The Runaway Summer

by Nina Bawden

  ‘I bet you liked it!’ Jeff squeezed her hand. ‘I bet you did!’

  Mary wondered if he always said everything twice, and wished he would let go her hand.

  But he went on holding it. ‘How’s your young friend? Young Patel …?’

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ Mary said. ‘He had an operation, you know, but he’s much better now. We’re going to see him this afternoon.’

  ‘I want to hear all about it, sometime. All about it.’ Jeff gazed solemnly and steadily into her face, as if he were looking for something.

  Mary guessed why he was trying so hard to be nice. She said, ‘Are you going to marry my mother?’

  Jeff threw back his head and laughed. ‘Straight from the shoulder! I like that. I like that very much! Yes, Mary, I am.’ He released her hand and took her mother’s, instead. ‘I hope you approve,’ he said.

  They looked very nice together, Mary thought. Both so young and smooth, with no pouches or wrinkles in their skin, or creases in their clothes. They made Grandfather and Aunt Alice look rather shabby and crumpled.

  Her mother said, ‘Darling, I hope it’s not too much of a surprise! I meant to write before I came, but we’ve been so dreadfully busy. A hundred and one things to do. Have you heard from Daddy? He promised he’d write, but you know how lazy he is!’

  ‘No. He hasn’t written to me,’ Mary said. Is he coming home?’

  She asked out of politeness. She was sure she knew the answer already.

  As she did. ‘He’s staying in South America, darling,’ her mother said. ‘He likes the climate, he says!’ She stopped. ‘Darling, do take that look off your face. Do you feel very cross?’

  ‘No,’ Mary said. It was odd, but she didn’t feel anything very much. ‘I was just thinking,’ she said. ‘Are you going to live in the flat?’

  Jeff shook his head. ‘But we’re looking for something very much like it! Convenient and central and with enough room …’ He winked at Mary’s mother, and then at Mary, as if they were all three sharing some tremendously funny joke. ‘Enough room for you, if you want to come,’ he said.

  Mary stared at her feet. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t know what, darling?’ her mother said.

  Mary thought her feet looked unfamiliar, somehow. As if they belonged to someone else. Her voice seemed to belong to someone else too. ‘I just don’t know.’

  Her mother said. ‘Of course, we haven’t found the right flat, yet. It’ll take a little time.’

  Mary felt something then: a wave of relief that seemed to rush through her and over her. They weren’t going to take her away, then! At least, not now! Not at once!

  Her mother said, ‘You can come and help us look, if you like. If you want to.’

  Mary looked at her. She was smiling her soft, pretty smile, but it looked rather fixed, as if she were posing for a photograph.

  Mary thought—Why, she’s only being polite!

  For a moment, there was a queer, suffocating feeling in her throat and she wanted to run away—out of the room, out of the house. Then she looked at Aunt Alice and remembered what she had said in the shrubbery, it’s no good running away, and knew that it was true. It couldn’t change anything, or make any difference: she could run as far and as fast as she liked, but her mother and Jeff and Grampy and Aunt Alice would still be here, in this room, waiting for her answer.

  Her mother said, ‘Do you want to, darling?’

  It was no good telling lies, either.

  Mary said, ‘I’d rather stay with ith Grampy and Aunt Alice, if you don’t mind.’ And stared at the carpet which was red, with faded orange flowers on it.

  Someone in the room let out breath in a long sigh.

  Mary looked up. Her mother was still softly smiling, but more naturally than before.

  ‘Of course I don’t mind, darling,’ she said—and Mary knew that she meant it. ‘But we must ask Grampy. And Aunt Alice, of course.’

  Mary looked at them.

  ‘Glad to have her. She keeps us lively,’ Grandfather said, and blew his nose.

  ‘We’ve got quite fond of her.’ Aunt Alice laughed in the high, nervous way Mary used to think was so silly. ‘Between you and me and the gatepost!’ she said.

  *

  They all went out to lunch at the big hotel on the front. They had shrimp cocktail and roast chicken with peas and curls of crisp bacon, and lemon sorbet ice, and everyone ate a lot and talked and enjoyed themselves so much that Aunt Alice and Mary were five minutes late at the hospital.

  Simon was already there, at Krishna’s bedside. Krishna was sitting up in bed in a pair of beautiful, purple pyjamas with a red dragon embroidered on the breast pocket.

  ‘My Uncle brought them,’ he said. ‘And the grapes, and the books. He is coming again today, because I had my stitches out this morning.’

  ‘Did it hurt?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Oh, it was terrible.’ Krishna fell back against the pillows and rolled his eyes up, so only the whites showed. ‘There were three doctors to hold me down, while another came with a great, sharp knife …’

  ‘Liar,’ Simon said, and helped himself to a grape.

  ‘I was only making it more interesting for Mary. She likes stories.’ Krishna giggled, and looked at Mary. ‘It was just a tickle, really. Would you like to see my clippings?’

  ‘Your what?’

  ‘Clippings,’ Krishna said proudly. ‘Newspaper clippings. All about me. My Uncle brought them.’

