by Sarah Webb
No, for the moment, Bailey’s past is a secret I’ll have to carry without Mills’s and Seth’s help.
“Poor Bailey. What happened to him then, Amy?” Mills looks completely stricken. I was right not to tell her all the details.
“He had to go and live with his grandpa. Mac. The guy you thought was his dad, Seth.” I tell them about Bailey’s unanswered letters to Finn.
“Oh, Amy,” Mills whispers. She’s so overcome, she can’t say anything else. Tears start running down her cheeks, and she wipes them away with her fingers.
“I know.” I pat her shoulder.
“Christ,” Seth says. “Imagine your own father rejecting you not once but twice. And your mum too.”
“There’s more . . .” I say, even though there’s a lump the size of an orange in my throat — and I tell them everything that happened on Killiney Beach. “It was a disaster,” I finish. “I’ve made such a mess of things.”
Seth and Mills exchange a loaded look. Seth gives her a tiny frown and puts his arm around my shoulder.
“You were only trying to help, Amy,” he says kindly. “Don’t blame yourself. Hey, it might have worked.”
“But what now?” Mills says. “Bailey must hurt so much, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“I know,” I say. “And that’s the worst thing of all. None of us can help him. He’s pushed everyone who cares about him away, even Mac. I don’t know what’s going to happen to him.”
“Oh, Amy, it’s horrible.” Mills swipes at her flooded eyes with the edge of her sleeve. “I’m sorry — it’s just so sad.”
“Come here,” Seth says, putting one arm around me and the other around Mills. “We all need to stick together today.”
The following Sunday the home phone rings. Dave’s out walking the babies and Mum’s at the supermarket, so I roll off the sofa, walk into the hall, and pick up the handset. “Yello? Green and Wildgust residence. How may I help you?”
“Amy, it’s Mac. You haven’t seen Bailey today, by any chance, have you? He snuck out early this morning. There’s still no sign of him, and he’s not answering his mobile. He didn’t say one word to me yesterday — he was really moody. I’m starting to get seriously worried.”
My stomach clenches like a fist. Mac sounds completely freaked out.
“I haven’t seen him since school on Friday, I’m afraid,” I say. “He’s not really talking to any of us at the moment, least of all me. If he makes contact, though, I’ll let you know immediately.”
“Thanks, Amy. I hope he hasn’t done anything stupid. I’ve been driving around for hours. I’ve tried Bray Head, the seafront, the arcades — there’s no sign of him anywhere. Can you think of anywhere else I should look?”
“Not really. Do you think it has something to do with what happened on the beach? Seeing Finn?”
There’s a long pause. “I don’t know, lass. He was acting strange even before that, so don’t fret too much.”
I put down the phone, the words “I hope he hasn’t done anything stupid” ringing in my ears. I chew on my lip. This isn’t good — even though Mac said not to blame myself, it’s hard not to.
I ring Seth. “Bailey’s missing again,” I say as soon as he picks up. “Mac just rang. He hasn’t seen him since early this morning. I don’t suppose he’s been in touch with you?”
“Nope.”
I sigh. “This is all my fault. What if he’s run away? To London or something, like Finn did.”
“He wouldn’t do something like that, would he? Not without telling anyone . . . OK, maybe he would. What about those kids he teaches at the beach, though? He wouldn’t just leave without telling them, surely.”
“The beach!” I cry. “He’s on Killiney Beach. I just know it. It’s his safe place: the only place he’s happy. It’s really windy today too. I bet he’s gone surfing. Maybe he’s in trouble. What if he got swept out to sea on a wave or something?”
“I’m sure he’s fine, Amy. He knows what he’s doing. But we’d better go and check anyway. I’ll meet you at the Martello Tower in twenty minutes, yeah?”
“See you there. I’ll grab Mills on the way.”
As soon as I’ve hung up, I dash out the back door to grab my bike from the shed. One of the tires is completely flat. “Póg, póg, and triple póg,” I mutter, kicking the saggy wheel. I throw it onto the grass and run over to Mills’s house instead. No one is answering the bell, so I slap the door with the flat of my hand. “Come on, come on!”
