MANDA FINALLY GAVE up and put down her book. The train was just too noisy. She was about to grab her headphones when a girl of about eight sat down next to her. Amanda gave her a faint smile, and then the girl said something.
‘Sorry?’ Amanda said.
‘Turkey dinos!’ the girl said.
‘What?’
‘I want turkey dinos for my dinner. And smileys.’
Amanda didn’t usually care for children, and certainly didn’t when she was trying to relax on a train journey home. But every now and then, she could be charmed by one. She loved how they were so openly strange and odd, speaking in their non-sequiturs and infusing the mundane world with their strangeness.
‘Oh, sorry, darling,’ Amanda said, her smile genuine, ‘I’m not your mummy. Do you want me to help you find her?’
‘And spaghetti hoops,’ the girl said. ‘The dinos and the smileys are too dry without them.’ She wrinkled her nose.
On the seat across, an old couple was smiling pleasantly at them. The grandparents, Amanda assumed.
‘Isn’t she precious?’ the old woman said.
‘I’m having turkey dinos for my dinner,’ the girl said to the woman proudly.
‘Turkey dinosaurs,’ the old man said. ‘Very nice. I must admit, I’m partial to a good fish finger sandwich myself with loads of mayonnaise, no matter what the doctor says. I won’t have him telling me how to eat my food, thank you very much!’
‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’ the old woman said.
Amanda felt a jolt run through her when she said this. She barely caught the girl saying that her name was Eleanor, and that she was having turkey dinos for her tea, when Amanda said to the old couple:
‘Oh, she’s not yours?’
The old man and the woman burst out laughing.
‘No, love, I think our having-children days are long over!’
Amanda’s laugh was polite, albeit tinged with impatience.
‘Her grandparents, I meant.’
‘Oh no,’ said the woman, more solemnly. ‘No, we had a granddaughter, but she died, I’m afraid. A long time ago. She was very young.’
The old man bowed his head, putting his hand on the old woman’s.
At this point, Amanda stood up. She stepped past the girl—Eleanor, she reminded herself—and walked out into the train aisle. Clearing her throat, she said:
‘Excuse me, sorry to bother you all, but does this girl belong to anyone?’ She recognised her wording was a little odd, but wasn’t sure how else to vocalise such a strange situation. ‘Her name’s Eleanor. Is her mother or father here? Or her guardian? Anyone?’
When she finished speaking, a woman stood up. Amanda felt immense relief, and a little silly. All that had happened was the girl had sat next to her, and of course the mother was around nearby. When the mother reached Amanda, she took her purse out of her bag, and handed Amanda a pound coin. Before she knew what was happening, or before she could stop it, other people were handing over coins and notes.
One man, seeing her hand bulging with money, shook his head.
‘Must be new,’ he said. He sipped the final dregs of coffee from a small paper cup and then gave it a shake. Then, he took all the money that had been pooling in Amanda’s hand and poured it into the cup. He added a five-pound note to it.
‘Don’t spend it all at once!’ he said to Eleanor, winking. Eleanor giggled.
After all of this, Amanda’s cup was overflowing with money. She was about to protest when the old woman said:
‘You can get plenty of turkey dinosaurs with that, my love.’
‘And smileys!’ the girl said, grinning a smile rendered incomplete by her gap teeth.
‘What are smileys?’ the old man asked, as a dumbfounded Amanda sat back down.
‘Smiley faces, of course!’ said Eleanor, scoffing. Amanda was about to admonish the girl for her rudeness before remembering that she wasn’t her child. That was something you did not want to do, tell off someone else’s child. ‘They’re made of potatoes, and they’re all smiling. Well, not all of them, maybe. Sometimes they get crooked in the oven, and they get sad…or angry. But mostly they’re happy.’
‘That sounds delicious,’ said the old man. Then, turning to the old woman, he said: ‘You know, love, all this talk of smileys has made me fancy a good old fish-finger sandwich. I think I’ll have that for my tea, with veritable lashings of mayonnaise, and damned be the blasted doctor.’