  He took an envelope out of his locker and emptied it on the bed. Some of the cuttings were just paragraphs, in small print, but two had photographs: one the reporter had taken of Mary, and another of Simon, which had a headline above it. POLICEMAN’S SON IN RESCUE BID.

  ‘Was your Dad very angry?’ Mary said.

  ‘Not as much as I’d expected,’ Simon said, and took another grape. ‘Mr Patel came to see him.’

  Mary glanced at Krishna who was busy showing Aunt Alice the newspaper cuttings. She said, under her breath, ‘Was he angry?’

  She was afraid of meeting Krishna’s Uncle. They had kidnapped his nephew, after all …

  Simon shook his head. ‘Not when I saw him.’ He spat grape pips into his hand and looked shyly at Mary. ‘I was wrong,’ he said.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Oh. Just about things. Where he lived, for one …’ He blushed; then grinned. ‘But I was right about the Cadillac! He hasn’t got one!’ He looked at Mary triumphantly and leaned forward to take another grape. ‘Only a Rolls Royce,’ he said.

  ‘What are you whispering about?’ Krishna said, and then, in the same breath, ‘Here is my Uncle.’

  Mary looked. A dark gentleman was walking down the ward. He wasn’t very tall, and he had a delicate, narrow face, very like Krishna’s. He kissed Krishna; shook hands with Aunt Alice and Simon, then with Mary. ‘So this is your other gallant friend!’ he said.

  ‘Mary,’ Krishna said. ‘She pulls awfully good faces.’

  Uncle Patel smiled at her. ‘I have to thank you for taking such good care of my nephew. He was fortunate to fall into such kind hands.’

  Mary felt pleased, and terribly embarrassed.

  Krishna said, ‘Pull some faces now, Mary. Pull the mad face!’

  Mary shook her head.

  ‘But I want you to!’ Krishna said.

  ‘I can’t. Not here.’

  ‘It’s not Church,’ Aunt Alice said.

  Mary thought they were all looking at her as if it was mean of her to refuse what Krishna wanted, so she did her best. Aunt Alice shuddered and closed her eyes, but Krishna laughed and then clutched his stomach and said, ‘No! Stop! Don’t make me laugh, it hurts my scar …’ Tears came into his eyes and his Uncle took his hand.

  ‘Well, you did ask.’ Mary felt she had been put in the wrong. She looked crossly at Aunt Alice who smiled, and winked at her privately.

  Aunt Alice said, ‘We ought to go now, dear. Krishna mustn’t get too excited.’

  K
rishna pouted and thumped up and down in the bed. ‘Don’t go. I don’t want any of you to go.’

  ‘Hush, my lamb,’ Aunt Alice said—but severely, as if she thought Krishna had had his own way quite long enough.

  He lay still then, and looked at her with his plum-coloured eyes. ‘But we haven’t had a proper talk yet! About the island! Have you been back, Simon?’

  ‘I’m going this afternoon to fetch my camping gear.’

  ‘I want to go,’ Krishna said. ‘It’s not fair.’

  Uncle Patel was smiling. ‘There will be plenty of time when you are well. I have heard this morning that you will be allowed to stay with me until your parents come, which should not be too long, I think.’ He looked at Aunt Alice. ‘There has been a lot of interest shown in Krishna’s case. Our young friends have had something to do with that, I think. The publicity has been useful! And also the fact that they hid him, of course! The longer you can remain in the country without being caught, the better your chance of being allowed to stay!’

  Mary looked at Krishna, to see if he had appreciated all they had done for him, but he seemed not to be listening to his Uncle, just waiting for him to stop speaking. When he did, Krishna caught Aunt Alice’s hand and burst out, ‘There is a thing I have been thinking about. Simon’s Uncle fetched me in a boat. Where did it come from? All the time we were there, we did not see a boat. Nor any people, either.’

  ‘Didn’t you ever go beyond the bridge, my lambkin?’ Aunt Alice said.

  She looked at Simon, smiled mysteriously, and bent to whisper in Krishna’s ear.

  *

  ‘What did she mean? Why didn’t she tell me?’ Mary said, when they got to the island.

  ‘I suppose she thought I’d like to show you.’

  Simon sighed. He had been very silent ever since they had left the hospital, but although Mary had noticed this, it had not troubled her much. She had been silent herself; her mind too busy to speak.

