by Sylvia Waugh
Each household had its own theory as to what had occurred.
‘Methane gas – bet you what you like.’
‘Terrorists? Couldn’t be – not in this street!’
‘A store of fireworks exploding? Used to be just Guy Fawkes, but they have the darned things all year round now.’
‘An unexploded bomb left over from the war? If it’s that it’ll be on the news – we’d better watch it tonight.’
Out in the street, a coven of cones had gathered round the holes in the road. A large, yellow van was parked outside Number 16. To the other side of the damaged area was a council wagon, and across the road a still and silent police car. This was Sunday morning in suburbia: work on the holes would not begin till Monday. The water main had been made safe. The only real activity was in the back garden of Number 8 where two workmen and a presiding scientist were digging out and inspecting what was left of the lily pad.
‘Found anything?’ said Inspector Stirling. He had come straight round to the back of the house on arrival.
‘Nothing so far,’ said the boffin from the lab. He was tired and yawning and in no mood for probing questions.
‘No sign of a detonator, or some such device?’ persisted the inspector. He stepped down into the basin of the pond. Cayley, the lab man, suppressed a smile as he said, ‘All we’ve found is this.’
He stooped and turned something. Water immediately sprayed into the air, sprinkling the inspector so that he had to jump back on the grass.
‘It’s for filling the pond,’ said Cayley innocently. ‘As you see, it is not even broken, though the nozzle should be set at a lower angle I suppose.’
Inspector Stirling glared at him as he made angry swipes at his damp jacket with his pocket-handkerchief. He had really thought there might be some sign of a child’s clothing, if nothing more gory. It was not that he relished the thought of infanticide; it was more that his suspicions now were so strong that it would have been a relief to have some sort of confirmation.
‘We may have to dig up the whole garden eventually,’ he said. There was no doubt in his mind that the visit to York Station would draw a blank. However many people might step off the train, Nesta Gwynn would not be one of them.
After that, he said no more and strode round the side of the house to the front door where his constable was already waiting for him.
‘So what do you think of our news, now you’ve had time to sleep on it?’ said Alison.
‘I’ll be able to tell you that when we’ve met your daughter at the station. You say she is on her way home, but we have no proof of that, do we?’ said the inspector. Then he added abruptly, ‘And where is she on her way from?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Matthew. ‘She hung up without saying.’
‘You must know which train you are meant to be meeting,’ said the inspector.
‘I see what you mean,’ said Matthew. ‘We hadn’t thought of that. She said she’d be on the London train. So she must be coming from somewhere north of here, though that doesn’t tell us very much. It could be anywhere between here and Edinburgh I suppose.’
‘Well, we’ll see, shan’t we?’ said Stirling, his cold, fish eyes fixed on a spot somewhere behind the Gwynns. They were all standing in the front room. Outside the window, the yellow van moved off noisily, its work done for the day.
‘I shall accompany you, of course,’ the inspector added in a soft voice, with a false smile. ‘It might be a good idea if we all travelled in my car.’
‘No,’ said Alison, glaring at him. ‘We shall take our own car. You can follow us. I have never travelled in a police vehicle and I don’t intend to do so now.’
The inspector gave her a look of impatience.
‘Then I shall have to travel in your car,’ he said.
‘Is that not extreme?’ said Matthew. ‘What do you think we are going to do? Have a car chase through York? Make a dash for the nearest airport?’
‘I never think too far ahead,’ said the inspector. ‘After all, it was you who asked us to find your daughter. I would like to accompany you to the station and be there when she alights from the train. That seems to me only right and fitting.’
The Gwynns both shrugged. The inspector’s damp clothing on a dry though cold morning might have made them wonder, but they said nothing. The inspector himself totally ignored the splashes the pond pump had made. An automaton could not have been more impervious.
‘It is now eleven forty-five. Be ready to go in an hour. I’ll come back for you. P.C. Bainbridge will go off duty now. Another constable is waiting to take over. I know this may seem unwarranted to you, but it is purely and simply a safety measure.’
