Colin M. Johnson's Fiction - Novels

"ONE POTATO, TWO"

by Colin M. Johnson

CHAPTER 7


      Sarah sat on her bed with her eyes closed and tried to relax.

      "The more you relax," Wendy had once advised her, "the more you are in tune with Nature."   Quite where Wendy had acquired this morsel of wisdom Sarah wasn't sure, but it seemed worth bearing in mind.

      It was now three weeks since she'd gone to the theatre with her aunt, and Sarah too was totally convinced her sister was still alive and not far away.   She'd discussed this many times with her aunt and uncle, who both knew all there was to know about twins.

      "When your Mum and I were young," Dottie recalled, "people kept asking us: 'What's it like having a twin sister?'   And we always replied: 'What's it like NOT to?'   And now we're both having to find out, aren't we!"

      "Well, I only know there's some sort of link between Wendy and me that other people don't understand.   Or should I have said: Wendy and I?"

      Her school-teaching aunt replied with a jingle.

      "If you wonder which to say - try it round the other way.   Remember that.   Between I and Wendy - ouch!   That can't be right.   Between me and Wendy - I hope that sounds a little better.   It does to me, anyway."

      "Mummy always said it was best to put the other person first."

      "Quite right too.   A wise woman, your mother!"

      "Do you think she's still alive?"

      The smile left Dottie's face.   "No, my pet, I'm afraid I don't."

      "Well, I still feel Wendy's being kept prisoner somewhere, except I don't know where.   Do you understand?"

      Dottie knew all too well what she meant, but could now feel only a void in the space her sister once occupied.   Sarah, on the other hand, didn't just THINK that MAYBE Wendy was still alive, she KNEW it, though there was no way of proving it.   She wasn't sad any more, merely wiser.   She'd had the benefit of two sets of parents whom she's always loved equally.

      Luckily she enjoyed the academic challenge of her new school, and worked well in every subject.   Sarah had always been the scholarly twin, whereas Wendy was the gifted one - the entertainer.   There had never been any rivalry between them, each sister having found her own role to play.   What Sarah missed more than anything else was a close confidant with whom she could share her most intimate secrets.

      Yet she knew she wasn't alone.   She remembered seeing repeats of an old television series in which a trio of close friends were able to send telepathic messages to one another; and she wondered whether the same power existed between twins who got separated.   She felt Wendy was trapped, in a prison or maybe a hospital, unable to get free, yet she sensed no great distress in her sister's mind - and it was this thin but vital thread of comfort that sustained her throughout Wendy's absence.  

*****

      Meanwhile, Wendy had at last become more mobile.   With the cast removed from her left leg, she was able to enjoy the ecstasy of bending it for the first time since the accident, and she was now allowed to roam the hospital on crutches.

      Although she returned to the ward every night, Wendy was frequently taken out on day trips by Barbara Latham, and continued to provide tantalising new revelations about her home life - the private school she and Sarah used to attend, headed, so she claimed, by a woman with a name like a baboon.   She had no idea where the school was, but she described every classroom, the playing field, and a short footpath that led down to the railway - facts which were all recorded meticulously in her file.

      But though she clearly visualised the faces of her teachers and friends, their names still eluded her.   Barbara felt certain if they were to visit every school in the land, Wendy would eventually proclaim: "That's the one."   But meanwhile, she remained a prisoner of her own amnesia, and was advised by Dr. Latham not to let it upset her.

      "The more you keep trying," he told her, "the more you'll confuse reality with your own imagination.   Give it time and it'll come, because it's all in there somewhere.   Meanwhile, you know you've got Barbara and me as your best buddies for as long as you need us."

      "Barbara said she'd ask you when I might be able to run about again.   Did she forget?"

      "No, she keeps asking."   But as he spoke Dr. Latham's face became unusually grave, and he took Wendy along to his office.

      "In fact, I've got good news for you and some bad news," he said in a tone that warned he wasn't joking.   "Which do you want first?"

      "Good news first, please," she replied.

      Her doctor looked strangely amused.   "Are you sure?   Most patients want their sugar AFTER the nasty medicine, not before it."

