The Hideaway Read online

  He stopped a few stones in and brushed aside the weeds.

  In Loving Memory of a

  Devoted Mother and Grandmother

  May Good

  1906–1986

  Albert Ward

  So Dearly Loved, so Greatly Missed

  1878–1894

  And his faithful companion

  Rufus

  Ada Cunningham

  Died 1969

  Aged 87

  Also of her husband

  Ebenezer Cunningham

  Died on 12th February 1977

  Aged 95 years

  What had Ebenezer’s life been like without Ada for those last eight years? Billy wondered.

  Many of the gravestones were so covered in ivy that they were unreadable and on several the words had eroded away with time. Only one memorial in the whole graveyard was neat and well looked after. The others were mostly obscured by weeds and nettles. Billy stepped cautiously between the uneven stones, the undergrowth tugging at his legs as he walked.

  At Rest

  In Loving Memory of a

  Dear Husband and Father

  William Carter

  1902–1945

  In Memory of William Wing

  1881–1918

  His Wife Clara Wing

  1884–1918

  and their children

  Ernest

  1903–1904

  Arthur

  1905–1906

  And Stanley, Gilbert, Kathleen and Joyce

  Who were all suddenly called away

  1918

  So many people. The stories of their lives hinted at on these stones but now unseen in the twist and tangle of weeds. Some listed family names – one long life lived after another. Others were the graves of tiny children – ‘Our Springtime Baby’ or ‘Our Cherished Daughter’. In leaving details of their relatives carved into stone, families had also recorded their sense of love and loss – ‘Beloved’, ‘Forever missed’ or ‘Always in our hearts’.

  The yearning and sorrow of these people was clear for Billy to see. He imagined bustling families gathered round fireplaces. Warm, happy and safe. And he thought back to the very real lives he had glimpsed through the windows of the houses he had passed the night before. To lose someone would leave such a void in those families. Would he be missed like this? Would anyone notice if he wasn’t there?

  But what of the lives on the other stones? The ones with just a name and dates?

  Winston Cleaver

  1895–1918

  Marion Bird

  Died 3rd December 1970

  Who were they? What had their lives been like? Had they died alone? And who grieved for them? Who would remember them?

  As he took another bite of bread Billy’s mind slid back to his mother.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  31st October, 24 Brownsfield Close, 9.30 a.m.

  Grace woke up to find Jeff crouched beside the sofa, a steaming mug of tea in his hand.

  ‘Morning, sleepyhead. I’m making bacon and eggs. Want some?’

  He kissed her forehead and headed back to the kitchen.

  Grace slowly rolled her head to ease the stiffness in her neck and tentatively touched her bruised cheek. Mustn’t forget to get some concealer on that, she thought. Quietly, slowly, she folded the blankets and arranged them neatly on the back of the sofa, trying to gather her thoughts before following Jeff through to the kitchen. She knew she must not mention what had happened last night. She mustn’t upset Jeff again. She must behave as if everything was fine and will be fine. She swallowed down the feeling of wanting to cry, took a deep breath and followed the smell of breakfast.

  Jeff was clearly trying to make amends just like he always did. To pretend that nothing had happened. The kitchen table was set for two. Jeff whistled as he scraped eggs out of a pan and on to buttered toast. Autumn sunlight streamed through the window. It was a beautiful morning.

  ‘I rang work – said I had a bit of trouble with the van and that I’d be in a bit late,’ said Jeff with a smile. ‘Thought we could do with a treat.’

  ‘This is lovely. Thank you.’

  Grace forced a smile. The skin on her face felt tight.

  ‘Did you see Billy before he left for school? I didn’t hear him go,’ she asked.

  ‘No. He must have crept out while we were both still asleep.’

  ‘He’s a good boy,’ said Grace as she pushed bits of egg around her plate, watching as Jeff shovelled forkfuls into his mouth.

  He is a good boy, she thought.

  He deserves better than this.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was when Billy reached the stone angel that the ache started. The sun had broken through the yew trees and a ray of light lit the statue. She almost glowed in a halo of golden light as she looked down on him.

  The memory flooded back like a sharp pain. His mum. Years ago. A picnic in the park. Her blonde hair lit by the sun as she laughed and laughed, hugging Billy tightly as the ducks pecked at their sandwiches. She laughed all the time back then. Before Jeff. She had been so, so beautiful, and their life had seemed so carefree and happy. Billy adored her.

  It had always just been the two of them. Billy didn’t have a dad, well, not one he had met anyway. Apparently his dad didn’t even know he existed. But Billy knew all about him. He knew how his mum had fallen in love with his dad the first time she had seen him at sixth-form college. She wanted to attract his attention so she had stayed up night after night knitting him the longest ever scarf. When it was finished she had walked across the canteen with it and given it to him. He had laughed and wrapped it round his neck and for the next six months they were inseparable. Billy knew about his dad’s twinkling blue eyes and his beautiful black curly hair. He knew that his dad was shy and sensitive and that he and Billy’s mum had a lot in common. They were both from strict families who would have disapproved of them having a serious relationship at their age, so they kept their love a secret – like Romeo and Juliet, his mum said.

