Writing On the Wall

by Lynne Reid Banks

  Loads of words. Loads of numbers. All Dutch to me.

  I felt desperate. But then I thought, Some words in Dutch aren’t so different. Maybe the word “enquiry” is a bit like our word. So I ran my finger down the list. Nothing like enquiry. But there was just one word beginning with “en” – enlichtian. Enlighten? Worth a try.

  I dialled. It rang. Maybe they shut down at night? My heart was going – I don’t know what’d got into me – I just had to try, and I had to do it now. A voice answered in Dutch.

  “Please,” I said, “can you speak English?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is that Directory Enquiry?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh thank you, Holy Mother! (I only turn to Her in really desperate moments of course.)

  “I need a number. In Rotterdam.”

  “What is the name, please?”

  “It’s a youth hostel.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Rotterdam one!”

  “In Rotterdam are several youth hostels.”

  Oh no. But wait! I had my map that Michael gave me, with the right hostel circled.

  “Please! Wait a minute!”

  I rushed at my rucksack and burrowed in it, tossing everything on the floor. Then I remembered it was in one of the side pockets and found it right away. I tore it, unfolding it too quick. There was Michael’s circle. I grabbed the phone and gabbled out the name of the street from the map.

  “Just a minute please.”

  It was a pretty Polish minute, which means it was more like five hours. But finally she came back. She’d got it!

  “Thanks a lot! Thank you!” I yelled down the phone.

  Then I dialled the number.

  The phone rang a long time. Well, it would – three in the morning. I was thinking to myself, You must be losing your marbles, they’ll never answer, when someone did.

  “Ve is dar?” (or something) said a very angry, sleepy voice.

  “Do you speak English?”

  “Yes, god-damn it,” said the voice. I could hear now he was American. “But I don’t like speaking it or any other god-damned language in the middle of the night! Waddaya want?”

  “I want to know if Michael Driscoll’s there.”

  “Who the hell is he?”

  “Excuse me, do you run the hostel?”

  “No. I just try to get some sleep here but the god-damn phone’s just outside my room.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. My voice must have wobbled, because he said, in a nicer way, “Is it an emergency? You sound a bit—”

  “I just want to speak to Michael Driscoll,” I said. “But he’s probably left.”

  “Has he got two heads or anything, so I might have noticed him around?”

  “He’s only got one head. It’s red. And he’s got some teenagers with him. Two boys and two girls.”

  “Oh, him! Yeah, I think I saw him at breakfast time. I don’t know if they’re still around. . . . Couldn’t you phone in the morning? Like, the proper morning, say seven a.m?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine coping until seven a.m. I wanted Michael now.

  “Hey! Are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” I said, gulping.

  “Are you crying or something? I can hardly hear you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No you’re not. Hang on. I’m going to see if I can locate a red head sticking out of its sleeping-bag.”

  There was a long, long pause. I sat on the leather chair and sniffed. I hadn’t much hope. That was why it was so wonderful when I heard Michael’s voice on the other end.

  “Tracy?”

  “Michael?”

  “Tracy, are you all right?”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean? You in some sort of trouble?”

  “Not exactly. . . . Michael, I’m coming back to Rotterdam.”

  “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Please don’t go till I come back! I’ll catch the first train! Couldn’t you meet me at the station?”

  “Where’s Kev?”

  “He’s gone to a nightclub.”

  “Are you all alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a silence. Then he said, “Where are you?”

  “In a flat. Of some boys we met.”

  “Are you scared or what?”

  I thought about that. “I think I’m just dead lonely.”

  “I could kill him,” said Michael.

  “Me too,” I said.

  “How could he leave you?”

  “I dunno, do I.”

  “Whose flat did you say you were in?”

  “Two fellows. Dutch.”

  “Are they okay?”

  I glanced at the black wall and the cupboard, and I thought of the toilet. “I don’t kow.”

  “What you mean?”

  “They take photos. For calendars and that.”

  “You mean, girls?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that’s not so bad. Anything happen you don’t like?”

