Mid-June
IT WAS BRY’S WAY: TO wait until his brothers fell asleep and then creep downstairs to be with Mommy whilst she watched telly. Mommy told him off, but her scolding was such a soft thing and Bryan knew she couldn’t send him back to bed without a cuddle.
He was the baby who still needed Kelly, as her eldest sons grew more into men every day. Rob was fifteen: in lust with Kim Wilde and moaning about spots; Tom was simply Tom, immature for his age but growing up too. Kelly and little Bryan snuggled on the settee and watched the television. Kelly enjoyed her last cigarette of the day. She nuzzled her son’s temple, with its fine fuzz which smelled of teddy bears. He giggled because she tickled, so much younger when he was in her arms, so much like her with his large eyes and round forehead. In his hand – as always, as if grafted into the palm – was his toy Comanche brave riding a pinto mustang. He’d had it since he was a toddler and it went everywhere with him.
When the adverts came on, Kelly saw his eyes close.
‘Come on you, Sunshine Blue. Off to bed.’
Bryan was immediately alert. ‘I’m awake!’
‘You little fibber!’ Kelly said. ‘You’re dropping off! It’s a school night.’ She stood and held out her hand which Bryan reluctantly took as she heaved him to his feet.
‘Where’s my wolf suit, Mommy?’ Bry was obsessed with Max from Where the Wild Things Are and his grandmother had made him a replica wolf suit from a pair of old baby blankets and a tail from a real fox-fur scarf bought from the Rag Market.
‘It’s in the wash, Bry.’
‘When’re you going to bed?’ he asked with a big yawn.
‘Soon, after I’ve put the rubbish out and I’ve got your clothes ready for tomorrow,’ said Kelly.
His eyes brightened. ‘Can I help? Can I put the rubbish out? Please, Mommy!’
Kelly laughed. ‘All right!’ she said. ‘I’ll get the bag ready and you can take it out. But be quick: it’s late. Yes?’
Bryan nodded. Kelly handed the bag over.
‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Leave the door open so you don’t have to worry about the latch.’ She kissed the top of his head. ‘Go!’
Bryan slung the sack over his shoulder like one of the Seven Dwarves, and plodded out of the front door. Kelly turned to the living room and smiled as she arranged the laundry piles on the armchairs and settee. She heard the front door click shut, a neat sound, decisive – unlike his usual slam.
‘Thank you, Bry!’
Kelly paused. Her smile slowly disappeared. Her head was cocked to one side as she listened and waited. She switched the television off and the silence deafened. She stepped forward into the quiet.
‘Bry?’ she said softly. And then, a little louder: ‘Bryan? Sweetheart?’
No answer.
No concern – not yet – just puzzled curiosity. She searched the house and gardens, inside cupboards and under beds. But Bry wasn’t there. She called his name softly so as to not wake her older boys. Bryan’s bed was next to Tom’s, empty, still warm from his small body. He wasn’t in the bathroom either, only the tap drip-dripping with ominous rhythm. She looked out of the window into night. The moon was dark, the stars dim.
Bry wasn’t a boy to play such games: he was good and would never worry her in this awful way. Kelly felt panic hatch and squirm in her stomach. She wrapped her cardigan tightly around herself as if to keep the anxiety contained; as if fearful it might burst her open. Her heart thundered in her chest as she yelled her son’s name.
‘BRYAN!’
His small voice never answered.