Nowhere Child (5 page)

She replaced the receiver.

Her anger lasted seconds. Long enough to get her through that last sentence, but that was all. Her legs felt weak, and her breathing was rapid. She made her way slowly to the bed and sat down, reaching out a hand behind to steady herself.

Had that been a really stupid thing to do? Would they come for her, now – or try to take Ollie again?

Why now, though? Why wait so long for all of this? It was months since it all happened.

Emma decided to give herself five minutes to calm down, then she would go and check that Ollie had settled. Then she was going to call Tom.

Keep calm, she told herself.

A few minutes later she felt ready to move and was pushing herself up from the bed when the phone started to ring again.

Emma hesitated. Should she answer it or not?

She had to. She reached out and picked it up.

‘Hello,’ she said softly, not knowing what to expect.

Silence. It was him again.

‘Now listen,’ she said, her voice strong and determined. ‘Don’t call me again with your threats. I don’t want to know what you think – okay?’

‘Emma?’ A quiet, light voice whispered down the line. Emma held her breath for just a second.

‘Oh God – it’s you, isn’t it? Tasha? Is it you, darling?’ Emma felt tears spring to her eyes. ‘Oh, Tasha – come home, sweetheart. Please. Let me come and get you. Where are you?’

She knew she was gabbling, but she had waited months for this moment. She had to give the child chance to speak, though.

‘Are you offering a reward to find me?’

‘What?’

‘Is it you? I just need to know. It’s causing too much trouble. People will kill each other for a share.’ The voice was pleading, nearly crying. Tasha was tough – this wasn’t like her.

‘Tasha – I would give anything to have you back, but I didn’t think money would help, darling. I’m not offering anything at all, except cakes and sandwiches. Why would you think that?’

‘Is it my dad? No – don’t answer that. He never wanted me back anyway.’

Emma took a moment before replying. Of course Tasha didn’t know that David was dead. How could she tell her? She had no idea whether Tasha would be devastated or pleased, but telling her like this, over the phone, wasn’t the way to do it.

‘Sweetheart, about your dad …’

But Tasha wasn’t listening.

‘Is it Tom – is he offering money?’

‘No. He would have told me. He wants to see you, though.’

Emma heard a mirthless laugh.

‘Of course he does. I
know
what I did. I
know
I’m a criminal. I
know
you want me back to make me suffer for everything I’ve done. But don’t offer money. Don’t keep looking for me. You’re helping the wrong people.’

‘Tasha – you’ve got it all wrong. I …’

‘Goodbye, Emma.’ The phone went dead.

‘Shit,’ Emma hissed. She quickly dialled one four seven one and got the number of the phone box. She called it immediately, and waited.

With relief she heard the tone change as the phone was picked up.

‘Tasha?’ she called.

‘Uh? This is a phone box. Nobody here except me, and I’m waiting for a call. Get off the line.’ The gruff voice sounded angry.

‘Is there a young teenage girl there, close to the box?’ she asked.

‘There ain’t nobody but me. I told you. Now get off the bloody line.’ The phone went dead.

Emma dropped the handset, sat down on the bed again and put her head in her hands.

Tasha knew the police were looking for her, but had completely misinterpreted the reason. And how could she believe that Emma wanted to do her any harm? It made sense, though. If she had been brought up the way Tasha had, she would probably have believed the same thing.

For eight months Emma had been waiting for that call, and when at last it had happened, she’d got it wrong. What should she have said? What could she have done to make it go better? Had she finally lost Tasha for good?

8

‘Thanks for the money, Andy,’ I whisper as I crouch down next to where he is sitting. After we had checked out Andy’s injuries, he had insisted I make the call.

He doesn’t ask what happened on the phone. He’ll wait until I’m ready to tell him.

‘We’re a team,’ is all he has to say.

That makes it harder. I know he’s going to be mad at me for leaving, but I can’t stay with him. He’s taken a kicking for me, and not many people in my life have ever done that, so now I have to do the right thing. I could wait until he’s out to do this, but then I know he would come looking for me – just one more person trying to find me. Anyway, I owe him.

