The safe house Page 7

  Elsie didn’t seem to notice that Finn wasn’t replying. She displayed her picture of her house with a front door up to the roof and two crooked windows, she showed her how she could do somersaults, crashing into the legs of the chair, and then she demanded a video and together they sat through the whole of 101 Dalmatians, Finn in the chair, Elsie on the rug, both staring at the screen full of puppies, Finn vacantly and Elsie avidly, and when I took Elsie up for her bath (‘why do I always have to have baths?’) Finn stayed staring at the blank screen.

  Evenings would be the worst, I thought: stretches of time with just the two of us and no structure and Finn just sitting and waiting, but waiting for nothing. I thought of the way she’d looked at me. I rummaged through the freezer: Marks & Spencer steak and kidney pudding, Sainsbury’s chicken kiev, a packet of lasagne (serves two), spinach and cheese pie (serves one). I pulled out the lasagne and put it in the microwave to defrost. Perhaps there were some frozen peas. I wondered where Danny was; I wondered who he was with, and if he had sought comfort and pleasure elsewhere, taking his rage to a different bed. Was he with someone else now, as I nursed a mute invalid? Was he laying his roughened hands on someone else’s compliant body? For a few moments, at the thought, I could hardly breathe. I suppose he would say that I’d been unfaithful to him, in my fashion. Finn, sitting passively in the next-door room, represented a kind of treachery. I wished he was here now and I was heating up lasagne and peas for him instead; then we could have watched a movie on the telly and gone up to bed together and pressed up against each other in the dark. I wished that I could banish Finn, and my foolish and hasty decision to take her in, and return to the past of two days ago.

  ‘Here we are.’ I carried the tray into the living room, but Finn wasn’t there. I called upstairs, at first not loudly, then with greater impatience. No answer. Eventually I knocked at her bedroom door, then opened it. She lay, fully clothed, on her bed. Her thumb was in her mouth. I pulled the duvet over her, and as I did so her eyes opened. She glared at me and then turned her head to the wall.

  And so ended Finn’s first day. Except later that night when I’d gone to bed myself and outside it was quite dark in the way that only the countryside can be dark, I heard a thump from Finn’s room. Then another, louder. I pulled on my dressing gown and padded along the chilly corridor. She lay quite asleep, both hands covering her face like someone hiding from an intrusive camera. I went back to my warm bed and heard nothing more except the hoot of an owl, the sigh of the wind, horrible unfiltered country sounds, until morning.

  Ten

  Finn was a chilly presence in the house. I’d see her out of the corner of my eye: slumped somewhere, shuffling somewhere. In all the debates about safety and status, what hadn’t been discussed was what she was actually meant to do in my house from hour to hour. In the first couple of days she was with us she woke early; I heard the slap of naked feet on the bare boards of the landing. At breakfast-time I knocked on her bedroom door, asking if I could bring her anything. There was no reply. I saw nothing of her until I returned from driving Elsie to school. She would be sitting on the sofa watching daytime television, game shows, public confessions, news broadcasts, Australian soap operas. She was impassive, almost immobile, except for worrying at the plaster on her neck. Fidget, fidget, fidget. I brought her coffee, black with no sugar, and she took it and cupped her hands around it as if to draw its warmth into herself. That was the closest to human contact for the whole day. I brought her toast but half an hour later it was untouched, the butter congealed.

  When I encountered Finn, I would talk to her casually, in the sort of spirit that you might speak to a patient in deep coma, not knowing whether it was for your benefit or theirs. Here’s some coffee. Mind your hands. It’s a nice day. Budge up. What are you watching? The occasional questions came out by mistake and provoked awkward silences. I was embarrassed and furious with myself for being embarrassed. I was professionally as well as personally discomfited. This was supposed to be my field and I was behaving absurdly, as well as ineffectually. But it was the situation itself that was disastrous, not my behaviour within it. Admitting a severely traumatized woman to my home, establishing her in the context of my own family, such as it was, was contrary to any normal procedure. And I was missing Danny in a way that took me by surprise.

