Colin M. Johnson's Fiction - Novels

"ONE POTATO, TWO"

by Colin M. Johnson

CHAPTER 9


      That evening, Dr. Latham sat on the edge of Wendy's bed and gave her a short word-association test.   Anticipating some difficulty in understanding her distorted responses, he used a small tape-recorder, intending to study the results more thoroughly when he got home.

      "So, Wendy," he began, "have you had a nice day?"

      "Haf a ni' 'ay!" she replied in recognisable American.

      "Okay.   Now we're going to play a little bedtime game," he explained.   "You're to say the first thing that comes into your head as soon as I say a certain word, understood?   Like I might say Bow and you shout Arrow, as fast as you can, or if I said Nurse, you'd instantly think of Sharon.   Don't try to be clever or cute - pretend it's a game of snap.   Give me the quickest response you can, and try to forget you've got a mouthful of dolls' furniture.   You've got ten seconds."

      Wendy nodded, eager to oblige.

      "Right.   Bedtime," he called.

      "Hihh," she grinned, hoping she'd got the right idea.

      "Mouse?" he snapped.

      "Mi'hey," came the inevitable happy reply.

      "Disney?"

      "Rise," she said, which had him guessing.

      And so it went on:

      "Car?"   "Hrouwle!"

      "Dog?"   "Hat."

      "Bark?"   "Miaow."

      "Dogwood?"   "Hennel."

      "Aeroplane?"   "Hlous."

      "Crocodile?"   "Ohey-hohey!"

      "Daddy?"   "Hugh."

      After this, she gave him a long and adoring stare, then hid coyly beneath her bedcovers.   Realising she'd had a long day, the doctor was about to go when she banged her fist urgently on his knee.

      "You want to tell me something else?" he asked hopefully.

      "Yaguar," she prompted him with a nod.

      "Oh, Wendy, I'm sorry, we forgot.   You wanted to sit in the Jaguar for a minute, didn't you.   But I didn't see it there when we got back.   It belongs to a man who's probably gone home now - but I promise, tomorrow we'll ask him, okay?"

      Wendy gave a puckish chuckle and again mouthed the word "Sit."

      "You saucy monster," he said, waving a friendly clenched fist under her nose.   "See you in the morning."

      Two hours later, Cyril Latham was sitting at home with his wife, discussing the various noises that Wendy had left on his tape.

      "What the devil does HIHH mean?" he asked with a frown.   "Blast Warburton!   I say the word BEDTIME, and she says HIHH.   Listen."

      He played the tape again and Barbara gave a knowing smile.

      "That's something you still enjoy, even at your age."

      "Come on, be serious, I've got pieces of a child's life here."

      "She means one of these, mutton-head," said Barbara, leaning across to give her husband a gentle kiss on the cheek.

      "What?   Oh, a KISS!   Yes, well, obviously the child needs affection."

      "I think she gets it, don't you?   What's next?"

      "No problem.   I said MOUSE and she replied MICKEY.   Then for DISNEY, I got what sounds like RISE, whatever that means."

      They listened once more, and again Barbara was able to help.

      "Rides!   That's what she's been saying.   She's been there all right, trust me.   I've heard similar comments from other children - their lasting impression of Disney World is those fabulous free rides.   Next?"

      "I say CAR and we get something like HORRIBLE.   That's not good."

      "Don't jump to conclusions.   I'm surprised she can say anything with that monstrous dish you've stuck in her mouth?   Oh, it's so cruel, the poor lamb!   No-one can say Tee if they've got a mouthful of rocks - perhaps she's trying to say TERRIBLE?"

      "No - sounded more like HUBBLE."

      Barbara snapped her fingers.   "TROUBLE!   They had car trouble."

      "Which is why she was in the wrong car," he added, leaping to his feet and pacing the room.   It was a habit Barbara didn't much care for, but she knew it helped him to think.

      "They flew to America," he went on, head bowed.   "Then they returned to find they couldn't start the car because of Car Trouble."

      "Wouldn't they have sent for the RAC?"

      "After crossing the Atlantic?   Maybe not.   I think I'd be too tired to bother, especially if someone offered me a lift home.   No, I'd say the need for sleep would override everything else.   I doubt if Dogwood's mother knew the names of even half her son's friends."

      "This Dogwood could have been a total stranger, though.   Just a good Samaritan who saw a family in trouble, with a youngster too and a load of luggage - so he gave them a lift out of the kindness of his heart.   I guess someone turned on the irresistible Wendy-appeal - speaking of which, Doctor Latham, what did you make of her answer to question ten?"

