The Family Holiday

by Elizabeth Noble

  She came into the room, leaving the door ajar so she could still see in the light from the landing. She sat very briefly on the foot of his bed, and put her hand across his ankle under the sheets. For a moment she just sat there, then she gently patted it, and stood up. She bent over and kissed his face. If she knew he was faking sleep, she didn’t let on. She hovered for a moment, then sighed gently. ‘I love you. It’s going to be okay.’

  And then she left him.

  The next morning, when she deemed he’d slept long enough and might be ready to talk, she made them each a mug of tea, and carried it to the top of the house.

  And Ethan wasn’t there.

  His bed was unmade, the floor was still strewn with his stuff. The rucksack he’d brought with him was there, spilling its crumpled contents onto the spare bed. His phone, of course, was gone, and she couldn’t see his wallet. He was gone.

  42

  It would be hot later, but so early there was a chill in the air. Ethan pulled his hoody over his head, and yanked his sleeves over his hands, walking faster, until he was almost breathless but warmer.

  It was just after six in the morning when he left, the rest of the house still asleep as he closed the front door quietly behind him, then walked into the town. He had his phone, fully charged, with headphones, a cap, a hoody and his wallet, which contained about thirty quid and some change, his rail and Oyster cards, and the emergency credit card Dad had given him. He was going to buy the ticket on that. Despite the stern talk Dad had had with him when he’d presented Ethan with the card, he either didn’t check the statement that often or he had a different definition of what constituted an emergency. This definitely did. He bought a cup of coffee and a Chelsea bun from the café, ate it sitting in a bus shelter and got on the first bus that stopped. He had paid next to no attention on the journey there, and he didn’t know the name of the town until he read it on the sign outside the library. He might have been predicted a good grade in geography, although he was far from sanguine about achieving it, but he had to put the name into Google on his phone to work out which way he was going.

  He’d been thinking about it ever since they arrived. What had happened yesterday had made up his mind. Everyone was furious with him, including himself. He didn’t blame them at all.

  Granddad had brought him up some dinner, fish and chips Scott had collected, and told him Arthur was fine, and that everyone was going to have an early night. He’d put a hand on his hair and asked, ‘Are you coming down?’

  Ethan had shaken his head.

  ‘Maybe that’s best. Let everyone calm down. It’ll be better tomorrow.’

  ‘Will it?’

  ‘We all know, Eth, that it was an accident.’

  ‘Nick’s never gonna forgive me.’

  ‘Of course he will. He was frightened, that’s all. Scared. He’s already –’

  ‘Lost so much. I know.’

  ‘Trust me when I tell you that this too shall pass.’

  He always said that. One of his weird little pearls of wisdom. Was it from some poem, or the Bible, or something?

  Ethan wasn’t at all sure it would, though. He didn’t see how. He ruined everything, didn’t he? A Midas touch of crap. He’d nearly killed Arthur. His family would hate him. He hated himself. Saskia was gone. His mates had almost given up on him. Results would probably be a shit-storm of mediocrity. He might be called a rapist, for God’s sake. It felt hopeless. He felt hopeless.

  Mum had come in eventually, but he was too pissed off with her by then to want to speak to her, so he’d pretended he was asleep.

  He’d slept badly, if at all, and by the time it was starting to get light, he knew what he wanted to do. At first it was just about not being here – about getting as far away from these people and this situation as quickly as he could.

  The thought of where he might go came later, dawning on him gradually, hopefully, wonderfully. He wanted to see Saskia. He hadn’t dared shower, in case he woke Hayley and Meredith. He’d pulled on a shirt and jeans, and he’d left. He wanted to message her and tell her he was coming, but she hadn’t read any of his messages since that awful night. They’d probably changed her number.

  He was in somewhere called Kidlington when his mum’s message pinged up on the screen. Where are you?

  He turned his phone over so he couldn’t see it.

  She waited five minutes. Ethan?????

  Another ten minutes. You’re scaring me, Ethan. Please answer.

  I’m fine. Don’t worry. Just needed some time.

