane watched him, then gave him a moment before getting out of the car and following on, at a discreet distance, so the boy wouldn’t even know that he was there at all. He didn’t want to startle him. He didn’t want him running. He didn’t want him yelling and screaming to some passer-by, ‘Help, help! I’m being taken. There’s a Kiddernapper after me!’
Broad daylight wasn’t a good time, but it was the only time there was, as it had turned out. He’d waited a long time, he’d been nice and patient – he wasn’t going to ruin everything now with any sudden moves. He didn’t want the kid running. Running and getting lost again, that was the last thing he wanted. So he followed on, nice and easy and casual, as though he had all the time in the world, as though he would live for two hundred years.
Tarrin walked on. He wondered about Deet – if he’d still be looking for him, where he would be looking for him, or if he’d maybe have given up and just kept the money and have moved on, looking for another card game where he could win another meal ticket and another few years on easy street.
He walked and walked, lost in his thoughts, no longer caring about the people who stared at him and the voices that whispered about him.
‘Look – a boy there, all on his own.’
‘Do you think we ought to . . .?’
‘I’m not sure . . .’
Before they could decide he had moved on.
At last he came to it, as he knew he would. Almost all great cities are built on rivers. And there it was, glistening in the sunlight, wide and weary, like some great coiled serpent.
Tarrin followed the embankment until he came to a derelict, run-down area of empty shipyards and rusted cranes. He walked on past barges and tugs, then he climbed upwards until he came to a bridge, and there he stopped.
He leaned upon the parapet and looked down into the dark, fast-flowing water. Deet would never find him there. Nobody would. The river would put a stop to it, put an end to everything. The PP implant could make people children forever, and the Anti-Ageing pills could stop those who had grown from growing older still. But the river could undo all that. Everything that mankind could create, nature could undo.
He watched the swirling water, almost hypnotized by it, knowing what he had to do, and not afraid to do it. He just wanted a few last moments to himself, to say goodbye to . . . to what, to whom? He could think of no one.
He didn’t see the man at first. He only noticed him after five minutes or so. He had stopped thirty metres away and he too was leaning on the parapet and staring down at the murky water.
Tarrin saw him out of the corner of his eye.
Kiddernapper.
His body tensed. He prepared to run. Then he remembered that he didn’t have to run. Not any more. He just had to jump, to fall, all the way down.
When he moves, I’ll go. Soon as he moves. That will be the trigger. When he moves.
But the man did not move. He stood, staring at the water. Tarrin looked at his features. He was tall, with large hands and a square, broad face. He looked old – a little too old, as if he hadn’t taken his Anti-Ageing for a while.
Move and I’ll go. When you move, I’ll go.
But still the man didn’t move. He stared at the water, as if looking for his soul, for his heart, for his own life. Then finally he looked up and he raised his head and he turned his face to look at the boy.
He looked so sad. So sad. And so defeated.
‘Is it you, Danny?’ he said.
Tarrin stared. What had he said? What did he say?
‘Is it you, Danny?’ the man repeated, his voice rising as he said the name, as if even after all these years there was still a little hope in him.
Tarrin stiffened. It was a trick. He was going to grab him. He’d start edging near, keeping talking all the while, and, when he was near enough, he’d grab him, before he could jump. Well, he wasn’t going to let that happen.
A truck passed and the noise stole his voice. He asked again, ‘Is it you, Danny? Is it? If it isn’t you I have to stop now . . . I have to go home . . . give up now . . . if it isn’t you.’
He made no effort to move, to draw nearer, to trick him into giving his confidence.
‘W-what did you call me?’
Kinane looked at Tarrin, looked at his eyes, his face, the shape of his nose . . .
‘You look so like your mother, Danny,’ he said. ‘You look so like her.’
And then he moved. He raised his hands to his face. And Tarrin saw that he was crying.
Trick. It was a trick. Gain your confidence. Get you to go to him. Trick.
‘My name’s not Danny.’
The man looked up and wiped his face on the cuff of his coat.
‘It was once, Danny. A long time ago. That was the name we gave you.’
‘My name’s Tarrin.’
‘That’s your middle name. It’s your mother’s surname. We gave it to you for a middle name. It was maybe stitched on some of your clothes.’
Tarrin erupted in anger. He screamed at the man, spittle flying from his lips.
‘I don’t believe you, you’re a liar, you’re a Kiddernapper, you’re trying to trick me and sell me and make money like they all did and then I’ll have to go on pretending. But I won’t be what other people want any more, not ever, I’ll kill myself first, I’ll kill myself, if you come a step nearer I’ll kill myself.’
The man didn’t move.
‘She took you into town. We kept you all in the country, at the farm. Most other people had no children, but we did, we did, and she took you into town and left her bag in the store and ran back in and you were there alone no more than fifteen or twenty seconds and when she came out . . .’
‘What? What!’
‘You were gone.’
‘You’re a liar!’
‘I’m not a liar, Danny. If you’re Danny I’m not a liar. I’m not a liar.’
‘Why didn’t you look for me, why didn’t you find me!’
‘We got the police, we looked, we all looked, and when the rest gave up we didn’t. I’ve looked for years and for years. I’ve stayed in a thousand different hotel rooms and I’ve met people you’d never want to meet and been to places you’d never want to go. I’ve travelled to a hundred cities and I’ve searched in every one of them for every child I could find and I’ve searched their faces for some sign of you, of me, of your mother . . .’
‘It’s not true. You’re a liar! You’re a liar! You’re a dirty kiddernapping liar!’
The man reached into his coat pocket and extracted something. He held it up.
‘This is a photograph, Danny. Of all of us. When you were small. Me and you and Mum and your brother and your sister . . .’
‘What . . . what did you say?’
‘Come and see it. You’ll see yourself in them, and them in you. Come and see.’
Trick. Don’t move. Don’t fall for it.
Kinane saw it in the boy – the reluctance and the curiosity. He knew the unpredictability of wild, cornered things, and he knew when to back away.
‘OK. I’ll leave it here. I’m leaving it on the parapet and I’m weighting it down with some coins so it can’t blow away. Then I’m going to walk away, another thirty metres, and you can come and see it.’
He did as he said he would. When he had moved the extra distance, Tarrin gingerly walked forwards, grabbed the photograph and held it in his hands. The coins tumbled into the river.
He held the photograph and he looked at the picture.
It was of a family. A real, proper family. It was a picture like the ones in the Museum of Childhood.
A woman held a child; she was smiling for the camera. The man standing next to her was the man on the bridge with Tarrin now.
