for some fags’, leaving the child with Arnie.
‘Your mum not around?’
‘She ’ad to go to work today. Somebody’s off sick so ’er ’ad to go in.’
‘Do you mind if I take a quick look at your niece?’
Struel stepped back. ‘’Elp yourself,’ he said politely.
The fug of cigarettes in the room almost knocked him back. That and what he suspected was the stink of Arnie’s feet. His shoes, grubby trainers, were neatly placed side-by-side at the far end of the sofa where Anna-Louise was propped up, her little tongue working, her eyes following him as Daniel crossed the room towards her. Only when he reached her and stood over her did she move her head very slightly. For a split second Daniel had the impulse that this tiny child was trying to convey something to him. The next he dismissed it as pure imagination.
He looked closer at her. There was something, a pleading desperation, a cowed terror. He suddenly felt both worried and powerless. What was going on with this child?
He knelt on the floor and looked up at her. She regarded him steadily, the only sign of movement the small, pink tongue, busily working round her upper lip and chin.
Today Anna-Louise was tidily dressed in a small, full, pink frock with a cream-coloured woollen cardigan, wrongly buttoned, stick legs stretching out in front of her.
Arnie was standing behind him, legs apart, arms folded, looking pleased with himself. ‘I thought as she might be cold,’ he said proudly. ‘So I put ’er the cardie on.’
Daniel took time from the child to swivel round.
He couldn’t help smiling to himself. There was something touching about the Beast of Eccleston struggling to dress his little niece in a cardigan.
But, looking back at Anna-Louise, Daniel didn’t feel like smiling any more. A toddler of this age should be running around, causing mayhem, getting ‘into’ things. Living up to the reputation of the ‘terrible twos’. Not simply sitting, gazing around passively as though wondering what in Heaven’s name the world had in store for her. And what
did
the world have in store for her? Daniel wondered, feeling an iced finger of dread stroke the back of his neck. Anna-Louise’s eyes flickered from him to her uncle still without displaying any emotion. The illusion of a plea from the little girl had vanished.
He gave her a full and thorough examination and again found nothing really wrong. She certainly wasn’t dehydrated now. He found nothing specific apart from her abnormally passive behaviour. He stood up. The only thing he could do would be to expedite the paediatric referral.
He arrived back at The Yellow House a little after one and made himself a sandwich then sat outside. The garden was slowly coming back to life after a long winter and a cold spring, helped by Atkins, an elderly patient of his whose great love was gardening but who was now confined in a gardenless flat off the High Street. Daniel paid him for his attentions but was conscious of the fact that he was doing the ancient widower a favour. Atkins would often call unannounced, on any fine day, to ‘potter’, as he called it. It was therapy for him. Daniel was grateful to the old man but having Mrs Hubbard to do his cleaning and Atkins keeping the garden neat he had nothing with which to occupy himself.
He knew what he wanted to be doing with his time – hisfamily around him. He wanted to be playing football with a son, taking the family on trips, holidays, outings to Alton Towers, Center Parcs. He wanted to swim, cycle, roller skate – anything and everything.
But not alone.
At half past two the telephone rang. To his pleasure it was Claudine Anderton. ‘Hello Daniel.’ Her voice was bright and friendly. ‘Bethan has asked me whether Holly is coming to you tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘as far as I know.’ He was aware of how much he wanted the policeman’s wife to invite him to something. Anything – even a simple coffee.
‘Then would you like
‘Your mum not around?’
‘She ’ad to go to work today. Somebody’s off sick so ’er ’ad to go in.’
‘Do you mind if I take a quick look at your niece?’
Struel stepped back. ‘’Elp yourself,’ he said politely.
The fug of cigarettes in the room almost knocked him back. That and what he suspected was the stink of Arnie’s feet. His shoes, grubby trainers, were neatly placed side-by-side at the far end of the sofa where Anna-Louise was propped up, her little tongue working, her eyes following him as Daniel crossed the room towards her. Only when he reached her and stood over her did she move her head very slightly. For a split second Daniel had the impulse that this tiny child was trying to convey something to him. The next he dismissed it as pure imagination.
He looked closer at her. There was something, a pleading desperation, a cowed terror. He suddenly felt both worried and powerless. What was going on with this child?
He knelt on the floor and looked up at her. She regarded him steadily, the only sign of movement the small, pink tongue, busily working round her upper lip and chin.
Today Anna-Louise was tidily dressed in a small, full, pink frock with a cream-coloured woollen cardigan, wrongly buttoned, stick legs stretching out in front of her.
Arnie was standing behind him, legs apart, arms folded, looking pleased with himself. ‘I thought as she might be cold,’ he said proudly. ‘So I put ’er the cardie on.’
Daniel took time from the child to swivel round.
He couldn’t help smiling to himself. There was something touching about the Beast of Eccleston struggling to dress his little niece in a cardigan.
But, looking back at Anna-Louise, Daniel didn’t feel like smiling any more. A toddler of this age should be running around, causing mayhem, getting ‘into’ things. Living up to the reputation of the ‘terrible twos’. Not simply sitting, gazing around passively as though wondering what in Heaven’s name the world had in store for her. And what
did
the world have in store for her? Daniel wondered, feeling an iced finger of dread stroke the back of his neck. Anna-Louise’s eyes flickered from him to her uncle still without displaying any emotion. The illusion of a plea from the little girl had vanished.
He gave her a full and thorough examination and again found nothing really wrong. She certainly wasn’t dehydrated now. He found nothing specific apart from her abnormally passive behaviour. He stood up. The only thing he could do would be to expedite the paediatric referral.
He arrived back at The Yellow House a little after one and made himself a sandwich then sat outside. The garden was slowly coming back to life after a long winter and a cold spring, helped by Atkins, an elderly patient of his whose great love was gardening but who was now confined in a gardenless flat off the High Street. Daniel paid him for his attentions but was conscious of the fact that he was doing the ancient widower a favour. Atkins would often call unannounced, on any fine day, to ‘potter’, as he called it. It was therapy for him. Daniel was grateful to the old man but having Mrs Hubbard to do his cleaning and Atkins keeping the garden neat he had nothing with which to occupy himself.
He knew what he wanted to be doing with his time – hisfamily around him. He wanted to be playing football with a son, taking the family on trips, holidays, outings to Alton Towers, Center Parcs. He wanted to swim, cycle, roller skate – anything and everything.
But not alone.
At half past two the telephone rang. To his pleasure it was Claudine Anderton. ‘Hello Daniel.’ Her voice was bright and friendly. ‘Bethan has asked me whether Holly is coming to you tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘as far as I know.’ He was aware of how much he wanted the policeman’s wife to invite him to something. Anything – even a simple coffee.
‘Then would you like
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