by Paul Clayton
‘You sure?’ said Jonny. ‘They shouldn’t be giving you any grief, Mum.’
‘Grief?’ laughed Frankie. ‘Oh, my darling, you sound like you’re on some dreadful TV cop show.’ Jonny looked a little crestfallen. ‘They didn’t give me any grief – and if they had, I would have called you to sort it,’ Frankie told him.
Although Jonny was fighting a daily battle with teenage traumas in many areas – acne, facial hair, wet dreams – he saw himself as the man of the house. ‘Good. They’d better not.’
Cora decided it was time to take charge in a more practical way. ‘Should I make us all a cup of tea?’
They sat in the living room with tea and the last of a packet of shortcake biscuits, which were rather past their best. Without giving any specific details, Frankie told them more about her visit to the police station, but their focus was on Cora’s gift of the car.
‘When can we go out in it, Mum?’ asked Henry. ‘To the supermarket?’
Cora looked at Frankie and both of them laughed. ‘I’m not sure that’s the best place to go at the moment,’ said Cora. ‘But I always think a good way to test out a new car is a trip to the seaside.’ Henry gasped in delight. ‘What about tomorrow?’ she continued.
Frankie looked rather alarmed. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Oh please, Mum!’ shouted Jonny and Henry. Only Shannon seemed less than thrilled at the prospect of another family outing in which she’d be forced to participate.
Frankie nodded.
‘Okay. That’s decided then,’ said Cora. ‘You’ve got the car and it’s got a full tank of petrol. We leave here at nine in the morning, and we’re all off to Brighton.’
They all cheered. Shannon put her hands over her ears.
***
Frankie managed to find a parking space in a multi-storey just a few blocks back from the seafront, although she was rather nervous to see that it was going to cost more than ten pounds to park for the day. She unlocked the boot and took out their backpacks and the small picnic hamper that Cora had brought that morning. It was full of sandwiches and squash and, rather to the children’s alarm, fruit.
Although the calendar said it was the first official day of summertime, it wasn’t very sunny. Clouds skimmed across the sky, a rough woollen blanket of mottled grey, and allowed the sun to make only an occasional appearance. It wasn’t cold though and, as they turned the corner onto Marine Parade to look at the beach, they saw they weren’t the only people who’d had this idea on a Sunday.
‘Let’s walk further along towards the West Pier,’ said Cora. ‘There’ll be fewer people there and we can have a bit of a picnic. And those who want to can go into the sea.’
They found a spot past the looming skeleton of the burnt-out pier away from other beachgoers. Cora opened the hamper and pulled out two travel rugs. She laid them on the sand and sat down. Frankie had a supermarket carrier bag with her, in which she had a couple of towels. She stretched out, using the towels as a pillow. ‘This is very nice, Cora. Thank you.’
‘Can I go for a walk, Mum?’ Jonny asked. ‘Check out the slots.’
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ said Frankie without looking up at him. ‘Don’t be too long. About half an hour, then we’ll have lunch. You want to take your sister?’
From the expression on his face, it was the last thing Jonny wanted to do. Shannon grunted a reply that could have meant anything, but she followed him up the beach towards the road.
Frankie was thrilled that both of them had come along and she didn’t expect either of them to stay with her for the day. She just prayed they wouldn’t get into any trouble.
Henry was already pulling off tracksuit bottoms under which he wore a pair of bright-yellow swimming trunks. He jumped up and down. ‘Can I go in the sea, Mum? Can I go in the sea?’
‘It’ll be cold. Stay where we can see you, okay?’ said Frankie, sitting up for a moment. Henry nodded vigorously. ‘And no swimming. Just paddling, and stay near the shore.’
Henry charged off down the beach and crashed into the sea before returning to the edge as he discovered how cold it was. Frankie lay with her head on the towels and Cora sat cross-legged on the picnic rug, sorting out sandwiches and drinks.
‘Do you think the police will want to speak to me again?’ Frankie asked without looking up.
