by Ruth Thomas
Right foot . . . left foot . . . right foot . . . left foot, and the pebbles sucking at his legs all the time. The bag with his coat, and the swimming things he hadn’t used, felt heavy as stones. The evening was chilly now, and Roy could have done with wearing his coat, only he was too sad to put it on. And there was only this beach in the whole world now, with the sea on one side, and the cliff on the other, and the sky with no sun in it any more. Every now and again Nicky turned, anxiously, to make sure he was following. And every time she did that he stood still, to make her turn round again.
Gradually the beach became firmer, the covering of pebbles not so thick. Then there was shingle again – even small patches of sand. It should have been easier to walk, but it wasn’t, because Roy’s legs had turned into lead weights, and he had to concentrate really hard on lifting them, even over the firmer ground. He slowed, and stopped, and next time Nicky turned to look, there was a great yawning gap between them. ‘Come on!’ she urged.
‘I can’t.’
‘What do you mean, you can’t?’
‘I can’t. My legs won’t go.’
‘Well make them go.’
‘I can’t.’
She came back to him. ‘There isn’t any can’t, we got to.’
‘I can’t,’ said Roy.
‘Yes you can.’ Nicky went behind him and gave him a push. He stumbled a few steps forward and stopped again. ‘See? Your legs do go. Now come on. We’re nearly there.’
‘You said that before. A long time ago.’
‘So we must be nearly there now.’
‘I don’t think we’re ever going to get there.’
‘That’s because you think bad things all the time.’
‘If I think good things,’ said Roy, ‘they don’t happen.’
‘So? You got to make them happen.’
Roy sat down abruptly, on the beach.
‘Get up.’
‘No.’
‘You miserable, moany, weak, draggy, creep!’
‘You promised you wouldn’t say those things any more.’
‘I changed my mind.’
He was too weary to care, anyway. What did it matter if she called him names? What did anything matter? When she grabbed him by the armpits and yanked him to his feet he made no resistance, just hung on her arms like a dead weight.
‘Stand up!’
He stood, numb and hopeless.
‘Now come on! We’re going a bit further whether you like it or not. We’re going because I say so. We’re going round that corner. We’re going to see what’s round that corner, because I think it’s going to be Southbourne!’ She seized him by the wrist and dragged, and he stumbled after her because her grip was like a vice, so he had no choice. The beach was curving to a point, and in spite of pain and misery, the point was getting nearer.
Nearer, nearer. Even Roy felt his hopes rising, just a little bit. There must be something different round this corner, there must be something. ‘What’s that notice over there?’ said Roy.
‘Never mind the notice. We haven’t got time to look at notices,’ said Nicky.
They were round! And there was nothing very different, only a much narrower beach, and farther on again another corner. Nicky swallowed her disappointment, not to show it to Roy. ‘It must be round the next corner!’ she said. ‘Southbourne must be round the next corner. . . . All right, we’ll rest just a little bit . . . just a little bit, till we get our breath back.’
‘The sea’s come nearer,’ said Roy.
It was after supper on the ward, and mercifully everyone was allowed back to bed. Mrs Mitchell hauled herself up on her pillows, wincing at the pain from her broken ribs. She wriggled sideways, so she was sitting right on the edge of the bed. Then she held the bag so it swung from her hand. Backwards and forwards swung the bag, and it was like that other time, when she was running and the bag was swinging. She was running, and it was dark, and the bag was swinging, and the sea was on the other side, black and shiny, and the sand below looked black as well because it was night time, and she was running and frightened because it was night time, because it was late and – because it was late and – there might not be a train!
Suddenly it was there, all of it, all the memories coming back with a rush! Mrs Mitchell opened her mouth and screamed. The nurse came hurrying, and Mrs Mitchell clutched at her. ‘My children! My children! Who’s looking after my children?’
‘It’s all right,’ the nurse soothed her. ‘Someone will be.’
‘But I have to know, I have to know!’
‘As soon as you tell us your address, we can go and find out for you.’
