Torn Away (6 page)

Forty-five minutes later, he was at the airport terminal, scanning the monitors for information on flights to Britain. There was one going to Prestwick tomorrow morning at eight. The name was familiar. Prestwick
was in Scotland. Or England; he could not be sure. But it didn't matter which; either one would do, for Ireland was but a few hours away on the ferry. He drank from the water fountain. Then he bought two bars of chocolate and a bag of crisps—potato chips they called them here.

It was late and he was exhausted. It had been a long day. The waiting room was full of sleeping bodies. He would have to be careful: Matthew knew he would be making for the airport. Would he be here searching for him? He drank from the water fountain again and then went to the washroom. He washed his hands and face and dried himself with paper towels. After that he lay down on the hard terminal floor with the other overnighters. He ate his crisps and chocolate, and wrapped himself up in his uncle's coat and slept.

He had not slept well. The floor was hard, and he woke often, pulling his coat over his head, worried that his uncle might be looking for him among the sleepers.

He got up and went to the washroom, had a long drink from the water fountain and
bought a packet of peanuts and a bottle of Coke. He ate the peanuts and swigged back the Coke.

By six o'clock the terminal was busy and alive again. He noticed a crowd of school kids wearing identical blue and orange sweatshirts with the name of their school, “Windermere.” Many wore jackets over their shirts. He asked one of them where they were going. “Scotland,” she said. She was about his own age and looked like Ana.

“What time is the flight?”

“Eight o'clock. Where are you going?”

“Scotland will do fine.”

The girl laughed. “Are you serious? Do you have a ticket?”

“No.”

“Well then?”

“Maybe I could smuggle onto the plane with your group.”

“It's a charter flight,” said the girl. She didn't look like Ana, really, now that she was up close. But there was something about her that was like Ana, maybe the combination of blondness and boldness, and the way she had of frowning so two vertical furrows appeared above her nose.

“Is that the teacher in charge?” said Declan, nodding toward a large, bearded man who was talking to some of the children.

The girl nodded. “Mr. McManus.”

“Would you stay with me and talk to me as you move onto the plane? I'm sure I could sneak through.”

She frowned. “You're really serious, aren't you?”

He said, “What's your name?”

“Lisa. What's yours?”

“Declan.”

“We're a school band. Touring Scotland for two weeks.”

“That's nice.”

“If you like I can get you one of our shirts. Then you'd look like the real thing.”

“Thanks.”

Lisa moved away through the crowd.

Declan looked around. No sign of his Uncle Matthew. It was hard to outguess his uncle. It looked like he had not reported him to the police as a runaway. And he didn't seem to be here, though you could never tell.

Lisa was back with the shirt. Declan slipped it on over his T-shirt. It was big on him.

“Thanks, Lisa. If I get caught I won't tell where I got this from, so don't worry.”

Now he looked like one of them. All he had to do was keep away from McManus. He would keep his own coat on for now so it covered the Windermere shirt.

The Windermere group started moving into the departure gate at 7:30. Declan moved with them. He had no bag, so he walked quickly through the baggage checkpoint into the waiting area. Lisa sat beside him. The Windermeres were now mixed in with several hundred other passengers. Declan kept his coat closed.

The call came for boarding. As he approached the boarding pass checkpoint, Declan slipped off his coat. He now looked like a Windermere. He stayed slightly behind Lisa. As Lisa handed in her boarding pass, she gave a cry and fell to her knees. The startled checker bent to help her. Declan slipped through without looking back. He clenched his jaw, expecting to hear the checker yell, “Hey you!” but Lisa's little trick had worked. He was free to board the airplane.

He shrugged his coat back on in case the teacher should spot him. He was on the plane,
the flight attendant at the doorway smiling at him, welcoming him aboard.

He moved in with his head down. Damn! His coat caught on a seat arm in the narrow aisle and exposed his shirt. McManus was watching him from one of the aisle seats. Declan's heart skipped a beat. Had McManus seen the shirt? Declan would soon know. He took a seat at the rear of the plane, ready to move if someone else claimed it.

