Читать книгу The Trickster - Muriel Gray, Muriel Gray - Страница 21

She was always waiting at the window and Katie always pretended to hide behind the big Engelmann spruce in Mrs Chaney’s front yard. Katie peeped from behind the trunk and saw Jess laughing behind the glass, while Mrs Chaney approached from behind with her tiny coat as though it were a net in which to snare her.

Jess was all dressed and ready with her mittens on when Katie stomped the snow off her boots in the lobby of the big old house, its floorboards thumping to running feet, and the high rooms booming with the shouts and shrieks of the other children still waiting to be picked up.

‘Here she is, Mrs Hunt.’

Katie swept her daughter into her arms. ‘Thanks again, Mrs Chaney. Have you been good, sweetheart? Have you had a nice day, huh?’

‘We don’t speak through the children at this crèche, remember, Mrs Hunt?’

Katie was so desperate to laugh she buried her face in Jess’s coat. Sam did an impersonation of their fierce childminder that blew her away. So she was an old ratbag to the parents, but she was all they could afford. Jess liked her and the climate of chaos caused by dozens of children running wild in a big house, but Katie and Sam reserved the right to think the woman was a jerk. The phrase Elsie Chaney just delivered was the one Sam used when he wanted to crack up his wife. Sometimes he would duck beneath the comforter in bed and re-emerge as Mrs Chaney.

Katie recovered and withdrew her face.

‘No you’re right, Mrs Chaney. I’m sorry. Has Jess been good?’

The wide fifty-year-old woman crossed her hands in front of her and smiled. ‘This little pixie has been a perfect gem. A perfect gem.’

Jess shrieked in delight at the bare wall over Katie’s shoulder, deafening her mother in the ear nearest the outburst.

‘Okay. I’ll just pay you now if I can, Mrs Chaney. I think we owe you for last week too.’

‘No, your husband settled up last Friday thank you. Just this week is due. Shall I?’

She held her arms out for Katie’s wriggling child, so that her customer could get to the cash in her pocket-book.

Katie handed over the beaming Jess and dug around for her dollars.

‘I believe this blizzard is one of the worst I can recall.’

Katie was still fumbling.

‘You’re right, Mrs Chaney. It’s a stinker. But you have to admit the snow’s real pretty.’

Mrs Chaney wished to admit no such thing. ‘Claimed a life a few nights ago I hear.’

Katie looked up. ‘Oh?’

‘Joe Reader. You know. Estelle Reader’s husband.’

‘My God. What happened?’

Katie was horrified. She knew Estelle Reader to nod to in the supermarket, no more, but she was genuinely shocked to think of her being widowed so young.

‘Few nights ago, Tuesday it was, his pick-up went over the cliffs at the top of Wolf Mountain.’

‘My God,’ repeated Katie.

‘That’s the blizzard for you. For all his conceit, man hasn’t a chance against the forces of nature you know, Mrs Hunt. We have to learn to respect it.’

Katie handed over eighty dollars in twenties and scooped Jess back into her arms. Jess, however, had other plans. She’d spotted a small frightened-looking child in the doorway and struggled to be let down to go and greet it. Katie released her.

‘You know, that was the night that Sam was in Stoke. He got stuck on account of that storm. Thank God he stayed put or … well …’ She trailed off, shrugging, and watched her daughter trying to hug the small boy behind Mrs Chaney’s bulk.

‘Or it might have been him? Yes indeed it might have been, Mrs Hunt. And well might we thank God. He moves in mysterious ways. Mrs Reader’s loss, your gain.’

The childminder tucked Katie’s money into the big pocket on the front of the apron she never took off.

Katie got annoyed. ‘Hardly, Mrs Chaney. I don’t think that was the deal. I’m sorry to hear about it. Please tell Estelle we’re thinking of her if you see her.’

Her attention was focused on Jess now, and she used it to change the subject. She didn’t want to discuss poor Joe Reader with this woman any more. ‘Hey. Is this a new man in Jess’s life?’

Elsie Chaney looked down at the two children. ‘That’s the Belling boy. You know.’

Katie didn’t know, but she knew she would be told. ‘No. I don’t believe I do. He looks a bit lost.’

‘The son of that man. You know.’

Katie still didn’t know.

Mrs Chaney sighed. ‘Put away. For abuse.’ She mouthed the words as if they were too foul to be spoken aloud.

Katie’s heart dropped down a rib or two in sympathy.

‘Oh. The poor darling.’

She leaned towards Katie.

‘Welfare pays his bills here. The mother can barely cope. Heartbreaking, though, to know it’ll all happen again.’

‘You’re kidding. You mean they’re letting the guy see the boy again?’

Elsie Chaney looked at Katie as if she were one of her children. ‘No no. He won’t be back. I mean when the boy grows up he’ll repeat the sins of the father.’

Katie looked open-mouthed at the innocent blue-eyed mite, now having one of his cardigan buttons sucked by her daughter. ‘You can’t say a wicked thing like that, Mrs Chaney. He’s a tiny child for heaven’s sake.’

Mrs Chaney was clearly irked by the accusation of being wicked. She straightened up, no longer keeping her tone soft. ‘Seems you don’t know your social psychology, Mrs Hunt. The abused always becomes the abuser. Text book.’

Katie held her gaze for a moment, itching to challenge her. But this was the only crèche that suited them. She couldn’t blow it. She bit her tongue and went to pick up her daughter.

The little boy backed away as she bent down to Jess. Katie looked into those frightened eyes and wanted to cry.

What had they seen?

‘It’s okay, pumpkin. I’m Jess’s Mom. Would you like a hug?’

He turned and ran. Jess shrieked in delight again.

Mrs Chaney looked triumphant. ‘Same time tomorrow, Mrs Hunt.’

Katie hesitated, still looking into the empty doorframe where the boy had stood. ‘Yes. Same time.’

Elsie Chaney went back into the cacophony of tiny voices, smoothing her apron as she went.

Katie’s mood was very different now as she walked along the snowy sidewalk with her daughter kicking the snow up and hanging on her hand. Scary thoughts were bouncing around in there. Thoughts about how it could have been Sam’s truck losing control and crashing in the dark.

But it wasn’t, and it wouldn’t be. She got rid of that one before they turned into their street. The one she couldn’t shake off was still there when they reached the house. The abused always becomes the abuser. The stupid woman. The stupid, stupid woman.