by Simon Bourke
7
Just like her son, Sinéad had been fascinated by the woods as a child. For as long as she could remember her father had taken long, solitary walks there every evening. One day, after years of begging, she was finally allowed to go with him. Then, of course, because she was going, they had suddenly all wanted to go. Noel had shaken his head bitterly and told them to get their coats, the one bit of peace and quiet he got now ruined, potentially forever. But he had a plan; he would walk the legs off his children, walk so fast and so far that none of them would ever ask to come again. It had almost worked. Patrick was the first to succumb; ten minutes in and he was asking to go home. Valerie was next to pull up, abruptly sitting down in the middle of the path and declaring herself bored; then Adele, an imaginary stone in her shoe the cause of her malaise. But, try as he might, he couldn’t shake Sinéad. He really put the pedal down, getting out of breath himself, but she carried on, grinning at him affectionately, having a great time. In the end he’d been the one to admit defeat, tersely suggesting they head for home when he felt the sweat begin to roll down his forehead.
From that day forth they had become a twosome, a pair of hiking enthusiasts; father and daughter roaming in the wild. It became their thing. Some parents played football with their children, others did arts and crafts, but Noel and his daughter walked. It wasn’t just the walking, though. It was being outdoors, at one with nature. Breathing in the fresh air, listening to the birds, marvelling at sunsets, half-moons and full moons. Sinéad had found her childhood obsession. While her sisters received dolls and dresses for birthdays and Christmas, she got books about trees and bird-watching, binoculars and hiking boots. Her parents were happy to indulge her; any hobby which allowed them to keep such a close eye on their daughter was to be actively encouraged. The only problem was containing her enthusiasm; she wanted to be out walking all the time. The small public walkways she and her father used to circle were now considered childish. There was a whole world out there to explore; how could they expect her to walk around the family-approved paths for the rest of her life? So Noel took her round the rarely-used hiker’s trail, the one which stretched around the entire circumference of the woods – all eight miles of it. It nearly killed him in the process, but his little Nades was happy and that was all that mattered. They got her a camera, a second-hand Nikon, and she began documenting her adventures: taking pictures of trees, skylines, flowers, anything which caught her eye.
But then, almost as soon as it began, it was over. Adolescence came hurtling into her life and suddenly Sinéad was interested in wildlife of a different kind. Their walks became less frequent; Noel always had to ask her now. And when she did go she was distant and uninterested, her mind full of mystery and strangeness. Then one morning he’d woken up to find his little Nades gone, having flown the nest without any warning. There would be no more walks together now. He was back to going alone.
But when she’d come back, when she’d unexpectedly, amazingly, returned, they’d resumed their pastime; not every evening as before, but at least a couple of times a week and always after dinner on a Sunday. Seán had come too, at first in his buggy but recently on his own two feet. They’d stuck to the shorter walkways during these excursions, the ones which delved in and out of the forest’s more picturesque areas and were dotted with small picnic areas and public amenities. As far as Sinéad was aware her son had never been beyond these small paths, so it was there she planned to begin her search. Even though it was a damp, dismal October afternoon, there would still be plenty of people milling around the woods; surely one of them would have seen her boy.
There was a dozen or so cars parked loosely in the lay-by, and some of the early morning walkers were returning to their vehicles for the drive home. Sinéad and Patrick approached one couple, ruddy-cheeked and radiant from their walk, but they hadn’t seen Seán. Neither had the family squeezing into their car, nor the middle-aged man walking his dog or the boisterous gang of kids. Undeterred, they started up the walkway, calling out Seán’s name as they went. They hurried along the path, continuing to call Seán’s name and asking passers-by if they’d seen him. With each negative response Sinéad’s heart sank a little further.
Patrick did his best to keep her spirits up,
“Any second now, Shinners, you just wait.”
“He’ll surely be along here.”
“There’s only so far he could have went, Sinéad, don’t panic.”
But after an hour of fruitless searching those reassurances began to ring hollow. She looked at her brother and saw the despondency in his eyes, knew that he no longer believed the things he was saying, and that the situation was growing out of their control.
The anxiety which she’d been holding at bay spewed forth. Her cries grew ever louder; she was now screeching her son’s name at the top of her lungs. A concerned onlooker offered his assistance; taken aback, Sinéad could only whisper her thanks, leaving Patrick to direct the helpful citizen to another part of the woods. Another person joined them, then two more. They spread out; some going up ahead, others deviating off the beaten track. Their numbers swelled, more and more people alerted to the cause; the continual shouting of Seán’s name drawing them to the crowd like moths to a flame. By the time Sinéad and Patrick completed a circuit and arrived back at the car-park there was upwards of twenty people gathered there, and more were joining the ranks with each passing minute. Sinéad didn’t recognise many of them, did they know who she was? Did they know it was her son they were out looking for? One well-to-do gentleman had appointed himself party leader, he approached Sinéad, holding out his hand to greet her. “Sinéad, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m David. I hear your boy’s gone missing.”