  This wasn’t her fault. He didn’t want her to be frightened.

  OK. I understand.

  He didn’t reply to that one.

  The next one was longer. If he opened it, to read the whole thing, he’d have to reply, so he didn’t. He could see only the first part of the message on his screen.

  Granddad told me what happened. I get that you feel horrid about it. You did a stupid thing …

  He couldn’t see the rest. Was she furious with him or protectively defensive? He’d rather she was furious.

  When he was about eight, he’d stolen a packet of chewing gum from the local newsagent. The owner knew his mum because they went in there all the time and he knew how to contact her because she had some magazines on order. He’d held Ethan by the shoulder, in the days when you could touch someone else’s kid and as long as you weren’t hurting them it was sort of okay, while he dialled Mum’s number. He needn’t have done that. Ethan was far too frightened to run. He’d never taken anything he wasn’t supposed to. He hadn’t really understood why he’d done it then – it was the first time he’d done anything like that.

  When she’d arrived, and Mr Cole had told her what had happened, she’d crouched, held both his arms and asked him if he had done it.

  And he’d lied. He said he hadn’t. He said he’d been going to pay for the gum, and he’d shown her the pound coin in his pocket.

  And she’d believed him. She’d stood up and told Mr Cole that she believed him.

  She was always on his side.

  When she’d come to tuck him in that night, he’d been wide-eyed with wakefulness and fear, and he hadn’t been able to bear the lie any longer, and he’d told her the truth.

  And she was angry with him. Angry and disappointed, which was infinitely worse. The next morning she’d marched him back there and made him apologize, and there had been some kind of punishment he couldn’t remember now. She’d done the right thing and he’d never stolen anything since. But what he remembered most was the way she’d spoken to Mr Cole when Ethan had lied and she’d backed him. He’d understood, in that moment, the full force of her maternal, mammalian urge to protect him. He’d seen it, again, the paternal variety, with Saskia’s dad. He hadn’t expected to see it last night and, no doubt, he would not have done. Perhaps it was that that he couldn’t bear. The thing with the chewing gum was the first time he had understood how it felt to disappoint his mother. He’d hated it. He had the feeling now.

  He almost regretted leaving. He wouldn’t call it running away, although he hadn’t relished the thought of facing Nick and Heather this morning. Heather had looked at him with such ferocity. And Nick with such disappointment.

  It was better for all of them if he wasn’t there.

  And he wanted to see Saskia.

  It was midday when he finally got to her house. It was an immaculately neat and tidy semi. He hadn’t been there for ages, but it looked like it always did. He lingered for a moment by the black railings at the front, his bravado wavering. When he’d played this out in his imagination, it was Saskia who answered the door. But maybe it would be her mother. She didn’t work. He had to hope it wouldn’t be her dad. He took a deep breath. Whoever answered the door, he had no option but to ring the bell. He couldn’t call, and he was here now. But, still, he glanced up at the first-floor window of Saskia’s bedroom, willing her to appear there and see him.

  She didn’t. He opened the gate, walked up
to the glossy blue door, and rang the bell. Took one pace back, and realized he was holding his breath.

  No one answered.

  He wondered if he’d pressed the bell hard enough. He noticed his hand was shaking when he pressed again.

  Still nothing.

  A door opened, but it was the neighbour’s house. A white-haired elderly lady, barely tall enough to see over the beech hedge that separated the properties, stared at him suspiciously.

  ‘Have you got a parcel?’ Her tone was accusatory.

  ‘What?’

  She frowned, as if he were irritating. Spoke louder, and more slowly, like old people sometimes spoke to foreigners. ‘Are you delivering a parcel here?’

  ‘No. No.’

  Her eyes narrowed, and she drew herself up formally. Behind her, he saw a Neighbourhood Watch sticker in the window. ‘May I ask, then, what your business here is?’

  He did his best to sound unthreatening. ‘I’m a friend. A friend of Saskia’s. From school. I’ve come to see her.’

  Her tone and expression softened at Saskia’s name. ‘Well, then, I’m sorry, young man, but you’ve missed them.’

