Colin M. Johnson's Fiction - Novels

"ONE POTATO, TWO"

by Colin M. Johnson

CHAPTER 10


      The biggest breakthrough in the quest for Wendy's identity came in late March, and began with an incoming phone call.

      "Is that Dr. Latham?" said a faint voice.   "This is Elsie Figgins, remember?   The one who had your little girl's purse?   Well, I've just found that piece of paper I was talking about.   You'll never guess where it was - on top of the dresser all the time, but for the life of me I couldn't think where I'd put it till I happened to be doing a spot of dusting."

      "You're saying you've found the other items that were in the purse?"

      "Just the one.   I didn't know whether to post it off in case it never got anywhere or whether to phone, and Bert suggested I ought to do both, so I'm phoning now to say I've got it.   I'll be posting it tonight."

      "Yes, Mrs. Figgins, thank you, but before you do - could you please describe exactly what it is you've found?"

      "Why yes, I'm looking at it right now.   It's just a bit of a card, torn off something, with printing on it.   It says BA 238 and some numbers, and then NON-SMOKING, things like that."

      Dr. Latham leapt to his feet.   "I know what that sounds like, Mrs. Figgins.   I guarantee you're looking at an airline boarding pass.   Can you see a typed surname of any kind?"

      There was an agonising pause.   Then she replied: "Yes, it looks like Brad-something.   I can't make it out clearly - it's got all damp from being out in the hedge a month or more.   I reckon it says ...   ooh, it could be BRADMAN?   Possibly BRADMONT - and then there's a bit that looks like MISS W.   Is that of any help?"

      Cyril Latham could barely find words to thank her.

      "Mrs. Figgins, that's absolutely ...   well, it's marvellous," he cried.   "I have to tell you ...   I must say, Mrs. Figgins, if Wendy and I were there this minute, I'd make her give you the biggest hug you've ever had in your whole wonderful life.   I'd even hug you myself."

      In contrast to his excitement, Mrs. Figgins sounded quite unconcerned.

      "I'm glad it's of some use then.   Sorry I couldn't put my hands on it sooner.   I'll post it off then?"

      "Please do, and thank you a thousand times.   Mrs. Figgins - Elsie - we love you."

      Dr. Latham put down the phone, paused for a moment to blow his nose and wipe his eyes, then ran all the way to the ward.

      He found Wendy kneeling on a chair as best she could, with her right leg laid out across a small table, engrossed in a magazine article about the ozone layer.   He lifted her up, spun her round, and sat her down on the big table in front of Nurse Edwards.   Then he grabbed a pencil from the nurse's desk, placed it in the bewildered child's hand, and held it poised over a sheet of paper.

      "Nurse Edwards!" he wept through uncontrollable laughter.   "Forgive me, but I'm praying this lovely child is about to write for us the two most important words in her entire life."

      Holding Wendy's right hand steadily under his, he wrote the letters W-E-N-D-Y, and then underneath B-R-A-D.   As he prepared to add the M he could feel Wendy's hand taking over, so he gently let go.   Wendy at once transferred the pen to her left hand where it rightly belonged, and added the letters O-R-E, putting put a firm dot at the end.

      "You see?" he cried.   "You see?   I didn't finish it, she did!   Nurse Edwards, allow me to introduce to you my very special patient Miss Wendy Bradmore!   Oh God, I'm sorry ...   forgive me ..."

      With tears running down his face, and speechless as the corners of his mouth began twitching beyond control, he gave Wendy a loving kiss on both cheeks, returned her to her chair, placed the magazine in front of her, and fled to the far end of the ward.

      "Miss Wendy Bradmore!" he cried.   "We all love you, and today I love just about everybody!"

      In the sanctuary of his office, he locked the door and allowed his emotions to flow freely for several minutes.   Then he blew his nose hard, and made a number of phone calls.

      After giving the news first to his wife Barbara, then informing members of the executive staff that they could at last complete an important entry in their records, he went to his car and drove to the public library where he spent half an hour scanning phone directories covering the entire south and west of England.

      Later when he came off duty, Dr. Latham escorted Wendy and Barbara to a nearby restaurant for tea and cream cakes.

      "Why couldn't she remember that before?" Barbara asked.

      "Simple!   The name doesn't MEAN anything.   It forms no picture in the mind.   If she'd been Wendy Trolleybus, Wendy Elephant, Wendy Marmalade or Wendy Screwdriver, we might've had fewer problems.   But she's a Bradmore, and I defy you to find me one illustration of a Bradmore."

      Wendy allowed the remark to pass into history before requesting some paper and a pencil.   Barbara rummaged through her bag and produced a small notelet and a silver propelling pencil, whereupon the child busied herself as the others looked on curiously.

      "Two Bradmores!" she announced, holding up a stick-drawing of two identical girls clasping hands.

      "Looks more like a couple of old potatoes," laughed Cyril, for which Wendy gave him a gentle kick under the table.  

*****

      Feeling unaccountably relaxed, Sarah sat in the front room, reading for the third time a letter which had just arrived from California.   Her aunt had written to Hilary's parents a fortnight earlier, detailing all they knew of the disastrous end to the Florida holiday.

      Hilary's reply was long and chatty, mostly full of news about their exciting life in the States.   Her father had been seconded to work on a four-year contract with the American branch of his firm, and Hilary was having to learn all kinds of different social customs.   She missed many home comforts, such as Marmite sandwiches, crumpets, real ginger beer, and of course her friends, but she'd discovered many exciting new delicacies too - grape jelly, blueberry muffins and root beer.

      She outlined the events of that fateful Tuesday in October when they'd all landed safely at Gatwick after the holiday, saying how relieved she was to see both her parents waiting for her, and how sorry she was that Wendy hadn't been asked to ride with them back to Taunton.   Hilary had called round a week later to show them some of the snaps she'd taken, and finding no-one in she'd assumed they'd all gone off to collect Sarah.   This was as much as she knew.

      The letter ended with a firm invitation, almost begging Sarah to fly out to California and visit Disneyland with the Billings family, to make up for the holiday Hilary had enjoyed in her place.

      Certain now that his brother and family had returned from Florida on the Tuesday, Jim had to accept that they'd somehow met with a fatal accident while travelling in someone else's car.   Given a firm date and the approximate time, he renewed his efforts to uncover the truth, contacting police commissioners in every likely county, and obtaining press reports of all serious road accidents on that particular Tuesday.   And everything pointed to one fatal crash in Hampshire involving two drivers - William Dogwood and Alec Barker.

      The following Saturday Jim and Dottie left Sarah with the couple next door, and drove down to Hampshire to pursue their enquiries, in the course of which Jim learned of a similar request made just a few weeks earlier.   Wondering if the names of Allen Bradmore and Alec Barker might have become confused, he asked if he might contact the bereaved family.

      The sergeant made a quick phone call, and came back to the desk grinning.   "I can provide you full details in due course, but official wheels can grind a little slowly.   Mrs. Barker herself isn't on the phone, but I've just spoken to Mrs. Archer at number twenty-seven who says you're welcome to pop in and see her.   If it's details you want, I think you'll find she knows more than most."

      Half an hour later they stood at the door of number twenty-seven.   Delighted to have someone new to tell her story to, Mrs. Archer invited them in, explaining that Mrs. Barker and her daughter were away for the weekend, and giving her own version of the accident in graphic detail as if she'd witnessed it herself.

      "You never saw anything like it.   There was this huge tanker, well sometimes Alec used to leave it parked right outside, blocking our view.   Anyway, he'd apparently picked up little Sandy, his daughter, from school, and was taking a short cut home when this awful maniac came racing towards him in one of them big Jaguars, all sporty looking, you know.   Well, you can imagine - there wasn't room for the two of them on that narrow road, not with the speed they were going.   The car and Alec's lorry collided head on - ooh, it must have been over eighty miles an hour.   And the fireball!   My, you never saw such an evil column of black smoke - we could see it clearly from here, three miles away."

      Jim managed to interrupt with a question.   "Can you tell us anything about another girl I'm told they found?"

      "Oh, yes!   Poor Mrs. Barker, we tried to keep it from her, you know.   But they could tell by the clothes it wasn't her Sandy.   We didn't want her getting all worked up over nothing, you know, but still she read about it in the end, and went scooting off to London on a wild goose chase, after finding the report in an old newspaper, all about the accident.   It wasn't any use, though.   Poor soul, we felt so sorry for her, and helpless too."

      "Do you still have that newspaper report?"