“Yes. I think he’s in the woods somewhere.”
“Well, we won’t be long about finding him, there’s plenty of us here. Best to get moving before dark, though.”
He was right, it was four in the afternoon and the sun was beginning to slouch low in the sky. In a couple of hours the woods would be completely dark. She imagined Seán alone and afraid somewhere in the forest, and her heart sundered in two. Worse still, he might not even be in the woods; Bulldog could have got it wrong. Someone might have snatched him, he could be miles away by now in the back of a van, tied up and gagged. Jesus Christ.
The man, this David fellah, was talking to her; something about torches and blankets and flasks of tea. She nodded her agreement, feeling numb now, wanting someone to hold her. Patrick had moved into the crowd, issuing orders of his own. Sinéad spun round, resisting the urge to fall to her knees and begin screaming her son’s name at the top of her lungs.
“There’s a phone in the ranger’s cabin; I’ve used it before,” David said.
A phone, thought Sinéad, but who will we call?
“Come on,” he said, taking her by the arm.
She found herself walking beside him, struggling to keep us as he strode towards the cabin.
“Thanks for helping, David,” she mumbled, remembering her manners despite the gravity of the situation.
“Don’t be silly, Sinéad. Once I speak with the sergeant we’ll get a proper search going, have Seán back in no time.”
Sinéad stifled a sob and allowed herself to be led into the cabin.
8
Much to Seán’s disappointment, this new unexplored part of the woodland was much the same as the bits he’d already seen. There had been some incredible trees, trees which even Mikey Nolan would have struggled to scale, and a creek with a thick green surface, which he’d pierced with rocks and sticks. That was about it, though. There hadn’t been a stream or lake for him to drink from (he’d considered drinking from the creek but judged it unfit for human consumption), nor had there been a secret network of underground tunnels like he’d hoped. And now, after just a couple of hours on the run, he was bored. He sat dejectedly on a stump, picking
the dirt from between his toes. His feet were filthy and his jeans, which had been rolled up to his knees, now flopped limply against his ankles, still wet through. Unsurprisingly, he was getting cold now too. He decided he’d had enough. It had been good while it lasted and he might do it again sometime, but he was fed up with running away. He was going home. His mammy would be delighted to see him. They’d laugh about his little excursion and all would be well again. He’d have to explain why he’d tipped the ashtray over Daryl’s head and thrown the beer can at that other fool, but she’d understand; he’d been protecting her in his duty as the man of the house. He hadn’t known those fellas, and he’d had to resort to desperate measures to combat them. They’d threatened him and he’d acted in self-defence. With any luck his mammy would be proud of him and buy him an ice cream by way of reward. Sometimes violence paid off; not often, but sometimes.
He heard rustling to his left; movement, something fast. He didn’t want to look, afraid of what he might see. It could be a beast. It wasn’t dark yet, but for all he knew they came out early at the weekends. Perhaps they’d been following him the whole time, waiting for their moment. And that moment was now. Here he was sitting on a stump, not a stick, a rock, nor a weapon of any description to his name. Defenceless. He really wanted his mammy now. There was that noise again. It sounded like something small. He hoped it was something small. A little otter that wanted to be his friend. That would be nice. Ollie the otter. They would hang out together and he would stroke Ollie’s soft fur. Ollie would find him nuts to eat and they would munch on them together, smiling away at how lovely the nuts were. Did otters eat nuts? He couldn’t remember. His brain was tired and he couldn’t think straight; the comedown from his sugar high was affecting his thought processes. The noise came again, but this time he saw what had made it: a little squirrel. What a relief! It wasn’t a beast after all, just a little squirrel. Not a red one, though, it was grey; they were the baddies, according to his granddad. They spread disease among the reds and stole all their food. He didn’t like grey squirrels, and he certainly didn’t like this one.
The squirrel stood on its hind legs staring at him. Seán stared back balefully. This Mexican stand-off lasted for all of thirty seconds before the squirrel, curiosity sated, darted off in another direction. Buoyed by his victory, Seán shouted after it. “Get out of here, and stop killing all the reds!” That was him told. But this fleeting contact with another life form had a detrimental effect on his spirits. Now he felt lonely. Why couldn’t the squirrel have stayed a while? He shouldn’t have shouted at it like that; now it would never come back. It was probably going home to bed, because it was bedtime in the woods now. They were all snuggling up in their dens and hideouts, all the little animals; cosy and warm, their bellies full of nuts. And here he was miles from home, sitting on a tree stump, without any shoes or socks. It was time to go. It was definitely time to go.
