“There will be another hill, Phantom,” I told him. “Another and another. Or we will be back by the house on the wrong side of the island.”
There were butterflies in my stomach, while my mind prayed, God, make it all right. God, let Angus be safe.
I ran to the top of this hill, dragging Phantom behind me, and below lay the sea. It was different from the sea I had left, or so it seemed, and Tuath was there before us, with telephone lines and houses, safe and civilised. I then threw my arms round Phantom and cried, “We’ve nearly made it. Only a little further. Come on, hurry, please hurry.” Then I was running, stumbling over hillock and rock while below us lay white sands, whiter than I had ever seen before.
There are moments you never forget. This was one of them. I still dream of those white sands and the seals we saw playing there. The sea was gentle, washing the sands with its foam like soap bubbles, its sound as gentle as a breeze blowing through trees. There was no fear, the seals did not run at our approach and the gulls, which were everywhere, ignored us. The landscape belonged to them. We were the intruders with our sweaty bodies and our worldly worries.
I patted Phantom, unbuckled his girth and took off his saddle. I put it carefully on a rock and said goodbye to it in my heart.
Putting my arms round Phantom’s neck, I said, “We’ve still got to reach Tuath. We haven’t finished yet.”
He looked at the sea and blew through his nostrils. I wondered whether he had ever been in salt water before; if he understood – if he could swim. I thought of Angus and Hans.
Were they saving the horses? Or were they out of the fight? Was I the only one left in it?
“We have to swim, Phantom,” I said. “You know how, because you know everything.”
I kicked off my riding-boots, then took off my hat and placed them by the saddle. “Keep calm, Jean,” I told myself. “You are going to be all right.”
I vaulted on to his back and together we stared at the glimmering expanse of sea. Tuath looked peaceful, a dreamland with a church spire and people like dots on the sand. Already
I seemed a long way from the school, from the children struggling to get through their entrance exams, from the pottery teacher with his thick-lensed glasses and bald patch on his head, from Miss Pitcher who made me think of a dishcloth gone dry and stringy with age, and from Caroline whom I did not understand.
I could believe that George and Mr Carli were criminals, but what about the others? Surely not. I knew now that I was simply putting off the moment of going into the sea. My thoughts were useless: they would change nothing. The other people did not matter, guilty or innocent. It was reaching Tuath that mattered, and raising the alarm, nothing else.
Phantom hesitated, too. He could not believe my request. He looked at the sea and snorted, tasted it and retreated, curling his lip. I turned him round, reasoned with him, then suddenly realised that time was running out. The sun had moved again. Morning was long gone and evening soon to come. “Walk on,” I shouted, drumming his sides with my heels.
I could feel him trembling underneath me, his whole body going tense, his eyes widening and his neck arching with surprise.
“Walk on!” I commanded. “Where’s your courage?” I could feel my own draining away.
He put one hoof gingerly in the sea as though he was testing it, then he started to walk forward, his hoofs sinking into the sand. I patted his neck again, leaning forward, knowing that in a minute he would have to swim.
The sea reached his knees, his shoulders, my legs. It was cold, so cold it took my breath away. I felt his hoofs lose touch with the seabed, his head came up, his nostrils extended – and then we were swimming.
9
Phantom’s silver mane was half buried amid the waves, his neat ears stood straight up, his nostrils snorted. In front of us lay tiny islands clad with seaweed, and beyond lay Tuath. Gradually the sea seemed less cold. Seals, whiskered and brown-grey, looked at us in mild surprise, then dived. The dots on the sand grew nearer and became people, the church took on new lines; the houses in the distance now had windows and doors. I steered Phantom gently towards an island, hardly daring to move.
We were nearly there when I heard the aeroplane again. Phantom was scrambling through seaweed as strong as rope. The island was little more than solid rock, but some boulders were as large as men. I threw myself off and cried “Quick, Phantom. Move!” I dragged him between two large rocks and waited – trembling.
