by Sylvia Waugh
When Matthew came home late from the bank, he seemed subdued. For the first time in the whole business a feeling other than excited anticipation was gripping him.
‘It’ll be strange,’ he said. ‘After all these years, to be leaving everything behind. It feels almost like coming off stage after the play is over.’
Nesta shuddered.
‘How odd!’ said Alison. ‘That’s the metaphor I have just used!’
‘It’s true really,’ said Matthew. ‘We stop playing these parts and go back to being our real selves.’
Nesta got up and scattered the newspapers and the sleeping cat from her knee. This was just too much.
‘I am my real self already,’ she snapped. ‘Do you not realize that?’
Matthew put one arm round her shoulders. ‘There’s a level of real self you haven’t reached yet,’ he said. ‘Just wait and see.’
‘I’m going to my room,’ said Nesta. ‘I don’t want to talk about it any more. I need a rest.’
‘After you’ve rested, you can pack the yellow bag with anything you want to take with you,’ said Matthew, giving her a comforting hug. ‘It’s really going to happen, you know. And you will be happy!’
Nesta glared at him. What will they do then, she thought, inject me with happiness? Put me on a course of happy pills? She grabbed Percy the pyjama case and flounced out of the room with him. She did not slam the door. That would have been too clear an indication of how she felt.
Alison watched her go and bit her lip. It was going badly. She knew it was.
Matthew smiled hopefully.
‘Looks as if she’s getting more used to the idea,’ he said. ‘Percy must be going in the packing!’
Alison did not bother to argue. She just changed the subject.
‘How was it at the bank? Did you give them any idea you might not be back?’ she said.
‘No,’ said Matthew as he warmed his hands at the fire. ‘I did my normal day’s work. What happens next is not my worry.’
In her room, Nesta emptied all of the books out of her schoolbag and put back only those she would definitely need next day.
A voice from downstairs called up, ‘Remember, you don’t need to go to school tomorrow unless you really want to.’
Nesta went to her door and called down, ‘I really want to, Dad. I told you that already. I haven’t changed my mind.’
Then she went back to her packing.
Into the schoolbag she put a clean blouse, some clean underwear, and a box of tissues. Then she added the packet of half-chocolate biscuits she had smuggled from the cupboard in the kitchen. She got her bank-book from the drawer and her cash from the box she kept it in. These she placed carefully in the inner pouch of the schoolbag. By the time she had finished there was just space left for her lunchbox, though she meant to buy a school lunch and save the sandwiches and fruit for later.
Into the yellow bag went Percy, a good space filler; two bottles of perfume still in their gift boxes; a canister of hairspray and two hairbrushes; and finally, the china pig that stood on her dressing table. She felt the weight, looked at the bulk, added a few odds and ends for good measure, and then pulled the zip around it. Now it was as ready as it ever would be for its journey into space, a journey that, Nesta knew for certain, would never happen.
CHAPTER 20
* * *
Amy’s Garage
‘Well, what do you think of it?’
This was the question Amy had been dying to ask all day. The lessons at school were an irksome interruption to the important thing in life that day. At every opportunity, Nesta and Amy had talked furtively about their plans for the evening, what they would buy on the way home, how they would separate first as if they were going different ways. Eventually, they met up again outside the Museum Gardens, as arranged. Then they took a short bus ride to Amy’s house in Carthorpe Road. They hurried in the front door and straight out the back to a pleasant yard full of pot plants, with ramblers covering the high walls. With a flourish, Amy had opened the door that led from the yard into the garage. This was the hiding place!
She looked hopefully at Nesta as the two of them stood in the doorway, waiting for her approval. What was left of daylight came in from the very top of a side window where a bench was piled high with cardboard boxes so that no one passing the yard could see inside. This was the packaging left over from Christmas: Lego, Scalextrix, and a very big box that had contained some sort of Karaoke machine. At the other side of the garage, in semi-darkness, was a large workbench with a lathe fastened to one end of it and an old toolbox on the floor beneath. Other things were stored there: paint tins, a stepladder, an old metal clotheshorse and several rusty buckets, some shrouded in dry cement. In the far corner, to the side of the big doors that led out on to the back lane, was a cubicle that clearly must be home to the ‘thunderbox’.
