The Runaway Summer (12 page)

He was nowhere to be seen. The sky was almost quite black now, and it was so dark … Not only couldn't she see Simon, she couldn't see the shore …

Then the first lightning came; not a zigzag flicker, but a still, almost blinding illumination, as if a light had suddenly been switched on. She saw Simon's head like a seal's, poking up.

She called, ‘Simon,' and the thunder answered her—a crash, as if the earth were being torn apart. She swam towards him in darkness, but only for a second: there was another flash of lightning that seemed to strike down into the water. She saw weeds twisting and writhing beneath her like trees, tossed in a violent storm, although on the surface no wind ruffled the water, and the rhododendron bushes on the island, white when the lighning flashed, were still as carved stone.

Simon shouted something. She thought he said,
Fine
old
storm,
but the words were drowned by thunder that rolled and crashed, and then by the rain: white, steel rods hammering on the water as if on solid glass. It was like swimming through a waterfall. As she reached Simon, something struck her cheek and made her gasp. ‘Hail,' he said, and she saw it plopping all round her: ice bullets, making neat, round holes in the lake.

They swam into the grotto, their knees grinding on gravel. They dragged themselves onto the floor of the cavern, too spent at first to do more than lie there, looking at the storm. In the lightning, the hail was like a curtain of diamonds falling.

Simon said, ‘My Uncle Horace had his car struck by
lightning
once. He said everything went blue, and smelt of seaweed.'

‘Seaweed?' Mary said. She began to shiver and Simon threw her his shirt. ‘Dry on that,' he said, but the shirt was damp, as if it had been hanging in steam. When they were dressed, they felt almost as wet as they had been in the lake. ‘Ought to jump
up and down.' Simon said, but after one or two half-hearted bending and stretching exercises, they gave up and huddled together, watching the lightning bounce like a skimmed pebble across the lake, and waiting for each cannonade of thunder. These were so frequent now, and so tearingly loud, that it seemed impossible to hear themselves speak, let alone any other sound. When one came, a long, unearthly scream, they stood for the moment, rigid and appalled …

Then Simon shouted,
‘Krishna,'
and leapt for the rocky stair.

But it was Noakes who had made that terrible noise. Lightning lit the tiny room and they saw Krishna, lying on the bracken, the sleeping bag pulled over his head, while Noakes stalked the room like a mad tiger, tail erect, fur bristling, one eye blazing. When Mary bent to touch him, he arched away, gave another blood-curdling cry, and bounded past her.

Simon caught her arm. ‘Let him go, he'll scratch you to pieces,' he shouted. ‘He's fighting wild …'

Thunder crackled, like something solid breaking. When it died away, echoes grumbling through the grotto, they heard Noakes's high-pitched yowl, growing fainter as he went further away.

And closer, in the room, Krishna weeping …

They knelt beside him. Simon pulled off the sleeping bag and Mary took him in her arms, cradling his head and crooning. ‘It's all right … all right … only a silly old storm …'

But he continued to cry, twisting in the bracken and jerking his knees up to his chest. His forehead, pressed against Mary's chest, felt burning hot.

She said, ‘Simon, it's not the storm. He's ill. He's hot as fire. Krishna. Darling. Where do you hurt?'

The boy moaned something. Mary didn't catch it.

‘I think his stomach,' Simon said. He felt Krishna gently. ‘It's funny. Feel …'

Below Krishna's ribs, his belly pushed out, hard and tight as a football. He cried out when Mary touched him.

‘Perhaps he ate something bad,' Simon said. ‘Berries. Perhaps he just needs to be sick. If we make him put a finger down his throat … or tickle it with a piece of bracken …'

‘Revolting,' Mary said, and pulled a face.

‘It's not a time to be fussy. We got to do something.'

Lightning frayed the room. A feebler flash than before, but it showed Simon's face, chalk-white. ‘Do you want him to
die?'

The word echoed, fading away through the caves and passages of the grotto like the next thunder clap which sounded so gently that it was more like an enormous sigh. As if the whole earth had suddenly grown tired.

‘Storm's moving away,' Simon said, glancing upwards. As he spoke, a faint light began to filter into the room through the small window. The ordinary light of day.

‘I will die,' Krishna said suddenly, and gave a choking gasp of terror. ‘I will die.'

‘Of course not,' Mary said, holding him close and glaring nastily at Simon. ‘Don't take any notice of
him
.'

‘I hurt,' Krishna wailed. ‘Mary. Oh, please. Make it stop.'