      "I'd like the good news first, then I can be thinking about that while you're giving me the bad news, and anyway I know what the bad news is.   I'm standing on it."

      "Yes, my sweet.   It's going to need another big operation ..."

      She stared back at him, accusingly.   "You said I could have the good news first."

      "True," he admitted.   "Okay, the good news is that in a few days time, whatever happens, you and I are going to spend a whole day together, out in the country, just the two of us."

      Wendy didn't reply, but hopped over towards him, letting her crutches clatter to the floor as she wrapped her arms around the doctor's waist and clung on in silence, her eyes closed and her lips pressed so tightly together they became almost white.

      Finally she gazed up at him and said in a small, earnest voice:

      "Please, don't let them do anything horrid - I don't want any more operations, and besides my leg doesn't hurt, honest!   I don't mind if it never gets better, ever, but please be a kind Daddy and tell them not to do any more."

      She tried so hard, so very hard, but months of pent-up misery came pouring out in a heart-rending deluge of emotion.   Wendy buried her face against the doctor's waist, and as she sobbed he felt himself to be the most helpless man on earth.

      Finally she managed to look at him with a moist grin.

      "I suppose you've already talked about this with Barbara."

      He nodded grimly.   "There's a very clever man coming to take that plaster off tonight.   Then he'll decide what's best, one way or the other.   I trust him, sweetheart.   And believe me, I've already done as much as I can without earning myself the sack."

      Wendy put her hands over her ears.   "I don't want to hear any more," she decided.   "I want to wake up and be told afterwards - I don't want to know anything before it happens."

      She was extremely definite about this, speaking as if she were the doctor giving him the orders.   He always marvelled at this child's flawless reasoning, and responded to her hopeful face with the smile of a truly caring father.   He bent down to pick up her crutches, and with their arms securely locked around each other, the pair of them made their way slowly back to her ward, Wendy chattering philosophically all the way.

      "If I know they're planning to do something nasty like chopping my foot off," she confided, "then I'll get all worried until it happens.   But if I wake up and find it's still there, then I'll know it's all right, and if you've done it while I've been asleep, then I won't be scared any more because then it'll all be over, even though it'll still be horrid for me afterwards."

      Later that evening, Cyril Latham stood with his colleague at Wendy's bedside, gently stroking her forehead and watching her anxious, trusting face as she drifted swiftly into oblivion.   Minutes later she was wheeled away towards the operating theatre, no longer able to voice any opinions or objections as to what the surgeons might have decided to do.  

*****

      Sarah awoke in the middle of the night with a stabbing pain in her right leg.   Her cries brought Aunt Dottie scurrying in to see what was wrong.

      "My leg!" she cried, flinging back the bed covers to see why it was hurting.

      "There's nothing wrong that I can see," said her caring aunt.   "Where does it hurt?"

      Sarah pointed, a few inches above her right kneecap.

      "It's probably a touch of cramp," Dottie suggested, giving it a vigorous rub.   "You've been sleeping in an awkward position, I expect."

      Sarah shook her head.   "No, it's different.   I can't explain.   The rest of me feels all funny too - sort of tingly."

      "I expect you pulled a muscle while you were dreaming, that's what happened.   Anyway, it's still only four in the morning and tomorrow's Saturday, so try and get some sleep.   I'm sure you'll feel better soon."

      Dottie left the room, but Sarah couldn't rest.   She stared out of the window at the full moon, rubbing her leg and knowing beyond any doubt that something bad was happening to her sister.   She wondered if Wendy could see the moon too.   It was the same moon, wherever you saw it.   At least that was something they could share.

      She got out of bed and tiptoed across to her dressing table where the American postcard lay.   She picked it up and took it to the window where there was just enough moonlight to read it.

      At first, its message didn't tell her anything new, except that she started thinking about time differences.   For their holiday, Sarah had prepared a chart showing the relative times on either side of the Atlantic.   Wendy would have known that seven in the evening in Florida meant midnight in England, so why did they leave it so late before trying to phone?   If they'd phoned first thing in the morning, it would have been lunch time in England.   Then when they'd failed to get through first time, Wendy would have insisted they kept trying before they did anything else.   So what went wrong?