  “No. . . . But I found something. Some things.”

  “Like what?”

  I swallowed. I felt silly saying it. “Whips.”

  “What?”

  “Whips. In a box. In a cupboard.”

  There was a silence.

  “And there’s some other funny stuff in there too,” I added, in case he should think I was being stupid.

  “Tracy, have you got a lamp on your bike?”

  My heart near stopped. Did he think it was that bad?

  “I’m not riding to Rotterdam in the night, if that’s what you’re thinking!” I said.

  “No,” he said. “No, perhaps that’s—Listen though, Tracy. I don’t like the sound of it. But Kev’s there – I mean, he will be. You get in your sleeping-bag now and go to sleep. Don’t let ’em get you up, I mean if they come home and say they want to have a party or anything like that, just pretend to be asleep and don’t get up. Then in the morning, you – and Kev if he’ll come, but never mind if he won’t, you come anyway – ride to the railway station and get on the first train like you said. Try and get one about six. I’ll meet every train till you get here. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Now don’t worry. And don’t – er – don’t undress. Get in your sleeping-bag the way you are. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Michael—”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry for what I said.”

  “When?”

  “Before we went off.”

  “Forget it. I have.”

  I didn’t want to hang up and lose his voice, but what else was there to say?

  “I’m going now,” I said. “‘Night.”

  “’Night, Tracy.”

  There was a long pause. I waited for him to hang up first. But he didn’t. Finally I said, “Michael?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What you still there for?”

  “Waiting for you to hang up.”

  “Let’s hang up together. Ready steady, go.”

  But still we didn’t. So there was another long pause, and then I heard them, a long way down, coming up the steep narrow stairs.

  “Michael! They’re coming!”

  “Oh Christ!” He just breathed it. “Tracy – do what I told you – it’s all right – they’re just porn-merchants, they’re not dangerous – I wish I was there—”

  And suddenly I felt brave. I was able to say, “It’s okay, I can take care of myself.” My voice sounded like Con’s. I was thinking of her when I said it. She’d see anyone in hell before she’d let them mess about with her. “Don’t worry. See you tomorrow.” And I hung up, grabbed my sleeping-bag from the floor, and dashed through a door up my end of the room.

  It was their bedroom of course. It had a key in the lock and I turned it. Sleep on the settee, indeed! Sod that for a lark. Let them sleep on the settee, all the lot of them. I unrolled my bag with one good flick, flung
it on one of the beds, kicked off my trainers and wriggled in like a galloping caterpillar.

  Next door I heard them all come in. Kev was talking loud. Being one of the lads. They were all full of booze and fooling about, but then they must’ve looked round for me, and they went quiet.

  “Trace? Trace, where are you?”

  I lay curled up in my bag. Someone tried the door handle.

  “She’s locked herself in,” Kev said.

  “I think you tell her to sleep in here,” said one of them.

  “I did!”

  “That is our bedroom. She can’t sleep there.”

  Oh can’t I? I thought. Try stopping me!

  A loud knocking. I curled up tighter and put my fingers in my ears.

  “Trace – let me in!”

  Oh, sure.

  “Please, Trace—”

  Push off to another porn show, see what that does for you. I’m stopping here. I felt like shouting it aloud, but I didn’t. Michael had told me to pretend to be asleep, and even though they couldn’t get at me, I still somehow did what he told me.

  “Tracy—” Now it was one of the others; Neils, I think. “Wake up! We are going to have a nice party!”

  Ha! Very nice, I’m sure. And next thing you know, you’ll be asking me to put on those key-hole jeans and get chained up to that motor-bike and get my photo taken. I know your game.

  They tried a few more dodges to get a rise out of me, but in the end they gave up. There wasn’t any party, either. They just grumbled and mumbled a bit and then everything went quiet. I had a lovely picture in my mind of them all dossing down on the floor before I dropped off to sleep.