‘There’s a light above the workbench,’ said Amy. ‘We can put it on now for a little while, till you’re settled in, but it will have to be off before the others come home – it shines out into the yard when it is dark. I’ve brought you a bicycle lamp and if we spread this old groundsheet over the clotheshorse, you can sit inside on my cushions and put it on quite safely. Don’t have it on all the time, though, or the battery might go dead. Keep it for when you really need it.’
‘You’ve thought of everything,’ said Nesta.
The two of them rigged up the groundsheet tent and sat on the cushions to unpack the other things they had brought with them.
‘Leave your food in your bag,’ said Amy. ‘Safest there – from dust, or anything else that comes looking, if you see what I mean.’
‘Mice?’ said Nesta, horrified.
‘Shouldn’t think so,’ said Amy airily. ‘But there’ll probably be a few spiders and moths and things like that.’
Nesta swallowed but said nothing. She put her bottle of lemonade and the glass she had remembered to bring in one corner of the ‘tent’. The cushions were very big floor cushions, well padded, and comfortable. The bicycle lamp was placed on a small wooden box, very old and gnarled, that Amy had taken from under the workbench.
‘You’ll be quite snug in there,’ said Amy. It was almost a game. Amy half-wished that she could stay there herself!
Next she showed Nesta the lavatory. It was very old with a high cistern and a huge pull chain. The walls were rough stone but painted white and very clean. The wooden lid to the toilet had clearly been kept well scrubbed. There was even a coconut mat on the floor. There was no window, of course, and no light.
‘It’s hardly ever used,’ said Amy, ‘but Mum says that’s no excuse for it to be dirty. So she gets rid of the cobwebs every month or so. It’s just been done, as part of her New Year cleaning. So she won’t be coming in here for quite a while.’
Amy took hold of the wooden handle at the end of the pull chain and pulled it downwards like a bell-rope. The cistern emptied with the force of a high waterfall, gave a great final gulp, and then began refilling like a thirsty giant glugging and slurping with no manners at all.
‘The thunderbox!’ said both girls together and then giggled.
‘Now,’ said Amy, ‘you must remember not to pull the chain till after eight-thirty in the morning. Anyone in our kitchen would hear it. The only safe time to pull it would be when you know that we are all out.’
From an old chair to one side of the workbench, Amy now brought a very big overcoat.
‘I don’t know how cold it will get in here overnight. But this is Grandpa Turpin’s old Army greatcoat. It was the thickest thing I could find. If your own coat doesn’t feel thick enough, put it round your shoulders. It’s perfectly dry – I just brought it down here yesterday teatime.’
‘What will your grandpa say? Will he not miss it?’ said Nesta.
Amy grinned.
‘I don’t think so, somehow,’ she said. ‘He’s been dead for three years. He was a nice old man. He’d be pleased for you to have it.’
The trouble with practical people is that they sometimes do not know what is going on inside other people’s minds . . .
‘Now we’d better put the light out,’ she said, ‘and I’ll have to go indoors and make myself a cup of tea like I always do. Better if you don’t come in now – we’ve spent too much time out here for it to be safe. You’ve got your thermos flask? Keep the hot drink for later. I’ll see you tomorrow teatime. I won’t manage to come out before then. It would be too risky.’
Nesta went with her to the door of the garage. In the darkness, Amy looked up into the face of her friend and said something she’d been wondering about all day, but felt shy of asking.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘Your parents didn’t tell the school you were leaving – and you told me it had to be a secret. They aren’t running away from the law, are they? I mean, you’ve got to think, it’s a funny way to go on.’