  But then his dad started hanging out with a group of friends from the other side of town. They lived in big houses and some already had cars. He was impressed by their clothes and their holidays and gradually he started hanging out with them way more than with Grace. She wasn’t interested in them at all. When it was just the two of them together everything was perfect, his mum said, but those times became rarer, and his dad seemed to be drifting away from her. It was as if he was under a spell. He talked more and more about wanting to stretch his wings, to leave this ‘crummy old town’ and see more of the world. He talked enviously about the places his new mates had been to and about his plans to hitch across Europe and explore the world. Grace was more sensible and pointed out that he would need money and places to stay, but he didn’t listen. He was determined to go. Billy’s mum said that while she spent her time dreaming of the two of them being together, Billy’s dad spent his time dreaming of far-flung adventures.

  Then one day Billy’s dad turned up with a packed bag and a train ticket in his pocket. He promised that he would be back soon. That he just wanted to see a bit of the world. He told Billy’s mum that he loved her with all his heart. And then he was gone.

  It was a few weeks later that Billy’s mum discovered she was pregnant. She tried to find out where he was but no one seemed to know. She received a few postcards, hastily written, from different parts of the country and then one or two from France, saying that he loved her and missed her and that he would be back soon. But there was never a return address and gradually the cards stopped arriving. By the time her belly was big with Billy she realized she would be on her own. She never got to see his dad again.

  So it had always been just the two of them. Billy’s mum said it was difficult at first being seventeen and on her own with a baby. She had found it hard seeing her old school friends giggling by the pizzas in the supermarket, or trying on lipsticks in the make-up aisle as they planned nights out and whispered about who they fancied, while Gr
ace shopped for nappies and baby food. But she loved Billy so much that she had made it work.

  She had to.

  Even though it was just the two of them, his mum sang and laughed and was rarely cross. She always loved giving him cuddles on the sofa and reading him stories before bed. His beautiful mum whose hair glowed like sunshine.

  Their little flat was a nest of books and toys and knitting, blankets and pictures from nursery and school photos on the fridge. It was cluttered and messy but cosy and full of all their favourite things. Billy hadn’t realized how happy they had been until, bit by bit, everything began to change.

  At first he had liked it when Jeff came round. He was interesting and funny and they all went on trips together and sang in the car and giggled at rude jokes. His mum was happy so Billy was happy.

  But then he had to switch schools when they moved in with Jeff and he didn’t know anyone. It would have been okay, because he still had his mum, but then Jeff decided that Billy was ‘too old’ for bedtime stories on the sofa and that he was ‘big enough’ to manage his homework on his own.

  His mum began to fuss over the tidiness of the house – ‘Jeff likes it neat, darling; maybe you could keep your Lego upstairs for now?’ – and seemed to spend longer wiping and cooking and washing and arranging and rearranging.

  She stopped knitting and the balls of coloured wool disappeared from the sitting room.

  Little by little their past life was tidied away, as if it had never even existed.

  Billy spent more time in his room so as ‘not to get under Jeff’s feet’ and from his room he could hear Jeff complain about this and that, and then, later on, the arguments about this and that, and later still much worse . . .

  His mum became tense, anxious. Her smiles were nervous and her eyes didn’t sparkle. Billy became quieter – keen not to cause any trouble. In the five years they had been living with Jeff he made sure that he worked hard at school, did his homework, kept his room tidy, got himself ready in the mornings and took himself off to bed every night. He never invited his old friends round, worried about what they might see and hear, and that they, like him, wouldn’t recognize this woman with her hair scraped back into a ponytail, dark shadows under her eyes and a nervous twitch to her mouth.

  ‘She’s a bit worn down, ain’t she?’

  Billy jumped out of his skin. Staggering back he found he was no longer alone. By his side stood an old man, his checked shirt rolled up at the sleeves, tanned arms exposed, cap shading his wrinkled eyes, cords tucked into his wellies.

  Billy was so confused that for a minute he thought this man must be talking about his mother, until he realized that he was nodding towards the statue.

  ‘She used to be a beauty. The most glorious figure in this whole graveyard.’

  The man fumbled in his pocket.

  ‘But, much like the rest of this place, she needs a little bit of love and care.’

  The man stared at Billy out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at school, lad?’ he asked, passing across a clean hankie.

  It was only then that Billy realized that he had been crying. He blushed and wiped at his face but the man carried on.

  ‘Well, I suppose one day off won’t hurt, eh? But you don’t want to hang around here. And someone will be missing you, I dare say? You should get off, now, eh?’

  Billy’s eyes slid back to the angel. The ray of sunlight had moved on and Billy stared up at her carved face. Now he saw that the grime of years had striped her face with dark marks like tears and that her hair was covered in green lichen. How had he not noticed? Confused, Billy turned back to the old man, but he had moved on too, whistling as he bumped his wheelbarrow over the yew roots that criss-crossed the path towards the gate of the graveyard.

  At least he won’t be staying to find out that I’ll be hanging around here for as long as I can, thought Billy.

