Tideline

by Penny Hancock

  Mick jumped out of his chair and ran his hands through his hair.

  ‘We ought to know where the boy is! What are we telling Maria when she phones back?’

  Helen filled her glass.

  Mick looked at her pointedly.

  ‘This is urgent,’ he said. ‘Maria was beside herself.’

  ‘My sister beside herself. That makes a change.’ She raised her eyebrows at her husband expecting his collusion in an old joke.

  ‘This is not about Maria. It’s about Jez. I’m concerned.’

  ‘Hey! It’s not like you to worry. Now you’re making me anxious.’

  When their boys were younger, Helen was the one to fret about their safety, check the booster seats in the car, make them wear cycle helmets, shin pads, armbands. She was the one to see that their chests rose and fell in the night. Mick had never worried, as far as she could tell. Now he wouldn’t sit still, and she wondered if there was something else behind his concern.

  ‘Have you tried his mobile?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And you’ve seen the boys today?’

  ‘No. They weren’t up when I went out and they’d gone when I got back.’

  ‘Then Jez will be with them. Relax Mick, please. Look, have a glass of wine, and I’ll make some food. They’ll all be in soon, and we can phone Maria.’

  Ben and Miranda together in Madagascar. She didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  ‘Where are the boys’ mobile numbers?’

  ‘On my phone. In my bag.’

  Helen kicked her bag over to Mick. He gave her a look before rummaging through it. He found her mobile and started to press the keys.

  ‘Typical. Both of their bloody phones are switched off,’ he said.

  It was after midnight when they heard the front door swing open and bang against the hall wall. Mick leapt up as Barney came into the room, hair all over his face as usual, slouching, staggering a little. He brought a blast of frosty night air in with him.

  ‘Shut the door,’ Helen said. ‘It’s freezing. Is Jez with you?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Barney! Tune in!’ said Mick. ‘Jez hasn’t gone back to Paris. And Alicia hasn’t heard from him. Have you any idea where he is?’

  ‘Theo might know.’

  Theo appeared in the doorway, eyes shining, face pink.

  ‘Theo! Where’s Jez?’

  ‘Jez?’

  Helen could see Mick’s jaw tighten with irritation. She knew what he was thinking: he’d like to take his son by the unwashed hood of his smelly sweatshirt and shake some sense into him. Mick’s disappointment in his own sons had become palpable since Jez arrived. Theo flicked the remote for the TV to come on. Mick told him to turn it off. Helen asked Barney to run up and put the heating on to constant. She gave up on the idea of eating, poured herself another glass of wine instead.

  ‘I thought he’d gone home,’ Theo said. ‘He said he was going home on Saturday.’

  ‘To Paris?’

  ‘Yeah. Where else?’

  ‘He’s not there. Was he even at the gig last night?’

  Helen watched this new, fraught side of her husband with detachment. His face was scrunched and red. His eyebrows did odd things too, were bushier than before and somehow more mobile. She wondered when she’d last really looked at him.

  ‘We assumed he was with Alicia,’ Barney was saying.

  ‘Alicia hasn’t seen him,’ said Helen. ‘He was supposed to meet her in the foot tunnel yesterday afternoon and he didn’t turn up.’

  Theo and Barney exchanged glances.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Helen. ‘That look.’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Theo. ‘It’s just it’s quite funny the way Alicia makes him meet her down there as if it’s somewhere romantic. He’s a bit scared of saying no to her. Even when he’d rather be with us.’

  ‘He’s whipped,’ Barney muttered and Theo chuckled.

  ‘Whipped?’

  ‘It means he does what he’s told,’ said Barney.

  ‘Slave to little Alicia,’ added Theo. ‘I’ll ring him.’

  They might be lazy, good-for-nothing layabouts, Helen thought through the consoling mist of the alcohol, but nothing can buoy you up like a son. Two sons.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance he’s gone to his dad’s?’ Mick said. ‘Might he have gone to Marseilles? Did he say anything to you about it? Rather than stopping in Paris I mean?’

  ‘No. He didn’t mention Marseilles,’ said Barney.

