We Used to Be Kings

by Stewart Foster

  Because we have to.

  Why?

  —

  Because of Mrs Unster?

  —

  Because we can’t find Dad?

  —

  Because of Frost?

  . . . Yes, all of those things.

  The water splashes around our chest.

  Are we going right under?

  Yes.

  Up to our neck?

  Yes.

  But I can’t swim.

  I can.

  Will you teach me?

  I’ll try.

  —

  We lift our feet off the ground, swim beyond the breakers, into the swell where the water gets darker.

  Can I stand up here?

  No.

  But I might die.

  —

  Will you save me?

  I won’t have to.

  ?

  You can’t die twice.

  Oh.

  We drop our feet and search for the bottom, but all we find are trails of seaweed and colder water. We kick our feet, swim, then cling to a buoy.

  Are we giving up?

  ?

  Are we giving up looking for Dad?

  Yes.

  Because we’ve reached the edge of the world?

  Because everyone else has gone.

  So we’re not going back this time?

  We can’t.

  Because I give us headaches.

  Because . . .

  ?

  Because they’ll take you away.

  But I always come back.

  You won’t. Not this time.

  Buzz buzz?

  Yes.

  —

  —

  We kick our legs and look towards the horizon.

  The place where the sea meets the sky?

  The place where the sky meets the sea.

  Is that where we’re going?

  —

  It looks a long way.

  —

  Is it as far as the moon?

  No. It’s a mile away.

  Did Dad tell you that?

  No, I read it in a book.

  Your encyclopaedia?

  Yes.

  Oh . . . What’s after the horizon?

  Beyond.

  What’s after the beyond?

  What’s beyond the horizon?

  —

  Ireland.

  Will Dad be there?

  I hope not.

  Because it’s cold?

  Because the people are still fighting.

  Oh . . . What’s beyond Ireland?

  America.

  Is that a long way too?

  3,100 miles.

  Can we swim there?

  No.

  Because Dad won’t be there either?

  Because it’s too far.

  Can we swim to Russia?

  No.

  Why not?

  Because it’s the other way.

  Shall we turn back then?

  I said we can’t.

  What happens when we get to America?

  We keep swimming.

  Because Russia is beyond America?

  Yes . . . eventually . . . if we keep going.

  ?

  You know why.

  Because the world is a circle, like the moon?

  Yes.

  The sea laps around our chin. We close our mouth, try to stop the water from pouring in.

  I’m cold.

  —

  Isn’t he coming?

  Who?

  Dr Smith. He told us to stay out of the water.

  —

  Isn’t he coming?

  No, not this time.

  We take a new grip on the buoy, look back at the beach, watch the sand dunes turn from yellow to orange, watch the waves creep towards our bag and clothes and our book balanced on the rock.

  We’ve left our book behind.

  I know.

  Can we get it?

  No.

  Why not?

  —

  But we have to write more.

  We’ve written as much as we can.

  Because we’ve run out of paper?

  Because we’ve run out of words.

  So is this the last chapter?

  Yes.

  And you’ve written the last line?

  I’m just about to.

  On the sea?

  In our mind.

  And we’re not going back?

  —

  And they’ll never catch us?

  No, never.

  Ha!

  Ha!

  Can I say goodbye?

  —

  Can I say goodbye? Beep.

  Yes.

  —

  —

  Now?

  Yes.

  —

  —

  Goodbye.

  Goodbye.

  —

  —

  We let go of the buoy and swim towards the sun.

  Afterlife

  Are we dead yet?

  Umm. . .

  !

  Yes.

  But we can still talk?

  Yes.

  And we can still write?

  —

  And we can still write? Beep.

  I can.

  So what are we doing now?

  We have to thank all the people who helped us write our story.

  Oh good.

  We have to thank our author.

  He’s old and wrinkly but he thinks he’s good looking.

  —

  Like a tortoise.

  —

  Like a tortoise. Beep.

  No. Not really.

  —

  —

  —

  We’ve got to thank Max, and Lois, and Tallulah.

  For putting up with him.

  For putting up with us.

  —

  —

  We’re sorry.

  Yes.

  We’re very very sorry.

  But we’re grateful.

  Yes, we’re very very grateful too.

  And we have to thank Ben Grose.

  For the wasp in the can.

  For not saying much but what he did counted lots.

  And for making sure we met Harriet.

  And for being our mate.

  —

  —

  But most of all we have to thank JBS.

  Just been shot!

  Jon Bentley-Smith.

  We like JBS.

  We really like JBS.

  Everybody likes JBS.

  Because he’s a great editor.

  And a great writer and a great friend.

  But most of all because he’s mad.

  Like us. Ha!

  Ha!

  Ha!

  !

  —

  —

  —

  —

  Have we finished?

  Nearly. Just a few more.

  And then we’ll play We spy?

  !

  And then we’ll play We spy?

  Our author would also like to thank:

  Sally Gander, Carrie Etter.

  Dom Fox

  Brad Howarth

  Max, again!

  For being the first readers.

  And telling him to keep going.

  Dan Coleman

  Penelope Price

  Ray Offiah

  For making three years bearable.

  Bret Hardman

  For the advice and early edit.

  Richard Francis

  For his guidance.

  Nicola Barr

  His agent.

  His secret agent!

  Thanks for the belief and the patience.

  Dan Franklin

  For his faith and enthusiasm.

  And we’ve got to thank George.

  George Wolfe.

  Hoooowl!

  Do you have to do that?

  Ha!

  !

&nbs
p; —

  Thanks George for helping us whisper.

  And thanks to all the other friends our author bored because he couldn’t stop talking about us.

  —

  —

  —

  And we have to thank the Delays – we love the Delays!

  Thanks for ‘Long Time Coming’ and ‘Winter’s Memory of Summer’.

  And Radiohead.

  For all their music, but especially ‘Last Flowers’.

  And finally. . .

  His mum and dad.

  For taking ages to read it with a magnifying glass.

  !

  It’s true.

  It’s rude.

  Oh.

  —

  —

  —

  And now we’re finished?

  Yes.

  —

  —

  I spy with our little eye something beginning with. . .

  !

  Can we?

  Me first.

  OK.

  I spy with our little eye something beginning with H.

  H?

  H.

  Ummmm. . .

  —

  Hell?

  No. Heaven.

  Phew!

  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.

  Epub ISBN: 9781448162383

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Published by Jonathan Cape 2014

  Copyright © Stewart Foster 2014

  Stewart Foster has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by

  Jonathan Cape

  Random House,

  20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

  London SW1V 2SA

  Illustrations by Maxine Foster

  www.vintage-books.co.uk

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9780224098038