Cora arranged the sandwiches, which were on little plates wrapped in clingfilm. It looked like a doll’s tea party. ‘Why would they? You told them it wasn’t you. And you said they have video footage of you leaving.’
‘Yes, they do, not long after. And not running or anything. I had nothing to run from.’
‘Stop worrying about it. Enjoy the day. Relax. No point in worrying about things you have no control over, is there?’ Cora reached into the hamper and took out a book. She found her page and started to read.
Frankie closed her eyes. Sometimes the worst of things brought the best of things. They spent so much time squeezed into the tiny flat and it was hard at times, yet there were so many brilliant evenings full of laughter and surprises and a never-ending discovery of just how wonderful her children could be. And here she stood, accused of a crime she hadn’t committed and yet enjoying a surprising new friendship and a day at the seaside with her family. She couldn’t remember how long it was since they’d all done something together.
Wandering in a netherworld between thought and sleep, she lay until something woke her. She sat up. Cora was engrossed in her book. ‘Did you hear that?’ Frankie asked.
Cora looked puzzled. ‘Hear what?’
On the breeze, they both heard the cry for help.
***
Henry loved the sea and each year it was a highlight of his holidays. He knew Mum didn’t have the cash to take them away, but they did go on days out. She had a special membership of something she called the National Trussed, which sounded odd, but the ticket she had got them into lots of old castles and grand houses. They were all right, but they weren’t as much fun as the seaside. Every year they had at least one day out somewhere on the coast – Eastbourne, Hastings or even Margate. Now they were having a trip in a new car to Brighton. To Henry, it was all just seaside and fantastic.
With an older sister and brother, Henry was used to amusing himself so it didn’t worry him as he ran down to the sea alone. The touch of the wet sand thrilled him. As he jumped the first two slight waves and landed with a splash, the cold bit into his feet. He dashed back to the beach for a little more warmth. He knew this was how it worked.
Next time, he ran in up to his knees and ran back out again. Even though he was alone, he squealed at the icy water. His third run into the sea lifted the water past his waist. Pulling in his tummy, he struggled to hold his breath to battle the chill. He closed his eyes and lost his balance, slipping backwards and plunging under the water.
Spluttering up for air, he stuck out his tongue at the taste of the sea. With his shoulders submerged, the cold was less of a problem. ‘It’s nice once you’re in,’ he’d often heard people say, but it was never the case.
He waded out a little more until the water came up to his chest. At school he was learning to swim and he could manage six strokes breaststroke or eight strokes doggy paddle. In the swimming pool, where you could see your feet touch the bottom of the pool, it felt safe; here, the darkness of the water made things a little more unnerving. Although he could feel the sand and the odd rock beneath his feet, he couldn’t see where he was standing. Exciting, and yet worrying.
He launched forward and managed five breaststrokes before turning to shore. He splashed with his feet, feeling for the sandy floor of the sea. It was no longer there. He moved his arms as if he were climbing rocks, but there was only water around him.
With what breath remained, he called out to the distant figures on the shore but the water stole away the words, washing them out to sea. He slipped under the s
urface and his brain clicked into full panic. He clawed through the thin liquid, but his limbs seemed to slow down as if the sea were sticky treacle.
Pushing up his chin and angling it to the sky, he knew there was no longer anything under his feet. Nothing to stand on, nothing to grip, and no way of moving through the vastness of the water. He started to splash with his feet, as if they were on some imaginary bicycle, but the sea held him and started to pull him down.
***
Cora was clear about what she’d heard. She threw the book to one side and stood up. Frankie was next to her. ‘It’s Henry,’ she said. ‘Where is he?’
They scanned the water for any sign of him. Frankie cried out and pointed a little further along the coast then started to run down to the water’s edge, lumbering across the sands. Cora followed and, being quicker, arrived first at the water’s edge. They could see the flailing arms of the small boy a hundred or so yards out into the sea and hear his cries.
As Cora saw his head dip under the water, Frankie turned to her. ‘I can’t swim!’ she yelled. ‘I can’t go into the water.’