      "They're not questions and answers, dear.   They're prompts and responses - and we're still on number five."

      "Yes, all straightforward stuff about BARK and DOG, to see if she's a Barker or a Dogwood, and I reckon she's neither.   Both those families knew about the accident, yet no-one's come forward.   No, she belongs to someone who doesn't yet know what happened.   And I'm still curious about response number ten - that word DADDY.   Very revealing, that one."

      They played the tape again.   "Hugh somebody?"

      "Hugh Barker?   Hugh Dogwood?" she teased him.   "No, my darling - but I can forgive you.   It's not Hugh anybody.   It's YOU!"

      "Me?   You think so?   Well, that's okay - it's a common hazard in my profession, you know that."

      "Yes, but in this particular case, if her godparents or some close relative showed up now to claim Wendy, you'd feel devastated.   You'd be heart-broken, my love, and I don't want that.   You're much closer to this little mite than any other patient I can think of."

      "I know," he sighed.   "I'm not blind to that.   Yes, she has become a daughter symbol to me, and I'd love it if she became a real daughter to both of us, and of course I'd miss her if she suddenly dropped out of our lives.   But I'd hate it ten times more if she were claimed one day like a lost umbrella by some wicked Uncle Silas out of a fairy tale.   Look, if we don't campaign on her behalf, who will?   There's a fair chance that poor child has missed a birthday since we've known her, and no-one did anything about it.   I don't even know for sure what age she is.   I need more clues, and a lot more time to investigate the ones we have.   And I swear to you, when I know the date of that girl's birthday, she'll have the finest party, the biggest cake and the best set of presents anyone ever had - and I'm paying for the lot."

      "Darling, you're a sentimental old softie, and I love you.   Wendy and I both love you."

      "Good.   Now, back to business.   There's one response still puzzling me.   When I said Crocodile, she said Hokey-pokey, or Okey-dokey.   Come to think of it, she keeps on saying that.   Why?"

      "Okey-dokey?   After Crocodile?   Didn't they teach geography at your school?   Come on, do you want to sit up all night worrying about it, or shall we go to bed?"

      "Help me solve this crocodile first."

      "Okey-dokey!" she laughed.

      "And what's geography got to do it?"

      "If you went to Florida, my love, and wanted to see some crocodiles, or more precisely alligators, which any toddler could easily confuse with crocodiles, you might ask some kind grown-up to take you to the Okefenokee Swamp in the neighbouring state of Georgia.   And - typical Wendy - she reckons it's more fun to say Okey-dokey!"

      Cyril Latham went up to bed clutching a large atlas, determined to refresh his knowledge about the south-eastern United States.  

****

      Earlier that same evening Farmer Figgins went home to his wife, full of the news that he'd met the young girl who had been found in his ditch after the October road accident.

      "They was searching around as if the poor mite had lost something, though they didn't seem too clear on what they was looking for."

      "Bit late, isn't it?" his wife queried.   "To come hunting now, after the winter and all that?"

      "Been ill, in the hospital she was," said Figgins.   "She couldn't talk or nothing, and was walking all funny too, with one of them long surgical things up her leg.   Just shows you, all those months after the accident and she's still not mended.   I wonder what they was hoping to find?"

      "Maybe that purse?   Don't you recall, Bert, you found it in the hedge, just before Christmas?   You know, that blue one on a string?   I know all it had in it was a few bits of paper and some foreign money - no good here - but still ..."

      "What happened to it?"

      "I give it to Lucy, remember?   It's where she keeps her bus money."

      Bert Figgins thought for a minute.   He'd liked the look of his two visitors, and felt inclined to help if he could.

      "So if that's what these people was after," he said, "I reckon it must be important.   Hadn't we better give it back to them?"

      "But what if it had nothing to do with them?" his wife reasoned.   "Like as not we'd never see it again, and anyway, where would we send it?   Did you get their address?"

      "No," said Figgins.   "But that poor little girl - if you could have seen her, looking all lost and doubtful."

      "Better tell the policeman then, next time we see him.   We ought to have handed it in when we found it, particularly as it had money in it, that's what I said."

      "But it wasn't proper money."

      "It might still be valuable - look, it's up here in the jar where I keep all the dud coins for Lucy to play with."

      She emptied out the jar which contained, among other things, a few dollar bills, and a handful of dimes, quarters and cents.