  ‘They’re out?’ It seemed likely she’d know about the comings and goings. A ‘twitcher’, Mum would have called her. Always watching.

  ‘They’re away. On holiday. You must have got the day wrong, dear. They left yesterday.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘It’s a long one, too. They won’t be back for three weeks.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She realized she might have said too much. ‘Can I say who was asking?’

  He shook his head, and backed away.

  ‘Young man?’

  He walked through the gate and rapidly back the way he’d come.

  Around the corner, he slumped against a low brick wall, close to tears of frustration and disappointment. He formed a fist and punched the wall. Stupid. Stupid. He looked at his knuckles, where spots of blood sprang from the inevitable graze, and sniffed hard.

  A few yards away, a woman pushing a buggy eyed him warily, then crossed the road to continue on the other side.

  Ethan wiped his knuckles on the leg of his jeans, wincing, then sank down to sit on the pavement, his shoulders hunched. And took his phone out.

  43

  Charlie had told Ethan to find a café, send the postcode and stay put. Then he had asked Scott to go and get him. He didn’t want Laura driving, he said. He expected Laura to argue but she didn’t. ‘I’m not sure I’m what he needs, right now.’ She’d laid her head on her father’s shoulder, grateful for his taking control. Scott had agreed, not meeting Heather’s eye. She’d walked out of the room.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Nick. Scott nodded.

  They found the place easily enough. ‘Not sure we should both go in.’

  ‘Agreed. Want me to?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘Nah. Better be me. I yelled at him.’

  ‘He deserved that. Besides, I reckon that was just the straw on the proverbial camel’s back. Not your fault. The kid’s had a bellyful.’

  ‘I know. I’ll go. You wait.’

  ‘No problem. I can always make a few calls. Do me a favour – skinny cap and an almond croissant, if they have one. And don’t take for ever. Good to avoid rush-hour if we can. And Laura will want us back.’

  ‘Roger. Do my best.’

  Ethan was sitting at the back, behind the cash desk, nursing a mug between his hands. He was staring into the middle distance, and Nick saw him first. The boy looked wretched. Approaching him, Nick touched his shoulder lightly. ‘You scared us, mate.’

  Ethan’s shoulders sank a little – relief? Defeat? Nick couldn’t tell. ‘You okay?’

  He rubbed his sleeve under his nose and sniffed hard. ‘Not really. Yeah. I don’t know. I’m sorry.’

  Nick sat down. ‘Whoa. Hold on. That’s a lot of answers. Why don’t you start by telling me what’s happened? Did you find her?’

  Ethan shook his head. ‘No. She wasn’t there. They’re all away.’

  ‘Well, that’s good.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was daft to try. The last thing you need to be doing is pissing her father off any more than you already have.’

  ‘Didn’t think of that.’

  ‘Didn’t think at all, you plonker. Scared your mum, upset your granddad. Totally kiboshed Heather’s Insta-breakfast.’

  Ethan laughed, in spite of himself, but it was the kind of laugh that veered close to tears. Nick joined in, but Ethan stopped suddenly, his face close to crumpling. ‘I could have killed Arthur.’

  ‘And you didn’t.’

  ‘But I could’ve. And, besides, it’s just the latest thing – I’m an idiot.’

  ‘You’re a kid. A kid coping with some shit. None of which is of your making. Why are you blaming yourself for any of it? I don’t get it.’

  Ethan couldn’t immediately answer that one.

  ‘I was much worse when I was your age.’

  ‘No, you weren’t.’

  ‘Ask my dad sometime. Ask your mum. They don’t know the half of it, really. But they’ll still tell you I was all over the place. School, college, uni even. I didn’t really grow up until I met Carrie, if I’m honest.’

  ‘Really?’ Ethan sat forward.

  ‘Absolutely. I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you. More to the point, gotta get going. Scott’s waiting outside, probably revving the engine. Time is money and all that. And he definitely didn’t do any of that crap when we were young. He never really was young. Sort of born aged forty, if you know what I mean.’

  Ethan sniggered.