      Sarah leaned on her window ledge, willing the moon to attract Wendy's attention, wherever she was.   Obviously on the twelfth they would have done something extra special.   The main holiday attraction was Disney World, but where would Wendy have chosen to spend her special day?

      Sarah knew the answer at once.   Wendy would want something important to her alone.   So what would she choose?   Crocodiles!

      Ever since they'd seen the film of Peter Pan, Wendy had been keen on crocodiles.   Daddy had said he would far rather SHE were interested in THEM, than that THEY took an interest in HER.   True, there might be crocodiles at Disney World, but Sarah felt sure they weren't real ones.   She knew her sister well enough to know that Wendy would have begged to see some REAL crocodiles.   And the swamps of Florida were probably full of them.

      An alarming thought crossed Sarah's mind.   Had the missing travellers gone off on some special outing and been eaten by crocodiles?   This seemed such a frightening possibility that she was on the point of rushing into the next room and waking her aunt again.

      But then she suddenly felt foolish.   If they had been devoured in a swamp, they could hardly have tried to telephone later that evening, let alone send a card.   She glanced at it again, and saw it had been posted in Atlanta, Georgia.

      Sarah tiptoed downstairs to find an atlas, and as she studied a map of the United States, she thought further about why there had been no phone call.   America was very big, with parts of it maybe still unexplored.   Perhaps they didn't have phone boxes in Georgia.   If they were travelling all day, they mightn't have found a phone until they'd reached a hotel for the night, perhaps not until after seven o'clock.   Perhaps Mrs. Tovey next door knew whereabouts in Florida you could find real crocodiles.

      Perhaps, perhaps - it was all so very frustrating and tedious.

      Taking one last look at the postcard before returning to bed, Sarah read the last line several times before it made any sense.   The writing was so small, though it ended clearly enough: "Wendy says Have a nice day." But in front of that, after "Love from Mum and Dad ..." there was a squiggly word that looked like "WHooPS."

      Sarah knew all about "Have a nice day."   Wendy had pointed out, helpfully, that the initial letters spelled the word HAND.   But what did WHOOPS mean?   She looked again.   Were they O's, or dots?   She would ask Uncle Jim in the morning - he was good at puzzles.

      Still wide awake, Sarah watched the full moon slowly descend into the western sky, which meant it must be visible in America.   She watched as the dawning sun slowly brightened the east, waiting restlessly until seven, when she dressed and went downstairs to make a pot of early morning tea for her aunt and uncle.   WH..PS?   No, it must be H..PS - surely the W stood for Wendy.   It was time to go and ask Uncle Jim.

      "What's H.P.S.   stand for?" she asked, opening their bedroom door.   It was just the kind of question Jim needed first thing on a Saturday morning!

      "Half Past Seven," he replied, squinting at the bedside clock.

      "What else?" she persisted.

      "I don't know," he yawned.   "Give up."

      "It's not a riddle," Sarah explained.   "It's on the card that came from America.   It ends with 'Love from Mum and Dad,' then a W for Wendy.   After that, it says 'H.P.S.   Wendy says Have a nice day!'"

      "You'll have a nice day too," said her sleepy aunt, "if you keep waking me up this early on a Saturday morning."

      "I've brought you some tea."

      "In that case, you're forgiven."

      The two adults sat up gratefully and watched as Sarah poured them each a cup of tea, glancing toward one another in contented amusement.

      "For tea made by a seven-year-old," Jim remarked, as Sarah dashed off to fetch the postcard, "this isn't at all bad."

      "Seven?   She'll be eight in April."

      "Then it's been over four months," Jim pondered to himself.   "Four bloody months and we still don't know what the hell happened?"

      "Maybe we never will."

      "Here," said Sarah, bounding back into the room and nearly causing a spillage as she climbed onto the bed.   She knelt cross-legged between them, and read out the bottom line of the card.   Intrigued, Dottie reached for her glasses and studied the tiny writing herself.

      "It's not H.P.S.," she pointed out.   "It's two sentences.   'Love from Mum and Dad, W.   and H.'   That's the first bit.   Then it says 'P.S.   Wendy says Have a nice day!'   A tiresome expression."

