by Sylvia Waugh
‘Yes,’ said Matthew. ‘You’re right. Tea, Nesta?’
Nesta nodded but said no more. She had made her declaration; and she knew in her heart of hearts that nothing would make her change her mind.
Do they love me enough to change theirs?
‘What happens if you don’t go?’ she said.
‘If we are not on the ship when the countdown is completed, it will shoot off into space without us. Our contact with home will be broken for ever.’
‘Would they punish you?’
Matthew smiled wistfully.
‘To lose all possibility of returning to Ormingat would be punishment enough. I do not wish to grow old and die on this sad Earth.’
Nesta sat back, silenced.
CHAPTER 17
* * *
Forewarned Is Forearmed
Monday teatime, Stella was walking in through her front gate with a bag full of groceries when she saw Rupert again. She knew he was on the prowl – that much anyone could have guessed – but she also had a very good idea where he would be going.
‘If someone comes asking questions about Thomas,’ she had said to Mickey when they had passed each other in the street on Saturday, ‘don’t tell him anything you believe to be a secret. Some things are best kept to yourself.’
So when Mickey got home and found his mother giving tea and biscuits to the stranger, he knew what to expect. He frowned at his mother.
‘This is Mr Shawcross,’ said Mrs Trent quickly. ‘He is one of the people who are looking for Thomas Derwent. He thinks someone may have taken him away against his will.’
‘Not quite that,’ said Rupert, steering clear of telling a palpable lie. ‘We simply do not know how he went, whether willingly or not. There are a number of options. But the more information we can get hold of, the better chance we have of finding him.’
He turned very abruptly towards Mickey.
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Before Christmas,’ said Mickey’s mother, not giving her son the chance to answer. ‘Like I told you.’
‘Well?’ said Rupert, still looking at Mickey.
‘Before Christmas, when he was in the hospital. We tried to get him to come home.’
Rupert did not ask whom the ‘we’ included. He did not need to. He went straight to the point.
‘Why did he not come?’ he said in a friendly voice. An honest answer to this question would have been very illuminating. Mickey gave an answer that was less than honest. He felt entitled to. People who ask impertinent questions have no right to be told the truth.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘The hospital wouldn’t let him go.’
The true answer came unbidden to his mind: Thomas had refused to be taken back to Belthorp. He had been determined to wait for his father to collect him and take him away in a spaceship the size and shape of a golf ball. Mickey’s natural honesty made even a half-truth difficult.
Mickey’s mother saw the embarrassment in her son’s face and said quickly, ‘I know you have your job to do, Mr Shawcross, but I cannot have my son upset. We like to help, where we can. But Mickey has told you all he knows. That will have to be enough.’
‘Just one more question, Mrs Trent, if you don’t mind,’ said Rupert. ‘Then I shall be going to catch my train. It isn’t much.’
Mrs Trent nodded. If the man were going to catch his train, they would soon be rid of him. She had not wanted to invite him in at first, but he was polite and official. Jenny Trent was basically shy. She did not know how to be rude to people.
‘One final question then,’ said Rupert, taking out his notebook and biro. ‘Now, Mickey, I want you to think very carefully before you answer. Did Thomas at any time say anything that sounded to you strange or weird? Was there ever anything said about his name or the name of the place he came from?’
‘Yes,’ said Mickey, brightening.
‘What did he say?’ said Rupert, eagerly sucking the point of the pen to make sure the ink would run freely.
‘It wasn’t what he said,’ said Mickey. ‘It all started with Miss Crosbie at school. She said because my second name was Trent and Thomas was called Derwent, we were like two rivers: the Trent and the Derwent are both tributaries of the River Ouse. That’s how we first became friends.’
The story was true, but it had nothing whatsoever to do with aliens or spaceships or any other extraterrestrial paraphernalia.
Rupert sighed. It was certainly not what he had been hoping to hear.
‘But Thomas, Thomas himself, did he never tell you anything – anything secret?’