      "What, now?   I shouldn't think so.   I mean, who'd want a souvenir like that, specially when it wasn't young Sandy after all.   Mind you, they thought it could have been then, for all they knew.   She was in a coma for weeks, so they said.   But when Mrs. Barker saw the child for herself and it wasn't Sandy, can you imagine the disappointment, poor soul, going all that way for nothing?   She says they were very good to her, the doctor especially, even though it was all a false alarm.   Would you like a cup of tea?"

      Jim declined politely.   "We must be on our way.   But you have been most helpful.   Thank you."

      Finally breaking free, they drove off in search of the local newspaper offices.   But it was already lunchtime and by the time they got there, it had closed.   So Jim returned to the police station and asked for the exact location of the accident.

      Again the sergeant commented on the number of people wanting such information, mentioning this time a certain Dr. Latham.   Jim made a note of the name.

      They visited the site, but saw nothing of any help.   Parked in the lay-by with a flask of coffee, Jim and Dottie felt utterly dejected, putting their arms around each other as they tried to piece together everything they'd learned so far.

      "We know they returned to England on the Tuesday.   Hilary's letter confirms this, and there's plenty of evidence to show they never reached home - no reply on the phone, the car not being there, nor the luggage.   We know the car was left at Gatwick, so they must have tried to get home by some other means - it seems they accepted a lift from this Jaguar driver, and ended up right here."

      Dottie gave an involuntary shudder.   "Let's hope it happened so suddenly they knew nothing about it."

      Jim gave her a comforting squeeze.   "This accident involved one child and four adults, only two of whom were identified.   We both know who the other two adults were, and it seems the child was Mrs. Barker's daughter, though I'm still confused.   If Wendy didn't go home with Hilary, she must have ended up here as well.   The question is - did she survive or not?   I've seen one newspaper report claiming there were no survivors.   Yet Mrs. Barker's neighbour mentioned a local paper which seemed to claim otherwise.   We need that other press report."

      "True," said Dottie, looking at her watch, "but if we don't get home soon, someone else will think we've gone missing."

      Not surprisingly, neither Jim nor Dottie could sleep that night, their minds haunted by mysteries still to be unravelled.   Jim was worried by another problem too, which he voiced softly in case Sarah was still awake.

      "We've learned the truth about Allen and Trudy, so one of us has to break the news to our little one."

      "She hardly refers to them any more, Jim.   I guess we've proved effective as substitutes.   But she keeps asking me where Wendy is.   She knows something, Jim, and I can well understand it.   That girl's convinced Wendy's still alive."

      "Perhaps by this time tomorrow, we may have some answers," Jim yawned.   "Let's just pray they're the ones we want.   Good night, my love."

      But still they couldn't relax.   Both lay awake for a further hour, each trying not to disturb the other, until Dottie realised neither of them was asleep.

      "Jim," she whispered, "it's less than two weeks to Sarah's birthday.   Perhaps we shouldn't say anything till afterwards.   It's going to be very stressful as it is."

      "The glorious twelfth!" Jim responded dreamily.   "Any ideas for a special treat?"

      "There's only one present I'd like to give her, and I don't need to tell you what that is."

      "You know," he went on after a pause, "whenever we go digging into this wretched business, there's a nagging thought that always bugs me.   Sarah puts on a cheerful face, but how much are we upsetting her each time we make these forlorn expeditions?   When we take her with us, she comes home tearful like she was in Taunton.   If she stays behind, I feel guilty as hell leaving her on her own, as if it's plain we don't want her with us.   Either way, it can't be good for her."

      "So why not book her a holiday somewhere on her own?   That may give us enough time to complete whatever else we have to do."

      "And where can we possibly send her without it looking as if we're tired of looking after her?   I'd hate her to think we simply wanted her out of the way."

      "There's always Hilary Billings," Dottie reminded him.

      "California?"

      "Why not?   Special treat for the eighth birthday?   Trip to California to visit an old friend?   Come on, Jim, we can afford it and the invitation's plain enough.   That's your answer!"

      But Jim had misgivings.   "And she'll know she's re-enacting exactly what her sister did six months ago, and look how that turned out.   It could do more harm than good."

      "Not necessarily," Dottie persisted.   "Anyway, I think Sarah's old enough to make up her own mind about that."

      "Maybe," he conceded.   "See how she takes to the idea in the morning."

      The sleep Jim sorely needed overwhelmed him at last, but Dottie couldn't settle, not before she'd accomplished another important task.

      She lay and thought about it for a full hour, nervously glancing at the bedside clock and doing mental arithmetic about international time differences.   At three in the morning she got up, and after checking that Sarah was sound asleep, she crept downstairs to the phone and dialled a fourteen-digit number.   The voice at the other end had the reassuring warmth of a Somerset accent.

      "Yes, this is Vera Billings, who's calling?   You sound a long way away."

      "I am, and I'm trying to talk quietly so as not to wake the others.   This is Dorothy Bradmore, Jim's wife and Sarah's aunt."

      "My goodness, Aunt Dottie!   How nice to hear from you.   How is Sarah?"

      "Oh, she's fine now.   She'll be eight in a few days' time."

      "I know - we've already sent her a card.   Still no news of Wendy?"

      "No, and naturally Sarah's very upset, though she doesn't show it.   Now Mrs. Billings - Vera - this is an expensive call so I'll jump straight in and ask you a walloping big favour.   If it's not convenient, say so, and I'll make other arrangements.   It's about Sarah's birthday on the twelfth.   As you can imagine, it'll be tough on her own, and Jim and I need to organise something extra exciting, a monumental treat!   So what we're wondering is this ..."

      Vera Billings laughed.   "You'd like to fly out here and stay with us for a week or so?   My dear, we'd be delighted.   Hilary keeps asking when Sarah can visit us, and we've got tons of room - it's a marvellous idea.   How soon can you come?"

      "Well, we were thinking of sending Sarah on her own, if that's all right.   There are many things we need to do here.   But Sarah's could come straight away, just as soon as we can book her flight.   Are you quite sure that's okay?"

      "Don't worry.   We'll take care of everything.   Oh, this is exciting, I can't wait to tell Hilary.   She hasn't made many friends here yet, and a lot of the children make fun of her accent, you know how kids are!"

      "We're learning," Dottie smiled to herself.   "If that's agreed then, I'll call tomorrow and confirm the details.   You'll guarantee to meet Sarah in Los Angeles?"

      "No problem," said Vera.   "I suggest you put her on the earliest possible flight, then she won't be too jet-lagged to enjoy her birthday.   Just name the hour and we'll be there.   And thank you - this is just the tonic Hilary needs."

      Dottie put down the phone and took a deep breath.   Vera Billings had sounded so enthusiastic, there could be no backing out now.   Satisfied at having done her best, Dottie crept back to bed and finally secured a few hours' sleep.

      The following morning, she told Jim of her call to Vera Billings.

      "Good girl!   It struck me in my dreams we couldn't easily contact her for another eight hours.   I was planning to go off on my own today anyway, to find out what needs to be done at Gatwick, so perhaps I can book Sarah's flight while I'm there - assuming, of course, she agrees to go."

      During breakfast, Dottie voiced the idea of a birthday surprise.

      "Do you want to know more, or shall we keep it a secret till the last minute?"

      "I like secrets," Sarah said.   "But I also like looking forward to things, as long as they're something I want."

      Naturally Sarah wanted only one thing, and that was to find Wendy.   She sensed that Wendy was getting nearer and nearer all the time, but it was something she herself had no control over - she'd done all she could.

      "Then here's what I suggest," said her aunt.   "We'll fix everything up, and I'll offer you a few clues each day.   How's that?"

      Sarah nodded, and immediately wanted the first clue.

      "Well, there might be a journey involved.   A long journey."

      "Where to?" asked Sarah.   "Does it mean I can use my passport?"

      "It means travelling somewhere on your own.   Do you think you'll be all right?"

      "Depends whether I get lost like Wendy did."

      "I think the chances of that happening twice are a million to one, don't you?"

      "Can I ask one more question?   Am I going to find Wendy when I get there?"

      Dottie took her niece in her arms.   "I only wish we could arrange that, my darling, but I don't want you to be disappointed.   I'm afraid we're never going to see your Mummy and Daddy again - we know that, don't we."

      "I've always had a spare Mummy and Daddy, but I don't have a spare Wendy.   I know she's somewhere - you've just got to keep on looking till you find her, that's all.   You've just got to find her for me, please, because I know she's waiting to be found.   I just know she is."

      Dottie promised nothing.   But when Sarah was otherwise occupied, she phoned the airline straight away and made a reservation for the following Monday's flight to Los Angeles.  

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