The policeman leaves, and Mr. March gets his hanky out and presses it to his forehead, then his cheeks. Tante Yvonne always talks about her “hot flashes”—maybe that’s what’s happening to Mr. March. The bell rings. Lunch.
Everyone mobs the coat hooks. Philip Pinder says Ricky’s going to get the electric chair, and Cathy Baxter screams at him to shut up. No one can believe that Ricky has been arrested, but everyone is used to it already. Around and around the schoolyard swirls the story of Ricky’s alibi: the “mystery driver,” the air force man in a car with a sticker from Storybook Gardens. Some kids are saying it was a ghost car, others speculate that it was the real murderer, disguised as someone’s dad.
This is all very different from last week, but is Madeleine the only one who notices the other difference? It has been eight days since Mr. March announced, “The following little girls will remain after three.” Not since last week, when Claire was…. When there was Claire. Last Wednesday she was still here like everyone else. No one knew she was on the edge of a cliff. Who else is walking on the edge, on her way somewhere, her head full of thoughts like arrows pointed at the future, then — blank?
Madeleine looks up; she is halfway across the field but doesn’t remember walking out of the school. She wonders if Mr. March has had enough of exercises. Perhaps he has given them up. Like in the story about the giant who used to eat children but found he would be much less lonely if he befriended them instead.
She sees Grace drawing a hopscotch with a piece of chalk at the foot of Marjorie Nolan’s driveway. She is going to miss lunch. As Madeleine passes, she sees that it isn’t chalk, it’s a piece of old whitened dog poop. Behind her she hears Marjorie’s voice calling from her door, “Go away, Grace. Shoo.”
Lunch is Chef Boyardee. Maman was babysitting at the Froelichs’ all morning and there was no time to prepare a “ben bon déjeuner.” Madeleine finds the canned noodles revolting — like the slipped-off skin of a drowned dead body, although it would be impolite to say so. Maman has heated up some Campbell’s cream of tomato soup with saltines for her instead.
The four of them sit at the table, eating. Mimi has fixed herself a Depression favourite, burnt toast and tea. Good for what ails you. The Froelich house is a depressing place and she would like to get the soiled laundry-old stew smell from her nostrils. The smell of misery. She says a silent prayer asking Our Lord to forgive her should any of her thoughts be uncharitable in that regard, and to guide the police in their search for the maudit crazy who is still out there. Then she drops her bomb. “Where were you yesterday afternoon, Madeleine?”
Madeleine freezes. Lowers her spoon. Yesterday afternoon. “In a field,” she replies to her bright red soup.
“What field? Dis-moi la vérité, Madeleine.” She doesn’t sound angry, she sounds worried, which is worse.
“Answer your mother,” says Dad.
Madeleine swallows and says, “I wanted to find her other streamer.”
Maman says, “Whose?”
“Claire’s.” The word floats up like a tiny balloon.
Maman covers her face — she is crying, tears gush through her fingers, her red nails.
“I’m sorry, Maman.”
Mike stops eating and looks at his mother. He rises from his chair, hesitates, then pours some tea into her cup, “Tiens, maman.” Mimi looks up, sniffs and smiles at her son, wiping her nose with her serviette.
Her father says gently, “Did you go to Rock Bass, sweetie?”
Madeleine nods. Maman seizes her, pulls her onto her lap, jams Madeleine’s head against her shoulder and starts rocking.
Dad says, “Listen, old buddy, look me in the eye.” Maman stops rocking but still has her in a headlock. “You know it was wrong to lie to your teacher and to play hooky from school, don’t you?”
Madeleine nods.
“But do you know what’s a hundred times worse?”
Madeleine shakes her head.
“You going to a dangerous place like that. A little girl has been killed. Do you understand what that means?”
“Jack,” says Mimi softly.
“Yes,” says Madeleine clearly, so Maman won’t think that she too, like Mike, needs to be rescued from Dad.
“The worst thing you could do, to me and to Maman and to Mike, would be to put yourself in danger. How would you feel if Maman died?”
“Terrible,” she whispers.
“What if I died?”
“Awful.”
“Well, multiply that by a thousand and that’s how Maman and I would feel if we lost you. Now, I want you to promise me, in front of your family, not to leave the PMQs without one of us. Ever. Swear it on your honour.”
“I swear.”
Maman kisses her head fiercely, then sets her on her feet, gets up and reaches into her purse for her compact.
Madeleine says, “I didn’t go alone—” thinking that will make them all feel better, knowing in the next instant that it won’t, when she is forced to say, “I went with Colleen.”
Maman spanks her sharply — once, but it’s enough. Dad makes a calming gesture with his hand and she lights a cigarette. “Eat up now,” he says to Madeleine.
She returns to her soup. Maman turns on the radio. Soothing sounds of the Boston Pops mingle with the refreshing aroma of Cameo menthol.
After a decent interval, Madeleine says, “Dad, am I going to start riding lessons?”
Jack looks at his daughter.
“Auriel said you were going to take me for riding lessons. Like Lisa.”
Mimi looks at him and he shrugs.
“Did I wreck the surprise?” asks Madeleine.
Jack says, “No surprise about it. Would you like to start riding?”
“Sure.”
He would like to leave right now, get back to work; he can feel indigestion setting in. What is this junk he’s eating, anyhow? Damn Vic Boucher for a miserable busybody. What else has he told his wife, his kids? That Jack McCarthy was seen driving a blue Galaxy? He stirs his tea with his fork — no sign of a spoon on the table — and reflects that he ought not to blame Vic. After all, if it hadn’t been for the Boucher girl asking her mother if she could visit Madeleine, who was “home sick” yesterday afternoon, he and Mimi never would have known that their little girl was off hiking to the murder scene. Jack would like to punch Mr. Marks right in his foolish face. The idiot told Mimi over the phone that Madeleine had feigned a doctor’s appointment. What’s the good of teacher’s college if you can’t tell when a child is lying? Jack went over the miserable son of a bitch’s head and gave the principal a piece of his mind. Meanwhile his son is jabbering away in French. “In English, so the whole table can understand you.”
Mike reddens and says, “I just want to know why he doesn’t come forward.”
“Who?” says Jack.
“The air force guy. How come he won’t say he saw Rick on the road?”
“I’ve had just about enough of this subject, let’s talk about something nice for a change. What did you learn at school this morning?”
Back at work, Jack circulates a memo to his department heads, and by three o’clock six air force hats have been delivered to his office and overturned on his desk. He is reminded of his early days in accounts as he rapidly totals the bills. He has four hundred and seventy-two dollars to plunk into Henry Froelich’s hand. He adds another two hundred on Simon’s account. Froelich has hired the best lawyer in London, and the best costs money.