by Monica Carly
And with that Sarah slammed down the phone.
Chapter 24
The children bounced up and down excitedly on the train seat, torn between looking out of the window to watch the changing scenes rush past and the desire to chatter away to their grandfather.
‘I’m going to Brighton!’ sang Kate.
‘I’m going on the pier!’ echoed George. ‘Grandpa, what’s a pier?’
‘Well, it’s…’ Fraser struggled with a concise definition that might be meaningful to a six-year old. How sad that the twins had never yet been taken to Brighton. Sarah and Michael, good parents though they were, had not succeeded in squeezing in a family day out down to the coast, so encumbered were they with their daily commitments.
Fraser was apprehensive at the thought of caring for the twins all day. When Sarah had asked him, he had wanted to refuse. It had been no problem when Edie was around – she knew exactly how to handle them, and he had simply carried out the role of chauffeur, bearer of bags, and willing supporter of whatever Edie thought they should do. Edie could cope with all the little upsets that inevitably occur with small children, so that tears soon dried up, cuts and grazes were efficiently dealt with, and all toilet needs supplied. All he had to do was enjoy their company, and he revelled in their childish innocence, and wide-eyed curiosity. He used to love it when they came to stay for the night – he’d watch Edie, able to communicate with them on their level, have fun with them and yet have them perfectly under control. She knew how to enter their world and share their enjoyment. And she was so sweet with them when she tucked them up in bed.
Now he was having them on his own which was, he felt, a very different kettle of fish and a responsibility he was frightened to take. But Sarah had been very persuasive.
‘Come on, Dad. You know they love your company. You wouldn’t find it any trouble if you took them out for the day somewhere. I know, why don’t you take them on a train? They rarely do that, and as you play trains with them they’d especially love to go on a real one with you. Then you’ll find the time will just fly by. Honestly, they’re old enough now to be sensible, and I’ll stress that they must do exactly what you tell them. They’ll love it – and so will you! Please say yes.’
Then Fraser had thought of the idea of taking them to Brighton. By the time they had got there, had some lunch, been to the pier, and perhaps walked on the beach, or promenade, it would be time to come back. They would get an enormous thrill from the train ride! And this would make his task of trying to keep them entertained very much easier. He began to warm to the idea. The early spring weather was bright, and crisp, and not too cold. He had agreed.
Now, as he looked at their sparkling eyes and eager faces, and heard their happy, excited voices, he found a healing balm spreading through him. All the discoveries of recent weeks had been hard to bear. The agony of his loss had been replaced by a bitter sense of betrayal. Above all, his astonishment at his own failure to realise what was going on had knocked his self confidence. What sort of a husband had he been that his wife needed to amuse herself outside the marriage? What sort of a man was he? Suddenly he did not know any more. He felt numb as blow after blow had rained down on him. One thing was certain -- there was nothing more that could hurt him now.
He brought his mind to bear on the present problem.
‘A pier,’ he explained, ‘is like a bridge, built from the sea shore over the sea – but it doesn’t end up anywhere – it suddenly stops. You can walk on it, and you see the sea under you, and then you come to the end of it.’
‘What happens when you get to the end?’ asked George. ‘Do you fall off, and go into the sea – splash! And then you drown!’
‘Really, George,’ said Kate. ‘Don’t be so silly! Of course you don’t drown. Do you Grandpa?’
‘I think,’ said Fraser, attempting to get the conversation back on to more cheerful lines, ‘we won’t have any more talk of drowning. When you get to the end there’s a rail where you stop, and look out over the sea, and then you turn round and come back. But there are all sorts of exciting things on the pier – lots of rides, and shops selling funny things, and food stalls …’
‘Oh,’ breathed George. ‘Magic! I’m hungry Grandpa. Will we have something to eat soon? I’m really, really dying of starvation!’
‘You seem determined to pass out by one means or another!’ teased Fraser. ‘If not by drowning, then by starvation! What we’ll do is, when we get to the station, we’ll walk down to the sea front, and then we’ll go on the pier, and I think we’ll find a nice café there, where we can have our lunch. Will that do?’
‘Fish and chips?’
‘Quite possibly, yes, fish and chips.’
‘Magic!’ George settled back in his seat, happiness radiating from his eyes.
‘What would you like, Kate?’
‘I’d like sausages and baked beans, please Grandpa.’
‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’
Fraser smiled. It wasn’t so hard, after all. He was finding them a delight, and he was enjoying the pleasure of sharing in their excitement. This was going better than he’d dared to hope.
They had walked down the hill from the station, the children each holding one of Fraser’s hands, skipping and hopping up and down, chattering non-stop – and suddenly they saw the sea! Reduced for a brief moment to a state of most unusual silence they stared, drinking in the sight and then the excitement mounted to fever pitch. They wanted to run, but Fraser explained that he wasn’t very good at that, and they must keep to the same pace, and on no account let go of his hand.