      "Then if W.   was our Wendy," asked Jim, "who on earth is H.?"

      "Why, that other girl they took with them," his wife replied.   "Didn't I tell you?"

      Jim sat bolt upright.

      "No, you flaming well did not!" he exclaimed indignantly.   "You mean to say you knew all along that some other kid went with them?   Another girl who also hasn't been heard of since, which means another family going through the same hell as us?   I knew there was something odd about that damned card.   Who was this girl anyway?"

      "Oh, Lord," said Dottie, as implications filled in her mind.   "If four of them went, then presumably four are still missing.   Oh, what was that girl's name?"   She snapped her fingers in a wild attempt to get her brain working.   "I remember Trudy ringing the night before they left, saying one of Wendy's chums was able to travel with them at the last minute, using Sarah's ticket."

      "Didn't Trudy give you a name?"

      "She may have done, Jim, but it wouldn't have meant a thing to me, and I certainly didn't bother to write it down.   Oh, how can I have been so stupid?"

      "If her name begins with H," said Sarah calmly, "it could be Heather Griggs, though I doubt it 'cos Wendy can't stand her.   It's more likely to be Hilary Billings."

      "That's it!" cried her aunt, clapping her hands together.   "I remember now - thinking of Billingsgate and fish."

      Uncle Jim immediately assumed the manner of an army officer.

      "Right!" he barked, leaping out of bed.   "Sarah, do you know where we can get in touch with this Billings family?"

      "I know where she lives, yes.   But it's in Taunton, and I don't know the actual address."

      "No matter," said Jim as he headed for the bathroom.   "We can get it from the phone book.   We'll contact this other family right away, because either we're both sharing a common crisis, or we have down in Taunton a young witness who can tell us exactly what happened."

      "But why wouldn't she have done that months ago?" queried Dottie.

      Jim's head reappeared around the edge of the door.   "Probably, my dear, because no-one thought to give her our address."

      All at once, the house was alive with urgent activity, the three of them revelling in a fresh glow of excitement as they prepared for the day ahead.   Jim lost no time in phoning the Taunton police and was given helpful details including a list of Billingses.   He also tried to contact Miss Gibson, but knew only the number of her school.

      "Wouldn't it be sensible to phone some of these Billings people before we leave?" Dottie suggested.

      But Jim had reservations.   "Remember we're dealing with a highly sensitive issue.   We don't want to give someone a nasty jolt on the phone if we can handle it more tactfully when we get there.   Also," he confided in a quiet moment, "we're going to have to take Sarah back to visit her old house.   I've tried to avoid it so far because it's bound to upset her, but I'm afraid it's an ordeal she's now got to face.   There could be all sorts of clues she might recognise, perhaps lying on the front door mat.   It's lucky she woke us bright and early."

      They ate a hurried breakfast, packed sandwiches for lunch, and by nine o'clock were in the car, heading west.   It took just three hours for the journey down to Somerset, and they arrived in Taunton shortly before midday.

      Jim's first call was to a newsagent's where he bought himself a street map of Taunton.   Then he visited the local police station, explained who he was and why he was there, and was given directions to the school principal's house.

      Miss Gibson was in her front garden, somewhat irate at being called upon to assume professional duties on a Saturday morning.   But she seemed pleased to see Sarah looking healthy again, adding that she and her staff had been disturbed by Wendy's unexplained absence, though they'd made no attempt to pursue the matter.   Jim raised the question of the Billings family.

      "Hilary?" she replied.   "Why yes, she went off to America too, during the autumn term - I remember it clearly.   Both she and Wendy were granted those extra weeks out of school, which we gladly allowed because the trip was educational.   I had a card from them, from Stone Mountain in Georgia."

      "Did it say anything at all about why they never came back?"

      "The card, you mean?   Nothing out of the ordinary.   You know the kind of trite remarks people scribble on these cards: 'Having a nice time, wish you were here, see you soon,' et cetera et cetera.   No, there was nothing about Wendy not coming back, though of course we were properly advised about Hilary Billings."

