by Susie Day
Max could see the road clearly now. The houses. The lights in the windows.
They reached flatter ground, and walked on, hurrying.
The mountain-centre van was outside the Bevans’ house.
Max wanted to knock on the door and tell them. The helicopter was out. They should wait for news. And he was sorry about all the rest too, but the helicopter was called.
But there was a car outside Max’s house too.
A blue 4×4, with the lights on.
They switched off as he and Ripley approached, and the door swung open.
Elis Evans’s mum stepped out in her wellies, and Max knew by a glance at the set of her shoulders that he needn’t worry about being swept into a bosomy hug.
‘Max Kowalski, how dare you!’ she shouted.
Her eyes were glinting as she stomped through the snow towards him, jabbing at him with her keys.
‘Theft, that’s what it is! Theft, and fraud, and … and … very wrong behaviour! You – you –’
‘Very sorry, Mrs Evans,’ Max mumbled, as Ripley hid behind him, her little hands gripping his hips.
‘Sorry’s not going to cut it this time, young man,’ shouted Mrs Evans.
But Max had stopped listening.
The other door of the car had swung open.
A man stepped out into the drift, and slammed the door.
Dad.
29
‘Daddy!’ yelled Ripley, sprinting out from behind Max and slithering awkwardly through the snow to fling herself at him.
‘Princess,’ grunted Dad, as she hit him at speed.
He swept her up. Gave her a twirl.
She clung round his neck like a baby monkey, suddenly not the brave child who could climb mountains, but the family’s youngest again.
Dad kept hold, and looked at Max. He gave Max a short nod, like a hello.
‘Max.’
Max held himself stiff and still.
‘Well, come on then, no good us standing around freezing to death, is it?’ said Mrs Evans, an odd look on her face as she glanced from Max to his father and back again. Her voice had a softer edge to it now. ‘Come on. Let’s see what you’ve done to the poor place, you horror.’
She stepped awkwardly through the deep snow on the pavement, and pushed the iron gate hard against the drift behind it. She made her way round the back of the house. Max followed dumbly in her deep footprints, Dad carrying Ripley to bring up the rear.
He was in trainers, Max saw. Trainers and jeans, wet to the knee.
‘At least you’ve not burned it down,’ mumbled Mrs Evans, standing back to survey the cottage, as if Max might have knocked down a wall or two while he was here.
Max pushed open the back door meekly.
Thelma and Louise were waiting in the hallway.
‘Max? Are you – oh! Oh!’
There was a clatter, as Louise dropped her pen on the stone floor. Her face was streaked with panicky tears.
Thelma was beside her, not crying but quivering all over.
‘“Gone for a walk”!’ she said in a shuddery voice.
She was holding Max’s note, now crumpled in her hand.
They had worried, like Max had worried when Thelma had run away. Max knew how it felt. But then he saw their faces change as they saw who was behind him, and it was unimportant.
Thelma’s mouth dropped wide open.
Louise made a very high squeaking sound.
‘Daddy,’ announced Ripley, quite unnecessarily, still clinging as if to make it clear he was hers.
Dad stepped in behind Max.
‘Angels,’ he said. ‘How I’ve missed my angels. Come here, girls.’
He held out his free arm, and Louise buried her face in his belly.
Thelma hesitated. Then she wrapped her arms round him too.
‘Oh, don’t mind me, it’s only my house,’ muttered Mrs Evans, sliding round the side of them.
She caught Max’s eye, standing stiffly in the corner.
‘Come on, Max. Let’s put the kettle on, shall we? I for one need a cup of tea.’
Max followed her reluctantly.
‘Sorry,’ he said, as she boiled the water and put out the cups, tutting at their washing-up skills.
‘I should think so.’
‘Elis didn’t know. It’s not his fault. He didn’t know any of it.’
‘Hmm,’ said Mrs Evans.
When they carried the cups through, his family were sitting on the sofa, nattering away.
