Ann Purser - Threats At Three

As Lois sat listening to yet another sad story of ill health and bad luck, she reflected that a large part of New Brooms’ work involved being a sympathetic ear and a comforting presence for a short time whilst involved in clients’ lives. In Mrs. Brown’s case, her husband had a job which kept him abroad for long periods of time. She herself was sickly, and had had one operation after another. “So you see, I can’t possibly join him. And now, in this present financial crisis, he can’t give up his good job over there and return to be with me.”

“Perhaps things will soon change,” said Lois soothingly. She didn’t believe it, but needed to get down to business and return to Farnden as soon as possible.

This proved to be more difficult than she had thought. Mrs. Brown had a clinging nature, and had perfected the art of pinning her listener down with a seamless monologue. There was no chance of interrupting, and so Lois switched off and let her run on. After all, there was little she could be doing back at home, and at least this would result in another client for the business. Finally, she realised there was a pause, and Mrs. Brown was looking at her enquiringly.

“Um, oh, yes, of course,” Lois said quickly. “Now, when would you like us to start? I could fix you up with a very pleasant person to start next Monday? Morning or afternoon?”

“The afternoon would be best for me. It takes me most of the morning to get going at the moment! Yes, afternoon would be fine. Oh, that will be wonderful! You have no idea how relieved I am.”

Oh well, thought Lois, as she accepted the offer of a cup of coffee and insisted on making it for the two of them, at least I am useful to someone. Why oh why hadn’t Mum remembered sooner about the hut in the woods? Now it was too late. She appreciated Cowgill’s efforts at reassurance, but recalled only too well Paula’s accounts of her husband’s violence. Admittedly, she had always stressed he’d never touched the children, but a man in his present situation must be under enormous pressure.

She rinsed out the cups, made final arrangements with Mrs. Brown, and extricated herself from another tale of woe. “Must be going,” she said. “Nice to have met you. You can rely on New Brooms!” she added reassuringly, and made her way down the garden path.

Inside the van, she switched on the radio and listened to the news. No developments. She switched it off again, and headed for home. As she stopped at traffic lights under a railway bridge, she glanced in her rearview mirror and her heart lurched. There, in the back of the van, she saw something move. She turned around and ignored the cars hooting behind her as the lights turned to green. A dirty, exhausted boy crawled forwards.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Jack Jr. said shakily. “Can you take me home… please?”

YOU FORGOT TO LOCK THE VAN,” JACK SAID. “LUCKY FOR ME.

My legs were giving up.”

Lois thoughts were in turmoil. Yes, she had forgotten to lock the van, and no wonder. This young person squatting behind her, having difficulty keeping his eyes open, had half the country worrying about him. Not to mention the taxpayers money spent on police procedures in the hunt to find him. She hadn’t thought about much else for the last forty-eight hours.

But what should she do now, and in what order? First, call Cowgill? Second, get Jack home to his mother. No, first, drive home slowly and ask him some questions as they went along? Then call Cowgill. She glanced back and saw that there was no dilemma. Jack Jr. had leaned against the back of her seat and was fast asleep.

He looks about five years old, thought Lois, taking the corners slowly so as not to wake him. He is small for his age, poor kid. Where has he been and what’s happened to him? But most of all, who took him?

When she drew up outside the Hickson house, she looked up and down the street. Nobody about. She had been able to cut through a private Tollervey-Jones estate road to avoid the police vigils. It was only a tiny track, with grass growing down the middle, but negotiable. Now she wanted to get Jack, still sleeping, into his house without anyone seeing. After that, she would talk to Paula and see what should be done next. Every maternal instinct in her body told her that the last thing Jack needed was interrogation by anyone. He needed sleep in his own bed, with his mother watching over him. After that, it would have to be the police. But Cowgill would see that this caused as little harm as possible to an already damaged child.

But how to get him out, down the garden path and into his house? He was too big for Lois to carry, and she dare not leave him alone in the van. She looked across at the shop, and saw the vicar, Father Rodney, emerging. He waved a friendly hand, and she made a quick decision. She lowered her window and beckoned. As he came near, she put her finger to her lips, signing him not to say anything. Then she waited until he bent down to the window and she could whisper in his ear, praying that he would do what she hoped.

He did. Without a change of expression, he looked into the back of the van, nodded briefly and disappeared round the back. Lois quietly opened her door and joined him, and together they slowly maneuvered Jack Jr., until Father Rodney had him securely in his arms. Nobody had appeared in the street, and with Lois shielding the still sleeping Jack from watchful eyes, they moved quickly into the garden and round to the back door. There Paula stood holding a basketful of wet washing, pale as a ghost and apparently paralyzed with shock at the sight of a limp Jack held tenderly by the vicar.

Lois took her by the arm, said quietly that they should take Jack upstairs and try not to wake him. “He’s exhausted, Paula,” she said. “But alive.”

Father Rodney and Lois left Paula with her son, and they returned to the kitchen, where Frankie sat in his high chair, staring at them with a wobbling chin. Lois forestalled a burst of crying, and lifted him out, cuddling him close. “Let’s go and find some toys,” she said and motioned to the vicar to go with them into the sitting room. He followed quietly and they settled down. Father Rodney proved to be a dab hand at wooden puzzles, and whilst he kept Frankie busy, Lois talked.

“Please don’t say anything to anybody,” she pleaded, knowing that the apparently sensible thing would be to contact the police at once. To her surprise, Father Rodney agreed without protest. “A couple of hours good sleep is not going to make much difference to anybody except young Jack,” he said. “I shall leave it you, Mrs. Meade, to know when to make the next move. The boy obviously trusts you, else he wouldn’t have crawled into your van. And Mrs. Hickson works for you? So together you will do the best for Jack. I shall go now. It will not look at all odd for me to be seen leaving, since I was actually on my way to offer what comfort I could to Jack’s mother.”

Lois picked up Frankie and saw the vicar to the door. “I’ll let you know how it goes,” she said.

After half an hour or so, Paula came downstairs. She stood looking at Lois and Frankie, and tried to say something, but choked. Then she walked across the room and put her arms around both. They stood unmoving for a few minutes, then Frankie began to struggle.

“He’s hungry, I expect,” said Lois, sniffing loudly. “Come on, let’s go and find him a biscuit.”

WHEN LOIS HAD REACHED HOME, SHE PHONED COWGILL, having agreed with Paula that this would be best. She had been so overjoyed on the one hand, and shaken and tearful on the other, that after a while she had begged Lois to be the one to contact the police.