It’d been a risky strategy but he’d been the instigator, waiting outside her school one afternoon, following her to the bus stop and sliding into the seat beside her.
“Hello, Birdie,” he said. “I’ve missed you so much.”
She didn’t want to make a fuss on the top deck of a crowded bus and pretended to look out of the window while he quietly pleaded his case.
“Your mum and I fell out of love but I never stopped loving you. You are my little girl.”
“I’m nearly eighteen. And you lied to us,” she said.
“I never lied about how I feel about you.”
He’d brought a present with him in case he needed a sweetener. A pretty silver necklace with a pendant. And her face softened.
“It’s mistletoe,” he explained as she opened the small box, “because you always loved Christmas—and kisses.”
It swung things his way and they talked more and planned a second meeting before she got off the bus.
“Will you tell your mother you’ve seen me?” he said.
“I don’t think so.” Birdie smiled. “She might not understand. Let’s keep it our little secret for the moment.”
When Charlie had got fed up with taking bus rides, he’d given her a key to the house in Addison Gardens. “Give me a call if you’re coming round so I can make sure to be there,” he said. Later he wrote down the code for the house alarm “just in case I have to go out.”
And he was congratulating himself on reeling her back in when he realized a small silver rabbit—one of his first purchases for his collection—had gone missing. He thought he was getting careless, but when, a month later, he couldn’t find a favorite charm bracelet, he sacked the cleaner and was about to report it to the police. But then a silver pillbox disappeared. And one evening he came home early and found Birdie there.
“I tried to call,” she said, eyes of innocence. “I didn’t think you’d mind. I was just watching the telly and waiting for you to come home.”
And she curled up beside him on the sofa, telling him about a university course she was keen on, calling him Daddy.
He tried to enjoy it—it was what he’d longed for, wasn’t it? But he wasn’t able to stop wondering how often she’d let herself in and out without him realizing.
Charlie had blamed Lila—he persuaded himself that she’d found out about him and told Birdie to steal from him. To punish him. And his old rage was exhumed and given fresh life. He planned to confront his ex-wife and give her the list of stolen items. Make her afraid that their daughter was about to be reported to the police. He could see the scene in his head. Lila in tears begging him to forgive them.
And he would be the big man and sort it all out; of course he would. And she’d be so grateful. And she’d know he couldn’t be played.
But he had a bit of business to get out of the way first. A brilliantly simple plan he’d come up with to sort out a financial problem.
And suddenly everything came crashing down around him—plates skittering off their poles and smashing into tiny pieces.
The burglary had ruined everything. Bennett had ruined everything.
And you, Charlie, a voice whispered in his head. What would Birdie say if she knew? the voice said. Louder. If she knew what you did?
Now only Bennett knew the truth of that night. He was the final witness. And Charlie wondered how long he’d waited at their meeting place.
Charlie shuddered and it brought him back into the room. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. A fly was buzzing somewhere in the room. Landing on his face. Torturing him.
He was wasting time. He tried to jerk the chair toward the door.
The legs squealed against the tiles as he inched backward but he got too eager and tried to jump the chair farther. It lurched onto two legs and fell sideways to the floor. He lay there, moving on to plan B. He’d have to wait for his tormentors to come back and talk his way out, promise a bit of money. He was practicing his lines in his head when he realized the fly was no longer buzzing.
Someone must have let it out. While he was fighting to get free. Opened the door behind him. And come in. He tried to turn his head to see.
A torch blinked on and blinded him.
“Toby, old man? Kevin?” he gurgled through his gag.
Silence.
“Toby? Kevin?” He could hear the guttural tremble in his voice growing. It wasn’t them, was it?
“Stuart?” he whispered.
Fifty
SUNDAY, AUGUST 25, 2019