The Runaways

by Ruth Thomas

  ‘Course, I told you. We found it.’

  ‘I hope it is our money. I don’t want to be a thief.’

  ‘Well you aren’t – we didn’t steal nothing.’ But Nathan too was suddenly less sure than he had been.

  ‘Grown-ups say finding’s the same thing as stealing,’ said Julia, pursuing the theme. ‘What do they say that for?’

  ‘Well, they have to say it, haven’t they. So you’ll give it back. It’s not stealing though. It’s not.’

  On the fifth day, an unwelcome state of affairs had at last to be faced. ‘There’s no crisps,’ said Julia, ‘and only one more tin.’

  ‘How about if I catch some fish from the river and we eat that?’

  ‘You been trying to catch fish ever since we been here, and you haven’t caught none yet. Anyway, we couldn’t eat them raw.’

  ‘We’ll have to go shopping, then.’

  ‘Not down that hill. I couldn’t!’

  ‘We’ll have to, Ju. We can’t starve.’

  ‘What about your Lorna Doone place, isn’t there a shop there?’

  ‘I dunno. I dunno where it is from here, and anyway it’s only small.’

  ‘A small shop would do. We could just buy whatever they got.’

  ‘I know but – we don’t want people to notice us, and a small place they would. You know what Elizabeth said.’

  ‘They can notice us in Porlock.’

  ‘They won’t know we got a camp on the moor though.’

  ‘They will; they can see us going up the hill.’

  ‘Not the shop lady though,’ said Nathan. ‘The shop lady won’t see where we go. Anyway, there’s lots of different shops in Porlock. We can go to a different one than last time. As long as the shop ladies don’t see where we go, that’s the most important thing. . . . I rather Porlock, Ju.’

  ‘But that hill.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Is there another way?’

  ‘How should I know. Anyway, we might get lost.’

  ‘I ain’t going down that hill again, Nathan, no way!’ Julia’s mouth was pursing into a pout. She was all ready to go into one of her moods.

  ‘I could go by myself.’

  ‘Not and leave me alone!’

  ‘We have to have some food.’

  Julia lapsed into gloom. ‘I don’t like it here any more,’ she said, petulantly.

  ‘Yes you do.’

  ‘All right, I do but – I don’t like it so much.’

  ‘It’ll be all right, Ju. I’ll go by myself. I won’t take long, I’ll go tomorrow morning. I don’t mind the hill. That hill ain’t nothing to me. Anyway, it won’t be so bad without the tents and stuff. You stay here and look after the tents, eh? Eh, Ju?’

  ‘All right,’ said Julia, suddenly.

  ‘You won’t mind?’

  ‘All right, I said.’ It had occurred to her, out of the blue, that it was babyish to make a fuss. The shopping had to be done, so she wouldn’t be difficult about it. She would say goodbye to Nathan in the morning, and smile and wave, and he would be really pleased at how difficult she was not being. The day would pass quickly enough. She would give both tents a good tidy out, and practise her reading.

  ‘Don’t forget the matches,’ she reminded him, when the morning came. She helped him haul the bicycle up the hill and on to the road. ‘Sure you remember the way?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s easy. Left and right and down the hill.’

  ‘Bring a nice lot, bring as much as you can.’

  ‘I will.’

  Nathan rode off, and Julia went back to the camp. It felt really strange, being alone in the middle of the moor. When Nathan was off wandering she hadn’t minded, she’d known he wasn’t far. But now she could picture him pedalling along the road, every moment taking him further away from her. The silence closed round her like a blanket, bringing panic, and a sense of suffocation. Julia found her paperback novel and began to read, with great determination. Madeleine, like a bird fluttering to its nest, flew into her lover’s embrace. His strong arms held her. Madeleine was home at last.

  There, that was the first story finished. She had hardly understood what it was all about, and she had cheated and skipped rather a lot, but with Nathan’s help she had read a good many of the words, and that was the main thing.