  16 · Reunion

  In spite of my late night I was awake next morning at the crack. I tiptoed to the door, opened it and peeped out. Sure enough, there they all were, the rotten swine, snoring away in heaps of rugs and stuff all over the place. They hadn’t given Kev the settee, I noticed.

  My gear was still spread around a bit and I had to be dead cautious. I crept in like a shadow and picked it all up. Then I took it back in the bedroom and packed, and rolled up my bedding. I wanted to have a wash and there was a basin in there but I was afraid to make any noise, so I just wiped my face on my wet T-shirt again and sneaked out.

  Down the steep dark stairs – backwards round the corners, my pack made me feel someone was pushing me down a mountain – and out into the morning. The pouring wet morning. Yeah, the fine weather had broken, wouldn’t you know? Never mind. I fished out my cagoule and stuck it on and hoped my rucksack was as waterproof as Sean had said. One glance up at the house and I was off.

  The cobbles were slippery and I was glad to get on a cycle track and start whizzing along to the station. There wasn’t much traffic and I suddenly realised it was Sunday. I wondered what it’d be like to go to church in Holland. . . . I wouldn’t have minded, I felt I needed a bit of holy water – pity you can’t take your brain out and give it a wash, get rid of some of the muck. Still, the rain’d have to do the job.

  I don’t like rain, but I liked it that morning. It wasn’t cold, it just streamed down, washing my face and hands for me and bringing up the curl in my hair, what there is of it. I couldn’t help thinking, If I get to Rotterdam looking half-drowned, Michael’ll feel sorry for me and not be too mad at me.

  I was on the platform waiting for the Rotterdam train before I thought about Kev at all. I’d been so fed up with him that I’d sort of lumped him together with the two Dutchmen. But now, standing there on my own, I thought of him waking up, with a head like a rotten cabbage, and finding I’d flown the coop. What would he feel like?

  At first I giggled to myself, thinking of it. But after a bit I began thinking he might worry, and that perhaps I ought at least to’ve left him a note. Even when he was running out on me last night, he’d done that much. Maybe I ought to go back?

  I couldn’t. I didn’t know the way. I’d found the station okay just by getting on a main road and then looking at my map, but go back again I couldn’t, all those twisty little streets. . . .

  The train came in. I loaded my bike on, and then found a seat, and we were off. The sun had come out now and all the fields were shining. It was a pity we were too late to see the bulbs blooming; it was just rows and rows of green leaves now. I liked watching them though, opening like a fan as we flashed past, a fan with its top towards you. Must be lovely in spring, all the daffs and tulips. And the hyacinths. Mum’s favourite flower, hyacinths. God! I remembered – hadn’t sent off my postcards, and we were going home in two days! Not worth it now. Shame.

  A man came along the train with lovely fresh rolls with ham and that cheese full of holes. I bought two, but my eyes were bigger than my stomach. I’d gone mad for that Dutch cheese. Beats old mousetrap every time.

  I was getting excited now. And nervous. What’d Michael say to me? He’d seemed nice enough on the phone last night but I’d caught him on the hop – he’d have had time to think now, remember what I’d said to him and that. I’d know – soon as I saw him – if he was going to tell me off or sulk with me. I thought of what he’d said to Kev, about hating idiots like him. I didn’t know what I felt about that now. All I knew was, if he said anything like that to me, I’d curl up and die.

  We got there. It was still early – about eight o’clock – but I never had a doubt Michael’d be there, and sure enough, there he was. Good to see him? I’ll say. There’s a lot to be said for older men. They’re bigger, for one thing. Michael looked dead solid, standing there. I had a funny moment when I nearly dropped my bike and ran into his arms. Except his arms weren’t held out, so I didn’t, of course.

  “So there you are,” he said, not committing himself.

  “Yeah, here I am.”

  “Where’s Kev?”

  “Still snoring I expect.”

  “Tell him you was going?”

  “No,” I said. “Why should I?” – though as I said before, I knew I should have.

  He thought for a sec, then said, “Well, it’s too late now. Come on, the others are waiting at the hostel. We’re going to try to make Madurodam today.”

