Ellen dropped her hands and nodded.
‘Are you glad to be back?’
Ellen shrugged.
‘It’s home. Do you like home?’
‘S’okay,’ Ellen said.
‘You don’t know who I am,’ Lennon said. It was a statement, not a question to test the child.
‘You’re Jack,’ Ellen said, her face brightening a little for remembering the detail. ‘Mummy said.’
‘Did your mummy ever mention me?’
‘Uh-uh,’ Ellen said, shaking her head. She took a sip of juice, then a Smartie. She chewed with her mouth primly closed. She took another from the napkin and popped it in her mouth, again sealing her lips shut.
‘You have very good manners,’ Lennon said.
Ellen nodded. ‘Mm-hmm.’
‘Your mummy taught you well.’
Ellen smiled.
Lennon’s throat tightened. He coughed and said, ‘Well, eat up. Then we’ll go back upstairs.’
Ellen drew on the straw, her gaze fixed somewhere behind Lennon. He looked over his shoulder, seeing only people moving between tables, their trays clutched shakily in front of them. Curved walls screened the area off, decorated with spoons and forks arranged to resemble shoals of fish against the blue-green paint.
‘What are you looking at?’ he asked.
‘People,’ Ellen said.
‘What people?’
‘All different people.’ She put the juice box back on the tabletop. ‘There’s bad people here.’
‘You mean sick people?’ Lennon asked. ‘There’s lots of sick people. Most of them will get better, though.’
Ellen picked up the juice box and drained it. She popped the lid back onto the tube of Smarties and tucked the sweets into her coat pocket. ‘For later,’ she said.
Lennon took another swig of tea, but it soured his stomach. He took Ellen’s empty juice box from the table and stood, gripping the litter in one hand. ‘Come on,’ he said.
Ellen gripped his fingers and followed him towards the litter bin beyond the curved walls, over by the kitchen. Lennon struggled to find a way through the people crushing around the till.
A cleaner tipped a tray of refuse into the bin as he and Ellen drew near. The cleaner dropped the lid and stepped aside. Lennon depressed the foot lever to open the bin. The lid didn’t budge. He tried to lift it with the hand that gripped the tray. It didn’t budge. People jostled as they tried to reach the till. Lennon suppressed a curse as shoulders nudged and shoved him. The cup slipped across the tray, and Lennon released Ellen’s fingers long enough to save it from spilling. He finally lifted the bin lid and dumped the rubbish inside. That done, he added his tray to the stack nearby and reached back for Ellen’s hand.
He found cold air.
Lennon spun to where Ellen had stood no more than moments ago. His stomach dropped through the floor.
51
The child came to him. The Traveller simply stood and watched her approach from his position behind the curved wall. All the time she had sat eating her sweets with the big cop opposite her, she kept looking the Traveller’s way. More than once he found himself unable to return her stare, her eyes so bright and knowing. Like she could see the ugly things in his head, swirling and snapping at one another.
And here she came, her doll hanging loose by her side. The naked plastic body made echoes of some buried memory sound behind his eyes. He blinked them away, and a burst of pain like hot needles forced his teeth together.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘What do you want?’
The Traveller stared down at her, unsure how to answer the question. He looked back towards the cop who turned in a circle, horror breaking on his face.
‘Do you know Gerry?’ the girl asked.
The Traveller licked his upper lip. ‘Yeah,’ he said. He took her hand. ‘Come on.’
They were halfway down the curving flight of stairs, ducking between patients and staff, when a voice called, ‘Ellen.’ It was weak, frightened. If the child heard, she didn’t react.
The Traveller quickened his step, the girl dragging on his hand. ‘This way,’ he said as they reached the ground floor. The Quiet Room stood to their right, facing the shop he’d watched them in a few minutes before.
‘Ellen!’
Louder now, not quite panic yet, but an angry edge.
The girl resisted, turned to look for the voice that called her name. The Traveller pulled harder. He scanned the shifting crowd for concerned onlookers as they passed the information desk. No one paid attention, so he marched to the Quiet Room, ignored the flare of pain as he shouldered the door open. Low lighting, a hush in the air despite the room being empty but for him and the child. The door swung closed, sealing them in.
Ellen tried to pull her fingers away from his, but he held firm. His breath sounded alien in this dim and silent place. He realised he didn’t know what to do next.
Sweat prickled his skin and he swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. The child had come to him, sought him out. Stupid. He’d never been stupid in his life. He couldn’t afford to be. Rash, yes, but never stupid. Not like this. All because the little girl came to him.
A strange and horrible idea burst in his mind. It took hold, bright and unyielding as only the truth can be. He looked down at the child. She smiled back up at him and all doubt was gone.
He had not captured her.
She had captured him.
52
Lennon forced the panic back down to his gut, willed himself to be calm even amongst the nausea and trembling. He turned another circle, picking over every detail, looking behind and through the people. He called her name again. Some glanced up from their trays of food, others ignored him.
The cleaner slipped past, and he grabbed her sleeve.
She spun, pulled her arm away. ‘What do you think you’re—’
‘Have you seen her?’
‘What?’ Her face turned from anger to confusion and back again. ‘Seen who?’
‘The little girl.’ Lennon grabbed her shoulders. ‘She was with me just now. By the bin. You were putting some rubbish in. She’s about five or six, blonde hair.’
Her expression softened. ‘No, I never saw her. Have you lost her?’
Lennon turned another circle, searching, the panic climbing back up to his throat.
The woman pulled on his shoulder. ‘You’d best go down to reception. They’ll announce it on the speakers. She’ll be all right, don’t you—’
He walked away, calling, ‘Ellen? Ellen!’
The tide of people on the stairs pushed against him as he descended to the ground floor. He moved faster, ignoring their complaints as he shoved them aside.
‘Ellen!’
A security guard left his post at the exit and approached. ‘You all right there, big fella?’ he asked.
‘My daughter,’ Lennon said, continuing to turn and search. ‘She’s gone.’
‘Well don’t worry, we’ll get an announcement out. Kids are always getting bored and wandering—’
Lennon gripped the guard’s shirt collar. ‘You don’t understand. Someone might have taken her.’
‘All right, all right.’ He prised Lennon’s fingers away. ‘No need to be putting your hands on me, sir. We’ll get it sorted, but just keep the head, okay?’
‘Call the police, Grosvenor Road is closest. Tell them DCI Lennon needs urgent assistance. Tell them a child’s in trouble.’
‘You’re a peeler?’ the guard asked.
Lennon grabbed his tie, brought the guard’s nose to his. ‘Just fucking call them!’
53
‘You can’t get away,’ the child said.
‘I know,’ the Traveller said.
He examined the door for a way to lock it, but there was none. He turned a circle, looking for another exit, but there was none. The quiet pressed hard against his temples, the dimly lit walls butting against his vision, the low rows of seats advancing towards him.