      Miss Gibson was reluctant to add further details until Jim pleaded.

      "Oh, it was long after we resumed school in September," she admitted.   "There was a brief letter from Hilary's parents, saying her father had been offered a job in America, and that Hilary wouldn't be returning to school, that's all.   I fail to see how it concerns you."

      Jim knew he had to remain calm and patient.

      "Miss Gibson, I'm sure you appreciate we're worried sick that Wendy and her parents never returned from America.   So if there is any small clue in that letter from these Billings people, could I ask you please to share it with us?"

      "As you wish," she conceded, "though naturally, I don't have it with me, and I'm certainly not prepared to drive round to school today just to get correspondence which won't reveal any more than I'm telling you here and now.   However, I will forward you a Photostat copy on Monday, if you think it will help."

      "You're very kind," Jim sighed, "but that still doesn't resolve the main issue.   All we have now is the odd coincidence that none of the party ever came back to England, though for one of them there seems to be a valid explanation.   The question remains, why didn't Wendy or her parents return either?"

      "Oh, don't misunderstand me," Miss Gibson continued.   "We know Hilary returned to England for a few weeks, because we saw her.   It's just that she didn't return to school.   Now do you understand?"

      Jim was stunned, frustrated by a pompous woman who didn't seem prepared to put herself out at all.   Despite the gravity of what they were discussing, Miss Gibson was tossing him scraps of information in a very off-hand manner, as if casting stale bread to ducks.   Jim also felt he was being spoken to like a child, and this annoyed him intensely.

      "Let me get this quite clear, may I?" he asked.   "Hilary Billings was seen here in Taunton after the holiday?   Is that correct?"

      "I've just told you that," said Miss Gibson, keen to return to her gardening instead of wasting further time.

      "But as to the unexplained disappearance of Wendy and her parents, you know nothing?"

      "Indeed not.   Now if you'll excuse me ..."

      "I don't suppose you have the Billings's forwarding address?"

      "Well, I wouldn't need it, would I?   Not if she's no longer a pupil."

      "Do you know anyone who DOES have an address where I can contact Hilary Billings or her family?"

      It may at last have dawned on Miss Gibson that if, for a moment, she were to step out of character and co-operate with her persistent visitor, he might then leave her alone.

      "There are several possibilities," she suggested.   "I'll ask Hilary's former friends to let me know if they have her address.   Some of them are bound to - she was a popular girl."

      Jim thanked her for her help and returned to the car.

      "Bloody woman!" he exploded as he slumped into the driving seat.   "Not at all helpful, except to say that Hilary Billings and her family have gone abroad - of all places, to the United States of America?"

      He started the engine and moved off.

      "Where are we going now?" asked Sarah.

      Jim hesitated.   "Well, if you can face it, I suggest we visit your old house and see what we can learn there.   What do you think?"

      Sarah agreed, but looked quite scared as though her former home would now be haunted.   There was a formidable sense of emptiness as they drove through once-familiar streets.   It was as if, during the months she'd been away, everywhere had grown drab and friendless.

      All too soon they reached the house she knew so well, but everything looked horribly neglected and overgrown.   They sat still, staring for a moment while they plucked up courage to go and unlock its secrets.   Luckily, Allen had given Jim a key when he collected Sarah, in case she'd needed anything urgently while they were away.

      Not a word was spoken as they got out of the car and walked up the path.   Jim pushed hard to open the front door, and they went inside.

      The house smelled damp and stale, felt cold and very unwelcoming.   Sarah tried to be brave, but soon fell victim to the awful grief which lay just beneath the surface.   She and her aunt clung to each other for support as they wandered silently from room to room like the very ghosts they feared.

      Jim picked up scores of letters from the hall floor and quickly thumbed through them.   Most appeared to be junk mail of no interest to anyone, but they would all need to be examined carefully for any clues.

      One that caught his attention was a letter from Gatwick about his brother's car, requesting instructions for its removal from Parking Zone A.   Did this mean the family were still in America?   There was also a letter from Miss Gibson, enquiring stiffly into the twins' extended absence from school, and asking when they might be expected to return.