“Hold your horses!” Mills says as she swings the door open. She stares at me. “Amy, what’s wrong?”
“Is your mum in?” I ask her frantically. “Can she give us a lift to Killiney Beach?”
“No, the parentals have gone to buy a cherry tree in some special garden center in Wicklow. What’s on at Killiney Beach?”
“Bailey’s missing and I think he’s on the beach and my bike’s busted and we need to get there fast. Any ideas?”
“We could get the train . . .”
I shake my head. “There are siúcra all trains on a Sunday. No, there has to be another—”
I stop mid-sentence, and Mills and I simultaneously say, “Clover!”
Clover isn’t answering her mobile, so I ring the home phone.
“Hello, Autumn House. How can I help you?” It’s Gramps.
“Gramps, it’s Amy. Is Clover there?”
“No, she’s out with Brains. Howth Head, I think they said. Romantic walk.”
Darn. Howth’s miles away. “Gramps, I need a favor. Can you pick me up from Mills’s house, like right now, and take us to Killiney Beach? It’s urgent.”
He laughs. “Late for a hot date, Amy Damey, that it?”
“Something like that. Please, Gramps?” I beg.
“Sounds vital. Normally I’d love to help you out, but the car’s in the garage until Tuesday.”
“AAAUUUGGGHHH!”
“You OK, Amy?”
“Not really, but don’t worry — I’ll think of something.”
I click off my phone and turn to Mills. “Do you have any money?”
“Not much — just some change.”
“And I have about ten euro. Let’s hope it’s enough. We’re going to have to get a taxi. Nothing else to do . . .”
We dash back to my house — and bump into Mum, who is walking up the path, her arms laden down with shopping bags. “Where are you pair off to in such a hurry?” she asks.
“Bailey’s gone missing, Mum,” I explain quickly. “We think he’s on Killiney Beach.”
Mum studies my face. “How long has he been gone?”
“Since early this morning. Mac’s been looking for him for hours. He said Bailey was acting weird all day yesterday too.”
“Mac? You’ve been talking to Bailey’s grandpa?”
“Can I fill you in later, Mum? Right now, we need to concentrate on finding Bailey.”
“I understand. Hop in,” she says, nodding at the car. “I’ll drive you.” After dumping the shopping bags in the trunk, she jumps into the driver’s seat. I climb into the passenger seat, and Mills sits in the back, wedged between the two car seats.
“Won’t the ice cream melt?” I ask.
“Some things are more important,” Mum says, pressing her foot on the accelerator and reversing down the path at full speed. “Besides, it’ll refreeze. Alex and Evie have iron stomachs.”
“Now,” she says as she pulls onto Glenageary Road. “It’s time to come clean about Mac, Amy.”
“I went over last weekend,” I begin. “To tell him about the whole Finn and Bailey business. And to apologize for getting involved.”
“And?”
“He was pretty annoyed at first, but then he softened up. He’s not a bit impressed with Finn, though. Called him selfish.”
“I can imagine. Running off on his only daughter like that. But Finn has changed.”
The car in front of us is doing about twenty miles an hour. “Get a move
on,” Mum mutters, gripping the steering wheel. Then suddenly she rams her foot down and overtakes it.
“Way to go, Mum.” I laugh.
Mum’s always complaining about Clover’s rally-car driving tendencies, but I can see where Clover gets them from now. Speed greed must run in the Wildgust family.
I catch Mills’s eye in the rearview mirror. She looks a little shaken by Mum’s driving. Luckily we’re nearly at the beach now.
“Which end of the beach?” Mum asks as we roar down the hill.
“The Bray end. We’re meeting Seth at the Martello Tower.”
“Roger that,” Mum says, and pulls to a screeching halt on the side of the road. “I’m coming with you.”
“We’ll be fine, Mum,” I protest — but Mills shrugs. “We might need her,” she says in a quiet voice.
I guess she’s right.
After Mum has locked the car — not that anyone would want to steal it — the three of us run toward the Martello Tower. Mum’s surprisingly fast; she’s leaving me and Mills in the dust. Must be all the practice she gets tearing after Alex and Evie. However, by the time we reach the tower, she’s doubled over with the effort, puffing and panting.
