Free Looking for Trouble by Cath Staincliffe Page B

his armbands and rubber ring, splashed and wriggled like a baby seal, his curls shining like black corkscrews. Maddie was going through a fearful phase, detested water on her face and rooted herself on the broad steps at the shallow end. I divided my time between the two of them, flailing around and chasing Tom to keep warm, then gently coaxing Maddie to try a little doggy paddle near the steps.
     
    Ray had made lunch and the four of us ate together. ‘Fancy a walk?’ Ray asked. ‘Thought I’d take Digger out for a run.’ The idea appealed; it was ages since I’d sampled real fresh air, but I was itching to do more in the garden.
    ‘I don’t want to,’ Maddie protested. I raised my eyes to heaven, tried a little half-hearted encouragement. She wouldn’t budge.
    ‘Okay. Stay and help me in the garden.’
    ‘Yuck.’
    ‘Well, that’s what I’m doing.’
    ‘It’s not fair.’ She flounced out of the door, her voice rising. ‘You never do what I want.’
     
    I cleared up the kitchen. Changed into my gardening clothes. I could hear Maddie in her room, burbling away to herself. I called out to tell her where I’d be.
    It was glorious out there. The honey scent of alyssum mingled with the sharp smell of warm pine baking in the sun. I hunted down slugs, winkling them out of dark, damp corners. Emptied and refilled the traps. Began some weeding. Maddie appeared at the back door. Watched me for a while.
    ‘Phone,’ she said.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Phone.’ Through clenched teeth.
    I raced inside, hoping that she hadn’t left it too long before deigning to inform me.
    ‘Hello?’ Silence. ‘Hello?’ I heard breathing. Unsteady, shuddering. A prickle of fear stroked the back of my neck. The knife trembled, white knuckles. He was coming after me. The man who’d stabbed me. They’d let him out. My stomach balled like a fist. Please, please. My voice weak, creaking. They’d let him out and he was coming to get me.
    ‘Who is this?’
    ‘Please.’ It was a woman’s voice, ‘Where is he? You didn’t tell me where. I’ve got to see him. Please...please...’ she cried. Mrs Hobbs.
    Relief released my body. I trembled and sat on the chair. ‘Mrs Hobbs, I don’t know exactly where Martin is and he doesn’t want to see you.’
    ‘You said he was in Cheadle. He’s my son, you said he was, he’s my son, you said, you said...’ She was freaking out and I’d no idea how to handle it.
    ‘He doesn’t want to see you after all he’s been through and...’
    ‘Don’t lie to me.’ Fury spat the words. ‘He’s my son.’
    ‘I don’t know where he is.’
    ‘You found him, my baby, my baby...’ she repeated her song of grief. I waited. What the fuck could I say? She fell quiet. I could hear her breath, rapid, shallow. When she spoke again she sounded bright, practical. ‘I’ll write to him, yes. Just give me the address, I’ll write. Yes, yes.’
    ‘I’m sorry. I don’t have Martin’s address.’
    ‘Liar,’ she screeched. ‘Liar.’
    I lost my temper, shouted back. ‘I don’t know, for Christ’s sake! All I know is it’s Old Hall Lane, I followed the bloody car, Aston Martin. I didn’t get the address.’
    ‘I’ll go there...Old Hall Lane. You said Cheadle. Aston Martin and Martin Hobbs. Two Martins. Martin Hobbs. That’s his name now.’
    ‘Don’t go, listen.’ She wasn’t in a fit state to go to the post-box, let alone try tracking down Martin. ‘I’ll take the letter. Write and send it to me. I’ll try and find the house. I’ll give the letter to Martin.’
    ‘Will you?’
    ‘Yes, I promise.’
    ‘He’s my son.’
    ‘Yes.’
    She rang off.
    Maddie was sitting at the end of the hall, clasping her doll.
    ‘Why did you shout?’
    ‘Oh,’ I sighed and went to reassure her. ‘Someone wasn’t listening to me. I got cross, that’s all. It’s alright now.’ I hugged her, craving one for myself. She squirmed away. The phone rang.
    ‘Oh, no.’ I couldn’t face any more. Mrs