Mickey looked annoyed. His mother caught his glance and decided it was time to send their visitor on his way. Not easy but clearly necessary.
‘You said one more question, Mr Shawcross,’ she said. ‘That would be two. Besides, you won’t want to miss your train. It’s a ten-minute walk from here to the station.’
She stood up and went out into the passage, calling back over her shoulder, ‘I’ll just get your coat for you.’
Rupert followed her reluctantly, put on his coat, and was manoeuvred to the door. Even after the door was opened and he was out on the doorstep he tried to go on talking. Mrs Trent would have none of that.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Shawcross, but I really have to shut the door. This house is draughty enough without letting more cold air in. My son catches cold so easily.’
On Tuesday morning, on his way to school, Mickey met Mrs Dalrymple. She had been deliberately looking for him.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘what did you think of Mr Shawcross?’
‘He was nosy,’ said Mickey.
‘Did you tell him anything?’
‘I told him about Thomas and me being two rivers, but he wasn’t interested. I thought he was going to write it down but he didn’t bother.’
Stella laughed.
‘Well, you had to tell him something, didn’t you?’
Mickey smiled. He liked Mrs Dalrymple. Never had he fully acknowledged to her what he now believed about Thomas and his father. But then, she had never broached the subject with him. Each knew what the other believed, but thought it was best left unsaid.
As he walked away, however, Mickey did say, ‘I’m glad you warned me about him. I thought very hard about what I was going to say. I was ready for him.’
CHAPTER 18
* * *
Nesta’s Decision
At morning break, Nesta and Amy sat together on a bench in the cloakroom. It was a cold, damp day and the rules about going out were fortunately relaxed. Mrs Powell insisted on orderly behaviour; prefects and duty staff made themselves visible; but she could see no point in driving hard bargains. So, on days like this, classrooms and corridors and cloakrooms were all available. Nesta and Amy had the junior cloakroom virtually to themselves, a good place for a quiet conversation.
‘Listen, Amy,’ said Nesta as soon as they were settled, ‘I have something to tell you.’
Amy looked at Nesta’s intense expression and knew that the ‘something’ must be serious.
‘And you mustn’t tell anybody else,’ Nesta went on, ‘even if you think telling might help. It wouldn’t. It’s not like the time I was being bullied. You’ll have to promise not to tell a soul.’
‘If you don’t trust me, don’t tell me,’ said Amy, not huffily but in her usual commonsense manner. ‘I never break promises. So if I promise not to tell I won’t, no matter what.’
‘Well, promise then. Solemnly promise,’ said Nesta. Her eyes darkened. She gripped Amy’s arm.
Amy smiled slightly and pushed her glasses back on to the bridge of her nose. ‘I, Amy Brown, do solemnly swear never to tell anybody whatever you trust me with now.’
‘Don’t make fun, Amy. I mean it.’
‘So do I,’ said Amy. ‘It might have sounded like fun, but I mean every word. So what is the secret?’
‘I’m going to run away,’ said Nesta simply, and then waited for what Amy would say to that.
Amy was startled. She looked hard at Nesta but said nothing. She had made a promise, and already she felt like breaking it! Running away was dangerous. Nesta could have no idea what she was thinking about.
‘I’ve made up my mind,’ Nesta said. ‘I am running away from home and I won’t come back till Sunday.’
That was puzzling, but it made a difference. A time limit on running away from home made it not so drastic somehow. A promise is a promise.
‘I think I might understand better if you told me why,’ said Amy. ‘Is it to do with your parents moving back to Boston?’
‘Sort of,’ said Nesta. ‘I can’t tell you everything properly; but I hope I can tell you enough. Early on Thursday morning we are meant to be travelling to London. We’ll stay there till Saturday, and on Saturday night we are supposed to be flying to America. Only I won’t be with them because I am not going.’
Amy gave a sigh of exasperation.