‘That sounds good,’ the woman agreed. ‘I think I’ll join you. Yes, we’ll pick some fish fingers up on the way home!’
‘Isn’t it sad what happened to the man who ran the shop?’ the old man said to his wife. ‘To beat a man to death like that for less than a hundred quid in the till. What a world we live in, eh?’
A few moments later, the train was pulling into Amanda’s station. As people began making their way to the door, Amanda hoped that the parent or guardian of Eleanor would come to claim her, but nobody did. When the doors opened, and people started leaving, Amanda began to panic. She called out again to ask if the girl belonged to anyone. No one answered. One man shook his head angrily, and muttered:
‘It’s not enough for some people.’
The mother must have got off at the last stop. Amanda needed to get off too, but couldn’t leave Eleanor alone. She was not good with decision-making and had often been unable to decide if this was the main reason her life was in a detritus. But moments like this forced a decision out of you. Hearing the beeping noise, which indicated the door was about to close, she took Eleanor’s hand, and quickly hurried her out of the door.
Once on the platform, she searched out a member of staff. There was nobody. The increasing automation of everything rendered physical staff unnecessary at stations. She walked down the entire length of the platform twice, and across at the other, but could see no one.
‘It’s okay,’ Amanda said to Eleanor, ‘we’re going to find someone to help.’
But as she spoke, she realised that she was saying it more to herself. Not just because her worry was beginning to crescendo into outright terror, but because Eleanor seemed happy enough obliviously bobbing along next to her.
She had thought earlier how cute kids were, with their strange little ways. This was true, but the other side of that coin was how unsettling they could be. As Eleanor walked alongside her, Amanda at first thought that she was singing to herself, before realising she was talking and laughing along with some invisible interlocutor. At three o’clock on a summer’s afternoon that might have been adorable; at seven on a freezing winter’s evening in a seemingly deserted train station, it was distinctly chilling.
Amanda was about to give up hope when she saw the ticket office. She ran inside, expecting to see it peopled with machines too, when she saw a bored-looking man sitting at one of the windows. Almost laughing with relief, Amanda walked over to the window.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I –’
‘The machines,’ the man said.
‘Sorry?’
‘The machines. You can get all your tickets and passes there.’
‘No,’ said Amanda. ‘I’m not buying a ticket. This girl here, I think she’s lost, and –’
‘Lost property’s closed past five o’clock on weekdays and three on weekends. If you need to report –’
‘No, you fucking idiot,’ said Amanda, unable to stop herself. ‘I’m not reporting lost property, I –’
Amanda was startled by the sudden incursion of the intercom overhead.
‘We do not tolerate any abuse of our staff, either physically or verbally.’
Amanda turned back to the man, but he had pulled down the partition on his window. Amanda was about to swear again when she saw Eleanor looking up at her.
It had been a long day, following a long succession of such days. She was exhausted and frustrated almost to the point of tears. All she wanted right now was to be in her bath with her book and wine. She did not ask the universe for much, and it had not even given her this.
But none of this was Eleanor’s fault. And she had to appreciate that this must be as hard—harder—for Eleanor than it was for Amanda. Amanda knelt down and gave Eleanor what she hoped was a convincing smile.
‘Sweetheart, do you know where your mummy and daddy are?’
Eleanor did not respond.
‘Or whoever it is who looks after you? An adult. Do you have their number so I can call them? They must be worried sick, and I just want to let them know that you’re alright.’
Eleanor did not respond.
This was the other side of children, how frustrating they could be. There were many reasons why Amanda had never wanted to have them, but their stubbornness, and the need to retain your composure despite this diffidence, was one. Amanda put her hand on Eleanor’s shoulder.
‘Darling, I’m sure that there are people right now who love you very much and who are missing you and who are worried sick. I live just round the corner, and I can look after you until they arrive, but you need to tell me who they are and give me their number so I can call them.’