He rolled on to his side and buried his head in her lap. She cupped her hands over his ears and looked at Simon.

‘Get Aunt Alice,' she said. ‘She used to be a nurse. She'll know what to do.'

M
ARY NURSED KRISHNA
and sang to him. Whenever he moaned, she felt his pain, like a stab in her own stomach. And also fear …

In between the songs, she questioned him anxiously. ‘Is it better? Just a little bit? Do you feel better now?’ until he said, ‘Oh do stop, Mary. You can’t make me better by
asking.
’

She was so relieved, she laughed and hugged him. If he had the energy to sound so cross, he couldn’t be going to die!

She went on singing until her voice was croaky and he grew heavier in her arms. When she was sure he was fast asleep, she made him comfortable in the bracken and left the grotto.

The storm had blown itself out and left a fine, windy evening: silver ripples on the lake and bright-edged rags of cloud scudding across a greenish sky. On her way to the bridge she called Noakes once or twice, but there was no sign of him.

Nor of Simon. She sat in the middle of a rhododendron bush where she could watch the bridge without being seen. Her arms ached from holding Krishna, and her heart ached, too. Now the waiting was nearly over she was afraid—not for Krishna, anymore, but for herself. Aunt Alice would come and rescue Krishna, but there would be no rescue for her! She had been a traitor, and by now Aunt Alice would
know it! The thought made Mary shudder and hunch into herself. She couldn’t face Aunt Alice. She couldn’t …

*

‘I can’t,’ Aunt Alice said. ‘I can’t …’

She stood on the first half of the bridge, looking with horror at the narrow beam. She wore a shapeless raincoat that reached almost to her ankles, and her grey hair, blown loose from its bun, fanned round her face like witch’s locks. Mary thought she looked beautiful.

‘It’s all right,’ Simon said. ‘Long as you don’t look.’

‘Well,’ Aunt Alice said. ‘I don’t know …’

‘I’ll blindfold you,’ Simon offered. He pulled a grubby handkerchief out of his pocket.

Aunt Alice stood still while he fastened it. The tied ends stood up above her head like rabbit’s ears. Pale as a turnip, she took her first, teetering step on the beam.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh, my goodness!’

‘I’m holding you,’ Simon said. ‘All you got to do is put one foot in front of the other. Feel with your toes.’

Aunt Alice lifted her feet high, like a bird stepping through water.

‘You’re doing fine,’ Simon said.

He moved cautiously backwards, clasping Aunt Alice’s hands. They looked very funny, but Mary didn’t smile.

‘We should have waited for the boat,’ Aunt Alice said, and halted suddenly.

‘This is quicker.’

Aunt Alice gasped. ‘Not if we fall off.’

‘You won’t fall if you keep moving,’ Simon said.

Step by shaky step. From time to time, Aunt Alice made small, squeaky sounds of terror. Mary shut her eyes.

‘There,’
Simon said, at last. ‘It’s not far to the grotto now.’

‘I think I remember,’ Aunt Alice said.

Mary wondered what she meant. They passed by her bush, so close that she could have put out her hand and touched Aunt Alice’s raincoat.

When she judged they had reached the grotto, she followed them, creeping a little way up the twisting stair. She heard Aunt Alice say, ‘Oh the poor child, the poor baby,’ and Krishna’s answering murmur.

‘Been asleep, have you?’ Aunt Alice said. ‘Well, that’s the best thing. Where does it hurt you, my love?’

Her voice was so kind. Mary thought—She never spoke to
me
like that, and rubbed the back of her hand, deliberately, against the spiky crystals on the wall. Then she sucked the blood from the scratches and sighed. Aunt Alice would have done, if only she’d let her. And now it was too late …

‘All right, darling,’ Aunt Alice was saying. ‘I won’t touch your poor tummy again. Yes I know it hurts, my pet, but we’re going to make it better, quite soon. A nice man is
coming
in a boat and we’re going to take you to a nice, warm hospital. Simon—go and see if your Uncle’s coming …’

Mary ran, jumping the narrow neck of the lake to the other side of the grotto and hiding in a tiny room that had a small, slotted window. She could see a small segment of the central cavern.

She heard Simon call, ‘Uncle Horace, we’re here,’ and then an answering hail from the lake. The boat glided in, rowlocks creaking as the rower shipped his oars.

Simon said, ‘She’s bringing him down.’

‘And you standing there?’ Uncle Horace said. ‘Letting a lady …’

‘It’s all right, Mr Trumpet. He weighs nothing. No more than a bird, the poor lamb.’