  Julia opened the last tin of stewed steak and ate it, cold, for her lunch. It was too much, really, for her to manage all by herself, but she forced herself because she didn’t want to waste it, and she thought it would not keep very well, in the heat. It really was a very hot day. Sticky hot. The sweat kept collecting on Julia’s forehead and trickling down her nose. She took off her school shoes (there was a big hole on the bottom of one, she noticed – they weren’t going to last much longer), and paddled in the stream to cool herself off. Then she thought, since there was no one around, she might as well cool the whole of herself. So she took off all her clothes, and left them in a heap on the bank. Even though there was no one to see, she was careful to put the plastic bag with the money at the bottom of the pile.

  While she was in the water, Julia had an idea about the plastic bag with the money in it. She splashed about a bit longer, thinking over her idea, then she dried herself in the sun and dressed (because you never knew, someone might come along and see her), and began looking around for something to dig with.

  A flat stone served the purpose. Julia pulled out some of the pegs, and lifted the tent with its sewn-in groundsheet. Then she began to dig. She remembered digging in the park, at home, the day they found the money, and all that seemed very far away, unreal. She finished her task, and smoothed over the sandy soil, and replaced the groundsheet and the bedding inside. No one, now, could guess that there were several hundred pounds buried under Julia’s tent.

  While she was digging, Julia noticed that the earth inside the hole was quite cool, and that gave her another idea. She took the stone and began digging again, outside the tent this time, down by the stream. When she had finished, there was an improvised larder. She packed the few remaining stores into a plastic bag. Thank goodness almost everything they bought seemed to come packed in a plastic bag – there seemed an endless supply, from their shopping for every purpose Julia put the bag into the new hole, with ferns over the top for shade.

  Just as that was done, a shadow came over the sun, and Julia saw how the clouds had been gathering while she worked. A thick, inky mass of them, covering half the sky. On the far hills the sun was still shining a last blaze of gold in the path of the approaching storm. Here, in their valley, the first big drops were beginning to fall.

  Julia was not over-concerned. The rain would cool things down, and it would be fun to sit inside the tent, snug and dry, and watch it coming down. She crouched on her sleeping bag knees drawn up to her chin, while the mottled blue-black canopy slithered across the sky, extinguishing the last bright rays of sunlight streaming over the edge of it.

  At that moment, the thunder began.

  Normally, Julia was not very much afraid of thunder. At home in London, safe within four walls, and with other human beings nearby, it was easy to be brave. But here, all alone in the middle of a moor, and with only one thin layer of fabric between her and the fury outside, she began to feel first apprehensive, then moderately frightened, and finally quite terrified.

  The rain by now was sheeting down. It drummed on the tent roof, just by Julia’s head. Like bullets, it struck the ground in front of her, bouncing back on her legs and her face, and striking through the open tent flap when she retreated further into the tent to escape it. Clumsily, and much too late, she struggled to fasten the opening. The end of her sleeping bag was soaking wet, and everywhere her head knocked against the canvas as she blundered about in the small space, the rain came through in great dripping pools.

  Meanwhile, the lightning outside was tearing up the sky. Each flash lit the tent for a moment, then relinquished it to unnatural mid-afternoon darkness and a terrible, deafening cannon-roar of sou
nd. Julia curled into a ball, her hands over her ears, her face buried in the sleeping bag, shutting out sight and hearing until the storm should be over.

  At last, sensing stillness, she sat up and looked around to assess the damage. Nothing much after all that. Apart from the end of her sleeping bag, the bedding had only a few wet patches which would soon dry out, she hoped. Her pile of spare clothes neatly folded in one corner, had fortunately been covered with her anorak. The anorak was wet, but the clothes underneath were dry. Julia was still quite distraught with loneliness and fear. ‘Nathan, come back!’ she implored him out loud, though of course he could not possibly hear.

  Suddenly Julia remembered Nathan’s tent. She had tidied his clothes for him that morning, but there was nothing to cover them with because of course he had taken his anorak, with the money in the lining, tied round his waist by the sleeves as usual. The tent flap, she knew, was wide open. She had left it like that to air, so it would be nice and fresh for him when he got back.

  She undid her own tent and peered out. The sky was still dark, the thunder rumbling round the distant hills threatening to circle and return. But for the moment the rain had almost stopped. Julia crept out and ran to Nathan’s tent. She fastened it quickly, not waiting to inspect the contents. If they were wet they were wet – there was nothing to be done about it until the sun came out again, and that was not likely to happen today.

  The thunder-claps were nearer; the storm was coming back. Julia scuttled to her tent, moaning and sobbing and feeling very sorry for herself. Where was Nathan? Why was he taking so long? He ought to know she was all alone and frightened. He ought to hurry, knowing she was all alone in the storm.

  It was only when the rain began again in earnest, and she heard through all the other noises the sound of the little stream rushing in full flood, that the thought occurred to her at last. Of course – Nathan will be drenched. He’s out on the bicycle, in all that awful weather. Poor Nathan, he’ll be soaked through! She thought that for about two minutes, and then the world crashed about her ears once more.

  It was early evening when Nathan returned. The rain had finally stopped, and Julia had climbed to the top of the hill, so that she could watch for him, coming along the road. At first sight of him her heart gave a lurch of joy and relief. She ran to meet him, and almost threw her arms round him as he dismounted from his bicycle. She didn’t though – Nathan would not have cared for that at all, and anyway he was much too wet to hug.

  He was like a drowned rat, his clothes sticking to him, his shoes squelching water as he walked. But he was home, and that was the main thing, and he had brought enough provisions for a fortnight, Julia thought. How he had managed to push the bicycle up Porlock Hill with all that weight she would never know. She was full of admiration and gratitude; she helped him down the hill with the bicycle; she couldn’t do enough for him. She lent him her anorak and her spare tee-shirt, and she would have lent him jeans as well, but she only had one pair. It was a thousand pities she couldn’t make him a hot meal, not even a cup of tea. He had brought the matches, but everything was so wet after the rain. There was no hope of getting a fire started that day.

  Exhausted and chilled though Nathan was, he did not forget to ask Julia for her share of the cost of the groceries – and she fetched it straight away, as was only right and proper. She showed him, with pride, the hole she had dug under the tent, but he was too tired to be much interested in that.

  Next morning the sun shone again. Not as hot now, fresher after the storm and altogether more pleasant. It should have been a happy day, but somehow it wasn’t. Somehow Nathan wasn’t himself; not the self he had recently become, that was. More like the surly, bad-tempered boy who was so unpopular in Class 8. He snapped and snarled at Julia, and she couldn’t do anything right. In the end, his unpleasantness reduced her to tears.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Nathan Browne?’

  ‘Don’t feel well.’ Nathan coughed as he spoke, and it dawned on Julia that he had in fact been coughing a bit all day.

  ‘Have you got a cold?’

  ‘Yeah – getting wet yesterday, innit. My eyes are sore too.’

  ‘Shall I try to make a fire now? Make us a hot drink?’

  ‘Yeah, you try.’ He sounded listless though, not really interested.

  There was a little wood halfway up the hill above the camp. There might be some sticks in there that might be dry enough. Julia collected a bundle, and arranged them in a stack, down by the stream. It took her a long time to get the fire going, and she used a large number of matches, but she was happy to be doing something positive. ‘I did it, I did it,’ she shouted at last, as the flames spurted and crackled. She filled the little saucepan with water from the stream and later – actually a considerable time later – the two children sat side by side on the damp bracken, sipping cups of smoky tea.

  Nathan shivered. ‘I feel cold,’ he complained.

  ‘But it’s warm, the sun’s lovely and warm. You can’t feel cold.’

  ‘Well I do.’ He wrapped his anorak round his shoulders, and shivered inside that.

  ‘It’s not properly dry,’ Julia warned him. ‘It won’t do your cold no good. Here, you can have mine again.’

  Nathan hugged himself inside Julia’s anorak, but half an hour later he had thrown it off, and his shirt too. ‘I’m boiling,’ he fretted.

  Julia regarded him with some concern. Something must be wrong. He must have a very bad cold to be going hot and cold like that. Perhaps he would be better after a good night’s sleep. ‘You’ll be better in the morning,’ she told him.

  But in the morning he was worse. He was coughing more, and complaining that his throat was sore, and the light hurt his eyes. He stayed in his tent all morning and didn’t want anything to eat, though he drank all the tea Julia brought him. In the afternoon he seemed a little better. He sat by the stream, and carved a little boat out of a piece of wood. He made a sail for it out of a large leaf, and set it on the water. It capsized against a stone, and Nathan lost interest.

  Next day, Nathan was really ill.

  When Julia called to him, from outside his tent, he didn’t answer her, though she knew he was awake because she could hear him thrashing about. When she crouched down, and pulled aside the flap to peep at him, he stared at her with glittering eyes that didn’t seem to know her.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea, Nathan?’ Julia tried to make her voice sound ordinary, but really she was beginning to feel quite frightened.

  Nathan coughed, and struggled to push down the sleeping bag. ‘Hot,’ he said. ‘I’m hot, I’m hot.’

  Julia went to help him and, touching his skin, realized that he was indeed burning with fever. ‘A cup of tea?’ she repeated. It was all she could think of.

  Nathan moaned, and threshed about some more. ‘It hurts,’ Julia heard him say.

  ‘What hurts? Where does it hurt?’

  ‘Everything. Head, throat, eyes.’

  ‘You stay there, and I’ll make a cup of tea.’

  In the early morning damp, it took a long time to get the smoky fire going. Julia’s fingers were not quite steady anyway. She was really afraid now. What should she do? It must be more than a cold that Nathan had. Perhaps it was something terrible. She took the tea to him at last. ‘Do you want some breakfast?’ she asked hopefully.

  Nathan muttered something that sounded like, ‘Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum’ but of course it couldn’t have been that. Julia waited while he drank half the tea, then he pushed the cup fretfully away. ‘Shut the tent, Ju. The light’s hurting my eyes.’

  ‘Shall I wash you?’ Julia had a vague idea that that was one of the things you did for people who were ill.

  ‘NO! . . . Leave me.’

  Deeply troubled, Julia went back to the fire to drink her own tea. She thought about getting some breakfast, but decided she wasn’t hungry. To give herself something to do, and to take her mind off the crisis, Julia went back to the wood to get more fu
el for the fire. She came back with an armful, and got a really nice blaze going. She did not think the smoke would be visible from the road, but in any case she was really past caring much about that. All she wanted was for Nathan to be better.

  She went to listen outside his tent, hoping he would be sleeping. But he was still restless, and now and again talking rubbish. Julia heard the bit about the bottle of rum again, and there was a lot about the police coming to get him. Julia made up her mind. Kneeling on all fours, she pushed her head through the tent flap and called to Nathan in his delirium. ‘Nathan, I’m going to get the doctor.’

  He heard that all right. ‘No, Ju – no!’

  ‘But I must. You’re sick.’

  ‘Not the doctor, not the doctor! The police is going to come if you get the doctor.’

  ‘But you’re ill, Nathan. You know you’re ill.’

  ‘Only a cold . . . it’s only a cold from the rain. . . . I don’t want no doctor.’

  Julia hesitated. How would she get a doctor anyway? Cycle into Porlock, all by herself? But Nathan was ill, and if she had to she would do it. ‘All right, but if you ain’t better by tonight I’m going. I mean it.’

  She stood up, half blinded by tears – and tripped over a small stone as she went to walk away. It was a ridiculous thing to have done, and just her luck, and she had twisted her ankle – not badly, but it did hurt.

  ‘What was that? What you done?’ Nathan called from inside the tent.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Julia, bravely. But she was not sure about walking on the hurt ankle, let alone cycling to get the doctor. She limped down to the stream and bathed her foot in the cold water, and sobbed freely and loudly now that she was safely out of Nathan’s hearing. What was going to become of them?

  By evening, Nathan was no longer delirious, but lying still on his back, eyes gazing blankly at the roof of the tent. Julia peeped in at him, for about the tenth time.

  ‘Do you want anything?’

  No answer.

  ‘Some tea?’

  No answer.

  ‘Nathan – don’t you want nothing?’