He stared out the window.

His heart was beating wildly. Another twenty minutes or so and he'd be on his way home.

He closed his eyes and said a prayer and thought about Brendan Fogarty's face and all the others in the Holy Terrors when they saw him back home in the Falls Road. And Tim O'Malley next door, and Tim's ma and da, their eyes wide with shock and surprise. “Is it back you are?” Unbelieving, like seeing a ghost.

“Could I please see your ticket and your passport?”

It was a flight attendant, a dark man in a navy blue uniform.

His stomach sank.

What rotten luck! McManus had seen him. There was nothing he could do. He felt suddenly very weary as though a great weight were pressing him down.

They took him to the immigration office.

It was the same man as before. Raghavji.

His eyes popped. “I know that boy!” he cried.

Matthew looked tired. “I came as soon as I got the call.”

It was three o'clock in the afternoon in Raghavji's office. Declan had been kept in a locked room for over six hours.

Matthew gave Declan one of his doleful looks. “I'll not be a jailer, Declan. If it's escape you want, then go. I'll not stand in your way.”

“Then give me the money to pay my way back,” Declan demanded.

Matthew shook his head. “I can't do that, because I want you to stay. You belong here now. This is your home.”

“My home is in Ireland.”

Matthew said, “We'd hoped you would take this country to your heart as Kate and I did.”

“So if you wanted so much for me to stay,” Declan sneered, “why is it you didn't come chasing after me to the airport?”

Matthew shook his head. “We telephoned the police to keep an eye out for you. We drove to the ferry terminal. Nobody remembered having seen you. We returned home and waited by the phone. That was a smart move—the boat.” He allowed himself a small smile. “You're the bold man—the spit of Liam, your father.”

“Too bold and too much of a handful for you! You don't want me here. Let me go home.”

“I'll make a deal with you. Stay with us until the end of March, and if you still want to go, then I'll not stop you. I'll pay your way back.”

“You'll pay my way back?” Declan couldn't think. He felt weary.

“Come back with me now,” said Matthew. “We can discuss it with Kate tomorrow.”

“What if I don't come back with you?”

Matthew shrugged. “Then I'll leave you here.”

Declan felt tired and defeated. There seemed to be no way out of the trap he was in. Perhaps the only way was to accept his uncle's offer of a deal. They drove back to Otter Harbour. He slept uncomfortably in the old truck most of the way.

Kate was waiting for them with hot chocolate to drink. “Will you eat a bite of the blueberry pie?” she asked Declan. She was happy to see him back.

Declan handed her the twenty dollar bill and change. “I took this.”

She dropped the money in the drawer. “We were destroyed worrying about you, Declan, love.”

Declan ate the pie and finished the hot chocolate. “Could I have some more of the pie?”

The next morning at breakfast, Declan said to Matthew, “Let's talk about this deal of yours.”
Ana and Thomas were not yet up. Kate sat down with her coffee.

“Stay with us to the end of March,” said Matthew. “Then if you still feel you want to go back to Ireland, I'll pay your way.”

“March is over six months away!” said Declan. “That's too long.” He thought for a moment. “Make it the end of next month, October.”

Matthew said, “Be reasonable, Declan. We want you to stay for as long as possible so you'll get to like it here. Tell you what, stay to the end of February.”

“End of November,” said Declan. “I'll not stay longer.”

Matthew shook his head. “To give Otter Harbour a proper chance needs at least six months. But I'll accept end of January.”

“No! November,” said Declan. “That's my final word.”

“January,” said Matthew. “That's
my
final word.”

They eyed one another, Declan defiant, Matthew stubborn, both equally determined.

“How do I know I can trust you?” said Declan. “How do I know you'll keep your word?”

Kate was horrified. “Declan! I'll not allow you to speak to your uncle like that! In his own house! God strike me dead if I'm telling a lie, but Matthew never broke a promise in his life.”

There came a clatter on the stair.

“November,” said Declan. “I'll not be...”

