Not My Blood

CHAPTER 10

COOMBHAVEN. SUSSEX.

Nine o’clock chimed on the mantel clock and, seemingly at the signal, the dying fire below slumped and darkened in the grate, giving up the struggle. Molly Weston shuddered with foreboding and turned up the wick of the oil lamp to cheer up the mean little room.

If they’re not back with him by nine, it’s all over.

She’d set herself a limit. Now that limit was passed; what could she do next?

She strained to listen for sounds outside in the lane but heard only the quiet sobs and desultory talk of the two girls filtering through the ill-fitting floorboards and thin layer of linoleum in the bedroom above. The baby in his cot by the fireside mewed and fretted and punched the air with his tiny fists. Molly held her breath. Please, God, let him not wake up! She couldn’t cope with his screams and his hunger. A moment later he settled back into sleep.

Her eyes went again to the one photograph the sparsely furnished parlour of the brick and flint cottage contained and focussed on it with the pleading gaze of one worshipping an icon. The family group. No baby Billie when that was taken last year. She’d been two months pregnant and nothing showed as she stood looking small and quenched next to her burly husband. A fine figure of a man, Jem. Everyone said. There he stood, smiling with paternal pride. The children were ranged up in front in height order, the girls neat in their best dresses and plaited hair and their younger brother, left sock drooping, head on one side, gormlessly peering at the photographer.

Jem had wanted to leave the boy at home. He’ll only show us up! I’m not risking it. But just for once, Molly had prevailed. It had taken less than a second for the shutter to click, but in that short time the camera had recorded an undeniable fact. Plain as day: Walter wasn’t quite right in the head. He’d never be able to look after himself.

Now he was out there in the snow on a pitch-dark night. Eight years old. Molly’s daft lad.

In a sudden urge to follow him, get him back and hug his cold little body to her, Molly got up from the wooden armchair and made for the door. Stay put! Jem had told her. Don’t leave the children. The constables’ll find him.

That had been four hours ago. She lifted the sneck and opened the door an inch, just enough to peer through onto the lane, not enough to let the cold air in. At least the clouds had lifted and the moon had come out. By its light she could just make out the single line of small footprints heading for the road. The last signs of her son. The policemen had had the wit to keep their big boots well to one side so they could see the direction he’d made off in. She’d told them: He’ll be off to the old forge across the road and into the woods. He usually hides up there.

And, of course, they’d asked: Why would he be making off at this hour in the snow, Missis?

They had to ask. But their closed faces told her they already knew the answer. Jem Weston and his bloody belt. His dad were goin’ to give him a thrashing. There. She’d said it. It had been easier than she expected.

Jem just stuck his nose in the air and defied them. Not that it’s any of your business … but I’ll tell you anyway. He’d broken a milk jug, clumsy bugger, and pissed his britches. He’s a kid who just won’t learn. Now are you going to stand about gassing to my wife all night, or are you going to lend a hand?

The senior bobby, PC Snipe, had tried to reassure her. We’ll get him, don’t you fret. He won’t have gone far on a night like this. If he’s still missing in the morning we’ll send to Brighton for the tracker dogs.

A torch was wobbling down the lane. Molly shot back into her seat and looked up as Jem came in, stamping the snow from his boots in the porch.

“Don’t get excited. Nothing. No sign of him in the forge. Can’t search the woods just like that. Trail ran out straight away when he hit the main road. Must have followed along the car tracks … easier walking. No idea whether he turned left or right.”

“What about the coppers?”

“They’ve gone home. Nothing more they can do.”

“Did you see the doctor?”

“You set too much store by the doctor! Thick as thieves with the doctor you are. I don’t know what the bloody hell you think Doc Carter could do!”

Savagely Molly answered back: “More of the same! Put back together what you’ve smashed over the years with your great fists, Jem Weston! He’s a good man!”

“Watch it! He weren’t there anyway. I had to leave a message. He’s out delivering Mrs. Cumming’s fourth brat.”

Molly flinched, expecting the usual back-hander as he came and towered over her, pushing his face up close and talking slowly as though she were an idiot. “You’re going to have to get used to the idea-the kid’s not coming back alive. It’s bloody freezing out there, and he’s hardly got the wits to find his way across the yard to the jerry on a good day. Some bugger’ll find his remains in a ditch come spring, you’ll see. Then we’ll know for sure.” And, a note of conciliation creeping in: “Look at it this way, love-it might be a blessing in disguise. One of the Lord’s funny little ways. He were running you ragged, Molly. And never likely to get any better-you heard Doc Carter. Worse, in fact. Didn’t know his own strength. I’ve tried to train him … he’ll have to work in the forge one day, and he’ll have the muscle power, but it’s the head, Molly.… He’s weak in the head. Always will be. It could turn out better for the girls in the long run, better for little Billie, better for you. We couldn’t pay for any more doctoring.”

“You didn’t pay for the last lot … or the one before that,” Molly muttered.

“Cos the doc’s a generous bloke! But he can’t go on dishing out welfare just like that. I don’t much like the idea of taking someone’s charity, neither. You know me.… Never be beholden to nobody I were always taught.”

“Then perhaps you could drink less and have more to spend on the kids,” Molly thought to herself, but she dared not say it aloud. He still caught the silent message and his hand twitched.

Throat thick with hatred, Molly went to the cradle and snatched up the sleeping baby. She pinched his leg until he wailed. “Thought so. He’s just coming round. Time for his evening feed. You go on up to bed. I’ll see to Billie and maybe sleep down here in the chair. Just in case Walter comes back home.”

“Well, all right, then.” Jem cast his master-of-the-house look around the room. “I see you haven’t laid for breakfast yet? Get it on early. We’re off again come first light.”