Then, with the abruptness that was ingrained in him, he left the room and the house without any farewell.
As the door closed behind him, Alison gave it a look full of fury.
‘Don’t let him get to you,’ said Matthew, seeing her clenched fists and taut face.
‘If only Nesta had agreed to go to Ormingat,’ she said, ‘none of this would have happened.’
‘If only,’ echoed Matthew with a deep sigh. ‘We would be on our way home by now! But regrets are just as useless as anger. It’s no good crying over spilt milk. We are now permanent, lifelong citizens of Earth. Whatever powers we have will fade away. I can feel myself already losing the reality of Ormingat; even its name is changing on my tongue. Though I can’t think that the sense of loss will ever leave me. There will always be an emptiness.’
Alison clutched his hand in comfort. She felt, almost guiltily, that his feeling of desolation was somehow greater than hers.
‘Let’s have something for lunch,’ said Matthew, squeezing the hand that held his. They would always have each other, and would never be lacking in loving kindness. ‘It will pass the time. Besides, I’m hungry!’
Their new policeman came in and conscientiously followed them into the kitchen. He was clearly embarrassed but, like his predecessor, he obeyed orders. He was very young, and quite slightly built, not the stuff that bodyguards are made of!
‘I’m making some tuna sandwiches, Constable,’ said Alison, as she reached up into the cupboard for a tin of fish, ‘nothing ambitious or likely to blow up. Perhaps you would like some?’
The constable coughed awkwardly before saying, ‘No thank you, Mrs Gwynn. I’ve already eaten.’
‘Coffee then?’ she said. ‘Surely your inspector won’t mind if you have a cup of coffee with the suspects. Though I shudder to think what he suspects us of.’
‘Leave the lad alone, Alison,’ said Matthew. ‘You can see how embarrassed he is. None of this is his fault. We know we have done no wrong and we know we have cause to celebrate. An hour from now we’ll be on our way home with our daughter.’
‘I will have that cup of coffee,’ said the young man quite suddenly. ‘And I’m glad your daughter’s safe and well.’
He had a right to his own opinion after all and he felt happy to express it, even though in this story he is a man without a name.
CHAPTER 40
* * *
The Journey Home
The train left Belthorp station at eleven twenty-five. It consisted of only two carriages. Even so, it was almost empty.
Stella gave Nesta the window seat and for a while they travelled in silence, neither quite knowing what to say. Fields passed, sloping up from the railway cutting. Then on the horizon they saw a stone-built farmhouse.
‘I often think,’ said Stella, ‘when I pass a house like that, all on its own, that inside there are people living lives I’ll never know anything about. I won’t even know their name. The world is a very private place, unless you are famous.’
‘Would you like to be famous?’ said Nesta.
‘Probably not,’ said Stella, smiling. ‘I suppose it would depend upon what I was famous for. Mostly people are happier getting on with their lives and remaining anonymous.’
‘You weren’t anonymous when that article was in the pa
per.’
‘No, I wasn’t,’ said Stella ruefully. ‘I was asked lots of questions by people I didn’t really take to. You will be asked questions when you get home. My guess is that the police will want to know where you have been, not just your parents. So listen to me very carefully. You must say nothing about knowing me. No connection must be made between Thomas Derwent and yourself. I am the only link. If you are stuck for an answer, refuse to speak. Your mum and dad will back you up. They have a secret they wish to share with nobody on Earth. You must help guard that secret.’
‘I told you the secret,’ said Nesta, shame-faced.
‘You didn’t. You couldn’t tell me what I knew already. I loved the family that came to me from Ormingat. That alone is enough to ensure my silence.’
Nesta looked at her in puzzlement.
‘Are you not curious? I mean, do you not wonder?’ she said, not quite knowing how to put the question. But Stella knew, and Stella knew the answer.
