logged as an Official Missing Person, but after a few weeks of intense searching in London, spurred on by Tracy, the investigation flagged.
Meanwhile they found Gibson after about a week, almost dead with hypothermia in undergrowth on the fen. But even Tracy considered his condition too shocking to re-introduce him to his son: he couldn’t speak and he could barely walk, and his arms flailed wildly and indiscriminately at anyone in his path. One social worker even lost a tooth, while the duty psychiatrist had his glasses smashed and a piece of glass had to be extracted from his eye under a general anaesthetic. In short, Gibson Nelson had become dangerous: they deemed him lucky to be sent back to Fulbright.
So Josiah had to stay with the Leatherpots. He wet the bed every night and barely spoke to them. Mrs Leatherpot told Tracy that ‘it was evident that he’d had a very sorry life’ and asked to be told more about it, so that she might be more of a help to him. ‘Particularly as he might be here longer than you said,’ she argued. But Tracy was discreet.
Sylvia Leatherpot was very kind and patient with Josiah. When he came back from school she would sit next to him on the settee and tell him all about her adventures when she was a schoolgirl, and the kind of pranks she got up to. Then when she was done with chatting she would take out her set of emery boards and settle down to work on the beautification of her hands.
She would shuffle first towards the left, and then towards the right, as she held her hands up to the light, and more than once told Josiah the great wisdom of her auntie Joyce, who ‘always said there was something beautiful in all of us. “It might be your eyes, or it might be your hair, but God never left not one of us out,” that’swhat she used to say, and she was right. And with me, Jozziah, it happens to be my nails. God blessed me with beautiful fingernails and beautiful hands.’
On one occasion, when Josiah had been there about a week, Sylvia Leatherpot said to him, ‘Now just stay there a tick and I’ll show you something.’ She blew the nail-dust from her fingers and levered herself out of an armchair. In the corner of the sitting-room was a book-shelf stuffed full of magazines, hundreds of them. She found a copy of Woman ’ s Own and brought it over to show him.
‘Now, look here,’ she said. ‘You have a look through here and keep your eyes peeled. You might just recognize something.’
Josiah scanned the pages of the magazine with dead-pan face.
‘No, no, no, Josiah! You’ve passed it!’ exclaimed Mrs Leatherpot. ‘I’ll give you a clue.’ She took the magazine and slowly thumbed through the relevant pages of eyeshadows, lipsticks, and yes, fingernails.
‘Do you recognize anything?’ she said.
Josiah shook his head.
‘Look, look again!’ Mrs Leatherpot wasn’t going to let him off lightly.
Josiah surveyed her coldly and pointed to an eyelid covered in ‘lavender’. Mrs Leatherpot giggled anxiously and was on the point of asking him to have another go but thought the better of it. (What is it? wondered Josiah.)
Tracy was ever the bearer of bad news. Within a fortnight the bad news was even getting to Mrs Leatherpot, who found herself being tetchy with her young charge, and she wanted Josiah’s mother to come and take him back.
‘He’s not grateful,’ she would complain. ‘He’s not grateful for anything. I don’t think he’s ever been taught to say “Thank you”. I say to him, I’ll not be giving you supper tomorrow, young man, if you don’t learn to say “Thank you” but it makes no difference. It’sas though he was completely deaf. Now, what’s the news on Mrs Nelson?’
Then one afternoon, after delivering Josiah back from school (which she did whenever she could), and after sitting through twenty minutes’ worth of Mrs Leatherpot’s complaints about his ‘rude behaviour’, Tracy was about to get into her car when she was aware of two
Meanwhile they found Gibson after about a week, almost dead with hypothermia in undergrowth on the fen. But even Tracy considered his condition too shocking to re-introduce him to his son: he couldn’t speak and he could barely walk, and his arms flailed wildly and indiscriminately at anyone in his path. One social worker even lost a tooth, while the duty psychiatrist had his glasses smashed and a piece of glass had to be extracted from his eye under a general anaesthetic. In short, Gibson Nelson had become dangerous: they deemed him lucky to be sent back to Fulbright.
So Josiah had to stay with the Leatherpots. He wet the bed every night and barely spoke to them. Mrs Leatherpot told Tracy that ‘it was evident that he’d had a very sorry life’ and asked to be told more about it, so that she might be more of a help to him. ‘Particularly as he might be here longer than you said,’ she argued. But Tracy was discreet.
Sylvia Leatherpot was very kind and patient with Josiah. When he came back from school she would sit next to him on the settee and tell him all about her adventures when she was a schoolgirl, and the kind of pranks she got up to. Then when she was done with chatting she would take out her set of emery boards and settle down to work on the beautification of her hands.
She would shuffle first towards the left, and then towards the right, as she held her hands up to the light, and more than once told Josiah the great wisdom of her auntie Joyce, who ‘always said there was something beautiful in all of us. “It might be your eyes, or it might be your hair, but God never left not one of us out,” that’swhat she used to say, and she was right. And with me, Jozziah, it happens to be my nails. God blessed me with beautiful fingernails and beautiful hands.’
On one occasion, when Josiah had been there about a week, Sylvia Leatherpot said to him, ‘Now just stay there a tick and I’ll show you something.’ She blew the nail-dust from her fingers and levered herself out of an armchair. In the corner of the sitting-room was a book-shelf stuffed full of magazines, hundreds of them. She found a copy of Woman ’ s Own and brought it over to show him.
‘Now, look here,’ she said. ‘You have a look through here and keep your eyes peeled. You might just recognize something.’
Josiah scanned the pages of the magazine with dead-pan face.
‘No, no, no, Josiah! You’ve passed it!’ exclaimed Mrs Leatherpot. ‘I’ll give you a clue.’ She took the magazine and slowly thumbed through the relevant pages of eyeshadows, lipsticks, and yes, fingernails.
‘Do you recognize anything?’ she said.
Josiah shook his head.
‘Look, look again!’ Mrs Leatherpot wasn’t going to let him off lightly.
Josiah surveyed her coldly and pointed to an eyelid covered in ‘lavender’. Mrs Leatherpot giggled anxiously and was on the point of asking him to have another go but thought the better of it. (What is it? wondered Josiah.)
Tracy was ever the bearer of bad news. Within a fortnight the bad news was even getting to Mrs Leatherpot, who found herself being tetchy with her young charge, and she wanted Josiah’s mother to come and take him back.
‘He’s not grateful,’ she would complain. ‘He’s not grateful for anything. I don’t think he’s ever been taught to say “Thank you”. I say to him, I’ll not be giving you supper tomorrow, young man, if you don’t learn to say “Thank you” but it makes no difference. It’sas though he was completely deaf. Now, what’s the news on Mrs Nelson?’
Then one afternoon, after delivering Josiah back from school (which she did whenever she could), and after sitting through twenty minutes’ worth of Mrs Leatherpot’s complaints about his ‘rude behaviour’, Tracy was about to get into her car when she was aware of two
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