Cora pulled off the somewhat inappropriate coat she’d been wearing, kicked away her boots and stepped out of a skirt which was far too smart for a day at the seaside. She ran into the sea. Frankie wanted to call out to her that she was still wearing her glasses and hat, but no words would come.
The seabed dipped and Cora thought that she would have to walk for quite a while until she could swim towards Henry. He was simply a little out of his depth, but she could see he was panicking.
His flailing arms and frenzied cries came to her as she splashed through water that was now up to her waist. She called to him, ‘Breathe deeply and calm down, Henry. Tread water.’
At that moment, Henry’s head sank below the waves again. Cora could hear Frankie’s cries from the shore. Three more strides and she would have the child.
Henry sprayed out another mouthful of sour water. His legs were beginning to tire and he started to feel that he was losing the battle. Water was wrapping itself around him and it felt heavy, thick and sticky. Cora was close to him, but how long could he hang on for? Push down, one leg to leg, one leg to leg, like riding his bicycle but with no pedals to push against.
Suddenly he felt himself being grabbed and he relaxed. The current turned him to face out to sea. Cora was behind him; he couldn’t see her face but he felt her seize his shoulders. Then abruptly a hand landed hard on the back of his head and thrust him under the surface of the water. He had no time to close his mouth and he swallowed large mouthfuls of salty sea.
Just as instantly he saw the sky and he spluttered, trying to make words. ‘What … ?’ But before he could say any more, the hand forced him under the water again. This time, it was as if he were being held there. He sensed his body going limp. Then, all of a sudden, hands were under his arms pulling him backwards and lifting his head above the surface.
He felt a burning in his chest and his eyes stung. Second by second, sleep was coming over him.
Cora reached the shore pulling Henry behind her. She dragged him onto the wet sand and dropped him at Frankie’s feet then stood looking down at the motionless boy.
Frankie bent down and turned his head towards her, slapping his cheeks. ‘Henry, Henry, don’t. Please don’t.’
Cora saw people racing down the beach. Shannon and Jonny were among them; keeping pace with them was a young man in a T-shirt and shorts with the word ‘lifeguard’ across his chest. He knelt down next to Henry. Asking Frankie to step aside, he fixed his mouth onto Henry’s and started to breathe into the boy. Then he raised his head, placed his hands on Henry’s tiny chest and began to pump.
Time stood still for those watching. A brackish breeze nudged the matted carpet of cloud across the sky; the day was no longer warm. Jonny and Shannon held their breath, Cora panted from her exertions in the sea, and Frankie rocked on her knees by the side of her boy as tears rolled down her face.
The young man grabbed Henry’s cheeks one more time, pushing his small boyish lips into a goldfish pout and covering them with his own to breathe deeply into his chest. Seagulls called above, a lamenting cry as they circled the group on the beach.
Suddenly Henry fought back against the breathing lips. As the lifeguard turned his head to one side, the little boy spewed water onto the beach before a fit of coughing shook his tiny body. Frankie fell across him with a sob so hard it split her soul.
Someone had called an ambulance and two paramedics clutching Medi-bags reached the group. ‘Who’s this, then?’ The first paramedic had a squat rugby-player build and a generous smile hiding behind a ginger beard. He lifted Henry’s head and cradled it.
‘His name is Henry.’ Frankie stammered out the words. ‘He’s ten.’
‘Okay, Henry who is ten,’ The smiling paramedic lifted him a little higher and sat him up. ‘I think we’d better get you looked at. How do you fancy a ride in an ambulance?’
Henry nodded. The paramedics helped him stand up and covered him with a blanket.
‘Are you his mum?’ asked the second paramedic, a slim blonde girl with a crew cut and a nose ring.
‘Yes,’ said Frankie, getting to her feet.
‘You’d better come with us, my love. I’m sure he’s going to be fine.’