‘We are all visitors to this Earth,’ she said. ‘We won’t any of us live here for ever. I can be filled with amazement and find myself puzzling as to what the truth can be. But I don’t expect to know all the answers. Sharing my world with Patrick and Thomas was a privilege. Knowing and helping you is another gift of fate.’
The train halted at Chamfort. An old man got on and sat in the seat behind them. With a whole carriage to choose from, he decided to sit within hearing distance of two other passengers. At least it felt like hearing distance and it made Stella and Nesta fall silent again.
At Casselton, Stella bought herself a return ticket for York. Nesta still had her own ticket tucked safely in the pocket of the fleece jacket.
As Stella came away from the ticket office, she suddenly thought of telephoning Nesta’s parents again. But then she felt it might not be safe. They knew enough already. Police might be hovering by.
‘Can I make a phone call?’ said Nesta.
‘Better not,’ said Stella. ‘Your parents know which train you are on. I’d have phoned them if there had been any complications, but so far so good. We want to take as few risks as possible.’
‘It’s not Mom and Dad I want to phone,’ said Nesta. ‘I’d like to ring Amy and tell her I’m on my way back.’
‘That’s not possible either,’ said Stella. ‘I know that Amy was good to you, but if you rang her home it is very likely that one of her parents would answer. They would ask questions that might cause trouble for both of you. You’ll just have to wait till you’re safely back home.’
The York train was twenty minutes late, but otherwise the journey from Casselton was uneventful. An unexpected halt south of Darlington set the train back a further twenty minutes.
Nesta looked out of the window anxiously.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Stella. ‘They’ll know how late the train is at York. The time goes up on the notice board.’
When at length the train was about to draw into York station, Stella got up from her seat, bent over and kissed Nesta’s brow and said quietly, ‘Now I am going along to another carriage. I’ll be getting off to take the train back to Casselton, but we must not be seen together. I’ll watch from a distance, in case of difficulties. But I am absolutely sure there won’t be any.’
‘Does that mean I’ll never see you again?’ said Nesta. ‘I’d love you to meet my parents. You really have been very good to me.’
Stella heard the regret in Nesta’s voice. She felt regret herself, even though she had known the girl for such a short time.
‘Perhaps we could write to each other,’ said Nesta.
‘For the foreseeable future, even that wouldn’t be wise,’ said Stella. ‘You have to realize just how dangerous that could be. Take my word for it, there are definitely people on this Earth who would give none of us any peace if they had the slightest suspicion of the truth. I wouldn’t want you to have people like Rupert Shawcross pestering you week in week out.’
Nesta still looked regretful.
‘Maybe someday your parents can take a holiday up north,’ said Stella as she prepared to walk down the train, ‘and we can meet, by chance, and become acquainted as if we had never met before. But that couldn’t be this year, or even next. The risk is too great.’
CHAPTER 41
* * *
The Last Chapter
On the drive to the station, the Gwynns never spoke. Inspector Stirling sat uncomfortably in the back seat, his long legs and bulky frame unaccustomed to this inferior position in a small car. He was relieved when they crossed Lendal Bridge and turned in towards the station.
The Gwynns had allowed themselves ample time to meet the London train, but they found when they got there that there was really no hurry. The train was already running more than half an hour late.
‘Would you like coffee?’ asked the inspector, anxious to think of some way to pass the time.
‘No,’ said Alison. Not ‘no thank you’, just a crisp, firm ‘no’.
‘Shall we sit here then?’ said the inspector, indicating one of the benches in the waiting area.
‘No, Inspector,’ said Alison. ‘You do what you like. I am going to stand on the platform till the train comes in.’
The inspector looked at Matthew to check what he would think of standing on a cold platform for thirty minutes or more.
‘Agreed,’ said Matthew without even glancing at the policeman. ‘Platform 3, isn’t it? We’ll go there now.’