Eleanor did not respond. Suddenly, Amanda wondered if she might be autistic or have some kind of learning difficulty. She felt bad, reminding herself how confusing and scary this situation must be for Eleanor.
‘I’ll tell you what, darling: like I said, I live just round the corner. What we’re going to do, okay, is we’re going to go back to my place, and I’m going to call the police. Then we’re going to find somebody to pick you up.’
‘Turkey dinos,’ Eleanor muttered.
Amanda was about to say no, that this was not the time for turkey dinosaurs, but she supposed it couldn’t hurt. Whatever was happening, and whatever would happen, Eleanor still needed to have her dinner. If nothing else, the dinosaurs would keep her pacified until the social services of whoever it was came to collect her.
Before going to her place, Amanda took Eleanor to the shop opposite her flat, where she picked out her dinos, smileys, and spaghetti hoops.
Once at home, Amanda preheated the oven. She then gave Eleanor the remote control and free rein of the television. While Eleanor was watching, Amanda rang the police. She wasn’t sure if this was the sort of situation that warranted the police, but knew that they would at least direct her to who she needed to talk to. Once she had got through the operator, and waited a few minutes, her call was eventually answered. She was a little concerned that it had taken that long.
‘Hello, police,’ said the police.
‘Oh, hello,’ said Amanda. ‘Yes, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was on the train home, and there was this girl there. She didn’t seem to be with anybody, and I think she’s missing, so –’
‘You’re reporting a missing child.’
‘No. Well, yes, I suppose I am. She was on the train with me. She came and sat next to me, and no one on the train claimed her.’
‘So, wait, you’re saying that you kidnapped the child? That’s a very serious crime, I reckon. People don’t look too kindly on that kind of thing.’
‘No, I didn’t kidnap her. That’s what I’m saying. I need to give her to, well, whoever it is—social services, child support, whoever’s responsible for this kind of thing. I need them to find her parents or her guardian. She won’t tell me who she belongs to.’
‘Hmm,’ said the police. ‘Okay, I think I’m understanding you now. The tinnitus might be getting bad in my right, but that’s why God gave us two ears, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Amanda, ‘yes, good. Thank you. I just need someone to come and get her, please. I’m giving her her dinner.’
‘Turkey dinos,’ Eleanor said absently, without looking away from the TV.
‘I’m giving her her turkey dinosaurs for dinner—and her name’s Eleanor, by the way, I don’t have a last name—but I need someone to come and get her.’
‘Do you have a pen?’ the police said.
‘Yes,’ said Amanda, ‘yes, one sec…okay, I’ve got it.’
‘Brilliant, so if you write this number down, please—826 573 1931.’
Amanda wrote it down.
‘That,’ said the police, ‘is your crime reference number. It’s for your insurance records.’
‘Okay,’ said Amanda, ‘and what’s going to happen about Eleanor?’
‘I can assure you that officers are doing everything they can to locate your daughter.’
‘What? No. No. She’s not my daughter. And she’s not lost. She’s here. I need someone to come and get her.’
‘These things can take time, but please be assured that we will do everything to locate her. However, just in case, I would make sure you hold on to that number. Between you and me, and you’ll forgive my language, insurance companies are real bastards and they’ll do anything not to pay. So make sure you have the number. Is there anything else I can help you with today?’
‘You didn’t help me with what I needed. I need to –’
‘That is absolutely no problem. You have a nice day now—or night, I suppose!—and keep safe. What lovely weather, eh? Goodbye.’
When the call disconnected, Amanda had to restrain all her inclinations to chuck her phone across the room in frustration.
‘Turkey dinos?’ Eleanor said from next to Amanda, causing her to jump.
‘What?’
‘They’re going to burn,’ Eleanor said.
Amanda was about to tell Eleanor that they couldn’t burn because she had never put them in the oven, but then she smelled the unmistakable smell of burning. She ran over to the oven where, sure enough, the turkey dinosaurs were at the point of going extinct. She managed to get them out, and was relieved to hear that Eleanor liked her turkey dinosaurs charred.
‘It makes me less scared they’re gonna come alive and eat me!’
Ten minutes later, Eleanor was sitting in front of the TV with her turkey dinosaurs, smiley faces, spaghetti hoops, and orange juice, looking just about the happiest person in the world. For all her stress, Amanda couldn’t help but smile. It was quite endearing really, how children needed so little to be happy. She wished she could remember a time when something as minor as this could bring her such, or any, joy.
Eleanor picked up one of the dinosaurs and walked it over to a smiley face that she picked up with her other hand. Speaking quietly to herself, she created a dialogue between the two. Amanda had to concede that it was cute as the dinosaur danced side to side and the smiley face nodded.
Then, Eleanor took the dinosaur and jammed it into the smiley face. She made roaring and chomping noises as the dinosaur began pounding into the smiley face, smashing it into mash, before Eleanor popped its tattered corpse into her mouth and chewed it happily. Then, she began portraying the smiley, screaming in agony as it was devoured. She then smiled sweetly, patted the dinosaur on the head, and then gleefully ripped its head off with her teeth.
While this wasn’t why she disliked them, Amanda had always been aware of this about children. How cruel they could be, how callous. The essential creepiness, almost eeriness of them. How they would talk to themselves and invent entire little worlds. She remembered how vivid her own imaginary friend had been when she was a child; how, at one point, her mother had been so scared of him she had demanded that he leave her house, as if he was a real person.
But Amanda could not get distracted. She went on the Internet and found some helplines for missing children. The first one she rang didn’t answer, and the second disconnected immediately on starting the call. She guessed this was from her smashing her phone, before remembering that she had not done that. She wasn’t sure what was happening, although such helplines presumably never closed. She found the number of a children’s charity, but the automated voice on her phone cheerily told her that she had ‘dialled an incorrect number.’
She was beginning to lose hope when she finally managed to get through to one. She was so relieved that she had to calm herself down as she spoke to the woman on the other end. She explained the situation to her, and then the woman said:
‘Well, to be honest, we don’t usually work this late, but I think in your case we can make an exception.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so much. She doesn’t seem too frightened, but obviously I’m concerned for her and want her to get back to—to, well, wherever it is she needs to be.’
‘Size?’ the woman said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Her size—shoe, clothes.’
‘Oh, erm, I’m not sure, I can –’
‘Any allergies, medication we should know about?’
‘To be honest, I’m not…why are –’
‘Turkey dinos!’ Eleanor screamed loudly, causing Amanda to jump a little.
‘We’ll be over in ten minutes,’ the woman said, and hung up.
Amanda’s relief was tempered when she realised that she hadn’t given her address, but when she tried to ring the number again, it was engaged. She was about to swear, but then she stopped herself, remembering Eleanor.
‘How, erm, how are you, Eleanor? Are you okay?’ Amanda asked, walking over to her. She wasn’t quite sure exactly how you talked to children. You couldn’t speak to them like adults, but then again you didn’t want to patronise them. All her friends who had children said how scarily precocious they were these days.
Eleanor had finished her food and was currently immersed in an episode of SpongeBob.
‘Who are you people?’ Patrick screamed.
Eleanor burst out laughing, pointing at Patrick.
‘Can I get you anything?’ Amanda asked.
Without looking around and barely opening her mouth, she muttered ‘turkey dinos’ under her breath.
‘Well, no, darling, you can’t have any more turkey dinosaurs right now. But I’ve just been on the phone with some really nice people, and they’re going to come and –’
Before she could continue, there was a knock on the door.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘And they’re they are. That was fast!’
She answered the door to four people, three women and one man, all carrying boxes. One of the women smiled at Amanda and handed her a box, which she could see was full of food. Eleanor saw this too and said:
‘Turkey dinos?’
‘Ah yes, my dear, don’t worry. We didn’t forget your turkey dinosaurs,’ another of the women, who appeared to be in her sixties, said. She handed Eleanor a bag of turkey dinosaurs that were dripping from defrosting. Eleanor hugged them tight to her chest. Amanda smelled burning again.