Standing on tiptoe, Mary could see Aunt Alice’s face as she appeared down the rocky stairs, and Krishna’s head, resting against her shoulder.

Simon giggled. ‘I should’ve thought a lamb weighed a bit more than a bird.’

‘Enough cheek from you,’ Aunt Alice said calmly. ‘Get in the boat. I’ll put him on your lap.’

She vanished from Mary’s view. The boat creaked.

‘There’s a boyo,’ Uncle Horace’s voice boomed hollow in the grotto. ‘Soon have you tucked up in bed.’

Mary stood with her face to the wall. In a minute they would be gone, all of them. And Aunt Alice hadn’t once mentioned her name …

The splash of oars, and voices, growing fainter. Then nothing. Silence. She was alone. They had gone and left her alone. Although this was what she had wanted—to be left on the island, an outcast, an outlaw—tears pricked the back of her eyes.

Aunt Alice said, ‘Mary …’

She peeped through the slit. Aunt Alice was still standing there.

‘Mary. Where are you, dear?’

Mary held her breath.

Aunt Alice said in a loud, conversational voice, ‘I think it may be his appendix. Poor little chap. Mr Trumpet will take him to the hospital in his van. Simon rang him at the shop and he came straight round.’

She stopped and waited. Listening. She said, ‘Mary …’

Mary didn’t move.

Aunt Alice said, ‘You know, I used to come here myself when I was about your age. The bridge wasn’t so broken down then, but no one else came, I used to come on my bike
and leave it by the old gate. The path’s overgrown a bit since. I don’t remember all those nettles! I remember how I felt, though. Coming here by myself, I could be someone quite different. Pretty and clever. I used to pretend my parents weren’t my real parents, that they had only adopted me. I was really a Duke’s daughter. I expect it sounds silly.’

She paused—hopefully, it seemed. Mary felt an itch in her nose. She pressed her finger on her upper lip, to stop herself sneezing.

Aunt Alice said, ‘I even told people sometimes. Strangers, of course. Then I was terrified my parents would find out. I used to have nightmares …’ She laughed her high, nervous laugh, and turned it into a cough. If you’re not coming, dear, I’ll have to go back on my own. Although I’m not sure how I’ll manage the bridge.’

Mary had managed to stop the sneeze. She let out her breath, very gently.

Aunt Alice turned and left the grotto. Small stones rattled as she climbed up the side of the bluff.

Mary followed, keeping her distance. Brambles plucked at her clothes. Aunt Alice didn’t look back.

Mary thought—Perhaps she’ll fall off the bridge! If she did, she would leap in, and save her! She would drag her to the bank and then sink back, exhausted, and let the quick-mud drag her down. She would die, saving Aunt Alice from death …

Ahead of her, Aunt Alice gave a sudden scream, and Mary’s heart leapt. But there was no splash; Aunt Alice was nowhere near the bridge. It was Noakes that had frightened her, Mary saw as she ran forward; pouncing in front of her, his back arched, his fur on end. He looked fearsome …

‘It’s all right, Aunt Alice, it’s only Noakes,’ Mary shouted.

Aunt Alice turned, and Mary skidded to a stop beside her.

‘Noakes?’ Aunt Alice said.

‘My cat.’

‘Oh.’ Aunt Alice looked at him. He was switching his tail and growling softly. Then he jumped sideways, into the undergrowth.

‘He wouldn’t have hurt you,’ Mary said. ‘He’s just a bit nervous.’

‘Nervous?’

‘I mean, he’s just not the sort of cat you can stroke.’

‘It wouldn’t occur to me to try,’ Aunt Alice said.

Mary wondered what to say next. They couldn’t go on talking about Noakes for ever!

Aunt Alice looked at her shyly, as if she were thinking the same thing.

Mary said, ‘I can take you across the bridge, if you like.’

‘Can you dear?’ Aunt Alice’s nose flushed pink and she stretched her jaw. ‘I supposed we ought to be going, then. Mr Trumpet will be coming back to pick us up and take us to the hospital.’

*

It was very hot in the hospital and the lights were very bright. Aunt Alice and Uncle Horace went away with a starched and creaking nurse, and left their niece and nephew stranded in the waiting room, full of empty armchairs and tables covered with old magazines. Mary looked at one or two, but there was nothing interesting. She would have preferred to talk to Simon but he was very quiet and shut away: frightened or grumpy.

Once a group of nurses passed the door and looked in at them. They were whispering and giggling, and Mary heard one of them say, ‘Are those the two kids, then?’

‘They’re talking about us,’ she said. ‘What cheek!’