Nesta almost laughed.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Mom and Dad are far too honest and respectable for that! And I would love to tell you the truth, but there’s no way you’d believe me even if I did.’
Amy was relieved that Nesta had answered her question without annoyance, even though the answer was really no answer at all.
‘Good night,’ she said. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Alone in the darkness, Nesta quickly put the greatcoat on the workbench. She could not say it to Amy – it might seem ungrateful and hurtful – but she could not fancy using an old coat that belonged to a dead man.
She went into the tent, turned on the bicycle lamp, ate a sandwich from her lunchbox and had a drink of lemonade. Then she put out the light, curled herself up on the cushions and lay listening to the cassette player she had thankfully thought to bring. I’ll keep it on all night, she thought. The headphones will stop creepy-crawlies from getting into my ears!
She looked at her watch over and over again. The pointers moved slowly from half past five, to six, and then to seven. Feeling colder, Nesta hugged one of the big cushions for warmth and managed to drift off to sleep.
She woke with a start, feeling absolutely freezing and not quite sure where she was. The headphones were still on her ears but the tape had run out, leaving her almost deaf. She groped about in the darkness, found the bicycle lamp and managed to switch it on. It was still only ten to eight; the night had barely begun.
Then something moved. Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of lethargic movement. She turned her head swiftly.
There on the cushion, just inches from her elbow, stretching its legs, was the biggest spider she had ever seen!
With an effort, she stopped herself from screaming, stood up quickly and in so doing tipped over the makeshift tent so that the clotheshorse clattered to the ground. She felt paralysed. What to do, what to do, what to do . . .
She held on to the lamp and shone it all round her feet but the spider was gone. Fear can only last so long if you don’t faint. She didn’t faint, and so she began looking for a way out of this scary situation. She picked up one of the cushions, the one furthest away from where the spider had been, and shook it. Then (beggars certainly can’t be choosers!) she grabbed the greatcoat from the workbench and went with it into the lavatory. The cushion she placed on the wooden seat, and the greatcoat she slung round her shoulders. Once the door was shut, she double checked everything, and then switched off the bicycle lamp. Again she dozed off, her chin rubbing against the rough wool of the greatcoat’s lapels.
The next time she woke up, not half an hour later, she was warmer inside the greatcoat. Quickly she switched on the bicycle lamp and could see that all was safe. This awakening should have been less terrifying; but as she looked down at the wide lapels of the greatcoat, she began to think of the old man who had been dead three years. Perhaps his spirit was there in the coat haunting her. She began to cry, quietly and miserably. She did not want to take the coat off: it would be so cold without it. But she became more and more afraid of keeping it on. The lapels moved up and down with her breathing. She watched them and wondered if it were her own breath or the breath of the dead man.
Then, suddenly, it was just as if a quiet voice spoke to her, the soft voice of an old, old man. The dead cannot hurt you, love, it whispered, and if they could, do you think they would want to? Go to sleep now. That will make morning come faster.
Nesta felt comforted and stopped crying. She pulled the collar of the coat up about her ears. She leant her head against the wall and, half-sitting, half-lying, she went into a sound sleep and did not wake till morning.
CHAPTER 21
* * *
Where can she be and what can we do?
When Nesta failed to return on the first bus, Alison decided to meet the next one. The bus stop was on the corner of the street, on the main road that led through the estate. It was visible from the front gate, but the darkness and a certain unspecified anxiety made Alison tense. She wanted to see her daughter step down from the next bus; yet she was visited by an overwhelming certainty that Nesta would not be on it.
The bus was five minutes late. It stopped and an old man Alison knew only by sight climbed up the steps slowly, clutching his walking stick. No one alighted. There were no passengers at all coming to Linden Drive. The next bus would be in half an hour’s time. Alison stood dismayed. There was no point in standing in the cold for half an hour. Her own front door was hardly five minutes away.