  It was only as Billy listened to the rattle and clatter of the rake in the wheelbarrow that he wondered where the old man had come from and why he hadn’t heard him approach at all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  31st October, St Giles Academy, 11 a.m.

  Mrs Walls had finished compiling the lists of absences from the morning registers. Cross-checking the list of emails and phone calls that came in from parents each morning to say that their children wouldn’t be present for this or that reason against the twenty-five class registers was one of her main tasks each day. She was methodical. No truant ever escaped her notice. Each parent was to be notified if their child was not at school when they should be and a strict record of attendance over the year was kept in order to identify problem children or families.

  She was used to some familiar names cropping up and to typing in the same parents’ email addresses before writing ‘It has come to our attention that........... has an unauthorized absence.’ But today she was surprised to see Billy McKenna on the list. He was such a good boy! So quiet and polite and his mum always contacted school if he was unwell. Sighing, she moved away from her neat piles of registers and the careful lists in her notebook and turned to her screen to look for Billy’s mother’s email address.

  Just then James Johnson and Max Hilliard burst into the office.

  ‘Got a bleeder here, Mrs Walls!’ laughed Max, and James snorted too, spreading a combination of snot and his nose bleed across the paperwork on her desk . . .

  CHAPTER TEN

  The day was passing too slowly. Billy sat with his back to the pillbox, not in the graveyard, but on the other side of the boundary, overlooking a field of scrubland. The autumn sun was warm now. Billy sat on his coat, a piece of the loaf and an empty packet of cheese at his side. His book was open but Billy wasn’t taking in any of the words. His gaze kept wandering over the field, watching the occasional dog walker or cyclist pass on the other side.

  I can see them but they have no idea that I am here, he thought, which is just as well.

  Billy watched the crows swirling above the treetops and the clouds drifting overhead. A runner flashed into view and away again. Ducks flew noisily across the skyline.

  He was bored.

  And restless.

  His thoughts kept jumping about. He wondered what would happen later when his mother would be expecting him to get in from school.

  Often in the evenings she would have already set off for a night shift at the care home and he would have to let himself in. On a good day Jeff would be working a late shift so Billy would have the house to himself. The bad days were when Jeff came home after a few pints in the pub after work and it was just the two of them in the house. Billy dreaded Jeff coming up to his room, hovering in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room to try to find fault with Billy in some way – a sock here or unfolded uniform there. But Billy knew to keep everything shipshape and make himself small and quiet and to focus on his homework. And to wait for his mum to come home.

  The worst days were when his mum was home and Jeff was home too. Then Jeff didn’t bother coming upstairs to try to find fault with Billy because he was so good at finding it with the tiniest thing Billy’s mum did. Like last night.

  But what about tonight? Surely the school would have called her to say Billy hadn’t been in class? Would his mum know he was gone yet? He hoped not because he didn’t want to think about how upset she’d be.

  Or what Jeff would say.

  Or do.

  He knew that by leaving he had probably made a bad situation worse for his mum. The thought of it made him feel sick.

  But Billy also knew that he couldn’t have carried on with his life as it was. He just couldn’t bear one more day of seeing or hearing her misery. He didn’t want to make things more difficult for her, but he wanted to have other thoughts, other images to call to mind. In his head the rows he had heard played over and over again like a film. Snippets of scenes he had overheard or glimpsed slid in and out of his mind. He wanted to block it all out. He wanted it to stop.

  If he
was bigger, stronger, older maybe, he could have done something, said something. Stood up to Jeff.

  But he wasn’t.

  He couldn’t.

  He was helpless.

  He was just a small, quiet runaway, sitting in a field by All Souls’ graveyard, watching the birds circle overhead.

  He felt safe here. At home he was always on edge. Always nervous. Vigilant. Here that had eased away. He watched the birds dip and dive over the trees. He felt guilty for making his mum’s situation worse by leaving but he had such a strong feeling of relief to be here. Hiding. Away from it all.

  As long as this place stayed a secret he would be safe.

  Billy picked up his book and read another chapter. The breeze rustled the ivy leaves. It was calm. Quiet.

  But what was that?

  A rustling. It was more than the breeze. He was sure of it.

  It was a regular swishing through leaves.

  And it was very close by.

  Was it getting closer?

  Hurriedly Billy bundled up the bread and book in his coat and slipped under the ivy and into the safety of his hideaway. He stood silently, trying to control his breathing. Tiptoeing up to the small rectangular holes that served as windows, Billy peered through the leaves and into the graveyard beyond.

  He couldn’t see anything. Just the tops of gravestones above the undergrowth.

  But he could hear something. That regular swooshing and scraping again.

  Billy shifted to the other window and peered out between the ivy leaves.

  At first there was nothing. And then he saw the bend of a back. The shape of a man appeared from behind a headstone, rising and straightening as if emerging from out of the ground.

  Billy’s heart thumped.

  It was him! The old man who had given him the hankie that morning. He was stretching out his back, hands on hips, facing away from Billy. It was the same checked shirt and green cords. He had thought that the old man had left hours ago but all this time Billy’s hiding place had been so close to being discovered!