Moving home doesn’t take much effort when all you have is a couple of sheets of cardboard for bedding and a plastic bag with a few extra clothes, and I start to gather my things together. I’ll have to leave the fire can. That’s Andy’s.

‘What’re you doing?’ he asks quietly, watching me.

‘I’m going.’ There’s not much else I can say, really.

‘What – back to Emma’s?’ he says, a mixture of hope for me and sadness for himself making his face pull in different ways – the mouth smiling, the eyes looking scared.

I should say yes. That would be the end of it. But I don’t want to lie to him.

‘I think I’m better on my own, that’s all.’

‘That’s crap, and you know it,’ he says. ‘You’re right that you need to go, but I’m coming with you. I’m not staying here to get my bollocks kicked again, thanks, so where are we off to?’

I know I should say no, but I can’t. I tell him about an old warehouse I’ve heard of down by the river. There used to be shops and all sorts down there, but now it’s all bricked up. Well – it was until somebody un-bricked a bit of it.

‘Sounds perfect,’ he says, bending down to pick up his bits, including the fire can. ‘Let’s go then.’

*

The new place is about half a mile from our last pitch, and we find ourselves a space that’s not too close to the other groups that live here. We don’t trust anybody now, but nobody bothers us or seems to mind us being here.

This is a proper building, not just a tunnel, so I thought it would be warmer, but the roof is high up and full of holes, and the windows have long since gone, so it’s every bit as cold. It doesn’t echo like the tunnel did. The sounds are more muffled, and I sit still and listen to the noises around me. There’s no dripping water, but an old wooden window frame is loose and is banging in the wind.

‘Do you want to tell me how things went on the phone with Emma?’ Andy says as he starts to make the fire. ‘Doesn’t matter if you don’t.’

Andy had kept the pound coin the guy had given him for picking up his shopping and nicking his butties. He’d been saving it for something special, and he had said phoning Emma was special. Now that the call was done, I pushed what was left of his money into his hand.

‘Those phone boxes don’t always cough up the change, so I went into a shop for some 10p pieces. I didn’t want to lose 40p of your money.’

40p was 40p. It was enough to buy us an everyday value loaf of bread from the supermarket, and that would keep us going for days. But it’s Andy’s to spend as he wants.

‘What did Emma say?’ he asks, keeping his voice soft. We’re new here, and so we need to keep a low profile for a bit, just till we’re sure we’re accepted. ‘Come on, Harry – how did it go?’

It’s my turn to shrug. He says I don’t have to tell him, but he paid for the call in more ways than one, so it’s only fair really.

‘She says she’s not offering a reward. Neither are the police.’

I think we both knew this before I made the call. I just wanted to be sure. I know who it is – I’ve always known. I just thought they would have come for me before now.

‘Emma says she wants me to go home – it was all “darling” and “sweetheart” – but that can’t be right, can it? She can’t possibly want me anywhere near her or Ollie.’

‘Harry, have you ever thought she might actually mean it? Maybe she gets you?’

I laugh at that. She certainly did not get me. Not one little bit. When I moved in with her and my dad I hardly spoke, and when I did I was rude. I could tell it annoyed Emma. She
was okay with me when everything was going mental, but that was because she wanted her baby back, and I was her best bet.

‘Andy, Emma is a nice lady. She has nice manners and she’s kind to people. I’m a kid who has nicked from every supermarket in west Manchester, carried skunk in my backpack on trains … And my greatest stunt? I stole her bloody baby. So sure, she’s bound to want me back.’

Andy pokes our sad little fire with a piece of wood that was ultimately going to end up in the can with the others.

‘So why spend all this time and effort looking for you? I think you’re wrong; I think she means it.’

‘Well, that’s a lovely thought, but the police would arrest me if I went back – so it’s a no-brainer. Let’s forget Emma and try to work out what we’re going to do about that nasty bastard who’s trying to find me.’

I don’t know why I suggest this, though – because neither of us is going to come up with an answer. There isn’t one. He’ll either find me or he won’t.

9

The kitchen was filled with the delicious aroma of a Tuscan beef stew that was simmering in the oven, the tomatoes, spices and red wine combining to create a smell that always made Emma think of cold, winter evenings in front of a warm fire. But tonight she wasn’t cooking it for herself. She couldn’t bear the thought of food. It was for Tom. She needed him, and the least she could do in return for his help was cook his dinner.