‘What good do you think running away will do? They’ll only wait till you come back and then they’ll still go. So all you’ll be doing is postponing it. There’s no point.’
‘That’s the bit I can’t tell you,’ said Nesta. ‘You’ll just have to take my word for it. If they don’t go this week, they won’t be going at all.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Amy doubtfully. ‘I mean, it does seem an odd way of doing things.’
‘There are reasons, reasons I can’t tell you about. But I am absolutely sure. There is just one danger – the possibility that they might decide to go without me.’
‘Parents don’t do that,’ said Amy. ‘I’m sorry to say it, Nesta, but you’re talking complete rubbish.’
‘That’s what I really hope,’ said Nesta. ‘It is what I am relying on. I disappear; they don’t go; and their chance of going is lost.’
‘They’ll call the police as soon as they know you’re missing,’ said Amy. ‘I wish I could get you to be more practical!’
‘That’s where I need your help and advice. Where can I spend four nights in the middle of winter without being found? After Saturday’s over, I want to be found. I’ll go back of my own accord. It isn’t really proper running away. It’s going into hiding.’
‘Why don’t you just ask me the winning numbers for next week’s Lottery?’ said Amy. ‘I’ve no idea where you can . . .’
Her voice tapered off as the thought came to her.
And at that moment, the bell rang for the end of break.
‘I’ll have to dash,’ said Amy. ‘If I’m late for Miss Edwards’ lesson she’ll tear me to shreds. We’ll talk about it at lunchtime. I do have an idea. I don’t know whether you’ll like it.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ said Nesta. ‘I just knew you would help!’
They separated – Amy to Needlework, Nesta to Art.
At lunchtime, they met in the sandwich room, where those who chose not to eat a school lunch were allowed to take their own food.
‘All right, then,’ said Nesta as soon as they met, ‘what is this idea of yours? I could hardly work last lesson for wondering about it.’
‘It’s simple,’ said Amy. ‘You can stay in our garage. For three nights anyway. Saturday wouldn’t be safe because my brother comes home from college at the weekend and he keeps his bike in there. The garage is never used for anything else in the winter, except storage. We haven’t got a car. Neither my dad nor my mum can drive. That might sound strange to you, but it does happen!’
It had the makings of an attractive idea, but Nesta could see snags. How would she get in and out? Where would she sleep? Go to the loo? Get food and drink? Amy was supposed to be practical. Surely she knew all these basic faults in the plan?
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Amy, ‘but your house is not the same as ours. Yours is a twentieth-century semi with the garage at the front attached to the house. Our street is Victorian. The garage is a later addition, completely separate from the house, built in the back yard with double doors leading on to the lane. There’s a side door out to the yard, and an ordinary yard door to go out into the lane. There’s even a toilet in there. Dad calls it the “thunderbox”.’
That sounded better, but some basic questions had not been answered.
‘Your family would twig,’ said Nesta. ‘Even if you could sneak me in somehow, I’d need to see you. You would be my contact with the outside. And your parents are bound to wonder if you start going into the garage at odd times.’
‘And that’s another thing,’ said Amy. ‘I get home an hour before everyone else. Till this year, I had to go next door to Mrs Tully’s; but she moved away and my parents decided that since I was nearly thirteen they would give me a key to let myself in.’
‘It’s workable!’ said Nesta, suddenly excited at really being able to do what she had blindly decided must be done before she had even considered how. ‘All I have to do is leave very early on Saturday morning before anyone’s up. Then there’ll only be one day and one night to go. You’re a genius, Amy Brown! Has anybody ever told you that?’
‘Frequently,’ said Amy. ‘But do calm down. There are still all sorts of complications. Just because it’s “workable” doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy.’
Nesta became thoughtful.
‘And I know what I can do on Saturday,’ she said. ‘I’ll take a train journey. I’ll get the train to Casselton and spend the night there.’
‘Why Casselton?’ said Amy. ‘It’s miles away.’