‘I can speak Welsh now,’ said Thelma. ‘Not all of it, because I only just started. And I still can’t make the letter where you just sort of spit at people. But I know all the words for animals and food and directions and I can say the names of mountains and … I’m dead good at it. Even though it’s disgusting here and smells of rats.’
‘Charming,’ said Mrs Evans.
‘I’m writing a book,’ said Louise. ‘You can’t read it, because it isn’t finished and I’m not sure it’s the sort of book you’d like, really. But I’ve written one hundred and two pages. We don’t even mind that there isn’t a telly.’
‘We do,’ said Thelma. ‘Not having a TV is the absolute worst. You should fix that,’ she added, for Mrs Evans’s benefit.
‘Noted,’ she said drily.
‘But … well, we’ve done other things. We learned how to light fires.’
‘We made a beautiful Christmas tree,’ said Ripley.
Thelma rolled her eyes, muttering ‘stick’ under her breath.
‘We cooked for ourselves, and did the shopping (the Bevans helped a lot – don’t be cross because we lied to them a bit to make them help, we’ll say we’re very sorry), and kept the cottage very clean and tidy, mostly.’
‘Bill Bevan said it’s good for people to live in it, especially in winter,’ said Thelma, looking at Mrs Evans. ‘Keep the fire going, and notice any problems.’
‘Don’t talk to me about Bill Bevan,’ muttered Mrs Evans. ‘He should have rung me straight away.’
Max shut his eyes, thinking of Michael; of Bill and Tal, and the police knocking at the door.
‘Well, I’m impressed, I have to say,’ said Dad, slapping his thighs. ‘Knew you weren’t daft. Didn’t expect all this, but … well, it’s terrible, obviously, very wrong, to steal the keys like that,’ he added as Mrs Evans gave him a glare. ‘You’re in a lot of trouble, all of you. But you’ve looked after yourselves. You’re a right little team.’
‘Max did most of it,’ murmured Ripley.
Max opened his eyes again. He was standing in the doorway, the nearest place to escape, and his heart felt full and empty both at once.
Here was Dad, back; all he had ever wanted.
Here was Dad, acting as if it was all just nothing. As if he’d been to the shops for a bit longer than he’d said, but he was back now.
‘It’s not OK,’ Max mumbled, his voice thick.
‘What’s that?’ Dad’s eyes were sharp. ‘Speak up if you’re speaking.’
‘It’s not OK,’ said Max, clearer now. ‘You can’t just come back like it’s OK. It’s not OK.’
And he turned and fled as he felt his face grow hot – out, out into the back garden and into the quiet blanketing peace of the snow.
He looked up and up at his mountain. At the bleakness of it, the danger.
At the thick drifts, not soft now but savage, more than he had ever imagined.
At the dragon that wasn’t.
A soft mehhhh-ing called him back.
New Potato was in the garden again, standing crossly beside a snow-packed bush. It stared at Max: warm brown eyes and white-dusted wool.
It must be a nice life, Max thought, just standing in a field with no one asking anything of you ever, and never being wrong, and never feeling like the world was ending. He could be a sheep. ‘Want to swap?’ he whispered.
‘Talking to yourself?’
It was Dad.
‘No,’ Max said defensively. He dipped
his head, shuffling his shoulders. ‘I was talking to a sheep.’
It sounded stupid. Dad laughed at him.
Max kicked the snow.
‘So I hear you took a six-year-old up a mountain in this lovely weather we’re having.’
Max kept his fists bunched up tightly in his pockets.
‘She took herself.’
That sounded stupid too. He should’ve brought her back. He should have left the dragon. People mattered more than dragons, and treasure; even if there had been a real dragon, and real treasure. People like Ripley. People like Michael.
He’d been bad, again. Made a bad decision, again. But he wasn’t the only one.
‘You didn’t step up, Dad.’
He said it quietly, as if it was to himself. But it wasn’t.
Max turned round and faced his father; said it again, louder. ‘You didn’t step up. You told me to step up. Look after them. Look after everything. I had to. Because you didn’t step up.’
‘Hey now, calm down.’ Dad grinned, his eyes twinkling as he shrugged his shoulders: Big Pete Kowalski, who everyone liked. ‘It didn’t go how I meant, right? You’re not daft, son, you know how it goes. I did a few extra jobs for Nice Jackie and – it got serious, mate.’
Max thought of the pink suitcase hidden under the bed inside, and felt sick.
‘No kidding.’
‘They’d have arrested me right there and then, if I’d stayed. Couldn’t have that, could we? So I went to lie low, just a couple of days, and it went on a little bit longer than I thought it would. And then Nice Jackie calls, tells me she’s been round yours again and you’ve gone missing. Furious, she was. So I came back, yeah? For you. To sort it.’
Max felt sicker.
‘That’s why you came back. Because Nice Jackie told you to.’
Because Nice Jackie wanted her money back.
‘Hey! I was beside myself over you kids. Especially when I find out you’re up here, because Rhian Evans is banging the door down to tear off a strip off me. She drove me up here giving me earfuls the whole way. She’s got a tongue on her, that one, I’d forgotten.’
He chuckled, like Max might join in with a matey giggle.
Like he could laugh it away.
Max felt that knot in his throat again, the one that needed to be pushed down and away or he’d cry.
He didn’t push it away.
‘You shouldn’t have left us,’ he said thickly.
Dad swallowed. He looked away as tears began to roll down Max’s cheeks, embarrassed.
‘You shouldn’t have put it all on me.’
‘Hey. Hey, Max, I’m sorry. I didn’t say that yet, did I? I’m sorry, Max. I got in a corner and I had choices and I made all the bad ones, OK? Nothing but bad ones.’
Dad stepped closer through the snow and Max flung out a hand, pushing him away. He was exhausted suddenly. All the walking and worry, all the disappointment, and the freezing icy wind of the mountain caught up with him like a gust of wind and left him buffeted. He was done. He was just done.
‘Dad. You shouldn’t have left us.’
Max wanted to scream it. To pummel it into him with shouts and fists, till he would have to hear it. But it came out broken, his voice fracturing with the feeling of it.
Dad stepped back, wary.
‘I shouldn’t have left you,’ he said quietly, down into the snow.
‘You shouldn’t have put it all on me,’ croaked Max.
Dad nodded slowly.
‘I – I’m not good at all this, kid. I’m useless at it. I wasn’t built to bring up four kids all by myself. Who is?’
Dad’s voice went thick and choked at the end and Max saw his dad was crying too. His face was crumpling up and his eyes were red, and his body was trembling all over. He was shrinking away, swiping at his face with the heels of his hands, wrapping his arms round himself with shame.
‘I got scared. OK? Scared and lonely and I screwed up, and I’ll get it if you can’t ever forgive me, mate. I will. I wouldn’t blame you.’
Max wouldn’t blame himself either.
Max would blame his dad, for this, forever.
But he could understand him too.
Max knew what it felt to feel like that. He was the big man, the chip off the old block, after all. Not so different. It had been hard, doing it all by himself – and not only because he was eleven. It was a hard thing to do. Dad should never have ordered him to step up. But his dad – he hadn’t been given a choice either. Just cos you were the dad it didn’t mean you knew how to be one.
You said yes to Nice Jackie, because you needed the money.
You ran, because staying was too hard.
You just tried to get it right, as hard as you could, and sometimes it still came out wrong.
Max thought of Bill, chopping wood, giving him time and words and the space to say them.
Max thought of Michael and Tal and the dog, together in grief.
You could learn how to be a dad, he reckoned.
If you wanted.
Max looked up at his mountain, and let himself be free of it.
30
He walked through the snow and held his dad, wrapping his arms tightly round him and crying with him. Needing his arms. Comforting him back.
‘I love you,’ he said.
He could feel his dad swallowing hard. ‘Love you too, mate,’ he said.
‘Nice Jackie gave me a suitcase to look after.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Dad –’
‘I’ll sort it out. I’m going to the police when I get back, OK? I can’t keep running, can I?’
They stood in the snow, wordless.
‘I’m freezing, Max,’ said Dad, eventually.
‘Me too.’
‘Let’s go in, eh?’
‘Hot chocolate.’
‘Good plan, big man.’
There wasn’t any. There wasn’t any milk left either.
‘Mrs Evans has gone over to the Bevans’ to shout at them,’ said Thelma. ‘I bet they’ve got hot chocolate.’
Max shook his head.
He knew they were waiting for news, perhaps bad news, the worst. Max’s lies were nothing to that. They should leave them be.
But it was impossible to explain, so Max found himself standing before the Bevans’ front door even more afraid than the first time.
Michael opened it, filling the space even as he stooped, huge and looming and very much alive.
‘You’re –’ Max whispered.
The relief had no time to settle. Michael’s eyes bore into Max as if he knew every inch of him. Knew about the mountain too, and Ripley on the rocks, and how stupid he’d been. Max quaked.
But Michael said nothing. He nodded and went back inside, leaving the door open for them to follow.
The living room was filled with the warm glow of the fire and the smell of oranges and cinnamon. Bill had worked a spell of some sort on Mrs Evans. She was smiling now, laughing and sipping on a glass of something red and steaming, gently stroking Tiger’s nose, while Tiger, ears flat, rested her head on her knee.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she said. ‘Bill’s explained himself, a little. And apparently Max is some sort of local hero.’
‘Saved a few lives, this one,’ said Bill smiling. ‘Called out the Mountain Rescue for some climbers, stuck in the snow.’
‘Did he now?’ Dad looked at Max afresh.
‘I helped!’ squeaked Ripley.
Max swallowed. ‘Is everyone OK? It – it looked bad,’ he said, looking to Michael.
Michael was leaning against the back wall, his great hairy arms folded across his broad chest. He breathed hard, nodding slowly.
‘They will be, yes. Not my group. We set off early, but stayed on a short road walk. When we got back to the centre, found out some of the lads from the hostel had gone out. Mountains in that weather. They were fools to go up. Fools.’
Michael’s dark eyes looked into Max.
<
br /> Max swallowed. ‘Wait for the weather,’ he said. ‘I know. I – I won’t forget.’
Michael stayed quite still. But eventually he nodded, as if satisfied.
Ripley remained blessedly silent.
‘The helicopter picked up two people,’ Bill added, to clarify. ‘Rest came down on foot. One broken leg, minor injuries, hypothermia and a bit of shock, obviously, so they’ve taken them in. They were lucky. Lucky it wasn’t worse, lucky to have help. You’re a bit of a hero, I reckon, Max.’
Max thought about clinging to the rocky scramble with a backpack stuffed with a kitchen knife, a copper bucket and a fire blanket, in charge of a sniffly six-year-old. It hadn’t felt heroic. But they’d done a good thing, calling for help. They might have saved lives.
The dog jumped up from resting on Mrs Evans’s knee and scampered across the floor, tail wagging for a new arrival to the room.
Tal, lingering in the doorway.
He must have heard. He had to know how Max had been able to make the call.
Tal knelt down to fuss the dog. Stayed there, avoiding Max’s eyes until Max stepped over and knelt too.
‘Sorry.’
Tal nodded, his eyes on the dog.
‘Could’ve told me you were going,’ said Tal, coolly.
‘I – I ran out of time. I –’
I was scared Bill and Michael would be angry. I was scared I’d got you in trouble. I was scared you’d tell me not to be so daft, to go up in this weather.
And I needed to do it, now, today, and it couldn’t wait.
Max didn’t know how to say any of it.
Tal kept looking at him. Then he dropped his chin.
He stroked Tiger, his voice low and tight. ‘What did you find?’
‘It wasn’t there. Just rocks.’
Tal went quite still.
‘You sure?’
He looked stricken.
Max wanted to make up a tale for him, but he was done with lies today and too tired to think.
‘Sorry,’ he said again, lamely.
‘Right then,’ said Mrs Evans, placing her glass firmly on a coaster. ‘Any more of that and I’ll sleep here till New Year. There’s presents to wrap still. Time I was driving back.’