“Good morning,” said Miss Ritter on her way out the door. “It's another lovely day.”

“It is,” said Kate.

“Help yourselves to the cookies,” Miss Ritter sang as the door closed behind her.

Declan stared at the closed door angrily, then glared at his aunt. “Who
is
that old woman?”

“Miss Ritter,” said Kate. “She has the room next to Ana's. She's always the cheerful one, isn't she, Matthew?”

But Matthew, his mind still on the argument, wasn't listening. “You're the stubborn man!” he said to Declan quietly. “But I'm just as stubborn as ye! I said January and January it will be.” He pushed away his empty plate and started to rise from the table.

“Wait,” said Kate. “I have the solution. Make it after Christmas and make it a part of the deal that Declan go to the school.”

“Huh?” said Matthew.

“It's a deal,” said Declan before his uncle could object.

There came a patter of bare feet on the stairs as Ana and Thomas tumbled down into the kitchen together, laughing.

“Welcome back, Declan,” said Ana, smiling.

“Back, Declan,” said Thomas, a huge grin on his face.

“You've been sitting on the stairs listening,” Kate accused them.

They laughed.

Declan looked at Ana. Her pale green eyes looked back at him with a sparkle that told him she had heard every word of the deal he had made with his aunt and uncle.

After breakfast Ana declared a private holiday, refusing to go to school.

“What ails you, girl?” said Kate. “Have you lost your senses?”

“Declan's back,” she said. “We decided to celebrate, didn't we, Thomas?” Thomas, still grinning, nodded vigorously. Ana turned to Declan. “Come for a walk with us along the beach. Then after that we'll show you where the otters live, and there's a deep pool with an octopus.”

Declan shrugged.

They started out. Ana wore her big sunglasses.

Thomas danced excitedly around Declan, making whooping noises.

“You've made Thomas happy, coming back,” said Ana, “you really have.”

“Hmmph!” said Declan.

“Hmmph yourself,” said Ana.

They scrambled down the rocky cliff in front of the house and walked along the beach. Thomas tagged along behind, happy to be a follower.

“Who is Miss Whatsername, the old lady who lives upstairs?” said Declan.

“Miss Ritter? She came about the same time I started in grade two—that's about five years ago—when her house burnt down. She forgets things.” Ana laughed. “Poor Miss Ritter. Most of the time she thinks she's still
in her old house, she really does. Believes we've all come to visit her. She's kind of hilarious, don't you think? Matthew put in a little kitchen for her with a little hotplate surrounded by that safety stuff . . .”

“Asbestos.”

“Right. So she's pretty independent. Only thing we have to worry about is her burning the house down. I've got the job of chief sniffer—because my room is next door. If I smell anything burning, I'm supposed to holler.”

Ana picked up a thin piece of driftwood and wrote her name in the sand in letters a foot high. Then she handed it to Declan, to write his name beside hers, but he threw it up in the air at a passing gull. Ana gave him a bruised look.

“Sorry,” said Declan, “but this is not my country for me to be putting my name on.”

Thomas ran and fetched the driftwood. He tried to write his name in the sand. Ana helped him. They stood back and admired their handiwork. Thomas laughed happily.

“Your name is spelled with only one n?” Declan said to Ana. He could see he'd hurt her and was sorry.

“That's right. I need only one.”

They walked in silence.

“How old are you, Ana?”

“Twelve. I know how old you are—thirteen. And I also know you lost your mother and your sister.”

They stopped at the edge of the ocean and stood for a while, looking at the breakers rolling in. Declan had his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Ana picked up a stone and threw it into the sea. Thomas copied her and started collecting more stones, yelling happily as he threw them into the surf.

“It was a bomb explosion, wasn't it?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” He hadn't talked to anyone about the bomb, not even the O'Malleys.

“It might do you good to talk. That's what Kate always says and she's right. It was in a shop wasn't it, when your mother was shopping?”

Declan was silent for a while, seeing for the umpteenth time the images from his nightmares. “No,” he said.