      Figgins pointed a fat finger.   "That's American money - I recognise George Washington's face, and Lincoln there.   Could be valuable after all."

      So Mrs. Figgins called at the police station the following day and told the constable all she knew.   The officer insisted he didn't want the money but, having just received a phone call from Dr. Latham, he was very enthusiastic about the purse.   Within minutes he was on the phone again to the hospital, and left a message asking the doctor to contact Baverbridge police station as soon as he was free.

      "Meanwhile, Mrs. Figgins, you'd better hang onto that purse and the money.   If the doctor and the girl want to see it for themselves, I'll send them up your way.   I'm sure we can leave it in your safe keeping.   After all, it's not exactly the Crown Jewels."

****

      When his phone rang, Dr. Latham happened to be outside keeping a promise to Wendy by letting her sit in his colleague's Jaguar.   She was less reluctant about approaching it this time, and without any prompting chose to take a rear seat.   She passed her hands thoughtfully over the upholstery, and took an interest in the electric window which the doctor was about to demonstrate, when she suddenly shivered and held out her arms to be rescued.

      "Too fast," she murmured.   She tried to put a comforting left thumb in her mouth, but it didn't feel right because of the plate, and the added frustration quickly led to tears.

      "It went too fast," she sobbed as the doctor carried her back to the ward.   "Made me feel sick."

      Dr. Latham returned to his office and found a note on his desk.   He made contact at once with the police, then rang Mrs. Figgins.   Overjoyed by her news, he asked her to see if there was anything else inside the purse, such as a name or a phone number.

      "No," said Mrs. Figgins.   "Along with the money, I did see a scrap of paper, but it meant nothing to me at the time."

      She doubted whether she could still find it after four months, but promised to try, assuring the doctor that he and the little girl would be most welcome to call any time and claim her property.

      Dr. Latham sat back and closed his eyes.   Everyone kept reminding him it wasn't a psychiatrist's job to play detective, but if it wasn't up to him to fit the jigsaw together, who else would?   Without his help, there could be no happy return home for Wendy once her treatment was over.

      He went over to his white plastic wallboard which he kept filled with details about Wendy's past.   There was no doubt that the child killed in the crash had been Sandy Barker, and this strongly suggested that Wendy's twin sister was still alive.   The question remained.   Where?

      Until yesterday it could have been anywhere.   Now he knew that Wendy had been to America.   It was known that Dogwood had landed at Gatwick, and since Wendy had travelling with him, her destination had to be somewhere to the west of Hampshire - most probably in South Devon, not far from Exeter.

      Evidently Wendy's father owned a troublesome car which had either broken down en route or was still standing in the airport car park.   Had some other relative now taken care of it?   If so, could they be traced?   There was much to be done, on top of his many other responsibilities.

      At the earliest opportunity, he took a day off and drove with Wendy down into Hampshire.   It was a bright, sunny day in late February, and the blue sky was festooned with pretty clouds.   Wendy was still wearing the uncomfortable plate in her mouth, but learning to cope with it.   This plucky, resilient little girl was a joy to have beside him as he drove through the peaceful landscape of open farmland with occasional clusters of cosy cottages, nestling in the comfort of a village church.

      At Baverbridge police station Dr. Latham was entrusted with details of Mr. Dogwood's home address and office contacts.   The man had worked with a firm of computer consultants in Exeter, and his job had involved selling software packages in southern England and parts of Europe.   A bachelor with no close relatives, apart from an elderly mother who lived in Exmouth, he had been returning that fatal day from a business trip to Holland.

      The doctor felt it might be worth visiting Exeter, but a day's journey there and back would be too much for his lively patient.   Perhaps when he and Barbara were free to take a weekend break, they'd travel down together with Wendy and stay overnight.   They might learn nothing, but he owed it to his patient to explore every lead.

      After lunch came the prearranged visit to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Figgins.   Following directions given over the phone, the doctor drove up a long bumpy track to the farmhouse, and parked his Granada outside.   Mrs. Figgins stood in the doorway surrounded by chickens - a plump, warm-hearted lady who greeted Wendy with a wide and friendly smile.

      "My, my!   So this is the little girl?   I must say she don't look none the worse for it now.   Come on in, my love, and we'll see if we can find you something you'll be able to eat.   Your doctor tells me you've got a plate fixed in your mouth to stop you chattering."

      Wendy gave Dr. Latham one of her scornful grins.

      "He also says you're fond of ice cream.   We make it ourselves on the farm, and you're just the sort of customer we need to test it.   Like to try some?"