It occurred to Fraser that it was a new experience for the twins to have an adult’s undivided attention for a whole day, and they were revelling in it. Happiness radiated out of every pore and their anticipatory excitement was infectious. Fraser found that he, too, was looking forward to the adventures the day would bring and realised that he had not had that feeling for weeks. Since Edie’s death he had felt there was only pain ahead, and yet, because of all that had recently come to light, it was equally hurtful to look back, so that he now existed in a kind of limbo. He realised that he had clung far too long to the childish view that only good experiences lay ahead, ignoring the inescapable fact that all doughnuts had holes.
Which made for a happier life, he wondered – spending one’s days anxiously fearing that harsh events lay waiting round every corner, or basking in eternal sunshine until one day a bolt from the blue shatters your world, inflicting a searing pain? Looking at the children, happily confident that the endless day which stretched ahead would contain pure, untainted pleasure he longed for their innocence to last and prayed that no dark shadows would cross their path.
They reached the promenade. George stood transfixed at the sight of the waves breaking over the pebbles.
‘Grandpa! Can we run down to the sea? Oh please, Grandpa!’ George seemed to have forgotten how hungry he was.
‘Yes, please let us,’ begged Kate.
Holding each hand tightly Fraser lead them down across the pebbles to the water’s edge. Then he picked up a pebble and skimmed it over the water, the stone bouncing four times before it disappeared beneath the surface.
‘That’s magic! Let me do it!’ George tried, but with a marked lack of success. ‘How do you make it jump up and down on the water, Grandpa? Please show me!’
Fraser demonstrated to the excited boy how to hold the pebble and launch it into the water so that it skimmed the surface before sinking. The first ones George threw simply plopped and disappeared, but then suddenly he began to acquire the knack, and set to work, eagerly picking up pebble after pebble, with varying degrees of success.
Fraser decided it was time to move on.
‘Look, children – there’s the pier! See how it sticks right out over the sea! Come on, let’s go and find our lunch.’ But George was not to be deflected from t
he enjoyment of his newly acquired skill. Surprisingly, even the word ‘lunch’ failed to move him. He went on and on picking up pebbles and throwing them.
‘Come on, George!’ exhorted Kate, ‘you need to stop now, or there won’t be any pebbles left for other people to throw!’
George paid no heed. In her agitation Kate failed to notice an approaching wave, higher than its predecessors, breaking on the pebbles and rushing towards them. The water reached her before she realised and by the time she tried to step back it was too late.
‘Oh Grandpa! My shoes are all wet! And my socks too!’ She became distressed and began to cry.
‘Let’s take your socks off.’ This was just the sort of mishap Fraser had been dreading. What could he do? He didn’t have a towel. He removed the damp socks and tried to dab at the girl’s feet with his handkerchief. Then he put the wet trainers back on.
‘My shoes feel horrible! I need some other ones.’ She wasn’t going to be easily pacified.
‘Come on!’ Fraser decided to try the masterful approach. ‘We’ll go up on the pier. It’ll be drier up there.’
Soon they were standing on the pier, with the swirling waters beneath them. It was quite crowded – obviously it had been the choice for half-term entertainment for many parents. Fraser held on to their hands tightly. Kate walked with rather pronounced steps, lifting each foot as if it was a great weight.
‘I know!’ said George, as they were passing a souvenir shop with some beach shoes in a stand outside, ‘you could get Kate some jellies!’
‘Jellies? Whatever are they?’ Fraser felt distinctly out of touch.
‘Or crocs!’ Kate suddenly brightened up. ‘I could have some crocs! Oh please, Grandpa – everyone wears them!’
They went into the shop, where Kate delightedly tried on some ungainly plastic shoes which looked, Fraser thought, rather like boats. She chose a shocking pink version – a colour she obviously considered highly desirable. She came out, a little unsteady on her feet, but smiling. Fraser, relieved that equilibrium was restored, carried the sodden shoes and socks in a carrier bag. Looking round at other children Fraser had to admit that she was right – it seemed that everyone else did indeed wear crocs.
While the other two had been occupied with the purchase of the shoes George had busied himself trying on a policeman’s helmet.
‘I wish I could have that helmet,’ he said. ‘Kate’s got new shoes – can’t I have the helmet, Grandpa? It would keep my head warm!’
‘First things first. Let’s start with lunch.’
Fraser led them away from all the temptations the shop held and they went off to find the restaurant. It was a relief to discover that their chosen dishes were on the menu and both downed their platefuls with amazing speed. Kate remarked that Mummy said chips were not good for you, and you shouldn’t have them very often, but this did not seem to deter either of them from enjoying their culinary delights to the full.
‘Now can we go on the rides!’ cried George. Fraser suddenly realised that he might have done this the wrong way round – with their stomachs full perhaps it wasn’t the best moment to be jogged up and down. He suggested they have a walk round first, so they could decide which rides they would like. They were quite ready to comply, and gasped in amazement at the helter skelter, the ‘wild river’ flume, and the water mountain.
By now it seemed safe to let them enjoy rides appropriate for their age. They started on the merry-go-round, each choosing a horse and climbing astride it in a flash. As Fraser stood watching them going round, laughing and waving at him as each circuit brought them near, he suddenly thought of Angela, and how pleased she would be to see him looking relaxed and happy. He wondered what agonies she was currently suffering as she was forced to relive every moment of the fateful night that her husband had been killed, and wished he could have been some help to her. It had been good to receive her text messages, but the truncated words and strangulated sentences had done little to paint much of a picture of events. At least it was contact, and for that he was grateful. She had kept her promise and been in touch almost every day.