“No . . . sign of . . . Seth yet,” I say to Mills, my own breath a little raggedy.
“Now what?” she asks.
“We start looking for Bailey. Seth can catch up with us when he arrives.”
“Which way? Should we split up?”
I nod. “I’ll take the Bray end with Mum. You walk toward White Rock. Yell if you see anything — or if I’m out of earshot, ring me.”
“Got it.” And Mills starts walking down the beach, her head sweeping from side to side as she scans the beach and water carefully, looking for Bailey.
Mum and I head the other way. My mind is racing: What if we don’t find him? What if I’m wrong about the beach? Bailey could be halfway to France on the ferry by now. I wonder if Mac has checked for his passport.
“He’ll turn up, Amy,” Mum says gently, as though reading my mind. She strokes my cheek gently, and for once I don’t pull away. “You have to stop blaming yourself. For now, let’s just concentrate on scouring the beach, OK?”
We walk on in silence, and as Mum suggested, I focus on the beach. I spot a dark-haired boy near the water, and for a brief second my heart lifts. But when I run toward him, I realize he’s much smaller than Bailey and wearing a Manchester United T-shirt, which Bailey wouldn’t be seen dead in.
Dead.
The word lingers in my head even as I try to shake it away. I look around for Mum, but she has peeled off to the right, searching the sand dunes, so I keep walking along the shoreline. The tide’s on its way out, leaving damp curves on the pebbles. Feeling more and more frustrated, I kick a stone into the sea.
“Amy!” someone calls behind me, and I spin around. Seth’s running toward me. “I thought you were going to wait for me at the tower,” he says.
“Sorry, I wanted to start looking for Bailey. Mills is trying the other end of the beach, and Mum’s checking out the dunes. But this is pointless. He could be anywhere. What if he never comes back, Seth? I should never have interfered. I’m so stupid.”
Seth pushes my hair back off my face. “Amy, I think your instinct’s right. This beach is about the only place he feels happy at the moment, and he loves teaching those kids. But we need to keep looking. We’re not doing any good standing here, worrying.”
I nod, and we start walking silently up the beach, side by side. Then suddenly Seth stops dead. “Is that a surfboard?” he asks.
A blue-and-white board is lying in the marram grass, a black rucksack beside it. I riffle through the bag and pull out a black T-shirt with a skull design and a wet suit.
“It’s Bailey’s T-shirt. I’ve seen him in it.” Seth looks concerned. “But where’s Bailey?”
And it’s then that I spot something in the waves. A boy with jet-black hair is standing shoulder deep in the water, staring out to sea.
It’s Bailey!
“But what’s he doing?” Seth asks when I point out Bailey to him. “He’s not moving.” Seth pauses for a second, then says, “I’m going in,” and ripping off his T-shirt, jeans, and Converse, he runs down the beach.
I run after him. He winces as his bare feet hit the pebbles, but he doesn’t let it slow him down, and he enters the water quickly. “Shoot, it’s freezing,” he says as he begins to wade toward Bailey while I wait on the beach. “Hey, Bailey, what are you doing?” I hear him call. “You’ll turn into an ice cube if you stay in any longer, man.”
Bailey doesn’t turn around, so Seth continues out to sea until he’s next to him. Seth keeps talking, but Bailey still isn’t shifting. Finally, Seth looks back at me and puts his hands in the air as if to say, What now?
“You have to get out of the water, Bailey!” I shout. “You’ll get hypothermia. Seth, tell him.”
Seth says something in a low, soothing voice, snatches of which drift back toward me on the wind. “Talk to me, mate . . . Say something . . . Your teeth . . . chattering . . . Your . . . blue . . . Come on . . . don’t be stupid.”
Seth looks back at me again, his face panicked. “He won’t budge!” he yells.
“Then you’ll have to pull him out.”
“OK, I’ll try.” Seth puts his arms around Bailey’s upper body. At his touch, Bailey suddenly comes to life, thrashing about and elbowing Seth in the face.
“Ow!” Seth shouts. “What are you doing? That hurt.”