The question now was ‘which way?’ Which way was home? He stood on the stump and looked around, to his left and to his right, in front of him and behind him. But the forest had grown dim and gloomy, and he could barely see more than a few yards in any direction. Even then, all he could see were trees. If he could only find the creek: once he’d found that, he’d be able to find the tree he’d climbed and before he knew it he’d be back at the start where he’d left his runners. He got down from the stump and squinted his eyes into the distance. That looked like the creek up there. He hopped down from the stump and trotted in the direction of what he hoped was the creek. Already he was imagining his return home; a hero’s welcome. How happy they’d all be to see him! After what seemed like an age, though, he still hadn’t found the creek. Maybe it wasn’t over here after all. What if he should have gone the other way? Should he turn back or continue on? He was really thirsty now, thirstier than he’d ever been in his whole life. If he did find the creek he was going to drink from it, green ooze or no green ooze. Where was it, though? He spun around helplessly. A bird fluttered violently in the trees, frightening him. The sun was rapidly disappearing now, its fading light completely enveloped by the darkness of the woods. With a growing sense of panic, Seán realised that he had no idea where he was or how to get out of the forest.
Now he was really scared. He began to mewl softly. “Mammy, Mammy, Mammy, MAMMY! MAAMMMEEEEE!!”
His shrill cries reverberated around the forest, but they didn’t reach their intended target. There were no friendly beings within earshot, only beasts and grey squirrels. He dropped to the ground, curling up into the foetal position. There was no escape now. Before long the beasts would be out hunting for food, and it wasn’t very often they found little boys lying around just waiting to be eaten. Oh, how happy they’d be to find him, a tasty little morsel, a rare treat. He wouldn’t even fight them. Take me away, beasts, go on. It’s me own fault for running away and thinking I could survive life on the road on me own.
9
In an ideal world, this whole sorry affair would have been wrapped up before her parents had even found out about it, but the sight of her mother coming swiftly up the hill told Sinéad that that was wishful thinking. Her father followed, head down, betraying no emotion.
“What have you done?” her mother screamed, grabbing Sinéad by the shoulders. “What did you do to make that poor child run away?”
“It’s not my fault,” Sinéad protested. Deep down, though, she knew it was true; it was all her fault, and the criticism was entirely justified.
“I knew this would happen. I knew it,” continued her mother, wringing her hands in despair. They were standing in the car park where a group of about forty people had assembled, all there to search for Seán.
Noel caught up with them and took Sinéad in his arms, ignoring his wife’s dramatics. “It’ll be all right, Nades, it’ll be all right. We’ll find him, don’t you worry.”
Sinéad allowed herself to be coddled, glad to be someone’s child for a moment.
“Will we, Daddy? Will we?”
“Of course we will, Nades; don’t you worry. Your old dad is here now and everything is going to be all right.”
The guards had arrived, three of them; Sergeant Barrett and two younger men. They’d set up a ‘base of operations’ in the car-park and brought proper order to what had been a dysfunctional affair. The sergeant took command; everyone was assigned a task, organised into groups. A plan of action began to emerge, high-visibility jackets were issued, along with flashlights and whistles. And still more people arrived. They came in their droves, as if some mysterious force had compelled every car in town to gather at the entrance to the woods. They spilled out of their vehicles brandishing torches, blankets and flasks. A couple of them even had walkie-talkies. Walkie-talkies, for fuck’s sake! Sinéad watched this procession in a daze. All these people for her little boy: what if he wasn’t even in the woods? She would be so embarrassed. Because yes, in spite of everything, she was still concerned about ‘putting people out’.
They’d all gathered around the sergeant, waiting for instructions. Patricia had been escorted to the cabin, and was to remain inside until further notice. This was no time for hysterics, one of the guards had advised.
“Thank God for that,” muttered Noel, watching her go. “I love your mother, but she’s not the kind of person you want in a crisis.”
Sinéad watched and felt a pang of shame. After all she had put that women through. And now, just when things had seemed to be improving, she had done it again.
“She’s right, though,” she said. “It’s all my fault.”
“Why do you think that, Sinéad? Kids run away all the time; these things happen.”
Sinéad shook her head sadly. These things only happened when there was a reason.
“I had Daryl round last night and he and Seán had an argument, and now he’s run away and it’s all my fault.”
Noel mulled this over for a moment. He wasn’t sure what t
o make of Sinéad’s new boyfriend. He was an improvement on the last couple of chancers, but was he good enough for his daughter? More to the point, was he good enough for his grandson? If they were already arguing, it didn’t bode well for the future.
“Introducing him to boyfriends was always going to be difficult,” he said flatly.
“They weren’t even supposed to meet. Daryl and Chezz should have been gone ...”
“Look, we can worry about that later. See all these people?” Noel gestured to the crowd. “They’re here for Seán. He’ll be back home in no time.”
“I hope so,” Sinéad sniffed.
They stood watching the congregation. A curious joie de vivre filled the air. Sinéad may have been at her wit’s end, but these people were here, as one, to help avert a tragedy.
“Remember the time I ran away, Daddy?” Sinéad asked suddenly.
Noel’s face went blank as he struggled to recall his favourite daughter ever giving him a moment’s trouble.
“No,” he said, puzzled.
“You don’t remember at all?”
“No. When was it?”
“I was about seventeen at the time.”
“What, seventeen?”
“I went to England, remember?”