Phantom was very quiet and I could hear the aeroplane circling above us. But what could they do? I wondered. Where could they land? Or would they shoot us with tranquilliser darts as if we were wild animals? Anything seemed possible as we waited between the rocks, shaking with cold. I wondered again what Angus was doing, whether the ransomed horses were still alive And whether we would be in time to save anything at all.
Gradually the sound of the engines ebbed away.
I led Phantom down to the sea again, struggling through more seaweed with him, and told him it was nearly over. My head was throbbing, my legs turned to jelly. I struggled onto his back again, stared across at the dots which had become children gathering shells, and the houses so neat and white with curtains in their windows, and then we were swimming once more.
Minutes later we hit sand. I slid to the ground. People were staring at us and pointing. My clothes clung to me, my hair hung down my back.
“I need a telephone,” I yelled, running, dragging Phantom after me, both of us stumbling through the waves. Phantom was marvellous. He followed me as though he was competing in a gymkhana, his hoofs sending up great spurts of spray. A fat woman pointed to a house. “There’s a phone over there,” she called.
“What’s happened? Is someone drowned?” asked a man.
“There’s been a shipwreck, hasn’t there?” cried a small boy, his eyes alight with excitement.
I reached the road. It felt hard under my feet. An idiot in a van gave a wolf-whistle. A man was delivering bread. It all seemed insanely normal, yet a few miles away lives were in danger, human as well as equine.
I then reached the house with the telephone. It was a small, white farmhouse. I tied Phantom to a dilapidated gate and hammered on the door. A young man opened it. He had brown eyes, and asked, “And who are you? A mermaid?”
Inwardly I thought, fool! while I cried, “I need a telephone, quickly please, it’s terribly urgent.”
“Has a ship gone down?” he asked.
“No, not yet.”
A woman appeared, carrying a baby, and for a terrible moment everything seemed to be in slow motion while she asked, “What is it? Who is she? Holy mother, she’s wringing wet.”
“A telephone. I need a telephone,” I cried.
The man pointed. “Over there. Help yourself,” he said.
My hair dripped on to a small antique table as I dialled 999 and asked for the police. I was shaking with a mixture of fear and cold, my bare feet had left a wet path across the patterned carpet.
“I’m from the island of Uaine,” I said, without looking round, surprised that they couldn’t hear the thudding of my heart. Then I was through to the police, trying to explain, but my voice was panic-stricken, and I gabbled, longing for a grown-up to take over. I could hear a keyboard in the background and I thought, at least they are putting it down, while I said, “The kidnapped Australian horses are on Uaine. I’ve just come from there.” Even to my ears it sounded impossible, though I knew it was true. But I went on talking about my brother and Hans, about Mr Carli and George, about the whole beastly set-up. And all the time I was seeing them shooting the horses, one by one.
“You must be quick,” I gabbled.
The man at the other end was so calm he made me want to scream.
“We are investigating. We have a great many calls coming in about the horses. We are investigating each one, but you must realise it takes time,” he said in a sane English voice.
“But there isn’t any time,” I cried. “There’s n
one left.”
I gave him my name, my home address, I mentioned my father. I tried to sound calm, but I couldn’t. At last I put down the receiver and, holding my head in my hands, cried, “What am I going to do?”
Someone had put a towel round my shoulders while I talked. The woman handed me a mug of tea. Suddenly the room started to go round so I sat on the arm of a chair.
“They aren’t here, are they?” I asked. “There isn’t a plane landing? I swam all the way with Phantom, my horse. He’s still all right, isn’t he?” I rushed to the door and looked outside.
Phantom was standing looking half drowned, while one hind leg dripped blood on to the rough stones. There was no sign of George or Mr Carli, and for a second the whole thing seemed like a dream. In a minute I will wake up and find myself in bed at Sparrow Cottage, I thought, with Dad picking up the letters off the hall mat. I shall eat breakfast in the kitchen and go outside and school Phantom … But, of course, it was true. And, however awful, I had to do something. Then I remembered about the number Dad gave us when he went away – I had left it behind in my hat. I should have carried it in my mouth, I thought. What a fool I am!
“Calm down. What’s your name? You’re in a terrible state,” said the woman, as though I was excited about nothing.
But now I had thought of Dominic. I picked up the receiver and dialled his number.
“Whoever you are, you have plenty of cheek,” the woman said.
“I’m sorry,” I cried, praying that Dominic would answer, seeing his farm bathed in sunlight with the cows leaving the milking parlour slowly, like old women.
“It’s Jean,” I shouted. “Please can I speak to Dominic?”
“Speaking. What is it? Where are you?”
I’d forgotten how calm he always sounded, as though nothing would ever drive him to hysteria, while behind me I heard the woman say, “I think she needs a doctor. I do really …”
“Listen!” I shouted. “It’s very important.” By this time I could hardly believe what I was about to say myself. I couldn’t believe that I was even speaking to Dominic. I felt as though it was someone else standing in a strange house talking about kidnapped horses held to ransom. “It’s true, it really is, Dominic, please believe me,” I finished. “It’s happening now. Angus is on the island with the crooks; they’ll kill him and the horses any minute.”
“I know about the horses. Okay. I have your address. You gave it to me. Yes, I will convince the police. I’ll take Dad with me and you know how convincing he is,” said Dominic, and for a second I saw Mr Barnes in his braces, with his cap on the back of his head: the sort of man who won’t budge until he has had his say.
Silently I thanked God for all the Mr Barneses in this world. “Please hurry,” I said.
“But are you all right?” he asked, making me sound more important than the horses or the danger to Angus and Hans.
“Yes, but Angus isn’t.”
“Not to worry. I’ll get to work straight away. Goodbye.” He rang off as the room started to spin round again.
“Are you sure you know what you’re talking about?” asked the woman. Her voice came to me through a haze of exhaustion as I saw that she had red-brown hair and a long nose. “All that talk about kidnapped horses; it sounds the most utter rubbish to me,” she continued. “And what on earth were you doing in the sea? Have you run away from some institution?”
“Only from the island of Uaine. Perhaps you know it. Perhaps you know Mr Carli, maybe you even like him.” My voice was slurred; I knew I sounded drunk, but I could do nothing about it.
“She’s completely round the bend. We must do something, Chris,” the woman said.
“Can’t you lend her a pair of jeans and some shoes?” asked Chris, taking the baby from her.
The tea had grown cold. They gave me jeans which were too big, a man’s sweater and canvas shoes. I muttered my thanks, dressed and went outside to see Phantom. He was still bleeding.
“Have you got a bandage? Anything. Torn up sheet will do,” I asked.
I felt as though it was someone else talking. I wasn’t really there any more. I was a bystander watching someone called Jean Simpson performing. I was afraid of passing out. I found a pebble, wrapped it in the handkerchief Chris gave me, put it on Phantom’s wound and held it there. I held on to his other leg or I would have fainted, for the yard kept going round just as the room had done. “Is it bad?” asked Chris.
“Middling,” answered Jean Simpson, while I watched.
The woman brought a gauze bandage. “Does he need food?” she asked. “A bed?”
“Yes, he does,” replied Jean Simpson.
“Turn him out in the field then.”
“Thank you,” answered Jean politely.
The bleeding was stopping and evening had come, all red and gold. I bandaged Phantom’s leg with the pebble still in place over the wound. He nuzzled my hair as I stood up and waited for everything to stop going round, before I led him to the small field nearby. There were wild irises by its gate and pinks growing amid rocks strewn at random everywhere, as though someone had just stopped playing with them.
“You had better come and sit down,” suggested Chris. “You don’t look too good.”
They pushed me into a chair and gave me cracker biscuits and a glass of milk. They asked my name and what my father did, and why I had gone to Uaine. I tried to tell them, but all the time my story seemed more and more improbable until I hardly believed in it myself.
“But you can’t have swum all that way,” the woman said.
“I didn’t, Phantom did.” Nothing seemed to taste any more; and the biscuits turned to sand in my mouth.
I said, “I’m sorry about being a nuisance, and I’m sorry about the telephone calls. I have masses of money on Uaine. I’ll pay you back, and if it’s disappeared, and things do disappear there, my father will settle up with you. He’s in the Middle East, soothing things down.”
They looked at me in amazement. I might have come from outer space the way they looked. Then they looked at each other and the woman muttered, “Yes, I think so,” and went to the telephone.
“It is true. It really is. Don’t you listen to the news?” I asked. But they weren’t attending any more. They had made up their minds – I was insane. I had better leave, I thought. But now my legs, which had never let me down before, refused to move, and my eyes wouldn’t stay open. I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew was a policeman shaking me by the shoulder. He wore a uniform; his shoes and buttons glistened.
“Where am I?” I cried, and then, “Thank goodness you’re here.”
10
The policeman had a broad Scottish accent, so broad that I could hardly understand him. He said he wanted to know the lie of the land. He produced a map, while I kept saying, “Please hurry.”
“We don’t want anyone killed,” he said, or words to that effect.
I drew a picture of everything, while the man and the woman stood behind me looking disagreeable because I was not mad after all.
Gradually more police came, and they talked about boats and asked me about the landing-strip. I said, “There could be two smashed-up planes on it,” and imagined Hans and Angus destroying them – if they were still there, and if they were still alive. They talked about a contingent from the mainland, and I said, “Please can I come too? I may be able to help.”
I went on and on until one of them relented, and the woman gave me a coat because a policeman asked her to, and I rushed out to look at Phantom. The bandage was still on and the bleeding had stopped.
Ten minutes later I was on a boat speeding back to Uaine. They told me to stay on the boat, to keep out of mischief.
They did not want any more trouble, they said, and laughed and talked about mermaids. The island looked beautiful in the gathering darkness, lit by the dying rays of the sun. Too beautiful for man to spoil. It should be left to the animals, I thought, to the sheep, goats and deer. The coastline loome
d rocky and wild and then we were landing.
“Keep back, and keep out of mischief,” the first policeman said. “We’ll call you if we need you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Stay in the boat, lass, that’s what we mean,” he said.
“You’ll need me to sort out the horses,” I muttered. “And I know everyone. You can’t manage without me.”
“You’d be surprised,” said a cheeky one, over his shoulder.
I was scared again, scared for Angus, scared I would find him dead somewhere, or worse still, not find him at all.
Then lights started to move around the square, the policemen’s lights. Mr Carli will have fled to the mainland by now, I thought. He will have jumped in a boat with Maria and George. By tomorrow they’ll be miles away, basking in the sun on some foreign beach, or sipping drinks by a swimming pool. They will never catch them. But what about Angus and the others? Were they still on the island or gone, too?
Then I saw that the house was burning. Flames were turning the sky orange, lighting up the rhododendrons where Mr Carli had walked in the mornings, and the lawn where the guests had played rounders. Then I was running towards the house, crying, “Angus is inside. Angus and Hans. We’ve got to get them out.”
A policeman caught me. Timbers were falling, everything was caving in. “Do you want to get killed, love? Is that what you’re wanting?” he asked.
I knew there was no hope that anyone inside would have perished. “There could be a bomb inside,” said the policeman. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”
He let me loose and I ran to the square, but it was empty too – the gates open, the doors gaping wide, the horses gone. I’m too late! I thought. We were all too late. If only I had swum faster or found help quicker. If only the police hadn’t dithered. If only I had made them understand the situation. I wished that I had stayed on Uaine and perished with Angus. I did not want to go on living, not even with Phantom. I sat on a rock and tried to stem the tears pouring down my face, while a policeman talked into a radio, announcing that the square was empty, asking for instructions.
Phantom Horse 5: Phantom Horse – Island Mystery Page 7