  Now, as Simon led the way further round the lake, she said, ‘You heard what Uncle Patel said? About people being allowed to stay in England if they manage not to be caught for a while? Well—we could do it again. I mean, we could watch on the beach, and meet immigrants coming in, and bring them to the island and hide them and feed them …

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Simon stopped so suddenly that she bumped into him. ‘Who d’you think you are? James Bond or something?’ He looked at her coldly for a minute, and then went on, more kindly, ‘They wouldn’t have let him stay if he’d been a poor boy, don’t you know that? It’s just because he’s got a rich uncle. I know Mr Patel said that about us being helpful, but he was just being nice! As if we were kids who’d been naughty and needed cheering up! Besides, we couldn’t hide anyone on the island, not now everyone knows. It’s not private anymore. ‘He stopped and swallowed with a rasping sound as if he had something sharp caught in his throat.’ It never was, really …’

  He turned his back on Mary, and went on. At first the path was no different from the track before the bridge, mossy and damp and overgrown, but after a little it opened out and became firmer underfoot, as if other people had walked there. Then they turned a bend and saw the end of the lake: a broad, shining stretch of water, clear of weed, with a landing stage and several boats moored beside it. On the far bank, well-spaced out as if they didn’t care for each other’s company, several fishermen sat, with rugs over their knees. And beyond, through the trees, the afternoon sun glinted on metal. Cars in a car park.

  ‘It’s a private fishing club,’ Simon said in a distant voice. ‘A very expensive one. Rich people come down from London. There’s another entrance to the estate and a club where the old house used to be. I suppose the reason we never saw them, down our end of the lake, is the weed. I mean, you can’t fish there, except for the clear patch, round the island. And they wouldn’t bother to walk so far, anyway. Not rich men with cars. But they’ve been here, all the time …’

  He hunched his shoulders and dug his hands deep into his pockets and scowled fiercely.

  Mary watched him for a minute, standing and scowling at the fishermen on the opposite side of the lake.

  She said, ‘Simon.’

  He didn’t answer. The fishermen sat so still they might have been stuffed. Only their coloured floats moved, drifting gently with the movement of the water.

  Mary said, ‘We can’t see them from the island. And they can’t see us. So it doesn’t make any difference. We can pretend they’re not there.’

  ‘Pretending’s no good,’ Simon said. ‘What we had before was real.’

  And he pushed past Mary and began to run back towards the island, so fast that she couldn’t keep up with him.

  *

  She found him on the bluff above the grotto. He was standing, looking out over the lake. There were tear streaks, like snail tracks, on his face. He gave an affected start, as if he hadn’t expected to see her here.

  ‘What are you going to do about Noakes?’ he said, as if practical things like this were all they had to talk about.

  ‘I might take him home with me,’ Mary said. ‘Aunt Alice said I could if I liked.’

  ‘He’s wild now,’ Simon said. ‘He won’t stay.’

  ‘I’m staying,’ Mary said, and felt very happy. So happy that she didn’t mind when Simon just said, in an uninterested voice, ‘Well, that’s different, you’re not a wild cat,’ and turned to stare out over the lake again.

  She said, ‘Do cheer up, Simon.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said, not sounding it. Then he looked at her. ‘If you take Noakes home, he’ll only run away first chance he gets and try to get back to the island. But even if he finds his way here, he won’t be able to CFOSS the bridge because he can’t balance with three legs. And then’ he’ll die. He’ll die of grief …’

  He sounded as if he knew what this would feel like.

  Mary said, ‘Well, I suppose we’d better leave him, then,’ She knew it, really: Noakes would never settle in a house, never sit by a fire and grow old and lazy and fat. Not now he had tasted freedom. She said, ‘We could always come now and again, to make sure he’s all right.’

  Silence. A fish plopped in the lake. Then another.

  Simon said, ‘It won’t be the same, of course.’

  Mary felt impatient. ‘Well, it wasn’t the same when we came, was it? Krishna and me. I mean, you had the island to yourself before. But it was nice when we did come, too. Wasn’t it? I mean, things change all the time and it isn’t always sad. I’m going to look for Noakes now, and you can come if you like, and you can stay if you like, but I’m going.’

  ‘All right, keep your hair on,’ Simon said, and turned to her, grinning.

  *

  They didn’t find Noakes. They didn’t see him until they had given up looking and had lit a fire and heated up the last of the sardines in the billy can. Then, when the fire was burning low and the light beginning to fade on the lake, he appeared on the edge of the bluff and played with a leaf, rushing and pouncing with little snarls of mock anger. He wouldn’t let them touch him but stayed close while they packed up and stamped out the fire and then followed them to the bridge, keeping his distance and growling softly.

  When they had crossed to the mainland, Mary looked back. Noakes was watching them, still growling and switching his tail, but she thought he looked, suddenly, not wild at all but rather lonely and lost; the last refugee on the island …

  ‘I hate leaving him,’ she said, speaking softly, to herself, but Simon heard her.

  ‘If you took him, he’d hate it more! And we’re not leaving him, really. We can come back.’

  Mary looked at him. The sun, slanting low over the trees, shone in his eyes and made them shimmer, like water.

  ‘We can come back tomorrow,’ Simon said.

  And on the island, Noakes gave one last twitch of his tail and leapt into the bushes, out of their sight.

  Copyright

  This ebook edition first published
in 2014

  by Faber and Faber Ltd

  Bloomsbury House

  74–77 Great Russell Street

  London WC1B 3DA

  All rights reserved

  © Nina Bawden, 1969

  The right of Nina Bawden to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly

  ISBN 978–0–571–30945–0