by Ruth Thomas
‘Come on, Nicky, keep up!’ called Mr Hunt, turning round to see what all the shouting was about.
14
Escape
MRS MITCHELL AWOKE. She had slept only half an hour, but she felt wonderfully refreshed. Moving in the chair, her hand touched the bag beside her, fingered it, closed around the strap – and remembered!
The bag was swinging from her hand that time – swinging, swinging, and then not swinging! Something happened to stop the swinging. . . . What . . .? And then she was screaming. . . . There was a tug, and her hand was hurting, and she was screaming! ‘He took it!’ she shouted, suddenly. ‘He took my bag! He stole it!’
‘He took her bag!’ shouted the woman in the next bed. ‘She remembered! Nurse, nurse, she remembered!’
Mrs Mitchell was sobbing. ‘He took my bag, and it had all my money in it! He took all my money so I couldn’t. . . .’
‘Yes?’ said the nurse, trying not to show how excited she was feeling. ‘What couldn’t you do?’
‘I couldn’t go . . . I couldn’t go . . . the train . . . the train was going . . . I. . . .’ Mrs Mitchell’s voice trailed off, uncertainly.
‘You wanted to go on the train?’ said the nurse, trying to help her.
‘I think so . . . I don’t know, now . . . I thought I would remember it all, but I didn’t.’ She was dreadfully disappointed. ‘I thought it was something about a train. . . . I don’t know now, it’s gone away again.’
‘You’re doing very well indeed!’ said the nurse, firmly.
Nicky was getting anxious. Three o’clock by Sir’s watch, and they hadn’t managed to run away yet! With Mr Hunt being so interested in Miss Greenwood today, it ought to be easy, but the trouble was they kept bumping into other groups. People from the school were everywhere; it was really very annoying.
They were in an amusement arcade now. Most of the teachers wouldn’t let their groups play the machines, but Mr Hunt was not being at all strict today, and anyway he was playing the machines himself, with Miss Greenwood. Those of the two groups who had run out of money were clustered round watching, cheering Sir and Miss on. Nicky held Roy’s wrist, tight. ‘Let’s go this way. Over here, look! Stand where nobody can’t see you. Here!’
She looked around, carefully. The machines hid Mr Hunt and Miss Greenwood from sight. If she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her! The way was clear to run now – but where? On the pavement outside would be Mrs Blake, or Mr Nelson, or Karen’s mum, or somebody else from the school.
Three o’clock! More than three o’clock now! It was a little walk to the coaches, so they would be going soon. Could she work it so Mr Hunt would go without her and Roy? Was there somewhere in this place so she and Roy could hide, so Mr Hunt would think they went out when he wasn’t looking? He would be cross they’d left the group, but he would think they’d gone back to the coach by themselves, most likely. He would come after them to tell them off, but he wouldn’t find them because they would be left behind in the machine place, really. And all the other groups would be gone to the coach by that time, so outside would be safe, and they could run across to the beach, and run along the beach, and run and run till they came to Southbourne, where Mum was!
It was only a little way. It was only a teeny, weeny way. She saw it on the map.
Nicky peered about her, looking for a good hiding place among the machines. There were spaces between them in some places. If she and Roy squeezed into one of those spaces – against the wall would be good – and if there were people in front of the space, then Mr Hunt and Miss Greenwood and the other kids wouldn’t see them. Nicky found a popular machine, one with lots of people around it. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, elbowing her way through the little crowd to push Roy into the little space.
‘I don’t like it here,’ said Roy.
‘You grumble too much,’ said Nicky.
She bent her knees, to be as low as possible, and made Roy bend his. ‘It’s making my legs ache,’ Roy complained.
‘Shut up,’ said Nicky.
‘How long must we stay like this?’
‘Till I say it’s time to come out.’
‘There they are, Sir,’ said Eric Morris’s voice. ‘They’re hiding, Sir!’
‘What’s the big idea?’ said Mr Hunt, quite crossly. ‘You nearly made us late for the coach.’
‘Only joking,’ said Nicky, coming out of the hiding place with Roy. She felt foolish, and worse.
‘All keep together now,’ said Mr Hunt, leading the way.
