22
Now
The next morning, just after nine, I made another call to social services. I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman who was in the garden next door; I was still worried about the boy.
A lady answered the phone and I told her my name and address and that I had put in a report for a child’s welfare yesterday.
‘Yes, yes, I have your name here. But I’m afraid we are unable to disclose any information.’
‘But, what? I put the call in? I live next door. I need to know if he is going to be okay. ’
‘I’m sorry, but I am unable to give you more information at this time as all cases are strictly confidential.’
‘Right. I understand,’ I said glumly, even though I didn’t. I needed to know more. I couldn’t just carry on living next door not knowing what was going on or if the child would be okay.
I hung up the phone and placed it on the table. I was about to stand and go to the kettle when Steve walked into the kitchen.
‘Oh, um, morning. I didn’t know you were here,’ he said sheepishly. Things had begun to change since I mentioned my concerns to Karen. Steve seemed to dip his head down when he entered a room, as if trying to make himself invisible.
‘Listen, it’s fine, Steve. Come in, make your tea or whatever you’re doing.’ The conversation with the lady from social services was still rattling around in my head.
I stood up and went to the kettle and shook it. ‘You having one?’
‘Er, yeah, I was going to make one for me and Karen.’
‘Right. I’ll fill it up then.’
I stood against the side and listened to the kettle boiling. Steve leant against the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen, doing something with his phone.
Sophia came in and rescued me from the icy silence.
‘Morning.’ She walked into the kitchen in her slippers and dressing gown.
Steve cleared his throat. ‘Morning.’
‘How’s things?’ she asked me, quietly this time with more subtlety.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Really, I had a blip. I need to focus on stuff. I’m doing the exhibition. I’m staying late tonight at college to utilise the after-hours facility. I find it difficult to get stuff done during the day when there are so many people about.’
‘I know, right? Fucking people,’ Sophia said, which made me laugh because Sophia rarely swore.
‘I know, so many of them, right?’ I said with sarcasm.
‘I wish we had the place to ourselves,’ Sophia said thoughtfully.
‘That would be great, wouldn’t it?’ and I truly would love that. Which was why working at the uni in the evenings was going to suit me perfectly.
I was still reeling in shock from my phone call with social services as I got ready in my bedroom. I had a seminar after lunch, and I would stay on and work on my exhibition piece into the evening. I was still thinking about it all the way to the train station, and the ache in my gut tightened more when I bypassed my favourite haunt because Heather was no longer working there. I was lucky to have found Heather, who understood me, and, as ludicrous as I knew it was, the thought of using the café without her there brought the fear on. Something bad would happen. I would have to find somewhere new.
Once the train started moving, I called social services again. This time it was a different woman, slightly older, who answered the phone.
‘I made the call yesterday,’ I said as the cries of the child rang in my ears. ‘I just need to know he is okay. I hear him every day, crying, I… just need…’ I stopped because I knew I was going to start to sound silly. I took a deep breath. ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I understand it’s confidential and you can’t tell me anything.’
‘Listen, I don’t know much about this particular case.’ The woman spoke softly. ‘I’ve been away for a couple of weeks, but I will speak with my colleague when she gets back in this afternoon and I will call you back and hopefully we can put your mind at ease.’
‘Great, that’s great, thank you.’ I hung up and felt a slight sense of relief. Come on, Regi, I said to myself, today is going to be a good day. I was going to stay late at college where I would have the run of the art rooms; I could get into the zone making my art and just stop worrying about everything. It was exactly what I needed.
I found my way to the art room at about four. Just as I had expected, it was empty. I would relish this time, this quiet, to do exactly what I needed to get done. I pulled out my sketchbook that was already thick with 3D pages where I had stuck on material, paper and even hair from a wig onto pages to create the various themes when I first signed up for the course. This one I was working on had an autumnal theme: reds and oranges, streaks of black and yellow as well. I imagined it would be a coat design, but I hadn’t decided on that for definite; it was just a work-in-progress. But I did not have to rush through it and make any decisions right now, instead I just allowed the art to flow organically.
I started getting into design years ago when I was practically still a child myself, flicking through magazine after magazine. Most girls I knew would flick straight past the adverts to get