  Nick was glad he’d got the boy to relax a little. ‘So can we get whatever you’re drinking to go?’

  ‘It’s empty. Finished it an hour ago. Been nursing it so they didn’t throw me out.’

  ‘All right, Oliver Twist. You’re killing me with this sob story. Let’s get three hot drinks and a cake for the driver and get going. Come on.’

  While they waited for the girl to make their coffees, Ethan touched Nick’s arm. ‘Thanks, Uncle Nick. I really am sorry. For all of this – especially Arthur.’

  Nick put his finger to his lips. ‘Enough. I know. Enough now.’

  Late in the afternoon they all heard the car turn onto the gravel drive. The kids were watching Finding Nemo. The adults, except Laura, had been sitting in the kitchen, making small-talk. She’d been pacing in the gardens. Earlier, she’d tidied Ethan’s room, folded all the discarded clothes into neat piles, then shaken out the duvet and pillows. She’d put a load of hoodies and jeans into the laundry downstairs, finding leftover detergent pods in a cupboard. She wanted to be busy. Heather had Scott on FindMy on her phone – she’d let them know he was twenty, ten and then five minutes away. Of course she bloody had. It wasn’t fair, or nice, but in her misery Laura felt a flush of annoyance. Heather – perfect wife, perfect parent. Heather, Charlie and Hayley went wordlessly to the front door and out into the porch, although Laura wished they hadn’t. Charlie’s face was drawn with concern. She couldn’t read Heather’s as easily. Ethan slammed the car door, and walked past them all, his head down to avoid their eyes.

  ‘Ethan,’ Laura implored, her hand reaching for him, but he shrugged it off, and went into the house.

  ‘Leave him for now, Laur,’ Scott advised. Charlie put an arm around her shoulders, and squeezed gently.

  ‘How is he?’ she asked her brothers.

  ‘He’s embarrassed and angry and sad.’ This was Nick.

  ‘What did he say happened?’

  ‘He’d gone with some idea of seeing Saskia. Only she wasn’t there. She’s away for three weeks, according to a neighbour he spoke to.’

  ‘Poor kid.’

  ‘He feels foolish. I think it was a combination of what happened here yesterday, and all the stuff from before.’

  Charlie smiled gently. ‘He’s in a pickle. That’s what your mum would have called it, and that’s what it is
. He’s got himself in a state is all.’

  ‘He and I have made peace about what happened with Arthur. I know he was more cut up about it than any of us. I shouted because I was frightened.’ He smiled weakly at Laura.

  ‘I know that, Nick.’ She touched his hand. ‘Of course. Thank you for forgiving him.’

  ‘No forgiveness necessary. Could have been me twenty-five years ago.’

  ‘You’re kind.’

  ‘I’m honest. I feel for him, as far as the Saskia stuff is concerned. He misses her. And he’s far more frightened than he’s let on about her dad bringing a charge.’

  ‘Then why the hell did he go looking for her? Rupert couldn’t have been any clearer that he wanted Ethan to stay far, far away from her.’

  ‘Because he isn’t thinking straight. He knows that, really. I think he knows it’s over, pretty much. He’s just struggling to get his head around it.’

  ‘Thank God they weren’t there. But he spoke to someone?’

  Scott nodded. ‘A neighbour. But he didn’t tell her his name.’

  ‘Still, if she tells them …’

  ‘Sssh. She won’t. They’re gone for weeks. She’ll have forgotten.’

  ‘I need to call Alex.’

  ‘Do you, though? Really? What are you going to tell him? Nothing happened.’

  Laura shrugged.

  ‘Will he help?’ Scott was logical, as ever.

  Laura laughed weakly. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Then save yourself the trouble. Like we said. No harm done. Let Ethan sleep. Talk tomorrow. Maybe just wait for him to come to you, when he’s ready.’

  ‘When did you get so wise?’

  ‘Perhaps I was always this wise and you just had me in a different pigeon-hole.’ But Scott’s eyes sparkled as he walked out of the room.

  44

  ‘He’s out of control,’ Heather hissed.