  ‘It’s not connecting,’ Theo said. ‘Must be switched off.’

  ‘What now?’ Mick said. ‘What do we do now, for pity’s sake?’

  The phone call with Maria was long and difficult. Helen tried to sound calm.

  ‘For all we know he’s on the train now, on his way back. He probably went into town shopping on his way to St Pancras. There’ll be an explanation.’

  ‘So he’s got his stuff with him?’ Maria asked.

  It hadn’t occurred to Helen to check whether Jez’s stuff was still up in the spare room. She gestured across the sitting room to Barney, who was slumped in front of the TV, to go and check.

  ‘What?’ he said, barely taking his eyes off the film he was watching. Helen put her hand over the mouthpiece.

  ‘Is Jez’s stuff upstairs? Go and see!’ she hissed.

  ‘Should I get on a train now and come over?’ Maria’s voice had risen to an hysterical pitch.

  ‘Of course you shouldn’t,’ said Helen. ‘What if he turns up there in the morning? Which he will, I’m sure.’

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t realize he was leaving today? Didn’t you help him pack his stuff?’

  ‘Maria. Jez is nearly sixteen. He doesn’t want his aunt fussing over him the whole time. I asked him to say which train he was getting, but I let him sort himself out.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘What?’ Helen said. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking that I wish I’d never let him stay with you. Our whole approach to parenting is different. Yours borders on neglect—’

  ‘Maria! Let’s please remain civil if—’

  ‘OK. I shouldn’t have said that. I think the current term is benign neglect. But Jez is not used to it. He doesn’t have all that freedom over here. He’s used to a strict timetable, to being driven around. He doesn’t know how to use the Metro! So the tube will be a labyrinth to him. Oh my God, what’s happened to him, Helen?’

  ‘There’ll be a simple explanation. What you need right now is a stiff drink and bed.’

  ‘A stiff drink is your answer to everything.’

  There was a charged pause as Helen fought not to take the bait.

  Maria continued, ‘I’m phoning Nadim. I’ve no choice. He needs to know his son’s disappeared!’

  Helen felt herself prickle with indignation.

  ‘Jez has been gone one night. That does not mean he’s disappeared. And we are doing all we can over here to find him.’ She hung up and turned to the others. Tears had sprung to her eyes, fury at the guilt and inadequacy her sister made her feel, mixed with growing anxiety that Jez might actually have come to some harm.

  ‘She’s always been overprotective with Jez. It’s probably why this ghastly scenario has happened in the first place,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ said Theo. ‘He’ll be OK. He’s not stupid.’

  Barney came back into the room and sat down in front of the TV again.

  ‘Well?’ Helen asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Jez’s stuff. Is it there?’

  ‘Oh right, yes. Still there. He hasn’t packed. Clothes all over the floor.’

  Helen closed her eyes. Sat down. Put her head in her hands.

  ‘When does one call the police in cases like this?’ she asked through her fingers.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sunday

  Sonia

  Seb
’s mouth organ is in a shoebox of special things I keep in the spare room. I feel nervous as I turn the big glass door handle, it’s so long since I’ve been in here. We don’t often entertain overnight guests, for one reason or another. It smells musty, of dust and old paper. The grey light comes in through a small window on one side of the house which is overshadowed by the roofs of the almshouses and the tall dark chimneys of the power station beyond. Much of the furniture has remained under dust sheets since we moved back. There seemed little point in uncovering the mahogany chest of drawers that we never use, or the ottoman under the window.

  The shoebox is on a shelf in the wardrobe. I bring it out with care, lift Seb’s Palestinian scarf, uncover things I haven’t looked at in years.

  I’ve come for the mouth organ to soothe Jez. He was agitated and a little befuddled by the after-effects of my mother’s drugs when I went to him this morning, and I needed to calm him. He thought he had drunk too much again and felt ashamed. He’s far too well brought up to imagine his aunt’s friend might have added anything special to his tea, and this makes me feel all the more tender towards him. I reassured him that he’d done nothing wrong, and said I’d get him anything he wanted while he was my guest. He eventually made this humble request for the mouth organ.

  As I rummage through the shoebox, I’m distracted by a letter uncovered by the scarf. It’s addressed to me, as all Seb’s letters were, c/o Mark, Vanburgh Hill. Mark brought the letters and squirrelled them away in a niche in the wall along the alley that we’d agreed was the perfect place for me to retrieve them.

  I look at the envelope. There’s a nine pence stamp and a postmark – 1st February. The year is no longer legible. I forget the mouth organ for a moment and let myself part the torn edges and extract the letter. The handwriting belies Seb’s stature. Small, neat, tightly formed. The first time I’ve looked at it since.

  Sonia!!!!!!!

  I can’t stand another month of this hole. No girls here. Not even dippy ones like you to obey my commands! In fact, the whole atmosphere is slowly driving me bonkers and God! I’m only just beginning to realize how bloody far away the river is at the moment.

  You have to help me. I’ve made a plan. The cook leaves her bike outside, unlocked. I’m going to borrow it. It’s got to be on 12th Feb. I worked out the tides and everything. I’ll leave at lunchtime when they’re all too busy stuffing their faces to notice. I’ll cycle to the Isle of Dogs. You have to be there. Bring Tamasa! We can have a little raft adventure on our way home. I’ll signal in morse code. About 4 o’clock. Don’t hang about. The minute you see the lights, you have to come. Row upstream a bit, I’ll time it so the tide’s on the turn. Coast into the landing stage, and I’ll be waiting. Once I’m back on our side of the river I’m hiding out for a bit. Make sure you come!

  I shut my eyes. Fold my hand slowly over the filmy paper until it crumples in my palm, screw it up into a tight ball.

  How long had Seb been gone by then? It can’t have been more than one or two months. Yet it felt like a lifetime. If we’d waited another month, the holidays would have been upon us. But time is such a slippery, stretchy thing, even a day back then felt like an eternity. I was more impatient to have him back than he was to get out of the school he hated. I was enslaved to him. I would have done anything for him. It was not as if I had a choice. It’s the same now, with Jez. I will do anything for him.

  I find the mouth organ in its slim red box. Running my fingers over the holes Seb’s breath passed through, I feel a deep satisfaction at the thought of Jez’s doing the same.

  I take the mouth organ up to Jez on a tray with some warm soup and a roll, and a big jug of iced water. I place it on the floor outside the door while I turn the key. As I step into the music room, something knocks into me from the right, the impact forcing me sideways against the bookshelf, leaving the door swinging open. I grasp the shelves, trying to steady myself, but am unable to get a purchase on the books which slither away. I stagger and fall and find myself on the floor, the door gaping.

  ‘Jez, no, please.’

  He’s disappeared through the doorway before I can get into a sitting position.

  ‘I’ve brought the mouth organ for you! Wait for me!’

  My voice sounds pathetic even to myself, as I struggle amongst the books that have tumbled all about me, feeling the world draining of colour, dismay filling my head, my heart.

  ‘Please, please, I’ll do anything. Don’t go.’

  Then there’s a crash, the sound of glass breaking, and something tumbling down the steep stairs followed by a howl. At last I manage to right myself, and, pushing the books aside, lurch for the door.

  Jez sprawls across the top of the stairs. There’s a mess of water and broken glass all over the landing. He twists around and stares up at me as I move towards him. It’s the look on his face that upsets me more than anything.

  Sheer terror.

  He shuffles away from me, clutching his right ankle in one hand. In the other I see he’s picked up the soup bowl and is holding it above his head, as if he is taking aim, is about to hurl it at me. I make a grab for his wrist, and he lets the bowl fly but it misses me and shatters on the door jamb.

  After a few seconds’ silence I go and squat in front of him, gazing at him with all the loving kindness I can express.

  ‘Jez, you’ve hurt yourself. You must let me help you.’

  ‘I want to go home.’ He shrinks back, whimpering.

  ‘You will go home. But you need to let me take a look at your ankle. I’ve got some gel in the bathroom and a bandage. Let’s just get it sorted, and we can take it from there.’

  ‘It’s fucking agony.’

  I can see he’s trying hard to be brave. I tell him he needs to put his foot up on a cushion, that it’d be better for him to go back to the bed.

  ‘Jez. Come on. Let me take a look.’

  He tries to get up, winces again.

  ‘Jez,’ I say, trying to make eye contact with him. ‘There was no need for that. I was bringing you the things you asked for. I only want to keep you safe, to make you happy.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ he says. ‘I don’t like being locked up in there.’ His face contorts in pain or maybe, though I hate to think it, in fear.

  ‘Well you’re not going anywhere in this state. You’ll have to let me sort you out.’

  He lets me help him up and limps back to the music room, recognizing after all that he really has no choice.

  When he’s settled on the bed, I lift the leg of his jeans. His ankle is swelling and turning a nasty colour. There’s no break that I can detect, but my guess is he’s sprained it badly.

  I lock the door and go down for the first-aid box and some ibuprofen for the pain. I’m trembling as I gather the things together. I fill another bowl with soup, make up his lunch again, and take up the new tray, kicking aside fragments of broken jug and bowl on the stairs to clear up later. I’m careful to sidle in the door, all my senses alert. But this time he’s acquiescent, in too much pain, or perhaps feeling too ashamed, to try anything silly again. He lets me lift his foot, remove his sock, apply the soothing gel to the swelling. I smooth it on, taking my time, being as gentle as I can. I take the bandage and wind it softly, softly, around his ankle, until it is swaddled in white cloth.

  ‘Is that better?’ I ask.

  He sighs, lies back, and nods. He drinks a little water with the painkillers. We don’t speak.

  I’m still shaking as I lock the door and go downstairs. I don’t like what happened, it shows me that Jez doesn’t trust me yet, after all. In the kitchen, I lean on the windowsill for a while. Stare out at the full river, trying to let its gentle undulations soothe me. But my chest heaves and I feel a sob rise into my throat.

  It’s some time before my weeping subsides. I wipe my eyes, then wrap myself up in my coat and head out of the door.

  There’s still a spring tide and though it is ebbing now, the water has come over the footpath in place
s. Tourists tiptoe along beside the railings of the university, trying not to get their feet wet. It seems astonishing to me that they can chatter and laugh together as if nothing has happened, while I have been through an emotional ordeal that leaves me weak and trembling.

  In spite of everything, or perhaps because of it, I want to make sure there is a nourishing meal for Jez this evening.

  I get to the market and fill my basket quickly with focaccia, cheeses, and some bits and pieces from the Italian and Greek stalls, then hurry back along the river. The sun is very low in the sky behind me. My shadow stretches east from the alley, where my feet tread the dark path, almost as far as the coaling pier where my head brushes the barbed wire at the top of the wall. I have become a giant.

  I decide to walk for a little longer, beyond the River House, as lights flicker on around the O2, letting the smell of the river as the tide retreats rinse my thoughts away, before the gathering darkness drives me back to the door in the wall.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sunday night

  Sonia

  By the time I get back, the light outside’s completely gone. I take care to look in through the high windows before opening Jez’s door. He’s sitting on the bed, blowing at the mouth organ, his bad foot propped up on the cushion, so I open the door and slide in, locking it behind me and pushing the key deep into my trouser pocket. I’m prepared for tears or sulks or even anger, so I’m taken aback when he speaks.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says the minute he sees me. ‘About the way you’re taking care of me. About locking the door, and that you’re Helen’s friend and all that. I think it’s something you’re planning between you for my birthday on Wednesday.’

  He looks at me with a triumphant half smile on his lips and I see that he’s expecting me not to let on. That he assumes I am under oath to Helen not to tell him. So I just give a little knowing smile back. He shrugs, grins. ‘I won’t tell,’ he says.

  I look at him. I don’t want to lie to you, I think. But when you came to me at that time on a February afternoon as the light was dying, as if it were meant, you made me feel a strange calm deep down in my soul that has been lost to me for so long I barely remember it existed. I need to keep you here, safe in the music room and I cannot let you go just yet.