‘Nicky doesn’t look as though she was joking,’ said Miss Greenwood, glancing back. ‘She looks as though she’s casting evil spells.’
‘She probably is. Take no notice,’ said Mr Hunt.
‘Is she quite right in the head?’
‘As mad as a hatter,’ said Mr Hunt. ‘Come on, Nicky, cheer up! We’ve had a great day out, but all good things come to an end, you know.’
Not this one, Nicky thought, fiercely. Not this one yet!
She began to pretend a tremendous interest in the souvenir shops they were passing. Holding Roy by the wrist, she lingered and dragged, and shrieked with ecstasy over displays of shell ornaments, and seaside pottery. ‘Come on, Nicky,’ called Mr Hunt, over his shoulder. ‘We haven’t time for that now. It’s three-thirty already, you know.’
‘Sorry, Sir. Coming, Sir.’
But she had manoeuvred herself to the back of the group, and the gap between the two of them and the others was getting wider and wider.
Mr Hunt didn’t seem to be bothered about them any more, he was chatting up Miss Greenwood like anything again. And no sign of the other groups; they were all back at the coaches, of course! It was now. It must be now.
At the right moment, and with no one looking, Nicky and Roy bolted up a side street and melted into the town.
In the coach, Mr Nelson counted heads. Two missing; he counted them again. ‘It’s Nicky and Roy,’ someone said. ‘Nicky and Roy’s not here.’
‘Mr Hunt?’
‘Not those two again!’ said Mr Hunt. ‘That girl’s a real pain in the neck!’
‘I thought she was up to something,’ said Miss Greenwood.
The other coaches were searched, and there was a quick scan of the promenade and the beach. ‘What’s she playing at?’ said Mr Hunt, beginning to be worried.
‘I thought she was up to something,’ said Miss Greenwood.
‘Who saw where they went?’ Mr Hunt bellowed at the coachload of children. ‘Come on, someone must have seen them disappear!’
‘Perhaps they drowned, Sir,’ said Marcus.
‘Perhaps they went back in the sea, and got drowned!’
‘Ha, ha, ha!’
‘That’s not funny!’ said Mr Hunt, sharply.
‘I thought she was up to something,’ said Miss Greenwood.
‘So you said,’ Mr Hunt snapped at her.
‘Joycelyn?’ said Mr Nelson.
‘Nicky didn’t want me today,’ said Joycelyn. ‘She wouldn’t even let me cuddle Roy.’
‘This is beyond a joke!’ said Mr Nelson. The pains in his gammy leg were like twisting corkscrews, and now his ulcer was beginning to gnaw as well, reminding him how much he longed for home, and rest, and a good hot meal. ‘The other coaches will have to go on,’ he said wearily. ‘They can warn the parents this one will be late. Mr Hunt, will you go and look round the streets? They can’t have gone far.’
‘Shall I come as well?’ Miss Greenwood offered. She put her head on one side, and gave Mr Hunt a smile full of wistfulness and sympathy.
‘No, it’s all right, I’ll go on my own,’ he replied. This job required a manly stride, and he did not want Miss Greenwood trailing at his heels.
When he came back, after ten minutes or so of manly striding, some of the children in the coach were singing ‘Why are we waiting?’, some were falling asleep in their seats, and the rest were showing ominous signs of attacking one another through sheer boredom.
�
��No sign?’ said Mr Nelson, unnecessarily.
‘They seem to have vanished off the face of the earth,’ said Mr Hunt.
‘I thought she was up to something,’ said Miss Greenwood, before she could stop herself.
Mr Hunt found he had gone off Miss Greenwood quite a bit. All of a sudden he thought she was a silly little thing, and rather wondered what he’d been seeing in her all day.
‘Can’t wait here for ever, you know,’ said the driver, who was getting grumpy.
‘And we can’t leave two children to find their way home alone,’ said Mr Nelson.
‘Not my problem,’ muttered the driver.
The problem was Mr Nelson’s, of course, and he was feeling very old, and troubled, and uncertain about what to do. ‘It would be a kindness,’ he said to the grumpy driver, ‘if you would take the coach very slowly round the streets, while we all look out for the missing kids. Someone can stay here in case they turn up on their own.’