‘What if she’s run away?’ said Alison to Matthew after she told him that Nesta had been on neither of the two buses she normally used. ‘She’s never as late as this without telling us.’
‘Check her room,’ said Matthew. ‘See if there’s any sign there. But you know, for practical purposes, this is her last day on Earth. Maybe she’s stopped to talk to friends, or to look at places she has cared about here. There are all sorts of explanations.’
In Nesta’s room, there was no note on the dressing-table; nothing appeared to be missing that might not be stuffed in the yellow bag that was on the floor at the foot of her bed, apparently all packed and ready to go.
‘We should check the bag,’ said Alison.
‘She was told she could take whatever she wanted. I don’t like prying,’ said Matthew.
Alison looked at him, exasperated.
‘Ideals are all very well, but Nesta is very late and we have the right and the duty to find out all we can, even if it means opening her bag. You’re a hard man to understand, Matthew Gwynn!’
‘Open it then,’ said Matthew softly. ‘Open it, Athelerane.’
Alison blushed at his use of her true name in a tone that made it sound like an endearment. Anxiously, she pulled the zip round the end of the yellow bag; its lid flopped back and an envelope fell to the floor. Her heart was filled with dread as she picked it up.
‘To Mom and Dad’ was the inscription. The flap was sealed down and Alison tore it open. She trembled as she removed the letter from inside. She hesitated, then handed it to Matthew.
‘You read it,’ she said. ‘I can’t.’
Matthew read in silence.
Dearest Mom and Dad,
You told me so much, but you would not listen to what I had to say. I am not coming to Ormingat. I am never coming to Ormingat. I am Earthborn and Earthbound. I do love you very much. If you leave without me, I do not know what I shall do. If you stay, I promise to come home when the danger is past. In the meantime, don’t worry. I shall take great care to run no risks.
From your loving daughter, Nesta
‘What does she say?’ said Alison.
‘She will not be home till Sunday,’ said Matthew. ‘By which time, we shall be gone; or we shall be here for good. She speaks of being “Earthbound”. That is what we shall be if we fail to leave on Sunday morning. She cannot know what that really means to us. There was no way of explaining it to her properly.’
Alison took the letter in her own hands and read it.
‘She will take no risks!’ she said. ‘No risks! She
is too innocent. She has no idea what a risk is.’
‘Innocent she might be,’ said Matthew, ‘but she is not stupid. She’ll do her best to stay out of danger.’
‘You are as innocent as she is,’ said Alison. ‘This is not Ormingat! There are evil people out there who are much cleverer than you imagine. Do you think wickedness is confined to avoidable back alleys? I’m phoning the police – now!’
Matthew was horrified.
‘We can’t show them that letter,’ he said. ‘It tells everything.’
Alison paused with the receiver in her hand.
‘We tell them that our daughter has failed to return home,’ she said, ‘nothing more.’
‘What time is it now?’ said Matthew, being the practical one for once.
‘Five to six.’
‘Nesta is nearly thirteen,’ said Matthew. ‘Children her age go missing for hours. The police would take no notice. It’s not even especially late. They’ll tell us to check her friends. They’ll ask us of there is any special reason why we think she is genuinely missing. We’ll draw attention to ourselves to no purpose whatever.’
‘Try the spaceship then,’ said Alison. ‘We are expected there tonight. Go inside and ask the communicator to find her.’
‘There are many reasons why that is impossible,’ said Matthew. ‘Our language can act as a homing device, but homing devices work only if the holder of the key uses it and wants to be found. Nesta has disappeared of her own accord. Besides, she holds no key: she cannot say the words properly. But there is a more important reason. If I enter the spaceship tonight, I feel sure it will not allow me to leave.’
‘So what do we do?’ said Alison.
‘Tonight,’ he said, ‘all we can do is look for her ourselves.’
‘Where?’ said Alison. ‘She could be anywhere in York. She could be on a bus or a train going out of York. She could be miles away.’
