Thirteen

Ruth woke at three-thirty.

For a moment she was completely disorientated, seeing the wall of bookshelves opposite her, the white rugs on the polished wood floor, the heavy sitting-room drapes still tied back and letting in the distant glow of the town lights. Then she remembered that Theo was occupying her own bed. She propped herself on one elbow.

The noise that had roused her was soft. She got up from the couch, and pulled her dressing gown around her. Going down the hall, the sound increased until, as she opened the bedroom door, it became a continuous sobbing.

The bed was empty.

‘Theo,’ she whispered, ‘where are you?’

She switched on the light. The brocade spread was almost off the bed. The sheets were tangled into a knot. She saw, with a fleeting moment of annoyance, that the boy had been moving the books on the bedside table, and that her clock was face-down on the floor.

Walking to the end of the bed, she saw him. Theo was sitting on the floor, in a tiny gap between the bed and the wall. He had pulled the spread over his head, and his face peeped out. His thumb was firmly plugged in his mouth, but the sobs still escaped him.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Ruth asked. She kneeled down in front of him. ‘Hmmm? Why aren’t you asleep?’

His round eyes were full of fear. Clicking her tongue against her teeth, she stood up and tried to hook her hands under his arms to lift him. He responded with a primal screech of terror.

‘All right, all right,’ she said, dropping her hands immediately. She sat back on her heels.

‘All sorts of people,’ he said.

‘There’s no people at all,’ she told him. ‘Just you and me. You’ve been dreaming.’

His sobs increased.

‘I shall make some chocolate,’ she said. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Some nice hot chocolate to drink? Daddy’s coming all the way in a plane to see you. He’s on the plane right now, this minute, and he’s expecting to see a nice little boy in the morning …’

‘Mumma,’ Theo muttered.

‘Mama’s in hospital, darling.’

She looked at the boy. His hair was quite dark, like his father’s, and its colour touched a nerve in her, a reservoir of need that squeezed her heart dry. The eyes, however—secretive and piercing—were Lin’s.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You can’t stay there all night.’ She made a determined effort this time to lift him. He began kicking out at her.

‘Don’t do that. Be a good boy.’ With brute force she pulled him clear of the bed, and took the brocade rug away from him.

He opened his mouth, as if about to scream, and then looked at her intently. It was as if he had read her thoughts, seen into her. She ventured a smile at him. She had never had any feeling for children, never known how to speak to them, but she would try now. She would learn for Kieran’s sake.

‘Wouldn’t you like to live here all the time?’ she asked.

She reached out to stroke him, and he suddenly punched her away. Annoyed, she caught hold of his arm. He squirmed and fought. She tried to lay him on the bed and pin his arms to his side, and was rewarded with several thrashing kicks at her stomach.

Finally she gave up. He immediately slid from the bed and crawled into the same corner from which she had just retrieved him. There he sat in a ball, arms clasped across his knees.

‘Stay there, then,’ Ruth said, getting up. She looked down at him for a moment, with her hands on her hips, and then turned to leave. ‘I don’t expect you’ll die.’

As she went out, she turned off the light, and slammed the door.

Bitterly and softly, Theo began to cry.