Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

‘I hope you’re right about this,’ Donnelly told him, shaking his head in concern.

‘So do I,’ Sean answered, ‘because if I’m wrong, then I really haven’t got a clue what’s going on here. Not a single, damn clue.’

Hannah Richmond stared at herself in the large square mirror that hung in her kitchen, attacking her long dull hair with an old comb, desperately trying to make it look presentable. Finally she gave in and tossed the comb on to the table as she straightened her only suit and admired her image — not something she was used to doing, but these last few months had been different — life-changing. She’d met a man and he’d already told her he loved her and wanted to marry her — the sooner the better. She was the first to admit he wasn’t exactly the man of her dreams, or probably anyone’s, but he was good and decent, and he was keen to please her — to bow to her every whim. More than anything else she was happy now and hadn’t even had to take her anti-depressants lately, despite warnings from her doctor about the possible side effects of dropping her medication so abruptly. ‘Doctors,’ she said to herself. ‘What do they know?’

She should have been going to work today, but an opportunity too good to ignore had come up and she was going to take it — grab it with both hands, that’s what her man had told her to do, so that’s what she was going to do. She was dressed in her best and almost ready to head out. She needed this and knew the children needed her. School would be expecting her into work later that morning, but she wouldn’t be able to make it, not today. She’d wait a little while longer, then phone in and tell them she was sick with that stomach bug that was doing the rounds. More than a few children at the nursery had had it, so it shouldn’t give rise to too much suspicion.

She thought of the nursery as she tried to apply a little make-up, something else she wasn’t used to doing. But her man reckoned it suited her, so she’d taken to using it more often, although still only for special occasions, or when she needed to make an impression, like this morning. Small Fry was all right — the other teachers were pleasant enough, if a bit condescending at times, and most of the children were adorable too, although some took after their parents: arrogant and self-important, acting as if they were royalty, speaking in their clipped accents just to make sure everybody knew they belonged to the right set . They barely even looked at her, let alone spoke to her, unless they wanted something — child-minding usually, then they were all smiles and niceties, until they’d got what they wanted. I trust you to look after my children, but don’t expect me to treat you like an equal, or even a person. ‘Don’t deserve children, most of them,’ she told her image in the mirror. ‘Can’t see the point in having them if you don’t want to be with them.’ She’d buried her jealousy well all these years, that twisting feeling she got in her belly every time she saw or heard a parent treating their child with contempt and disdain, as if they were nothing more than a burden. And yet all this time, all these years, all she’d ever wanted were children of her own. But she could never meet the right man — any man − until now. And she was already in her thirties — it might be too late for her. She couldn’t take that chance — she had to have children.

Hannah Richmond pulled on her thick winter coat, grabbed her old handbag and headed for the front door of the small ground-floor flat she’d bought off the local council years ago. It was in an ugly modern tenement block — something that looked as if it had been made out of giant pieces of black and white Lego. As she undid the various front-door locks the bathroom door behind her opened and her man stepped out, his badly receding hair still wet, a towel wrapped around his ample waist. He hadn’t bothered to shave. ‘You’re out early,’ he said in his thick London accent. ‘Dressed to kill an’ all. Something on at work?’

‘I won’t be going to work today,’ she told him, her usually smiling face as serious as he’d seen it.

‘Oh. How come?’

‘I have to go and see a family,’ she explained. ‘The children need me. I’ll see you later.’ She opened the door and moved to step outside.

‘Not even a kiss?’ he called after her, stopping her in her tracks. Her lips broke into a faint smile as she waited for him to come to her and they quickly kissed before she stepped over the threshold and was gone.

Once she was outside she moved quickly away from her block, her chest fluttering with anxiety in case she was seen by a work colleague, her planned lie about being sick aborted before birth. The worrying thought intensified the morning chill, prompting her to pull her collar up around her neck and lower her face. Her new shoes clicked and clacked on the hard pavement as she headed towards Camden Town and beyond — to the address where she knew the children would be waiting for her.

His fitful sleep was punctuated by confusing, irrational dreams — images, memories and people from his past and present knitted together in a bizarre patchwork of events: the missing children for some reason in his own home, playing with his own children, but being cared for by his mother, not Kate — Anna waiting for him upstairs, in the bed that he shared with his wife. He watched himself climbing the stairs, his heart pounding as he avoided the creaky floorboards, just as the taker had. This was his own home, yet still he moved stealthily towards the bedroom and Anna, pushing the door slowly open and seeing him — seeing him on top of her, forcing himself on her. He walked as if walking through quicksand to the bed, Anna’s pain and humiliation bringing tears to his own eyes as he reached out to the man on top of her, grabbing him by the back of the head and twisting his face away from Anna’s and towards himself, the laughing, mocking face of his father staring into his own. He looked down at Anna, pleading with him to help her, her lips moving, but no words coming out as his father’s laughter drowned out all sound. ‘Help me,’ her silent lips pleaded. ‘Help me.’ But he couldn’t, and he ran from the room, fleeing back down the stairs to the children and his mother. Only she was gone and once more it was his father who waited for him, standing behind the four children who kneeled in front of him, laughter still pouring from his black mouth and blood-red lips. The children’s eyes begged him to rescue them — their silent mouths mimed words almost identical to those Anna had mouthed: ‘Help us. Help us.’ But he couldn’t move; no matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t move. Suddenly his entire world began to shake as sounds from the real world penetrated his nightmare.

‘Guv’nor,’ the voice of DC Tony Summers tried to reach him. ‘Guv’nor.’ His conscious mind began to stir as he eyes flickered open and reminded him where he was and what he was doing.

‘Fuck,’ he grumbled. He tried to work the stiffness out of his neck after sleeping sitting upright in the front of the unmarked car for several hours. ‘Jesus. What time is it?’

‘About quarter-past-seven, boss,’ Summers answered, his voice quiet, despite their safe distance from the address they’d been watching since two a.m. ‘The target’s at her front door.’

Sean rubbed his eyes then blinked as he tried to focus on the front door of the ground-floor flat little more than fifty metres away. ‘Looks like she’s dressed for work,’ Summers offered.

‘Maybe,’ Sean answered, less convinced. ‘A bit early for nursery school though, don’t you think?’

‘They start early these days, boss. Pressures of the modern world and all that,’ Summers explained in his Lancashire accent.