‘Why not Casselton?’ said Nesta. ‘It’s a big town. Big towns feel safer, so long as you stick to the main streets and don’t go down back alleys. I’ve heard there’s a supermarket there that’s open all night!’
‘You’ll need money,’ said Amy. ‘Train tickets aren’t cheap.’
‘I have money,’ said Nesta. ‘There’s twenty-two pounds in my box, left over from Christmas, and I’ve got over fifty pounds in my savings bank that I can draw out if I need it. I went alone and took some out before Christmas to buy presents and nobody objected.’
After school, Amy walked with Nesta to the bus stop. Her face, always cheerful, was animated with intrigue. Her cheeks were red apples and her dark, frizzy hair looked like live wire.
‘I have been thinking about it,’ she said. ‘I’ll get things ready for you, make you a really safe cubby hole. There’s not much in there except boxes left over from the Christmas presents. I’ll sneak some scatter cushions in from my bedroom and anything else I might think of. You’ll come straight home with me after school tomorrow and I’ll get you settled in before anyone else arrives. It could be fun!’
‘I’ve been thinking, too,’ said Nesta, looking less than happy now. ‘I don’t want to get you into trouble. I shouldn’t have asked you to help. It wasn’t fair.’
‘Of course you should ask me to help. I’m your friend and I want to help. And it is only for a few days, you know. It’s not proper running away. This time next week it will all be over.’
What a wonderful, blissful thought!
The bus was in sight at the corner of the street. Other children were milling forward ready to push their way on to it. Amy was about to turn and leave Nesta to join the throng, but she stopped to say, ‘Besides, I made you a promise. If I want to keep it I have to make sure you’re safe!’
CHAPTER 19
* * *
Tuesday at Home
‘What will happen to Charlie?’
Nesta was back home, sitting on the sofa, the cat straddled across her knee again. The question was academic, so sure was Nesta that she would not be leaving. But to talk was easier than to be silent.
Matthew had not arrived yet. Alison, from her armchair, where she sat curled up drinking tea and warming her hands against the cup as on any other cold day, said, ‘You don’t need to worry about that. I know you’ll miss her at first, but that can’t be helped. We are not permitted to take living creatures back to our own planet. Charlie will find someone else to love, honey. Cats are like t
hat.’
Her words filled Nesta with anger. This ‘not permitted’ business made Ormingat sound even worse, if that were possible. But what she actually said to her mother was, again, academic. The anger stayed hidden.
‘How do you know?’ she asked. ‘How do you know that she won’t become a stray, rummaging among rubbish for her food?’
‘I know,’ said Alison. ‘I just know. Try to imagine that this house is a set on a stage and we are taking part in a play. The characters are real for the time the play lasts. The set is real. The cat is real. Then, when it is all over, the actors become themselves again and the stagehands clear everything away. Ormingat can manage to do that in ways that no one on Earth can ever envisage. Charlie, somehow and I know not how, will be taken care of and will continue to have all the love and comfort she has had with us.’
‘You really believe that, don’t you?’ said Nesta, trying hard to grasp what was being said. ‘That’s some faith!’
‘It’s not,’ said her mother gently. ‘It is absolute certainty.’
Nesta felt the hairs prickle on the back of her neck. I am not a child, she thought, not any more. And I don’t have to go along with everything you say. Naturally, these were thoughts she kept to herself.
‘I’d like to read those newspapers again,’ she said quite smoothly. ‘Knowing more about the boy who disappeared from Casselton General might help me.’
‘You’re not thinking of disappearing?’ said her mother with a smile as she took the newspapers from the sideboard. It was banter and rapidly taken as such. The last thing Nesta needed was to arouse suspicion.
‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ she said. ‘I don’t have a magical, mystical spaceship!’
‘Please understand, Nesta,’ said her mother more seriously, ‘the spaceship is neither magical nor mystical. It is just a wonderful piece of Ormingatrig technology.’