‘Shed? He’s in the shed?’
I’m terrified. I just want to run. But Fida squeezes my arm tighter.
‘You . . . have . . . to . . . go.’ She spits out each word, squeezing my arms tighter with every syllable. ‘The boy –’
She lies back, exhausted from the effort of speaking, then she lifts her head and stares at me pleadingly.
‘Please . . .’
‘Your little boy is in the shed?’
She nods her head.
‘Help him,’ she gasps.
Then her head falls back. I put my hand on her chest. She’s still breathing but it looks like she’s fainted.
I stand up, my heart pounding. This is too much for me. I need to call the police. But if something happens to that child while I’m away I’ll never forgive myself. This is one child I can help.
I take off my coat and put it gently over Fida, then make my way through the house.
Be brave, I tell myself, as I push open the back door and step out into the shadowy garden. Be like Kate.
38
My legs feel like they are going to give way as I move across the grass towards the shed. What the hell am I doing? I feel disorientated from the wine and pills but I know I have to do this. If I can help this little boy then I’ll have done something right in my thirty-five years on this earth. Then maybe Paul will be proud of me. He’ll see that I can be a good person.
I reach the shed. The door is wide open. I count to three then step inside.
‘Hello?’ I call, my heart beating so fast it feels like it’s coming out of my chest.
‘Hello?’ I repeat. ‘It’s okay. You can come out. I’ve come to help you.’
As my eyes adjust to the dark I can see it’s just an ordinary garden shed with plant pots and old boxes. What was I expecting, a dungeon? Fida must’ve been delirious with the knock to her head. There’s nowhere to hide a child here. He must be in the house.
I’m just about to go back when I hear it. A rustling coming from the back of the shed. I freeze.
‘Hello?’ I call again, my voice quivering.
I am scared, so scared. But then I see something move in the far corner. I step closer and there he is: a tiny boy crouched behind a set of ladders.
‘Oh my God,’ I say softly, my heart thudding against my chest.
I walk towards him and he cowers further into the corner.
‘It’s okay,’ I whisper, sensing his fear. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
The boy mumbles something beneath his breath.
‘What was that you said, darling?’
I get down on to my knees and gently ease myself towards him. I remember when Hannah was a little girl, she was so shy and she hated it when adults stood over her; it used to terrify her. Mum would say: ‘If you make yourself small then children will trust you.’
‘What’s your name?’ I ask him. I’m next to him now and I sit down on the floor, resting my arms on my knees.
He looks up at me fleetingly then hides his face again. His hands are so tiny.
‘What are you doing in here?’ I ask him. ‘Playing hide and seek?’
He looks at me blankly so I try again.
‘Shall we go and find Mummy?’
He nods his head then whispers something. I lean in closer, gently take his hand and pull him out of his hiding place.
‘What did you say, love?’
‘Find Mummy,’ he says, looking at me for the first time.
‘Come on then,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘Let’s go and see Mummy.’
I hold out my hand but he stays where he is.
‘Come on,’ I say.
‘No,’ he cries, shaking his head. ‘No go out there. Bad man out there.’
The poor kid is terrified but I don’t know what to do. I’m guessing the ‘bad man’ is his father and if he comes in here to find him we’re done for. I need to get him and Fida next door to my mum’s house and then I can think what to do next.
‘There’s no bad man,’ I say, kneeling down next to him. ‘He’s gone now. But I know a nice place we can go. It’s my mummy’s house and I bet there’ll be some biscuits there. You can have some while we wait for your mummy.’
‘Mummy not out there,’ he shouts. ‘Mummy down there.’
He’s pointing at the ground.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I say. ‘Your mummy’s not down there.’
‘She is,’ he yells. ‘She down there.’
He sinks to the floor and pulls a scrap of old carpet back.
‘There,’ he says.
I go over to him. There’s a square shape cut out in the floor. I crouch down to take a closer look. It’s a kind of trapdoor with a large metal bolt, built into the floor.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, looking at him.
He says something but I can’t hear so I lean nearer to him and accidentally dislodge an old metal bucket, which tumbles loudly across the stone floor. The noise startles the boy and he goes to run past me.
‘Shh, it’s okay,’ I say, taking his hand. ‘Don’t panic. It was just a silly old bucket.’
He’s terrified; his little body trembles in my arms and I rub his head gently. His hair smells musty; like it hasn’t been washed in weeks.