‘It’s 24 Gilbert Road, London NW10,’ said Mrs Mitchell. ‘Roy and Nicky Mitchell. I was running to get back to them. I didn’t ought to have left them, and I’ll never do it again! I won’t, I won’t!’
‘I’m sure they’re all right,’ said the nurse.
‘But all this time, all those days . . . Who’s been looking after Roy and Nicky all this time? Oh I must go to them, I must go to them!’ And Mrs Mitchell, weak and hurt as she still was, threw back the covers to get out of bed.
‘When you’re better,’ said the nurse.
‘But I have to know now!’
‘Of course, of course – we’ll tell the police right away. They’ll see to it, don’t worry.’
‘I got sunburned today,’ said Nicky, touching her cheeks. ‘My face is all hot. Did you get sunburnt, Roy?’
‘The sea’s getting really near,’ said Roy. ‘There’s not much beach left to sit on.’
‘We stayed here too long anyway,’ said Nicky. ‘I only meant it to be a little rest. Do you want some more bread before we go? All right, please yourself. It’s probably a bigger beach round the corner, like before. And it will be Southbourne, I just know. Don’t worry, Roy, we’re nearly there!’
‘Suppose we aren’t, though?’
‘We will be – you’ll see!’
Roy dragged himself upright, and began the weary trekking once again. Over and above the other feelings, a strong uneasiness was forming in his mind. The tide was coming in fast. In some places they had to keep right against the cliff, not to get their shoes wet. And the cliff was very high, and steep. Near the bottom there were places you could climb, otherwise it went straight up. Stiff as he was, and aching all over, Roy began to hurry. ‘You have cheered up,’ said Nicky, pleased.
‘I don’t think we can get round that corner,’ said Roy.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Look – there’s all water!’
Nicky focused her eyes ahead, and frowned.
‘We’ll have to paddle, that’s all.’
‘Suppose it’s too deep?’
‘You would suppose that! You would suppose a bad thing like that!’
Roy began to run. ‘Wait for me!’ said Nicky.
The tide swirled around the point. Nicky put her bag on the ground, took off her shoes, and began to wade. The water was up to her knees. She lifted her skirt and took a few more steps. Suddenly she was floundering, waist deep in water. She turned, and struggled back to what was left of the beach.
‘We’re going to be drowned,’ said Roy, and his face was white with fear.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Nicky. ‘Of course we’re not going to be drowned!’
‘We are, the water’s too deep!’
‘Well we don’t have to go in it, do we?’ said Nicky. ‘We can go back the other way. Round the other corner.’
‘There was that notice,’ said Roy. ‘And you wouldn’t let me read it.’
‘Well – they should make the letters so you can read it from far away! Anyway, it was probably only about you mustn’t drop rubbish.’
Going back, there were places where they actually had to paddle. Places which had been dry beach, before. The children hurried, because a great dread had seized both of them; and they were hurrying, and hurrying, only not nearly fast enough because it was like a nightmare, when you
try to run and you can’t. Suddenly your legs are all paralysed, and you can only go slow, when it’s terribly, terribly important to go quick.
The point, which they had rounded dry-footed the first time, was quite impassable now. ‘I’ll swim,’ said Nicky wildly, though she knew she was capable of no such thing. ‘I’ll swim, and carry you on my back.’
‘We’re going to drown,’ said Roy, in terror.
‘No we’re not then,’ said Nicky. ‘I’m not, anyway, and if you think I’m going to let you drown, you can think again!’
‘You can’t swim round the corner, you know you can’t! We can’t get round this corner, and we can’t get round the other corner. And the water’s coming deeper all the time!’
‘So? It’s only the tide coming in. It’ll go out again, Mr Nelson said. It does that all the time. It comes in, and it goes out. We’ll just stay here, that’s all, and wait.’
‘Where?’
‘On the beach, of course, dummy! Where do you think?’
‘Suppose there isn’t any beach any more?’
‘Of course there will be a beach! There’s always a beach. Did you ever hear of a seaside without a beach? Well, then!’