The rides over, Fraser thought it was time to wander through the gift shops. He told them they could each buy one thing, and that they should also choose a gift for Mummy and Daddy.
‘The helmet!’ cried George. ‘I’m going to buy the helmet!’ He tried it on, and then spotted a Kiss-Me-Quick hat. Replacing the helmet with this latest piece of ‘must have’ headgear, he went to admire his reflection in the mirror. Kate’s attention was attracted by the jewellery.
‘Oh Grandpa, look! A diamond ring, just like Mummy’s!’ She held up her finger, exhibiting an ill-fitting ‘gold’ ring with a cumbersome glass stone that looked as if it would fall off at the earliest opportunity.
Everything in the shop caused great excitement, no matter how unsuitable. In the end George came away clutching a ‘quill pen’ which had surpassed everything else in his estimation. It consisted of a long white feather ending in a ball point, and he held it lovingly against him. Kate had stuck obdurately to her ‘diamond’ ring. After a great deal of debate, they eventually selected a lurid necklace for Sarah, and for Michael a stick of Brighton rock.
The wind was beginning to get up as they walked towards the exit. George held his pen aloft, pretending it was an aeroplane, and before he knew it a sudden gust of wind had wrenched it from his grasp and sent it flying over the edge of the pier.
Just as he was about to bemoan his fate George’s attention was distracted by a number of children with kites. There was now a fair amount of wind, and the kites were flying well.
‘Oh look, Grandpa! Kites! Oh Grandpa, can we have a kite? Oh, please, Grandpa!’
‘Oh yes, please, Grandpa!’ echoed Kate.
Fraser hesitated. He had already spent a good deal of money on them, which he did not grudge for one moment, but he wondered how good it was for them to have every whim satisfied.
‘The thing is …’ he began.
The kites did look attractive, and the children running along the promenade with them were obviously having fun – and the twins’ eager faces went straight to his soft heart. Anyway, it would help George to forget the loss of the pen.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘we can fly them as we make our way back to the station.’
‘Oh, thank you, Grandpa. Thank you – you’re the best Grandpa in the world!’
Any lingering doubts dispelled, Fraser led them to the shop selling kites.
George chose one with a smiley train’s face painted on it, and Kate chose a pink one with a fairy.
Once they had learned to get the kites launched they were completely happy. Sometimes the kites suddenly dived straight down to the ground, but it was soon possible to get them airborne again. Fraser worried that it was getting more difficult to hold on to the children, and he had to break into a run to keep up with them. The wind grew stronger and the kites fairly sped through the air.
Suddenly a strong gust tugged at the kites and George’s string slipped from his grasp. He pulled his other hand out of his Grandfather’s and set off at a run to catch it.
‘George! Stop. Don’t run on. Let it go, George! George!’
Kate was also concerned. ‘Don’t run George!’ she cried.
But the little boy paid no heed, so intent was he on recapturing his prized possession. He was running ahead, darting through the people, when the wind changed direction, and the kite turned inland.
‘George!’ cried Fraser, ‘stop! Stop!’ Then, to Fraser’s watching horror, George turned direction also and ran off the pavement into the road in hot pursuit.
The next moment there was a screeching of brakes and a thud – the memory of which would stay with Fraser for the rest of his life.
There followed a kaleidoscope of images, a mixture of sounds and sights. Kate was screaming, people were crowding at
the edge of the pavement, a young man got out of his car, looking very distressed, another car stopped and a young woman went over to the scene and bent down, and others joined to make a little circle round the small form lying on the road. Fraser, distraught, and desperate to go to the boy, did not want to leave Kate. A grey-haired lady appeared and said gently, ‘I’ll look after the little girl. Leave her with me.’ And she took Kate to a seat, away from the edge of the road, put her arm round her, and talked quietly to her.
‘Stay there, Kate,’ said Fraser. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘Grandpa!’ Kate’s face was twisted with misery. ‘Is George dead?’
‘I’m sure he’s not, Kate. Just try and be brave for me. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Kate nodded, and allowed the grey-haired lady to comfort her.
Fraser crossed to the scene in the middle of the road, his heart thumping so loudly he thought it would burst. The young man had gone white, and his whole body was shaking. In strangled tones he said, ‘Oh God! He ran out straight in front of me – there was nothing I could do. He just darted into the road. I’m so sorry. I’m so dreadfully sorry.’
The young woman stood up. ‘Are you his Grandfather? I’m an off-duty ambulance driver, I was just passing and I saw it happen. I’ve called an ambulance – here they are now, and the Police will be here any minute.’
Fraser saw that she had covered the little body with her jacket. He had to ask the question, but he couldn’t bring himself to frame the words. Instead he said, ‘Is he all right?’
‘There’s a pulse – but I’d say he is pretty badly hurt. I’ve made sure no one’s moved him.’
Everyone stood back to let the paramedics through. They did their examination, and then turned to Fraser.