The garments still fitted her. In fact, if anything, they were a little loose, though that might work to her advantage, she thought. She then located a long-time favorite, a denim baseball cap, together with her sunglasses, and put both items in her coat pocket.
Next, she filled a large overnight bag with clean underwear, a couple of other jumpers and tops, two more pairs of jeans and a second pair of shoes. She then squashed in a pile of Michael’s freshly ironed garments, and a number of spare nappies and other necessities. Then, after pushing the lot down as far as she could, she zipped up the bag and set it aside, next to a carrier bag crammed with their toiletries.
She then got Michael dressed and ready, and carried him downstairs, where she strapped him in his pushchair with a biscuit to keep him quiet. She had a freshly made bottle of baby food, two rusks, a banana and two jars of Cow & Gate meals for later.
“Now, where does he put it?” Standing in the kitchen, chewing on her fingers, she tried to remember where her grandfather kept his “rainy-day” money. He had always been adamant; “You need to keep a bit o’ ready cash for emergencies. After all, banks don’t open on a weekend, do they?”
Suddenly it came to her. “Aha!” She distinctly recalled him mentioning something about… Hurrying to the hallway, she opened the understairs cupboard and stooping low, switched on the light. Peering into every shadowy corner, she could see nothing that might be a savings box, or biscuit tin.
Disappointed, she felt in every corner, cleared the shelves and tidied them up again, and still there was nothing. “I wonder…” Scrutinizing the old brown lino on the floor, she spotted a loose section and lifted it up. One of the wooden planks beneath was clearly shaped to form a lid.
Hooking her finger under the edge, she prized the board up, and there, nestled in the darkness, was an old baccy-tin. Inside, Ellen found a slim bundle of ten-pound notes; sitting cross-legged on the floor, she hurriedly counted them. “Two hundred pounds!” She sat there, feeling guilty and small, and for the moment unable to bring herself to take the money from her old grandad.
However, when Michael started crying, she came out of the spell. If only she didn’t have to do this, but her money had run out. She couldn’t resist treating the baby to expensive outfits, and hadn’t earned a penny for six long months, and so her savings had dwindled. The rent money from the house in Bethnal Green was spent almost as soon as it landed in her account.
She would pay her beloved Grandad Bob back as soon as she could, the girl vowed.
The baccy-tin was stuffed back into its hidey-hole, and everything was replaced as before.
Tucking Michael’s dummy into his mouth she left the baby and, running up the stairs two at a time, she collected the overnight bag and checked around to make sure she had not forgotten anything.
Satisfied, she returned downstairs and, after squashing the bag into the shelf beneath the pushchair, she went to the drawer and took out a writing pad and pen. It was time to tell some more lies.
She signed it with a kiss and left the note propped in front of the kettle, where he was bound to see it. Then she crossed the hall to the telephone table, where she picked up the address book and searched for a certain page; when it was found she tore it out by the roots.
The first note had been an outright deception.
The second was a betrayal of friendship and trust, borne out of coveting one person, and envying another.
She held the pen above the fresh sheet of paper for a brief moment, before disguising her handwriting to set down the words:
To be certain she had it exactly right, she consulted the torn page of the address book. Satisfied she knew it by heart, she then carefully folded the paper, thrust it into her pocket, and recommenced writing:
She added a PS at the bottom-
THE CHILD WAS PUT UP FOR ADOPTION.
Closing the front door behind her, Ellen dropped the key through the letter box, and said, “Goodbye, Grandad.” She did not expect to be back this way again. Marching the pushchair smartly down the path, she waved to Nosy Nora weeding in the front garden, but did not stop to chat.
Within the hour, she had taken a taxi to Lytham and was walking down the main road front, her eyes peeled for a sight of the man who had accosted Maddy that day. Okay, it had been weeks ago now, but Steve Drayton would be very thorough, Ellen knew that from her dealings, with other “low-lifes in Soho. He’d be bound to have kept someone on watch in this area.
Maddy’s description of the man was imprinted on her mind: “Tall, willowy and sallow-looking, with thick shoulder-length hair. He had piercing eyes and a trampish look about him.” For days afterward, Maddy had spoken of him in a fearful voice.
Up and down, backward and forward, across the street and down the alleyways; for two hours, Ellen covered as much ground as was possible. But there was no sign of any such man. It was fortunate that Michael was having his morning nap.
Weary and thirsty, she made her way to the cafe where she and Maddy had drunk hot chocolate.
“Well, hello, you.” The homely middle-aged woman recognized her instantly. “Where’s your friend – I never did catch her name. Sally, wasn’t it – or was it Molly? Yes, that was it – Molly. Yes, I remember now. She loved my hot chocolate, that lass did.”
Ellen smiled encouragingly. “Molly had to go and see a sick aunt,” she said. “I thought, being as it was a nice day, I’d take my son for a walk.”
“Aw, the little darling.” Peeping at Michael, she tickled him under the chin. “You’re a handsome little fella an’ no mistake.” Looking up at Ellen she asked, “What’s his name?”
“Robert.” Her grandfather’s name came into her mind. And it was Michael’s middle name.
“Nice name – suits him. But I hope you realize, folks will call him Bob for short. They always do.”
“I don’t mind. Bob is a good name for a man. I’ll have a pot of tea and some toast, please.” Then Ellen settled herself at the table by the window, from where she could clearly see the length of the street.
A short time later, when she had shared her toast with the baby and was on her second pot of tea, Ellen was none too pleased to see how the cafe was beginning to fill up.
When a young couple took the table right alongside, blocking her clear view of the street, she gulped down her tea and took her handbag over to the counter. “I’d best be going,” she told the woman. “How much do I owe you?”
“That’ll be one pound fifty to you, dear. Drop in again, next time you’re round here, and bring the babby and your pal. I’d rather have customers like you in here any day than them hoity-toits.” She glanced at a couple of well-dressed women in the far corner. “Come in here with their airs and graces – never a tip or a thank you.”
Ellen grinned, and bade her cheerio. Just as she was about to maneuver the pushchair over the step, she looked up – and there, large as life, standing on the far side of the street, his sharp eyes watching every passerby, was the man himself. However, he was completely unaware of her presence. Now, much to her horror, he suddenly turned down a side street. It’s him! she thought. It’s that man! There was no doubt in her mind. She set off after him, pushing the heavy buggy as fast as she could.
Just around the corner, the man had stopped to light up a cigarette. He had his back to her. Ellen took the opportunity to pull her hair up under the cap, and, hunching her shoulders to disguise herself as best she could, she sauntered up alongside him. As she went quickly by, she deliberately dropped the folded paper in front of him. That done, she looked around and began running as fast as she could back up to the main road, while yelling to a nonexistent friend, “Janette! Wait for me, dammit!”