“I’m coming in,” I yell, throwing my jacket down on the pebbles. As it lands with a thud, I remember that my iPhone is in my pocket. Siúcra! I hope I haven’t smashed the screen. Plus, I’ve forgotten to ring Mills and to shout at Mum; she’ll be halfway to Bray at this stage. Too late now.
I run into the water and gasp as icy fingers seem to prick my feet, then my thighs, my waist, and finally my chest. Seth was right. The water’s arctic and deep. I’m on my tiptoes by the time I get to the boys, the waves splashing over my face.
“I can’t get him to move,” Seth says, his face pale. “Can you still stand?”
“Only just.”
“I’ll hold you up.” He puts his arms around my waist and lifts me up out of the water.
“Bailey, listen to me,” I say. Close up, his face is gray and his lips are blue and quivering, and his eyes, which are staring out to sea, are glassy and unfocused. “I’m so sorry about the whole Finn business. It’s all my fault.”
Finally he opens his mouth and speaks. “No, I’m the one who me-messed it u-up,” he says, his words shaky and distorted. “Hitting him like th-th-that. He must h-h-hate me.”
“He doesn’t hate you, Bailey, I swear,” I say. “Please come out of the water before you freeze to death.”
“Amy’s right,” Seth adds. “Come on, buddy.”
Bailey just ignores us.
There’s a noise from the beach. Turning, I see Mum standing by the edge of the water. “Amy!” she yells. “Is he all right?”
“No! We can’t get him out of the water.”
“Hang in there.” Mum begins wading through the water toward us, still fully clothed.
“He won’t move, Mum,” I tell her when she’s close enough to not have to shout. “We’ve tried talking to him. It’s like he’s stuck. He’s worried about hitting Finn. Said Finn must hate him.”
Mum nods at me. “It’s going to be all right, Bailey,” she tells him, stroking his head. “I’m Sylvie, Amy’s mum. Guess you’re having a rough day, yeah?”
Tears burst from his eyes. He lifts a hand to brush them away — but his water-crinkled fingers are shaking so much, he can’t move them properly, so Mum does it for him.
“Amy told me what happened on the beach,” she says as she does so. “And Finn told me all about it too. It really upset him, but he doesn’t blame you for thumping him. And his lip is fine.”
I stare at Mum. She didn’t say a word about that. Finn obviously swore her
to secrecy. Bailey’s eyes are glued to her too.
“I think Finn needed someone to talk to,” Mum continues. “I’ve been writing your dad’s memoir, you see. So I know all about you, Bailey. Finn was devastated that you wouldn’t talk to him last weekend. He’s determined not to give up, though. He says he has finally figured out that his life isn’t worth living unless you’re in it.”
“But I’ve r-r-ruined everything,” Bailey says. “How can he want me near him n-n-now?”
“Do you know what else he told me?” Mum goes on. “He said there was nothing you could do that would make him give up on you. He’s changed, Bailey. He’s not the scared boy who abandoned you. He’s a different person. And he wants to get to know you. So come out of the water, please?”
“But he’s f-f-famous. And I’m d-d-damaged goods. S-s-someone will find out about my past, and he’ll be t-t-toast. His image will be r-r-ruined.”
“I don’t think he cares anymore,” Mum says earnestly. “He was even talking about putting your letters in the book — with your permission, of course. Or not publishing the book at all if that’s what you’d prefer. He just wants you in his life, Bailey, simple as that. And nothing that happened in the past was your fault. Do you understand me? It wasn’t your fault. Finn just doesn’t want it all dragged up again in case it hurts you. That’s all.”
“But sh-sh-she left me,” Bailey says through chattering teeth. “I must h-h-have done s-s-s-something wrong. I must have been a really d-d-difficult baby.”
“No!” Mum says firmly. “You were three, Bailey! You did nothing wrong. It wasn’t your fault. I want you to say it — say, ‘It wasn’t my fault.’ Go on, say it. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’”
Bailey looks at her, stricken.
“Mum’s right. It wasn’t your fault, Bailey,” I say softly. “You were tiny.”
“Go on, Bailey,” Mum says. “‘It wasn’t my fault.’”