It was, in fact, the platform nearest the main hall. A few steps took them on to it. They walked right to the far end, leaving the inspector to follow; which he did, slowly, feeling uncomfortable at following, uninvited and clearly unwanted. They were not making it easy for him!
The Gwynns placed themselves almost on the edge of the concrete without even a pillar for support. The inspector, scanning the platform, decided it would be safe to sit on the seat directly behind them, which happened to be totally unoccupied, though there were actually four seats in a row all joined together. It was not ideal, but to stand nearer to this close-knit couple, being pointedly ignored by them, was an even more embarrassing option. He needed to move offstage. On other seats, nearer the entrance, passengers of various shapes and sizes sat reading or yawning or clutching their cases. The inspector sat back with his arms folded, never taking his eyes off the suspects. Thank goodness the station wasn’t crowded this Sunday lunchtime. Rush hour on a Friday would have made his job impossible.
Suddenly, Matthew moved off to the right, leaving Alison standing alone. The inspector got up, uncertain whether to follow him, or to stay with his wife. He approached her fussily.
‘Where has your husband gone?’ he said.
‘In search of a loo,’ said Alison with a smile that was somewhat malicious. ‘I told him he should have gone before we came out.’
She was almost tempted to do her Mrs Jolly impression and take the conversation even further, explaining how . . . but she resisted it. Inspector Stirling looked embarrassed. He decided to stand beside Mrs Gwynn till her husband returned.
In a very short time he was back again.
‘The inspector’s been worried about you,’ said Alison in a clear voice. ‘You should really have put your hand up and asked to leave the room!’
Inspector Stirling, with fair dignity, made no remark and returned to his seat.
Over the tannoy, a voice said boomingly, ‘The terrain from Edinburgh Waverley which was scheduled to be arriving at plattyform 3 will now arrive at plattyform 5. We regret that it is now running forty-five minutes leyate. Passengers for London King’s Caross will please go to plattyform 5 on the other side of the berridge.’
Matthew looked at his watch.
‘That’s another twenty minutes before it gets here,’ he said. ‘Let’s get to platform 5 straight away.’
They walked towards the bridge and the inspector followed them.
When they got to the platform, they saw that a man and a boy were sitting on two of the seats immed
iately below the ramp, both holding in front of them tall bundles of what looked like fishing tackle. Other sets of seats, further along, were totally free. Alison and Matthew smiled at one another, and sat down beside the fishermen. The inspector was left either to stand, or to look for a vacant seat elsewhere.
They’re playing games, he thought irritably. Let’s see what sort of a game they’ll play when that train comes in without their daughter on board! He pulled up his overcoat collar, took out his mobile phone and, as surreptitiously as possible, rang his driver who was waiting in the police car outside, having followed them as instructed from the house in Linden Drive.
‘I might need back-up,’ he said. ‘They’re waiting for the London train and I’m sure they know their daughter can’t be on it. If they try to board the train, I’ll detain them. If I buzz you, you’ll know they’re being difficult. Then you’ll leave the car and join me – but let the station know you’re doing it. They can send round another car, just in case.’
The train came in at long last. Doors opened. Passengers alighted. And among them, from the carriage marked D, came a slightly built schoolgirl in a red fleece coat and black leggings. For a moment, in the clothes she was wearing, her mother did not recognize her. Then the girl’s hand shot up in the air and she waved furiously as she ran towards them.
‘Mom! Dad! I’m home!’ she yelled, so loudly that other passengers stared at her and were amused.
Nesta rushed into her mother’s arms. The excitement turned to tears and she stood there sobbing her heart out. No thought now of Stella Dalrymple, or spaceships or distant planets. My mom, my dad, my home, my world.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘really and truly sorry.’
‘There, there,’ said Alison, stroking her hair and murmuring softly as to a hurt baby. Kiss it better.
‘I know I shouldn’t have run away,’ said Nesta, drawing deep breaths to hold back her sobs. ‘I just couldn’t face . . .’