  As I drove to Elsie’s school in the afternoon of Finn’s third mute day, I went over possibilities in my mind. I walked into Elsie’s class and found her engaged in a picture almost as large as herself. She was glaring with ferocious concentration and gouging a few final touches into it with a black crayon. I knelt beside her and looked over her shoulder. I could smell her soft skin, feel her cotton-wool hair against my cheek.

  ‘That’s a good elephant,’ I said.

  ‘It’s a horse,’ she said firmly.

  ‘It looks like an elephant,’ I protested. ‘It’s got a trunk.’

  ‘It looks like an elephant,’ Elsie said, ‘but it’s a horse.’

  I wasn’t going to let this go.

  ‘I look like an ordinary woman. Could I be a horse?’

  Elsie looked up at me with a new-found interest.

  ‘Are you?’

  I felt a stab of remorse at what I was allowing to be inflicted on this cross little flaxen-haired goblin. I should be doing something for her. I had to do something. Straight away. I looked around.

  ‘Who have you been playing with, Elsie?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘No, really, who?’

  ‘Mungo.’

  ‘Apart from Mungo.’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘Name one person you’ve been playing with.’

  ‘Penelope.’

  I went to the teacher, Miss Karlin, a teacherly dream in a long flowery dress and wire-rimmed spectacles, her hair carelessly tied up, and asked her to point out Penelope, and she told me that there was nobody in the class or, indeed, the school with that name. So could she point out somebody that Elsie had played with or stood next to for more than two minutes? Miss Karlin pointed to a mousy-brown-haired girl called Kirsty. So I loitered at the edge of the class like a private detective and when a woman approached Kirsty and attempted to insert her into a little duffle-coat, I accosted her.

  ‘Hello,’ I said ruthlessly, ‘I’m very glad that Elsie – that’s my little girl over there on the floor – and Kirsty have become such good friends.’

  ‘Have they? I didn’t…’

  ‘Kirsty must come and play at Elsie’s house.’

  ‘Well, maybe…’

  ‘What about tomorrow?’

  ‘Well, Kirsty’s not really used…’

  ‘It’ll be fine, Miss Karlin tells me that they’re absolutely inseparable. Linda will pick them both up and I’ll drop Kirsty back. Could you give me your address? Or would you prefer to collect her?’

  That was Elsie’s social life sorted out. The rest of the day was unsatisfactory. After we arrived home, I steered Elsie away from Finn’s presence as much as was possible. The two of us ate alone together and then I took Elsie up to her room. She had a bath and I sat on the edge of her bed and read books to her.

  ‘Is Fing here?’

  ‘Finn.’

  ‘Fing.’

  ‘Finn.’

  ‘Fing.’

  ‘Fin-n-n-n-n-n.’

  ‘Fing-ng-ng-ng.’

  I gave up.

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I think she’s asleep,’ I lied.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She’s tired.’

  ‘Is she ill?’

  ‘No. She just needs rest.’

  This stalled Elsie for long enough for me to get her on to another subject.

  On the following morning, I made a dismal attempt at retreating to my room and staring at the computer screen. I double-clicked the chess program. I thought I might as well have a quick one. A king’s pawn opening, the program took me into a complicated version of the Sici
lian Defence. Without much thought, I established a favourable pawn structure and simplified with a series of exchanges. The program’s position was losing but it took a long and intricate series of manoeuvres to queen a pawn. Served the machine right, and a whole hour had gone. Bloody hell. Time for work.

  I took a business card out of my pocket and ran it along the interstices of my keyboard. I managed to prod out a surprising amount of dust, fluff and hair that had been trapped underneath, so I began to tackle the problem systematically. I ran the card between the number line of keys and the QWERTY line, between the QWERTY line and the ASDF line, between the asdf line and the ZXCV line. By the end I had a small grubby pile, about enough to stuff the pillow of a dormouse. I blew it hard and it drifted down behind my desk.