      "Yesh, pleashe!" said Wendy.

      "Well, sit yourself down and I'll fetch it from the dairy."

      The farmer's wife disappeared while Dr. Latham stood with his back to Wendy, apparently gazing out towards the rolling fields, while keeping a discreet eye on his patient as she began to take an interest in her surroundings.

      The vast kitchen featured a large coal-fired cooking stove under a wide chimney breast, and a collection of sturdy pots and pans.   Across from the stove stood a plain wooden dresser containing a china dinner service.   The floor was smooth but uneven, its bare boards a perfect match for the large wooden table in the centre of the room.

      It was a quiet, peaceful house, smelling of old timber and good plain food.   Never one for sitting still, Wendy wandered around, looking first at the stove and utensils.   Predictably she came to the dresser where she noticed a small, semicircular purse with a blue cord attached.   She gazed intently at it for a moment, then picked it up.   Having watched her every move reflected in the window, Dr. Latham turned to look at her.

      Wendy was no longer idly curious;   she was staring hard at something she found oddly familiar.   With a puzzled expression, she glanced up at the doctor and held out the purse towards him.

      "What's that you've found?" he asked.

      "I'm not sure."

      "You've seen a purse before."

      "Yes, but ..."

      On a signal from Dr. Latham, Mrs. Figgins reappeared with the ice cream.   Wendy at once put the purse back on the dresser, and sat down to eat.   It was deliciously creamy, as only real ice cream can be, and her eyes and smile gave the farmer's wife a more sincere "Thank you!" than ever words could.   When she'd finished, she repeated her gratitude in carefully chosen phrases, and after handing back the empty dish, her attention became focussed once more on the purse.   Taking another cue from the doctor, Mrs. Figgins asked Wendy if she knew whose it was.

      "I had one jus' rike it," she replied.

      Dr. Latham moved closer.   "Did you use it for anything special?"

      Wendy's eyes were shining and alert.   "My holiday money!"

      "There's some sort of money inside that one," said Mrs. Figgins.   "Go on.   Take a look."

      Wendy did so.   The purse contained about eight dollars in notes, quarters and dimes which she recognised at once.   Wendy looked up at the two adults with such a glow of joy that the farmer's wife lifted her apron to wipe the corner of her eye.

      Dr. Latham stood behind Wendy and rested his hands gently on her shoulders.

      "You remember Mr. Figgins, the farmer we saw a few days ago?   He found that purse in the hedge, close to where you saw your special piece of paper.   We reckon it must be yours."

      "The special paper too," exclaimed Mrs. Figgins.   "There was some papers inside the purse, I do remember that.   But for the life of me, I can't think where I put them for safe keeping.   I put the money in the jar on the dresser, I know that.   But where did I put the other?   There was a square card, I recall, with a few colours on it, and writing."

      She scratched the side of her head and looked vague.

      "You see, Wendy," said Dr. Latham softly.   "You're not the only one who can't always remember things."

      "I'm sure I never threw it out," the woman continued, embarrassed by the potential importance of a meaningless scrap of litter.

      "Never mind," the doctor consoled her.   "Today's find has already been most rewarding."

      "Yes," she replied, "and it was a delight to see.   Such a pretty little girl, too!   I wish my Lucy kept herself looking that clean."

      As they said their farewells, Wendy wondered whether she was allowed to take the purse with her.

      "Go on, my love, that's yours," said Mrs. Figgins as Wendy offered to return it.   "We've only been keeping it safe till you came back."

      Soon they were driving slowly down the bumpy road again towards the highway.   Wendy tried to kneel on the seat, hoping to wave to Mrs. Figgins through the rear window, but it wasn't easy with a leg that wouldn't bend.   Then she noticed Farmer Figgins in a field nearby, so she gave him a friendly wave instead.

      "We've one final call to make," Dr. Latham said as they reached the main road.   "They can't offer much help in solving your case, but I'd like to pop in for a few minutes and check that everything's all right.   We'll call it a humanitarian gesture."

      He drove to a residential area and pulled up outside a terraced house.   The door was answered by a cautious young girl who told him her mother was out shopping.   But a neighbour was there keeping an eye on her, and after a brief conversation with the friendly doctor they both came out to the car to meet Wendy.

      "Wendy, you remember the lady who came to see you in the ward a few weeks ago?   Well, this is her daughter, Karen Barker."

      Wendy couldn't resist another Woof, just for her own satisfaction.  

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