  “What, that miniature town?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you go up the Euromast tower yet?”

  “Day before yesterday.”

  “Was it good?”

  “Great. See for miles. And they got this spiral lift, goes up like a corkscrew so you get a view all round.”

  We were biking along, side by side. I was thinking. Was I glad or sorry I’d gone with Kev, now it was over?

  “Well, I’ve seen Amsterdam, anyhow,” I said.

  “Yeah. Backside of it and all,” he said, without knowing the half of it.

  It was great to see the others again. They were all in the dining-room of the hostel, eating a big breakfast. They gave me a kind of sarcastic cheer as I came into the room. Darryl said, “The prodigal returns!” and Con gave me one of her sideways grins. Karen and Cliff were sitting together. On a bench, close. Looked like they’d made it up. I sat next to Con.

  “How’d you get on?” she asked.

  “Okay,” I said. “Well. In a way. Miss me?”

  “Been too busy. We done loads of things. What’ve you done? Anything I wouldn’t?”

  I got red of course. “Tell you later.”

  Turned out it was our group’s turn to wash up for the whole bloody hostel. Talk about turning up in the nick of time! Con and me washed, and Karen and Cliff dried. Practically close enough to use the same cloth.

  “They’re all turned on again I see,” I whispered to Con.

  “Nothing doing while we’re sleeping here of course, it’s convent-and-monastery time. But give ’em a two-man tent and you won’t see ’em for dust.”

  We were scrubbing out last night’s pots. “Fancy you doing a bunk like that,” she said. “Michael wasn’t half upset.”

  “Yeah? How d’you know?”

  “How’d you think? He didn’t hide it, he w
as running round in circles.”

  I tried not to show how I felt about that. Easy really, seeing I wasn’t sure myself, but I felt something.

  “I see you and Darryl stuck with the group. No dossing down in haystacks.”

  “Yeah, well, we couldn’t very well go when Michael was all panic-stations about you and Kev. He’d’ve gone off his trolley altogether, worrying.”

  “D’you mind?”

  “No, it’s been okay. We had a lovely meal last night in a proper restaurant, with a floorshow.”

  I pricked up my ears. “Yeah? What kind?”

  “Acts and that. Ventriloquist. A singer – South American. And some sort of Eastern dancers, fantastic. Cost us a bomb, but it was worth it. Michael made us all clean up, even had to iron our tops. As it was he had a job getting us in because we weren’t dressed up enough. Michael’s got a way with him, I’ll say that. Remember how he got round that camp-site commandant to let us have a fire? If I didn’t know him better I’d say he gives ’em back-handers. But I think it’s just his fatal Irish charm.”

  We finished the dishes at long last and the others settled up. Darryl showed me the leaflets about Madurodam. Looked great. It was near the Hague, another big town, but it wasn’t all that far. The others said they were getting in such good shape from all the cycling, they could do sixty miles a day and still be ready to go out in the evening – they’d done it the day before. Been to a cheese market, hadn’t they, and gobbled cheese till they nearly burst. Bought some fancy candles for their mums, at least Karen and Darryl had. Seen about a million windmills and even been in to one. It’s true Michael had made them go through a museum and look at some boring old stuff, but even there they saw a gold goblet which was meant to be the best in the world, which might have been okay.

  Still. I told them about the musical boxes on wheels, and our boat-ride on the canals. And I told them I’d been to two nightclubs with fabulous floorshows, without going into details. I thought Michael looked at me a bit sideways but he didn’t ask anything.

  We were on the road by nine-thirty. The weather was nice now, a bit blowy on the green open bits but then you’d expect that. I was fine to start with, zooming along with the others ; but after a bit I started falling behind. Got a bit of a headache, as well as leg-ache. Trouble was, the others had been riding every day and I hadn’t. Not to mention Tracy’s Multicoloured Gobstop, which seemed to be catching up with me a bit behind times. Before we’d got near the Hague they were having to wait for me.