  The very idea of getting any work done was absurd. I hate spiders. It is a ridiculous distaste, because I know how interesting they are and all that, but I can’t bear them. I felt as if I had glimpsed a spider in the room and it had scuttled away. I knew it was in the room somewhere and I could think of nothing else. Finn was in the house and I felt as if she was rattling around in my brain. I looked at the business card, the corners of which were now grubby and curled. It was the one that Michael Daley had left with me. I dialled the number of his surgery. He wasn’t there and I left my name. Less than a minute later he rang back.

  ‘How’s she doing?’ he asked immediately.

  I described Finn’s demeanour and expressed my doubts about the whole affair. When I had finished, there was a long silence.

  ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Yes,’ Daley started to say something and then stopped. ‘I’m not sure what to say. I think you’re being put in an impossible position. I’m worried about Finn as well. Let me think about this.’

  ‘To be honest, Michael, I think this is a farce. I don’t believe it’s doing anybody any good.’

  ‘You’re probably right. We must talk.’

  ‘We are talking.’

  ‘Sorry, yes. Can I come and see her?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Straight away.’

  ‘Haven’t you got surgery?’

  ‘It’s finished and I’ve got a spare hour.’

  ‘That’s fine. Christ, Michael, a doctor who offers to make housecalls. We should have you stuffed.’

  Daley arrived barely a quarter of an hour later. He was dressed for work, with a dark suit, a bright tie and a jacket. He’d shaved and brushed his hair, but he had a pleasingly incongruous appearance. His expression was concerned, unsettled even.

  ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘Sure, she’s watching TV. Take as much time as you want. Do you want tea or something?’

  ‘Later. Give me a few minutes. I’d like a look at her.’

  Daley disappeared into the living room and shut the door. I picked up a newspaper and waited. I could hear the TV through the wall, nothing else. After some time, he emerged, looking as sombre as before. He came through to me in the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll have that tea now,’ he said. He ran his hand through his hair.

  I filled the kettle and plugged it in.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘She didn’t speak to me either. I had a quick look at her. Physically, she’s fine. As you already know.’

  ‘That’s not the issue, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  I moved mugs around, found tea-bags, rattled spoons, while waiting for the kettle to boil.

  ‘A watched kettle takes about three minutes to boil,’ I said.

  Michael didn’t reply. Finally, I put two mugs of tea in front of him and sat opposite.

  ‘I can’t give you my undivided attention for long,’ I said. ‘Linda will be back with Elsie and Elsie’s new friend, or ersatz friend at least.’

  ‘I’ve got to go anyway,’ said Michael. ‘Look, Sam, I’m sorry about you having been landed with all this. It’s not working. And it’s not your fault. Don’t do anything. Give me a day or so. I’ll ring Baird and we’ll get her off your hands.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean,’ I said uneasily. ‘It’s not a question of getting anybody off my hands.’

  ‘No, no, of course not. I’m speaking as Finn’s doctor. I don’t believe this is appropriate for her. Secondly, and quite separately, it’s no good for you either. I’ll ring you tomorrow afternoon and let you know what we’re going to do.’

  He rested his head in the cup of one hand and smiled at me. ‘OK?’

  ‘I’m sorry about this, Michael,’ I said. ‘I hate feeling that I can’t do something, but this…’ I gave a shrug.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said.

  The first appearance of Kirsty was not promising. Elsie ran straight past me. Linda came in holding a grim-faced child by the hand.

  ‘Hello, Kirsty,’ I said.

  ‘I want my mummy,’ she said.

  ‘Do you want an apple?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I want to go home,’ Kirsty said, and she began to cry, really cry, with big tears running over her red cheeks.

  I picked her up and carried her through to the living room. Finn wasn’t there, thank Christ. Holding Kirsty in my left arm, I pulled a box of toys from behind the sofa and shouted to Linda to bring Elsie down, by force if necessary. There were dolls without clothes, clothes without dolls.