(Had Sir said otherwise? She must have misunderstood!)
‘I can see places now where there isn’t any beach,’ said Roy. ‘I can see lots of places where there isn’t any beach, and the water’s come right up to the cliff.’
‘Well . . . we just find a place where there’s plenty of beach left,’ said Nicky. ‘And we sit down and wait for the tide to go out. And I’m going to take off my wet dress and put my coat over me. And you can look the other way, Roy Mitchell, because I don’t want any boys peeking at me while I do it!’
Mr Nelson paced on his gammy leg, dot-and-carry-one, up and down the station platform at Easthaven, waiting for the train which was already overdue. He was dreading the thought of the long rail journey, and the long tube journey the other end, and not knowing all that time if there was any news of the missing children. He could use the public phones at Victoria Station, of course, but his hearing was not as good as it used to be, and there was always so much background noise there.
The train came in, and Mr Nelson hoisted himself on board, better leg first, worse leg dragged painfully after. He found a seat by the window, so he could go on looking right to the last minute, as the train pulled out of Easthaven. The sunny day had become a cheerless evening, with a covering of cloud across a dull sky.
There was a noise outside – a message coming over the station tannoy. Mr Nelson tried to hear what the tannoy was saying, but the sound was all muffled and distorted, and being inside the train didn’t help, even though the carriage doors were still open.
‘What’s it saying, Dad?’ said the little boy opposite, who surely should have been in bed.
‘The usual, I expect,’ said his father. ‘Excuses about the train being late. Or the next one being cancelled. That sort of thing.’
‘Who’s Mr Nelson from London, then?’ said the boy.
Mr Nelson heaved himself and his arthritis out of his seat.
Doors were slamming farther down the platform. ‘Where do I go?’ said Mr Nelson, to the railman who was slamming them.
‘Depends where you want to go, mate. Where was it you was thinking of going?’
‘The message! Over the tannoy just now. The one in Ancient Mesopotamian.’ The railman gaped, unsmiling. ‘Oh never mind,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘Where’s the station master’s office?’
Mr Nelson performed the painful dance which was the nearest he could get to a run, first to the station master’s office, and then to the police car waiting for him outside. Inspector Kendall smiled, and opened the door for Mr Nelson to get in. Detective Constable Shaw was there as well.
‘You’ve found them!’ said Mr Nelson, eagerly. ‘You’ve got me off the train to say you’ve found them!’
‘Sorry,’ said Inspector Kendall. ‘Sorry to raise your hopes – I’m afraid it’s not as good as that.’
‘Not – not bad news I hope!’
‘No, no . . . we think we know where they may be. There’s a good chance you can help us find them, so we’re asking for your help again after all.’
‘Good!’ said Mr Nelson. ‘Because I didn’t want to go back to London anyway. What is it then? What’s happened?’
‘Well, for a start we’ve found the mother.’
‘She was at home all the time?’ said Mr Nelson.
‘Indeed she was not!’ said Inspector Kendall. ‘Your old sharp-eyes up in London was quite right, she has been missing for a week and a half. She’s been missing because she’s been in hospital, unconscious!’
‘In hospital!’
‘And unconscious,’ said Detective Shaw. ‘Unconscious at first, that is. Then she couldn’t remember who she was. Then this evening she finally did remember who she was, and started going frantic about her kids.’
‘Which is how we came to know about it,’ said Inspector Kendall. ‘Hospital phoned their local police station. Their local station phoned the woman’s local station in London. The very people we were already in touch with, of course. From when your chap and the old biddy went to see them about the mother being missing. Do you follow?’
‘I’m trying to,’ said poor bewildered Mr Nelson.
‘Anyway, London got straight back to us,’ said Detective Constable Shaw. ‘And we came racing to snatch you out of the train.’
‘And all this has happened in the last – what . . . couple of hours?’ Mr Nelson marvelled.
‘That’s the way it goes sometimes,’ said Inspector Kendall. ‘The breaks all come at once.’
Mr Nelson’s head felt big, and tight. In a moment it would go off pop. ‘I still don’t understand,’ he said. ‘The mother in hospital! But how did she get? . . . I mean . . . are you saying the kids didn’t know what happened to their mother?’
‘Couldn’t have,’ said Inspector Kendall.
‘She couldn’t be identified,’ said Detective Shaw.
‘Her bag was lifted just before the accident,’ said Inspector Kendall.
‘Accident?’
‘She was knocked down by a car. No blame to the driver, she just ran across without looking. Right under his wheels.’
‘And she only got her memory back this evening!’ said Mr Nelson.
‘That’s right.’
‘So as far as the kids were concerned, she just went unaccountably missing!’
‘That’s right.’
‘But why in God’s name didn’t they tell someone?’
‘I’m still trying to puzzle that one out,’ said Inspector Kendall.
‘I think I understand it,’ said Detective Shaw. ‘The kids were covering for the mother. She’s quite open about what she did – now! She was supposed to be away one night at a caravan park, and she told the kids to keep it quiet because she’d get in trouble for leaving them. When she didn’t come back, they went on keeping it quiet.’
‘Does that make sense to you?’ said Inspector Kendall.
‘Oh yes,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘That makes very good sense to me. That is exactly what I should expect Nicky Mitchell to do. I wish someone would explain the rest of it though. Like, for instance, where we’re going now.’
The car was making speed along a coast road. ‘We’re going over to Southbourne,’ said Inspector Kendall.
‘About ten miles if I remember,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘But why Southbourne?’
‘Ah now, this is where it all comes together,’ said Inspector Kendall. ‘The hospital your kids’ mother is in is at Southbourne. Which is where she had the road accident that put her there.’
‘I see!’ said Mr Nelson.
‘You do?’ said Inspector Kendall.
‘I think so,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘You mean – the kids will have gone to Southbourne to find their mother!’
‘Ever thought of joining the Force?’ Inspector Kendall joked.
‘But – ten mile
s!’ Mr Nelson smiled only briefly; he was not in the mood for humour.
‘Kids find ways,’ said Inspector Kendall.
‘Bus?’
‘Quite possibly, there’s a good service.’
‘If they have the money for the fare,’ said Mr Nelson.
‘Since when did having no money stop kids from riding on buses?’
‘They could have tried to hitch a lift, which God forbid,’ said Mr Nelson.
‘Amen to that!’
‘Looking on the bright side,’ said Mr Nelson, ‘and presuming they get to Southbourne safely, they’ll go to the caravan park first.’
‘Probably.’
‘And find their mum not there, so what then? Wander the streets looking for her, I suppose.’
‘More than likely.’
‘And it’s getting dark.’
‘Rapidly.’
‘What about the mother?’ said Mr Nelson, suddenly. ‘Poor silly woman, she must be going out of her head with worry!’
‘I think they’re stalling her for the moment – but of course she’s clamouring for news. They can’t hide it from her much longer that her kids are actually missing.’
‘Can’t this car go a bit faster?’ said Mr Nelson.
16
Touch and go
EVEN NICKY HAD gone silent. They were standing now, leaning on the rough wall of cliff, and their feet were ankle deep in water. A new wave broke against the rock behind them, pulled out, and settled. Now the water level was five centimetres above the bottom of Roy’s jeans. Nicky turned her head, and her eyes swept upwards. ‘Do you think there might be somebody on top?’ she said.
‘We’re going to drown,’ said Roy. There was not enough light to show the whiteness of his face, but his voice came out hoarse and tight, and the hands with the twisting fingers were trembling.
‘If there was somebody up there, they could help us,’ said Nicky.
‘We’re going to drown,’ said Roy.
‘Not if somebody would fetch a boat round for us,’ said Nicky. ‘I think we got to shout, Roy. I think we got to forget the secret now. I think this is a emergency.’
‘There’s nobody there,’ said Roy.
‘Come on,’ said Nicky. ‘Shout!’ She shrieked her best, but there was no response. ‘You’re not helping!’ she reproached Roy. ‘Come on, both of us!’