The driver muttered something which sounded like ‘Not my job’, – but he did as Mr Nelson asked. ‘Eyes peeled, everyone!’ Mr Nelson told the children. ‘And a gold star for the first one to spot them!’
Everyone cheered up at having something important to do. ‘There they are!’ said Marcus, suddenly.
‘Stop!’ said Mr Nelson, to the driver. ‘Where, boy, where? I don’t see them!’
‘They went round that corner! I just saw their backs!’
Everyone crowded to the windows to watch. Mr Hunt jumped from the coach while it was still moving, and pelted round the corner. Everyone cheered, and jumped up and down. ‘Can I have my star, Sir?’ said Marcus. ‘Can I have my star?’
‘Let’s just see if it’s true,’ said Mr Nelson.
Roy and Nicky had gone a long way into the back streets of the town. They had run and run, and in the end they had gone into a church because they had done enough running, and Nicky wanted somewhere safe and dark to hide. Mr Hunt’s manly striding had not taken him as far as the church, and he would hardly have thought of looking inside, anyway.
Nicky and Roy sat close together, and Nicky tilted her head. She had never been in this kind of church before. There were beautiful pictures, made of coloured glass, in the high-up windows. ‘Look, Roy!’ said Nicky, in amazement. ‘Look at that!’
Roy was not interested. He wanted this adventure over, and he wanted it over soon. ‘We supposed to be looking for Mum, not looking at pictures,’ he said.
‘You don’t have to stop doing one thing, just because you’re doing something else as well,’ said Nicky.
‘I do,’ said Roy.
Nicky sat right back in her seat and gazed, and gazed, and it was as though she wasn’t sitting any longer; but floating up, to where the beautiful windows were. ‘There’s lots of things I didn’t know about before,’ she marvelled. ‘Lots of things!’
‘When are we going?’ said Roy.
‘Presently,’ said Nicky.
It was when they came out that they saw the coach. Outside the dark church, they blinked in the sudden brightness. There was a clock in the tower of the church. ‘Twenty minutes past four,’ said Nicky, with satisfaction. ‘They’ll be gone now. They’ll all be gone back to London.’
‘I don’t think they’ll go without us,’ said Roy.
‘I bet they didn’t even notice!’
‘I bet they did, then! They count!’
‘Well anyway,’ said Nicky, trying to persuade herself, ‘I don’t think they care really. Mr Hunt doesn’t care, he said! He said, “A few lost, a few drowned, what’s the difference?”.’
‘I bet he was joking.’
‘No – he said he meant every word of it.’
‘What’s that then?’ said Roy, pointing.
‘Run!’ said Nicky, dragging him round the corner. They dodged through a maze of streets, then ran straight down. Down, down, down to the sea. Across the promenade, and down the steps, and along the beach under cover of the wall: and Nicky’s foot was hurting again from the blister, but it was the pains in their chests and the stitches in their sides that forced them to stop. And anyway the sand and shingle had come to an end; the beach was all loose pebbles now, that their feet sank into, so they couldn’t run properly, only plod. They collapsed on to the pebbles, and their breathing came in great shuddering gasps, so it was several minutes before they could say even one word to each other.
And meanwhile a very subdued Mr Hunt was once more climbing into the coach empty-handed.
‘It was them!’ said Marcus.
‘Are you sure, now?’ said Mr Nelson.
‘I just saw their backs,’ said Marcus.
‘It wasn’t them!’
‘It was. They had their bags!’
‘It wasn’t, it wasn’t, Sir!’
‘I never saw them!’
‘Nor I didn’t, neither.’
‘Marcus is making out! He just wants his gold star!’
‘He never had a gold star, Sir, before!’
‘Ha, ha, ha!’
‘Shut up, all of you!’ said Mr Hunt.
‘I think Marcus must have been mistaken,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘Good try, lad! Thank you for trying.’
‘Do you think they got lost, Mr Nelson? Nicky and Roy, do you think they got lost?’
‘I don’t see how I can assume anything else. But we can’t hold the coach up any longer for them. Drop me at the police station, please, driver.’
‘Miss Greenwood’s crying,’ said Eric.
‘Would you like me to stay, Mr Nelson?’ said Mr Hunt. What a miserable end to a carefree day!
‘No, no, you can go back to London and help Miss Powell cope with the mother. A nice little job for you!’
‘Miss Greenwood’s crying,’ said Eric.
‘Perhaps they’ll turn up before the coach gets back,’ said Mr Hunt, hopefully.
‘In that case I’ll phone through to Miss Powell.’
‘Sir,’ said Eric, ‘Miss Greenwood’s crying!’
‘Mind your own business!’ snapped Mr Hunt.
‘It was them I saw,’ said Marcus. He sulked about it, all the way back to London.
A police car, with Mr Nelson in it, was scouring the streets of Easthaven. A policewoman had been left at the coach place, in case the children came back there; but Mr Nelson was in the car, because he was the one who knew them. As the minutes crawled with the crawling car, Mr Nelson became more and more anxious.
The police officers in the car addressed each other as John and Mike. They had introduced themselves as P.C. Something, and P.C. Something else, but Mr Nelson was so worried about the missing children, he forgot the policemen’s names as soon as they said them.
‘I can’t imagine what’s happened! I can’t imagine what’s happened!’ Mr Nelson kept repeating.
‘We’ll find ’em, don’t worry,’ said the police officer called John. ‘Not such a big town, this.’
‘I wouldn’t be so concerned if I thought they were just lost,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘But how can you get lost in a seaside place? For all this time? They know the coaches are at the seafront. And there are signposts everywhere, even if they don’t twig you have to keep going downhill. Something must have happened to them. Something must have happened.’
‘We’ve done the toilets,’ said John. ‘They aren’t trapped in there.’
‘Bright kids, are they?’ said the policeman called Mike. ‘Got their heads screwed on?’
‘The girl’s all there and twice the way back,’ Mr Nelson told him, ‘if a little unpredictable. The boy’s got a poor opinion of himself, but he’s no fool really. They can’t be just lost. . . . Anyway, they only had to ask. . . . Ask! Oh dear God, suppose they asked the wrong person!’
‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Sir,’ said John. ‘It’s far too early days for that!’
He was only a youngster, younger than both of Mr Nelson’s sons, but the uniform gave him authority, somehow. ‘You would say so?’ said Mr Nelson, humbly seeking reassurance
from this whipper-snapper.
‘Lord, yes!’ said John.
‘We shall find they’re just playing around and forgot the time,’ said Mike. Mike had thought that from the beginning.
‘For two hours!’ said Mr Nelson.
‘You did say the girl was unpredictable,’ said John.
‘But not that irresponsible!’ said Mr Nelson. ‘I don’t believe it. I don’t believe she could be!’
‘Kids can be pretty vague about time, can’t they?’ said Mike.
‘True,’ said Mr Nelson.
‘Well there you are,’ said Mike.
‘Got watches have they?’ said John.
‘No,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘There is that. Only . . . if they’re just playing . . . where is there else to look?’ They had searched the arcades thoroughly. Several times. They had searched the shops. They had searched the beach, and all around the harbour.
‘They’ll turn up!’ said Mike. ‘And you can have a great time bawling ’em out for playing up.’
‘The trouble is,’ said Mr Nelson, ‘I can’t stop thinking about all these horror stories we keep hearing. About missing kids.’
‘It’s not that,’ said John, firmly.
‘They nearly always turn up safe and well,’ said Mike. ‘Almost always.’
‘Life was much safer when I was a boy,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘Our parents didn’t have to worry so much about us. If a kid got lost – well, someone brought him back, that’s all. Took him to the police station or something.’
‘Most people would still do that,’ said John.
‘No one has brought Roy and Nicky to the police station,’ said Mr Nelson.
‘Shall we try further along the beach?’ said Mike. ‘It gets a bit desolate, nothing to attract a kid, I wouldn’t think. . . . Still, you never know!’
They passed the harbour again, and drove along the coast road beyond it for about a mile. ‘You’re right,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘It is desolate.’
They turned round, and went to the end of the promenade the other way. Mr Nelson was remembering something. ‘I was just wondering . . . how far this beach goes on,’ Nicky had said. ‘Could you walk all round the country?’ ‘They might have gone this way,’ he suggested. ‘To see how far they could walk.’