  ‘Would you like to dress the dollies, Kirsty?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ said Kirsty.

  An equally cross Elsie was dragged into the room.

  ‘Elsie, wouldn’t you like to help Kirsty dress the dollies?’

  ‘No.’

  The phone rang out in the hall.

  ‘Answer that, Linda. You love the dollies, don’t you, Elsie? Why don’t you show them to Kirsty?’

  ‘Don’t want to.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be fucking friends.’

  Both of them were crying when Linda came back into the room.

  ‘It’s a Thelma for you,’ she said.

  ‘Christ, tell her to… no, I’d better take it in my office. Don’t let anybody leave this room.’

  Thelma was ringing to find out how it was going, and I described the situation as quickly as I could. Even so, it was more than twenty minutes before I could get off the line and I left my office expecting screams and blood on the walls and legal action from Kirsty’s mother and the intervention of Essex social services and an inquiry culminating in my being struck off. Instead, the first sound I heard was miniature tinkling laughter. Linda must be a miracle worker, I thought to myself, but as I turned the corner I saw Linda standing in the hall by the partially open door.

  ‘What…?’ I began, but she held a finger to her lips and gestured me forwards with a smile.

  I tiptoed towards her and stared through the crack. There was a thin scream of delight which crumbled into gurgling laughter.

  ‘Where’d it go?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Whose voice was that? It couldn’t be.

  ‘You do, you do,’ two little voices were insisting.

  ‘But I think it might be in Kirsty’s ear. Shall we look? Yes, there it is.’

  There were more tiny shrieks.

  ‘Do it again, Fing. Do it again.’

  Elsie and Kirsty were kneeling on the carpet. Very slowly, I peered round the edge of the door. Finn was sitting in front of them holding a little yellow ball from the play-box between the thumb and index finger of her left hand.

  ‘I don’t think I can,’ she said and rubbed her hands together, transferring the ball from her left to her right hand. ‘But maybe we can try.’ She held her left hand forward. ‘Can you blow?’

  Elsie and Kirsty blew with furrowed brows and round cheeks.

  ‘And say the magic word.’

  ‘Abracadabra.’

  Finn opened her left fist. The ball was gone, of course. It was a terrible magic trick, but both little girls gasped in amazement and shrieked and laughed. None of them saw us, and I stepped back into the hall.

  ‘L
et’s not get in the way,’ I whispered, and we tiptoed away.

  ‘I’m amazed,’ said Kirsty’s mother, as she stood in the doorway waiting to leave two hours later. ‘I’ve never seen Kirsty like this in anybody else’s house.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ I said modestly, ‘we tried to make her feel at home.’

  ‘I don’t know how you did it,’ said Kirsty’s mother. ‘Come on, Kirsty. Goodbye, Elsie, would you like to come and play with Kirsty some time at our house?’

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ said Kirsty, tears in her eyes once more. ‘I want to stay with Fing.’

  ‘Who’s Fing?’ asked Kirsty’s mother. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘She’s – Fiona’s – someone who’s staying with me.’

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ shrieked Kirsty.

  Kirsty’s mother picked her up and carried her out. I shut the door behind her. The screams receded into the night. There was the slam of a car door and they ceased. I knelt and held Elsie close.

  ‘Did you like that?’ I asked softly in her ear.

  She nodded. She had a glow about her.

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Run upstairs and take your clothes off. I’ll come up in a minute and put you in the bath.’

  ‘Can Fing come? Can she read me a story?’

  ‘We’ll see. Now go on.’

  I watched the back of her strong little body making its way up the stairs. I turned and walked back into the sitting room. The television was on. Finn was sitting watching. I sat next to her, and she showed no sign of having noticed me. I looked at the screen and tried to work out what the programme was. Suddenly I felt her hand on mine. I turned and she was looking at me.