She paced the kitchen, waiting for him to arrive, conscious she shouldn’t always rely on him, but not knowing what else to do.

The doorbell rang, and she rushed to let him in.

‘Tom, thank you so much for coming. I feel guilty for calling you, but I’ve nobody to talk to who understands this whole mess except you.’

They were both silent for a moment as they thought of the men she should have been able to rely on, both of whom had let her down in different ways and who were now gone from her life. Except Emma wasn’t entirely sure that one of them had gone completely.

After nearly eight years of agonising over the sudden break-up of her relationship with her ex-fiancé, Jack, she finally understood why he’d had to leave when he did, and why he now had to stay below the radar. But although she had never told Tom, Emma suspected Jack was spooking around in her computer. A brilliant hacker and computer security expert, he had always been able to take control of her computer remotely and make it do unexpected things. It used to amuse her, but now she just wished he would make himself known so she could talk to him. She had taken to using sticky note software to leave subtle messages on her desktop that only Jack would understand. He could read them from afar and know that she still loved him. And she was sure he
was
reading them, because he always moved the notes a few pixels to the right. It was his way of letting her know he was there.

It was a secret that Emma kept to herself. It wouldn’t have been fair to tell Tom, who was suffering as much as she was at the loss of his brother for a second time.

Tom was busy taking his Barbour off. It was dripping with rain, and he shook it in the porch before hanging it on a hook. Emma couldn’t help thinking that although he was Jack’s brother Tom was nothing like him. Both men were tall, but Tom had broad shoulders whereas Jack was leaner, more intense, and until the last time she saw him Jack had always had long, almost black, bushy hair that he tied back in a ponytail when he was forced to look smart. Tom had dark-blond hair that he kept short and a bit spiky. They were chalk and cheese, but she had sometimes wished Jack had a bit more of Tom’s solidity.

He stepped into the hall and gave her a hug.

‘It’s good to see you, and don’t ever feel guilty about calling me. I want to help. I know I don’t always say what you want to hear, and that makes it difficult for me sometimes. But I won’t lie to you.’

‘I know. Look, come through to the kitchen, have a glass of wine, and I’ll tell you what’s happened today.’

‘Okay, but first – where’s my godson? Is he in bed?’

‘Sorry, he is. I had to put him down, because if he’d stayed up it would have taken me forever to get him to sleep. He’d have been so excited. You can pop up and see him, if you like.’

Tom grinned at her and took the stairs two at a time. Ollie asleep was a perfect picture. On his back, arms above his head, blankets kicked off and legs splayed, he looked like a starfish – and one with the cutest face.

Emma made her way into the kitchen, poured two glasses of red wine and leaned against the units, trying to decide what to say to Tom – what to tell him, and in what order. She had been going round and round the options, but in the end there was only one thing for it.

‘Tasha called me.’ The words burst out of her before Tom was even through the kitchen door.

He stopped dead, as if he hadn’t heard her right. ‘You’re joking?’

Emma nodded and took a gulp of her wine.

‘She wanted to know if I was offering a reward for her.’

‘What? You’re not, are you? Please tell me you haven’t offered half the homeless of Manchester money for turning her in.’

‘No, of course I haven’t.’ She pointed to the glass of wine sitting on the central unit. ‘I’m not completely insane. That would cause a riot. But it seems somebody is offering money to find her, and I’m fairly sure it’s not you.’

‘No, it’s not, although we could really do with finding her.’

Tom picked up his wine, and Emma could tell from his face that he was weighing his words.

‘Spit it out, Tom. What are you thinking?’

‘If it’s not you, and it’s not me, there’s only one other person who has anything to gain by finding Tasha.’

The name McGuinness hung in the air between them, unspoken.

‘Why now, though? He’s had months to look for her, and it’s the first we’ve heard about this reward.’

Tom looked uncomfortable.

‘I told you weeks ago that McGuinness was ill and that’s why his court case had been delayed, but I didn’t tell you how ill because I know you want him to suffer for everything he’s done. I guessed you would think dying in his sleep would have been too good for him.’