      But of greatest interest was a short "thank-you" letter from Hilary Billings, saying how much she'd enjoyed the holiday, adding the news about their return to the United States, and giving an address in California.

      The remainder were phone bills, gas bills, electricity bills, requests for admittance by meter-readers, hostile letters from solicitors requiring immediate payment ...   cold, cruel demands which made Jim feel as if vultures were watching over his shoulder.   There were countless free offers, chances of a lifetime, "Lucky winner" announcements from faceless organisations, and most distressing of all - personal letters, addressed to various members of the family, asking for news.

      Jim forced open his brother's bureau and took out certain documents he felt might be relevant - the family's National Health cards, birth certificates, old photographs, Trudy's address book and a few poignant childhood souvenirs.   He even searched for passports until he realised the only one likely to be there was Sarah's.

      Jim soon decided he'd had enough.   He called to his wife, and they quickly joined him in the front room, all looking equally miserable as they gathered up the mountain of correspondence and documents, more than ready to flee the house and escape its awesome atmosphere.

      "I've just got one other thing I must do," said Sarah suddenly.   "It won't take a minute."

      She ran to the desk for a sheet of paper, while Jim and Dottie went through to the kitchen.   With the electricity cut off, they found the deep-freezer full of water and rotting food, and the fridge was a mass of revolting grey-green mould.   There were unused packets of dried food and tins in the larder, but Dottie saw no point in salvaging it.

      "We're not that hard up!   Besides, I couldn't bring myself to use any of this, even if we did take it.   However," she added, heading for the twins' bedroom, "there's no earthly point in leaving Sarah's clothes behind, nor Wendy's either - not that I can tell which is which."

      She hurriedly packed everything into a brand new suitcase which she found in the corner of the room, and took it downstairs.   There she met Sarah, sealing an envelope into a plastic bag and looking a little more cheerful.

      "I'm just going to put this in a secret place," she said.   "Don't ask where or what it is, because I don't want to tell you."   Sarah hurriedly unlocked the back door, and stepped out into the overgrown garden.

      Meanwhile, Jim had sprayed the whole house with deodorant, and dumped the rotting contents of the fridge and freezer into black plastic bags which he left by the front gate.

      "I don't know when they collect," he said, "but I couldn't bear the thought of leaving this place with that stinking mess hanging around.   What is young Sarah up to?" he added, as they spotted her climbing the elm tree at the bottom of the garden.   "I hope that's safe.   She'll get filthy."

      "I think she's leaving something in a hiding place only she and Wendy know about.   It's a forlorn hope, but why not?   She's convinced Wendy's still alive, you know."

      Jim nodded.   "I'm not sure that's a belief we should encourage - but we'll let it go for now."

      They locked the house, leaving the side gate open for Sarah while they waited for her in the car.   She reappeared a moment later, dishevelled but smiling, and ran out onto the footpath just as a neighbour came walking by, an elderly man whom the twins often used to tease over their identity.

      "My goodness, Wendy?" he enquired, looking at the stains of green moss on her clothes.   "What have you been doing?"   It was meant as a harmless friendly greeting, but it burst a dam inside Sarah's heart.

      "I'm not Wendy," she cried, trying to control herself.

      "Oh, Sarah then.   I don't know, you two - you've caught me out yet again," he laughed.   "I'm hopeless, aren't I!   When will I ever learn?"

      To him it was a continuation of the harmless banter they'd exchanged for years, but Sarah didn't respond.   She headed straight for the car where she sobbed inconsolably on the rear seat.   And but for their stronger self-control, her two adult companions would have done exactly the same.

      With a stoical sigh of relief, Jim drove off, heading once more for the Home Counties and fresh air, vowing that his brother's former home in Taunton would be put up for sale without delay.   He'd never really liked the house, and now neither he nor Dottie ever wanted to see it again.  

<<< Previous Chapter       Back to my Stories Page       Back to my Front Page       Next Chapter >>>

Chapters:    1   2   3   4   5   6   8   9   10   11   12   13

Except where specifically noted, all music and stories on this web site are my own creations.   You may not use any of them for any purpose without written permission from me.     Copyright © 2003 Colin Johnson     All Rights Reserved.