The small procession, led by the ginger paramedic and Henry, walked to the promenade where the ambulance stood. Cora stayed behind to collect the picnic things and her damp clothes from the seashore. By the time she caught up with the group on the promenade, the ambulance doors were closing. Jonny and Shannon stood on the pavement looking lost.
‘Let’s go back to the car. I need to get some dry clothes.’ Cora shepherded them across the road. ‘Then we’ll go to the hospital.’
Inside the ambulance, Henry lay back on the bed. Frankie held his hand, and the paramedic girl placed an oxygen mask over his face. It hurt to breathe and his chest was sore. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the water swirling around his head and, for a moment just before he fell into a deep slumber, he felt the hands once more forcing him under the water.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was late that night when Cora got back to her flat. Pushing the door closed behind her, she threw her keys onto the table. She paused in the darkness. This was when she felt most alone. Or was it lonely? She knew you could feel lonely with people around. You could be alone and feel good. Perhaps you were at your best when you felt most alone.
She didn’t turn on any lights and wandered into the open-plan kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine from a half-open bottle of red that stood on the side. Taking the glass to the table by the window, she switched on a low lamp and booted up her laptop.
They had kept Henry in the hospital for about three hours. Cora had walked back to the car park with Jonny and Shannon; passing a large branch of Primark, she’d picked up a purple tracksuit for less than twelve pounds. The new tracksuit and her outlandish coat gave her the look of some mystical character from an unpublished Roald Dahl story. She also purchased a pair of red imitation Converse trainers because no one had been able to find her boots on the beach.
As they sat in the hospital waiting room, Shannon had turned to her. ‘He will be all right, won’t he, Cora?’
‘The doctor didn’t give us much information. Let’s hope so.’
A hospital waiting area was an unusual place to be on a Sunday afternoon. A silent television played in one corner. Cora thought all hospitals smelled green: minty, antiseptic, Eau de Nil.
The whole experience seemed to have exhausted Jonny, who stretched out his long legs over two chairs and quickly fell asleep. Perhaps this was what encouraged Shannon to speak to her, thought Cora. Perhaps she didn’t like talking when other people were around. Perhaps she liked being alone, too.
They left the hospital just after four o’clock. Henry was given pride of p
lace in the front seat on the journey home and Cora squashed into the rear next to Shannon, with a sleepy Jonny in the far corner. The car fluctuated from being full of excited chatter to an expressive silence. In one of the silent moments, Shannon took Cora’s hand and gripped it.
They pulled into a drive-through McDonald’s once they had left the motorway and Frankie splashed out on meals for all of them. It was impossible for everybody to eat in the car, so they sat at a picnic table in the car park. It was while they were halfway through the meal that Cora remembered the bags of sandwiches in the boot.
‘Oh,’ said Frankie. ‘They were so nicely wrapped up. I’ll put them in the fridge when we get home and the kids can have them for lunch tomorrow, if that’s all right.’
Cora was past caring.
They found a parking space not too far from the flat. Frankie unloaded all the bags from the boot and gave them to the kids to carry. Cora pulled on her coat and took her bag. ‘I’m not going to come in, Frankie. Not tonight. I think everybody is terribly tired.’
‘Okay,’ said Frankie. She locked the car with a click of the key fob, took a step towards the flat and then turned back. ‘Cora, I haven’t forgotten. But when I say thank you, I want it to sort of mean something. You know?’
Cora looked down at the pavement, as if embarrassed for herself and even more for Frankie’s failure to string words together. ‘It’s fine,’ she said.
‘He wouldn’t be back with us if it wasn’t for you. I couldn’t get into the water. I couldn’t … And you … It was amazing, Cora.’ The tears flooded down Frankie’s face.
‘Stop it. You’ll start me next.’ Cora pulled her coat around her. ‘I’ll ring you tomorrow. Meet for a cappuccino?’
***
The laptop booted up, and the light from the screen illuminated Cora’s face. Several quick keystrokes brought up the white page headed with the words Frankie Baxter. Across the page below Frankie’s name, equally spaced, Cora typed: