by Gil McNeil
He glares at me.
‘Don’t start, Archie. I’m not in the mood.’
I take Jack upstairs to dry his sweatshirt, and when we come down Archie’s not on his chair. There’s a kind of glittering space where he should be sitting. And total silence. Christ.
‘Elsie, where’s Archie?’
‘Didn’t he go upstairs with you?’
‘No.’
We look at each other.
‘Are you sure?’
I run back up the stairs.
‘Archie?’
Oh God.
I go back downstairs, willing him to be sitting on the chair; if I close my eyes I can see him sitting there. But he’s not. I move the pattern books, like he might be hiding underneath a small plastic folder.
Oh my God.
Elsie’s got her arm round Jack’s shoulders.
‘I’ll nip along to the salon and see if he’s gone to find your gran.’
‘That’s a good idea.’
‘You stay here. He’ll probably have gone to the shop for sweets or something, don’t you worry.’
I stand by the counter, holding Jack’s hand.
‘Is he lost, Mum?’
‘No.’
Oh God. Please. He can’t be lost. He’ll be at the salon.
Elsie comes back with Gran in a plastic capeb, and Tina, and Angela Prentice with curlers in her hair, and Martin, who was in the newsagent’s when she went in to see if Archie had been in for sweets.
She’s out of breath.
‘There’s no sign of him. Let’s split up; he won’t have gone far. You go home, love, he might be waiting there for you, and I’ll stay here in case he comes back. Martin, you go to the beach, and everyone else can do the high street and the park. And Mary, you should probably go and check your house in case he’s up there.’
Thank God Elsie’s so bossy; at least one of us is being organised.
Gran’s looking shaky. ‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’
Tina puts her arm round her. ‘Let’s see if we can find him first, Mary. We’ll meet at Jo’s house in twenty minutes, and then we can call them, but I bet we’ll have found him by then. You’ll see.’
We all go off in different directions, and Jack and I race back to the house, half running and half walking, while I frantically scan up and down the street as we go, but there’s no sign of him. I’m having visions of him falling over a cliff, or lying crumpled in a little heap in the road, or being bundled into a car by a shadowy figure. Oh God, I can’t do this, I’m going to lose it in a minute and start screaming, and I’m not going to stop until I’ve got him back. Jack’s gone very pale, and is trotting along beside me, looking like he might start to cry at any minute.
‘Where is he, Mum?’
‘I don’t know, darling, but we’ll find him.’
Right, I’ve got to keep calm for Jack. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart.’
He squeezes my hand.
Mr Pallfrey’s trimming the hedge in his front garden as we turn into the street, and Trevor bounds towards us, barking and wagging his tail.
‘Have you seen Archie?’
‘No. Why? Has he gone missing?’
I nod. I don’t think I can speak, not without risking hysterics.
‘I’ll go and check the beach. I’ll take Trevor – he’ll soon find him, don’t you worry, pet. Have you checked at home? He might be in your back garden. I wouldn’t have necessarily seen him, I’ve been in the back.’
We run up the path to the house, but he’s not there. I sort of knew he wouldn’t be, somehow.
‘He’s not here, Mum. I thought he’d be here.’
Jack’s looking even paler now.
‘Will you stay here with Jack, Mr Pallfrey, in case he comes back? I can’t just sit here waiting.’
‘Of course I will, love.’
‘Where are you going, Mum?’
‘I’m going to find Archie, love. Stay here with Mr Pallfrey. Promise?’
‘I promise.’
I walk back down the garden path towards the gate, and the tears start. Please let him be safe. Please.
And then I see him. Walking down the road, holding Martin’s hand.
For a second I think I might have dreamed it, but they carry on walking and then he runs towards me, and I’m kissing him and hugging him too tight, and kissing Martin as well, who goes rather rigid.
Archie’s squirming to get away, but I’m not letting go of his hand; probably for quite a while.
‘I went to the beach to see if Trevor was there, and I crossed the road by the green man. That was good, wasn’t it?’
Christ, he crossed the main road all by himself. Suddenly I feel completely furious with him.
‘No, it wasn’t. You frightened me, Archie, and Jack. Really frightened us.’
‘Why was Jack frightened?’
‘Because he loves you, and we didn’t know where you were.’ Oh God, I think I’m really going to cry now.
‘Shall I say it now?’ He looks at Martin, who nods.
‘I promise to never ever do it again, ever, and I’m very sorry. What was the last bit?’
Martin whispers, ‘I hope you’ll forgive me.’
Archie nods. ‘Yes. And I hope you will give me. Can I have something to eat now? I’m starving hungry. Have we got crisps?’
‘In a minute. And you’re not having crisps. People who go off and frighten people don’t get crisps.’
He sighs.
‘I don’t know how to thank you, Martin, really I don’t.’
He looks rather panicked; he’s probably worrying I’m going to kiss him again. ‘Well, maybe we could go for a drink sometime?’
Christ, I really didn’t expect him to say that.
‘If you’re not too busy. You’re probably too busy.’
I look at him, standing there, wearing the bobble hat his mum made for him, because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.
‘I’d like that.’
He looks surprised. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, I would. And you must let me know what I owe you for the shelves, because I still haven’t paid you, and I feel awful about it.’
‘I enjoyed it. It gave me something to do in the evenings and got me out of Mum’s way – there’s only so much Emmerdale a man can take. And I only bought a few bits of glass, it was no big deal.’
‘Well, let’s make it dinner, then. I’ll buy you dinner somewhere expensive to say thank you.’
He smiles; he’s got a lovely smile. I wonder why I’ve never noticed it before.
Lady Denby comes puffing up the street with Algie and Clarkson.
‘Oh, good, he’s back. I was halfway home when it occurred to me that he was rather small to be out on the beach on his own. Gave you the slip, did he? Mine were always doing that to Nanny. Still, glad he’s back safe and sound. Now then, young man, don’t ever do that again. Understood?’
Archie nods.
‘Not until you’re much older.’
He nods again, looking contrite and then he giggles as Clarkson starts licking his feet.
‘I suppose you could always get him tagged with one of those electrical things they’re always going on about in the papers.’
‘I’ll look into it, Lady Denby. And thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, my dear. Go and have a large brandy. You look as if you could do with one. Very good for shock.’
She passes Connie and Gran, who are half running down the street, Gran with her black nylon cape billowing out behind her.
‘Oh, thank the Lord. Come and give your gran a cuddle, pet.’
We end up with quite a gathering in the street, with everyone needing to pat Archie on the head to reassure themselves that he’s back safe and sound, which he tolerates with unusually good grace before escaping with Jack into the back garden to play football with Trevor. Tina takes Gran back to the salon to sort her hair out; God knows what’ll have happened to her perm, but I’m guessing it�
�ll be a lot more curly than usual, and most of Angela’s curlers have fallen out, so Tina says they might as well start all over again.
Martin’s still smiling.
‘I’ll go back to the shop and let Mum know.’
‘Thanks, Martin. And tell her thanks from me, for being so sensible. I’d probably still be standing there panicking.’
‘I’ll see you later, then, and we can fix up that dinner?’
‘Yes.’
He’s whistling as he walks back up the street.
Connie puts her arm round my shoulders as we go into the house.
‘When Angela came into the pub she was nearly crying. You must have been so worried. Sit down, and I’ll make you some tea.’
‘Thanks, Connie.’
‘Were you very frightened?’
‘Terrified.’
‘And did you cry?’
‘A bit, not much. I was too terrified.’
‘Perhaps you will cry now, yes?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
She hugs me, and I burst into tears.
‘I thought he was lost. For a minute or two, I really did. I thought I’d lost him. And I kissed Martin by mistake when he brought him back.’
She laughs.
‘It’s not funny. We’re going out to dinner and the poor man probably thinks I’m a total trollop.’
‘Trollop? What is trollop?’
‘The kind of woman who kisses men when they’re not expecting it.’
‘I think you should be a trollop. It sounds nice.’
‘I haven’t got the right kind of clothes. Or the right kind of lipstick.’
She laughs. ‘When we go shopping for wallpapers we can get you some.’
‘Okay.’
‘He crossed the road down by the sea front, you know. All by himself.’
Connie says something rude-sounding in Italian.
‘I don’t think he’ll do it again. Well, he’d better bloody not, but still. I really thought I’d lost him, Con. And it was my fault. I never should have left him sitting downstairs like that.’
‘I ran away once, when I was little. I went shopping but Aunt Rosaria found me in the market and took me home.’
‘What did your mum do?’
‘Screamed for hours. And then made me my favourite supper.’
We both smile.
‘It doesn’t get any easier, being a mum, does it?’
Connie shakes her head.
‘And it gets worse, I think.’
‘I know. We’ve still got sex and drugs and rock and roll to get through.’
She smiles. ‘I think Nelly will be terrible.’
‘Christ, I was just starting to feel a bit calmer, and now I can see Archie with a quiff and an unsuitable girlfriend, telling me to fuck off and get a life.’
‘Maybe she will be nice.’
‘Who?’
‘The girlfriend.’
‘Jack’s might be, but Archie’s going to go for the kind of girls you don’t take home to meet your mother, I’m sure of it.’
‘Mark says he thinks Nelly will be wheels on hell.’
‘Hell on wheels.’
‘Yes.’
‘God, you think getting them through the bit where they can choke on bits of carrot is tough enough, but it’s a doddle compared to the rest of it.’
‘Yes, but at least its not boring. If everything went in straight lines it would be terrible, yes?’
‘I quite like straight lines.’
She laughs. ‘Are you all right now? I should go back to the pub – Mark will be busy.’
‘Sorry, Connie, I never thought. Of course, go. I’m fine. And thank you.’
I hug her as she leaves, and then go into the kitchen and stand watching the boys playing football. I’ll make some sandwiches for lunch in a minute, and get them a drink; we can have a picnic. They love picnics and I don’t do them often enough. I’m feeling much calmer now: I think having so many people out there looking for him has reminded me how much safer it feels down here. I think we really belong now. That doesn’t stop terrifying things happening, of course; nothing can stop that, I suppose, although I’m going to have a bloody good try. I think I’ll start on the picnic; and we can eat out in the garden and I’ll put the wigwam up for them if Trevor has gone home by then, because he’s not very keen on wigwams. Even if it is cold, at least it’s not raining, and we can wear our coats.
I’m opening a tin of tuna for Archie’s favourite tuna and lettuce sandwiches, but no tomato, when Jack comes in.
‘Can we have a drink?’
‘Yes, love. I’m just making lunch.’
‘Oh, good, are we having a picnic?’
‘Yes.’
He grins. ‘We’re playing football but it’s half-time.’
‘Right.’
‘I’m quite glad Martin found Archie, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, love.’
‘Because I don’t want to play football with just Trevor.’
‘No.’
‘It was very naughty of him to go to the beach on his own, wasn’t it, Mum?’
‘Yes. Very.’
‘You have to be much older before you can go for walks on your own, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘How old?’
‘Twenty-six.’
He nods.
‘Were you scared, Mum?’
‘Yes, darling.’
‘So was I, a bit. But now it’s all right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, love.’
He picks up the beakers of juice and starts walking very carefully towards the door.
It’s moments like this when I wish Nick was here. He was so much bolder than I was; he’d be making a joke of it by now, teasing Archie and making me relax. He could be the brave, exciting one who encouraged them to take risks, and I could be the one in the background with a drink and sandwich. He was always planning impromptu picnics, and then halfway through a sandwich he’d get bored with it and throw it over his shoulder, which the boys thought was brilliant. And now I have to be the one who makes the sandwiches, and then throws them in the sand.
But at least this year has shown me I can cope with almost anything as long as the boys are all right, although God knows what kind of stunts they’re going to pull as they get older. Although you never know, they might be the kind of teenagers who hold doors open for old ladies and take up interesting quiet hobbies, like stamp collecting or excessive numbers of pen pals. The house will be magically transformed into a temple to shabby chic, instead of just being shabby, and the shop will start making proper money and everything in the garden will be lovely, including the tragic old rose bush by the front door, which will burst into bloom. It might not be much of a plan, and it might not be how I thought it was going to be, but I think we’ll be all right. And if it’s not then I’ll just have to make it up as we go along; like I always do.
A Note on the Author
Gil McNeil is the author of the bestselling The Only Boy for Me, Stand By Your Man, In The Wee Small Hours, Divas Don’t Knit and Needles and Pearls. The Only Boy For Me has been made into a major ITV prime-time drama starring Helen Baxendale and was broadcast in 2007. Gil McNeil has edited five collections of stories with Sarah Brown, and is Director of the charity PiggyBankKids, which supports projects that create opportunities for children. She lives in Kent with her son and comes from a long line of champion knitters.
By the Same Author
The Only Boy for Me
Stand By Your Man
In the Wee Small Hours
Needles and Pearls
By the Same Author
THE ONLY BOY FOR ME
‘A portrait of childhood to rival Roddy Doyle’s and an angst-ridden love life to match Helen Fielding’s.’ Glamour
Most people would think Annie Baker had it all: an idyllic life in the country and a fabulous job as a film producer. And so would she, if it weren’t for the men in her life. Her six-year-old son C
harlie gets traumatized if she buys the wrong kind of sausages. Her tempestuous boss Barney is a Great Director, but keeps getting stuck with dog-food commercials, and as for Lawrence, well, he just wants to get her fired. And then she meets Mack …
IN THE WEE SMALL HOURS
‘A joy: a laugh-out-loud account of Annie Baker’s life and loves … a heartbreaking, funny look at parenting and passion’ Elk
Life just keeps getting more complicated for Annie Baker. Her sister Lizzie’s pregnant and wants Annie to be her birth-partner – she’s planning an active labour, in water, with lots of candles and music – while Kate from the village has somehow ended up having an affair with her own ex-husband. And as for the men in Annie’s own life, it just gets worse. Her seven-year-old son Charlie is now officially Pagan, and desperate for his own pet pheasant. Boss Barney is building a bit of a reputation for TV commercials involving stunts. Then there’s Uncle Monty to keep an eye on, a retired mole-catcher who is eighty-three and has just threatened the Meals on Wheels lady with a shotgun. And then Mack comes back from New York, just when Annie was beginning to think she might be able to cope without him …
STAND BY YOUR MAN
‘A funny and touching novel. I wish I’d written it.’ Arabella Weir
Alice Mayhew, part-time architect and full-time mother to Alfie, is to gardening what Alan Titchmarsh is to deep-sea fishing. So finding she’s been volunteered to design a new garden for the village comes as a bit of a shock, because apart from anything else she’s far too busy trying to convince Alfie that wearing green trousers doesn’t make you Peter Pan, and that flying is best left to the experts. Molly O’Brien is finding it hard enough coping with Lily (aged four and likes washing up) and Matt (aged thirty-two and doesn’t) before she discovers she’s pregnant. And then there’s Lola Barker, who causes havoc wherever she goes, and brings a whole new meaning to the word high-maintenance.
First published in Great Britain 200
Copyright © Gil McNeil 2007
This electronic edition published 2011 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc