Who Goes Home?

by Sylvia Waugh

  Amy, stocky and robust, was the outsider. She heard what was said and, under her breath, she muttered, ‘Yuck.’ Jacob to her sounded soppy and insincere. She had no way of knowing that he meant every word he said. He was probably the only boy on the planet who could have uttered such words with complete sincerity.

  ‘Let’s get on with the game,’ said Amy out loud. ‘If you want to watch why don’t you just sit down?’

  Jacob slipped obediently into the vacant chair she had indicated. The girls turned once more towards the screen.

  ‘My turn,’ said Amy, taking charge of the controller. Nesta handed it over reluctantly and turned her attention once more to the game.

  ‘Now,’ said Amy, looking intently at the screen, ‘what are we supposed to do here? There’s nothing in this room but bars sticking out from the walls.’

  ‘Swing on them?’ suggested Nesta.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Jacob. ‘Swing up to the highest bar – there’s a ledge up there with a chest on it. If you jump on the chest it will open.’

  Both girls turned on him crossly.

  ‘You’ve played this game before,’ said Amy accusingly. ‘We haven’t! So even if you know all the answers, please just keep shtoom! We want to work it out for ourselves. That’s the whole point.’

  ‘We might need a little bit of help,’ said Nesta with slightly less hostility, ‘but it would be best if you waited till we asked.’

  The clue Jacob had given them worked. They were soon moving on to the next stage, completely engrossed in the game. Jacob found himself in a very familiar situation: he might as well not have been there. He sat silent, hoping against hope that they would ask for his help. They didn’t.

  The next time the kitchen door opened, it was Steven who looked in.

  ‘Time to go now,’ he said.

  Alison came up behind him. ‘We really would like you to stay for tea,’ she said, in a tone that showed that the offer had already been made and refused. ‘It seems so inhospitable to let you leave like this.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Steven. ‘We have to be on our way now. But do remember, the possibility is there. All you need do is follow the directions.’

  Jacob got up from his seat and look hesitantly at Nesta. ‘Goodbye,’ he said.

  Both girls turned briefly from the screen, murmured, ‘Goodbye,’ and immediately returned to their game.

  ‘Why did we have to hurry away?’ said Jacob as they walked along the street. ‘Where are we going next?’

  ‘Back to our hotel,’ said Steven. ‘I need to sleep. This afternoon has drained all my nervous energy. Ormingatriga are not meant to meet here on Earth. Even with consent, the rule is hard to break.’

  Jacob looked at him curiously. What had they talked about? What did his final words to Alison mean?

  ‘There are things you’ll have to tell me, Dad,’ he said.

  ‘There are things I will tell you, but first I must rest.’

  CHAPTER 31

  * * *

  Things to Tell

  Jacob gave his father two hours alone in his room. Then he decided he had waited long enough. He went across the corridor and knocked at his door.

  ‘Bored?’ said Steven as he opened the door.

  ‘Very,’ said Jacob. ‘It’s too late and too dark to go sightseeing.’

  ‘I believe there’s a ghost tour of the city,’ said his father with a grin. ‘We could try that.’

  ‘Let me come in,’ said Jacob, ignoring the inane suggestion. ‘It’s you I want to see and I want you to fill in some of the details.’

  Steven opened his door wider and Jacob walked in and sat down on the basket chair. Steven stretched out on his bed, sitting up with his hands behind his head. The only light in the room was the table lamp.

  ‘So what do you want to know?’ he said. ‘Where do I begin?’

  Jacob, as usual, was very direct. ‘What were you talking about to the Gwynns? What did you find out? And what did you mean by telling Mrs Gwynn that the possibility was there? What were the directions?’

  ‘You need to know?’

  ‘Of course I need to know,’ said Jacob impatiently. ‘You made them an offer, didn’t you? You offered them our spaceship. That’s what it sounded like to me.’

  ‘And what, my son, leads you to that interesting conclusion?’ said Steven loftily. He was a non-smoker, but for effect he pretended to take from his lips a long cigarette holder and blow non-existent smoke rings.

  ‘Be serious, Dad,’ said Jacob. ‘When you said that the spaceship could return with other Ormingatriga aboard, I thought you were joking. Now I am not so sure. Did you offer them the spaceship?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Steven, ‘as a matter of fact I did.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘They were stuffy about it, as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. He said it was against all precedents. It had never happened and never should happen. She was only concerned that her daughter should know nothing of it.’

  ‘So they refused?’

  ‘They refused,’ said Steven. ‘Though, I have to say, Matthew looked thoughtful, even wistful, for a while. Maybe he’s having second thoughts now.’

  ‘And if he has?’ said Jacob.

  ‘Ways and means,’ said his father, tapping the side of his nose. ‘Ways and means.’

  ‘But it is our spaceship,’ said Jacob. ‘It’s not theirs. They have no right to it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Steven, ‘and it might not even let them in.’

  ‘That would be fair enough,’ said Jacob. ‘It is our spaceship. If we don’t use it, nobody else should.’

  After all this time he felt affection for the ship. It was a wonderful part of a secret life and he did not want to lose it.

  ‘It won’t be our ship after the first of March,’ Steven pointed out. ‘It has never really been ours at all. It belongs to Ormingat. That is where it will return. And, all joking apart, it will return empty.’

  ‘What if the Gwynns change their mind?’

  ‘They won’t. I know they won’t,’ said Steven, but his son seemed to detect an uncertainty in his father’s voice.

  ‘But if they do?’ he said.

  ‘If they do, they do,’ said Steven quite harshly. ‘I don’t choose to talk about it any more. End of subject. Now let’s go out and find ourselves a meal. Tomorrow we’ll go sightseeing; On Wednesday we’ll visit the computer show at the Race Course. Then it’s off up north to Belthorp to deal with Stella Dalrymple.’

  It was a calculated distraction. Jacob was diverted from the Gwynns to this lady who knew too much.

  ‘Did they tell you anything about her?’ he said. ‘The Gwynns I mean.’

  ‘She knows everything,’ said Steven. ‘She knows all about Ormingat and the visitors to Earth. She knew even before Nesta went to see her. When that strip of sheepskin found on the wheel of the tanker matched up with the coat on the hospital bed, she realized that the stories Thomas had been telling her for years were true.’

  ‘Does anyone else know?’

  ‘To the best of our knowledge, Stella Dalrymple is the only person on Earth who is aware that the planet of Ormingat really exists. So she is a problem I shall have to solve.’

  Next day they went to the Railway Museum and sent a postcard to the twins. There were many to choose from. Jacob decided that his sisters would like the interior of Queen Victoria’s carriage, a wonderful, possible Barbie doll scenario!

  After looking at all of the trains, old and new, from Rocket to Eurostar, they took a bumpy ride in the little road train back to the Minster. Then, because the day was dry and bright and not too cold, they decided to walk along the promenade beside the Ouse.

  ‘How will you solve the problem of Stella Dalrymple?’ Jacob asked, going back to the conversation of the day before. He had learnt long ago that the best way to get information from his father was to ask little, and not too often.

  They walked down the slope that led to the ri
ver. There were benches and tables outside a riverside inn. Despite the time of year, some customers were sitting drinking out in the open air.

  ‘Sit there,’ said Steven. ‘I’ll fetch you a Coke – that’s if you’d like one?’

  ‘OK,’ said Jacob. I can be patient, Dad, but I still want the answer.

  He sat watching the river. It was not high today – no floods, no heavy rain, no burst banks. It was all very pleasant and peaceful. Steven came back with a Coke for Jacob and a lager for himself.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said, lifting the glass.

  Jacob did not respond.

  ‘Interesting pub,’ said Steven, deliberately ignoring his son’s silence. ‘Got a measure on the wall showing how high the floods have reached over the years. The Ouse is not always a kindly river.’

  But at that moment it looked very kindly and sunlight was glinting on the rippling water. It was not warm, but it was certainly pleasant.

  ‘So how will you solve the problem?’ said Jacob resolutely, looking absently at the glass of Coke on the table in front of him, not one sip taken out of it yet.

  ‘Stella Dalrymple?’ said Steven.

  ‘Who else?’

  Steven said nothing but drank some lager.

  ‘You’ll know eventually,’ he said at length. ‘It’s really too simple to be of any concern to you.’

  Jacob glowered at him and drank his Coke.

  ‘The day’s not as warm as it looks,’ said Steven after a while. ‘I’m beginning to feel quite chilly sitting here. Let’s go and check how we get to the Race Course tomorrow. Then we’ll have dinner at that place we went to last night. It wasn’t too bad, was it?’

  CHAPTER 32

  * * *

  Belthorp

  Rupert Shawcross knew nothing at all about the Ormingatriga who lived in York. And the Ormingatriga knew even less about Rupert. For two hundred and fifty years no one had penetrated their secrets till now. So far as they knew, Stella was their one and only risk, admirable in her ability to believe, frightening in her casual giveaway remark.

  Rupert did have other work to do besides trying to solve the mystery of ‘Starlight, perhaps’. As usual, sightings of dubious authenticity had been reported in all sorts of places, from Land’s End to John o’Groats. Most of them were incredibly stupid: television masts swaying in mist; lights on aeroplanes; reflections of the full moon in calm water. Some were vaguely mysterious but soon became clear after investigation. This year, at least, Stella’s story was the only one that carried any conviction, so Rupert frequently found himself going back to it, and wondering if he could get anywhere near a solution.

  ‘It’s half term next week,’ said Mrs Ames on Friday morning as Rupert came into the office. ‘My grandchildren will be on holiday. I think I’ll take Thursday and Friday off, if it’s all right with you.’

  Half term, thought Rupert. Oh, yes – schools on holiday. That’s it.

  ‘Yes,’ he said affably, ‘why not? You might as well. There’s not much happening here this week.’

  ‘So you’re getting no further with “Starlight, perhaps”?’ said Mrs Ames. ‘Is that file closed?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Rupert. ‘In one way, I’ve just about given up on it. In another, I can’t. It’s easily the most promising bit of information we’ve had. And that woman is definitely hiding something.’

  ‘What about the boy?’ said Mrs Ames. ‘Mickey somebody?’

  ‘Mickey Trent,’ said Rupert. ‘Let’s see. It’s half term. I’ve a mind to go north and try to have another word with him. Next Monday and Tuesday, before you have your break. I think I’ll take the car. My cousin will put me up. So no need for any booking – might be difficult at the holiday.’

  ‘Mickey might not be at home,’ Mrs Ames pointed out. ‘He might be away for the week.’

  ‘I’ll take a chance,’ said Rupert. ‘These village kids are probably lucky if they get one holiday a year. His mother’s a widow, I think.’

  ‘This is very pleasant,’ said Audrey. ‘I don’t see you for years on end, and then there you are on my doorstep, twice in next to no time!’

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ said Rupert.

  ‘No,’ said Audrey, ‘of course not. Though you’d have been stuck if I’d decided to go away for the week.’

  Audrey had been a teacher at a comprehensive school in Casselton for the past twenty years. It was not the easiest of jobs. Being on holiday and at home was a treat in itself.

  ‘Come into the box,’ she said with a laconic smile. ‘I’ve made up a bed for you in my “study” – a posh name for the second bedroom.’

  The bungalow was indeed small, but Audrey managed, despite her gibes, to make it look reasonably spacious.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Rupert. ‘That’s good of you. I do appreciate it – and at such short notice.’

  They were soon seated in the living room with the usual northern tea: plates of sandwiches, biscuits and cakes that could add up to a fair-sized meal.

  ‘Well, now,’ said Audrey, ‘can I guess why you are here?’

  ‘Do,’ said Rupert, biting into a ham and pease pudding sandwich.

  ‘You have some new clue about that missing boy and you are hot in pursuit.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Rupert with his usual honesty. ‘I am just trying to get a bit further with what I already know.’

  ‘Tell you something,’ said Audrey seriously, ‘I don’t think you’ll ever find him.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Rupert sharply. ‘Do you think he’s disappeared off the face of the earth?’

  Audrey put her cup down neatly on its saucer, ‘Listen, Rupert. He doesn’t need to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Let me tell you a story, a true one. Last time I was in London I saw this child sitting on the pavement beside Victoria Station. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen. I’m a teacher – I should have some clue about how old kids are. She caught my eye and said, “Gis sumthin forra packit o’ crisps, missis.” The voice was unmistakably northern. I stopped and spoke to her. She was from Tyneside. I said, stupidly perhaps, “Why don’t you go home to your mam, love? I’m sure she’ll be missing you.” Then she said sorrowfully, “Yi knaa nowt. A cannit do that.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. I gave her some change out of my purse – not a lot, less than I wanted to. But my friend was standing by looking cynical. “She’ll only spend it on ciggies,” he said, “or something worse.” We walked away, but it brought home to me more clearly than any statistic the fact that there are children who disappear and are never found again.’

  The story made Rupert feel uncomfortable. ‘I’m not a fraud, Audrey,’ he said, ‘so I have to say that there’s more to this disappearance than a simple case of a runaway child. Besides, you know the story. You have to admit it is very mysterious.’

  ‘So who are you questioning this time?’ said Audrey.

  ‘The boy,’ said Rupert. ‘Remember, that’s what you advised me to do. Seek out Thomas’s best friend.’

  ‘But you must have questioned him already,’ said Audrey.

  ‘There’s one more fact that’s niggling me,’ said Rupert. ‘I want to know about the girl who visited Mrs Dalrymple. That boy took her to Stella’s house.’

  The next day, Rupert went off to Belthorp to see Mickey Trent. He tried the newsagent’s first, hoping to waylay him there. It was, after all, a village shop – not inconceivable that Mickey might be hanging around there with his friends again. The frosty reception Mickey had given him on that last occasion was no deterrent to someone as thick-skinned as Rupert Shawcross. But Mickey and his friends were nowhere in sight.

  ‘Did she like the chocolates?’ said Sam Swanson with a smile.

  Rupert looked at him vacantly, bought the nearest newspaper to hand and left the shop.

  He made his way to Mickey’s house and was standing outside, wondering how to approach Mrs Trent, when the door opened and out she came with Mickey behind her. She stopped to lock up. Mickey
saw the prowler and glowered at him.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Trent,’ said Rupert, ‘I was just thinking about you, remembering that little talk we had about Thomas Derwent and his father. They still haven’t turned up anywhere, you know. I suppose you’re as mystified as the rest of us.’

  Mrs Trent looked at him with disapproval. She was too shy and too good mannered to make her feelings known, but this man was becoming a pest.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll ever find them now. They mustn’t want to be found,’ she said. ‘There are people like that.’

  ‘Mickey might be able to help,’ said Rupert, ploughing on in very heavy soil. ‘I believe he was talking to a girl who visited Mrs Dalrymple. She may have told him something.’

  Mickey came and stood between his mother and the inquisitor. ‘Look, mister,’ he said. ‘It’s no use. I’m not going to say anything to you about Thomas or Mrs Dalrymple or anybody at all. You talk rubbish and your questions are daft.’

  Jenny Trent blushed at her son’s words, though she privately agreed with them. So she made no apology but simply said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Shawcross, but we’ll have to go now. I really don’t want to miss the bus.’

  They hurried away and left Rupert crossly thinking, They are hiding something. They are all hiding something. He walked over to the shop again, determined to make one last effort at breaking the silence.

  ‘And you two boys saw Mickey showing this girl the way to Mrs Dalrymple’s house?’ he said with an ingratiating smile. Philip and Anthony were busy sorting papers at the side counter.

  ‘What is it you’re looking for?’ said Sam, coming over to check on this peculiar stranger.

  ‘He wants to know about-’ began Anthony in all innocence.

  ‘He’s not going to know about anything,’ said Philip giving his brother a shove. ‘We don’t know nuffin and we ain’t saying nuffin!’

  Sam grinned at his son’s pseudo accent. ‘That’s the ticket,’ he said. ‘Now, sir, this is a shop. Were you wanting to buy something? Another newspaper perhaps? We do them in all shapes and sizes!’