Simon shrugged his shoulders. ‘Might as well get used to it. I daresay it’ll be all over the newspapers.’

This seemed unlikely, but exciting. ‘Will it be on the telly, too?’ Mary asked, but Simon only groaned and put his head in his hands.

They sat there for over an hour. When Aunt Alice and Uncle Horace came back, they were both half asleep in their chairs.

Uncle Horace said, ‘Well, that’s that. He’s being operated on in about half an hour. They’ve managed to get hold of Mr Patel.’

Uncle Horace was a large man with a balding head and a grey beard that straggled unevenly, like an old floor mop. He had a large paunch with a stained red velvet waistcoat
precariously
fastened across it: as he bent to pick up his raincoat, one of the last buttons popped off.

Simon picked it up. His Uncle said, ‘Well boyo, we’d better get on home and tell your Dad what you’ve been up to.’

Simon was very white.

Uncle Horace put a big hand on his shoulder. ‘No point in putting things off,’ he said.

‘Simon’s Dad’s a policeman,’ Mary whispered to Aunt Alice as they followed the others out of the hospital. She wondered if Simon was really frightened of his father, or if it was just his conscience worrying him again, now he had left the island.

She said, ‘We
had
to hide Krishna, Aunt Alice. We just had to!’

‘Oh, I can see,’ Aunt Alice said. ‘But other people may think differently, you must expect that,’

It was dark now, and had begun to rain. Heads down, they splashed through puddles on their way to the hospital car park.

Mary said, ‘Is having your appendix out like tonsils?’

‘Not so bad, in some ways. You don’t get a sore throat. Don’t worry, dear.’

‘I’m not. I think Krishna’s
lucky
.’
Mary had enjoyed having her tonsils out: being in hospital and feeling important. ‘Everyone being nice and bothering about him,’ she said, and sighed.

Aunt Alice snatched Mary’s hand, and tucked it under her arm.

Mary snuggled close. In the rainy cold, it was comforting. She said, ‘What’s going to happen, Aunt Alice?’

‘Well.’ Aunt Alice seemed to hesitate. ‘I expect a policeman will want to see you. Just to ask a few questions. But you mustn’t let that frighten you. I’ll be there, or Grampy …’

‘Oh, I shan’t mind
that.
That’ll be fabulously interesting.’ Mary thought it was odd, the sort of thing grown-ups thought might frighten children! She said, ‘But I didn’t mean what’ll happen to
me.
I meant, what’ll happen to Krishna?’

*

‘That’ll be up to the Home Secretary,’ Grandfather said. ‘In the usual way children are not allowed to come and live here without their parents. Of course, it’s possible that the Home Secretary may make an exception in Krishna’s case, though I think it unlikely …’

‘He jolly well better,’ Mary said. ‘After all we’ve done! I don’t see what his parents have got to do with it, anyway. He’s got his Uncle he can live with, hasn’t he?’

‘That’s not the same thing as a mother or father, I’m afraid.’

‘Uncles and Aunts are often much nicer,’ Mary said.

Grandfather smiled, and lit his pipe. ‘I meant, legally,’ he said. ‘As far as the law is concerned.’ The smoke curled up
round his shiny, baby’s face as he went on, talking about dependent relatives, which were children and other people who couldn’t earn their own living: and immigration laws and quotas. Although Mary was beginning to feel sleepy, after a hot bath and a huge supper, she tried to look as if she was wide awake and listening because Grandfather was so clearly enjoying himself explaining things to her, just as she had enjoyed herself earlier, telling him and Aunt Alice how she had rescued Krishna single-handed from the two men who had kidnapped him; and hidden him, and fed him …

‘I thought the store cupboard was going down rather faster than usual!’ Aunt Alice had said, but apart from this one remark, they had both listened without interruption and no mention of bedtime.

They were a much better audience than the policeman who had come while Mary was eating her supper. He had been very casual—almost
amused,
Mary had thought. He had asked her questions: about the date Krishna had arrived in England, and where they had hidden him, and why, and he had written her answers down in his notebook, but he had smiled a lot and made jokes, as if this was just a jolly game they were playing! Not a serious matter, at all!

Thinking about it now, made Mary angry. ‘We
were
breaking the law, weren’t we?’ she said, interrupting her Grandfather’s monologue.

He looked startled. ‘Well, dear …’ He tapped out his pipe. ‘I know you didn’t understand, but I suppose, strictly speaking …’

‘Of course you were breaking the law, Mary,’ Aunt Alice said. ‘And rightly, to my mind!’