‘What’s going on?’ Amanda asked the woman in her sixties.
‘Now, we know that times can be hard, but you don’t need to worry. There’s always people here to help, and friends when you need them.’
‘No,’ said Amanda, ‘you don’t understand. I think there’s been a bit of a miscommunication. I don’t need charity. This girl, Eleanor, she’s lost. She needs to go back to her home. She’s not mine.’
As she was speaking, the three others were moving around the flat unloading their boxes. Amanda could see that it was not just food, but there were games, books, kids’ clothes, toys.
‘Now, dear, I know it’s hard. I never was a mother myself, you understand, but when I saw what my daughters went through with their little ones, I knew that it’s no picnic in the park. And when it is a picnic, well,’ she laughed conspiratorially, ‘it’s one where it suddenly begins to rain and there’s wasps everywhere!’
‘No, it’s not that. I’m not struggling. She’s not mine; I found her on the train. Or, she found me on the train. She’s lost; she needs to get home.’
The smell of burning was getting stronger. Had she left the oven on? She was sure she hadn’t, but even if she had, what inside it was burning? Was there something old and rotten stuck to the bottom that was cooking? It certainly didn’t smell good.
‘In this life,’ the woman in her sixties said, ‘we all go through difficult times. But that is why having friends we can rely on is really helpful. People that care about us, and want to help us. And any help you need, please know that you can ask us—anytime. There’s no shame in asking for help.’
By now, Amanda was beginning to get truly frustrated. Even before everything with Eleanor, it had been such a long day. When would it end? When would it all end? She felt exhausted. She was struggling to keep her eyes open. One of the others had opened an air freshener, and its abrasive smell was assaulting her sinuses.
‘I’m not struggling,’ said Amanda. ‘You’re not listening. She’s not my child. She’s someone else’s. They must be missing her. She’s lovely, really, but she’s not mine.’
Not sure where Eleanor was, she whispered the next part:
‘I don’t have kids. I don’t like them. I never have. I know it’s bad to say that; I know some people look badly on you if you do, but I really don’t like them. And thank God I never had any. Being a parent was the last thing in the world I wanted.’
Behind her, the burning smell increased. There was definitely something in the oven. She had to get to it. Before she did, one of the others—the man—walked over to it and opened it. Amanda heard him gasp.
‘You have to understand,’ said the woman in her sixties. ‘We’ll all be here for you.’
‘No, no, you –’
‘But now it’s dinnertime.’
Amanda turned around, where all the others were sat at the small table. Or, she realised, not ‘the’ small table but ‘a’ small table. She didn’t have a table before. She always just ate on her lap. Her flat had come unfurnished, and she couldn’t afford to furnish it. She never had anyone round in any case; there was no point in getting a table. How/when had they brought a table with them?
The three others and Eleanor were sat at the table, holding hands. The woman in her sixties led Amanda to it. At the table, the others sat, all their plates loaded with turkey dinosaurs, smileys, and spaghetti hoops.
‘Take a seat here,’ said the woman in her sixties, ‘next to your daughter.’ There was no empty seat next to Eleanor, and Amanda said:
‘She’s not my daughter. She’s –’
But Eleanor had taken her hand. Amanda felt terrible for this, but when Eleanor touched her, she felt a jolt of revulsion course through her.
‘She’s not mine!’ Eleanor screamed. ‘I don’t have any children. I never wanted to be a mother!’
The woman in her sixties smiled at her and shushed her. She put her hands gently on his shoulders.
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘Everything is going to be okay.’
Another of the women, in her thirties, stood up. Together, the two women gently led Amanda down to the seat.
‘She’s not mine! She’s not mine!’ Amanda screamed. The burning was intense now; unmistakable.
‘Shh, shh!’ The woman in her sixties cooed, stroking Amanda’s hair. ‘Everything’s going to be okay.’
Next to her, Eleanor grinned, and laughed as she beheaded a turkey dinosaur with her fork. |
