by Margot Bish
“And were you scared?”
Arthur hesitated, and then shook his head. “I was only scared afterwards. At the time, I was worried about Dean and there was too much to think about to be scared. I knew the instructors would come to help as soon as it was safe for them, and then Ross and Susan came out of nowhere and made a tent and so we only had the tide to deal with, and then Nick came and I didn’t know about his broken ribs and stuff so I was sure we were OK”.
They turned to Nick. The blame man asked a question about safety standards and Nick sounded more grown up than ever to Ross, explaining about safety procedures, talking about risk assessments, and finishing, “even walking along a pavement has potential for disaster – uneven slabs, drunken drivers, falling roof tiles or scaffolding. We were unlucky, but Jerry acted exactly as he should have done, and we were all working to the guidelines set out by the people in the business, like the RNLI and the Royal Yachting Association. Having said that, we will be looking at all the lessons we’ve learned so that even this cannot happen in the future.”
Owen was looking pointedly at the clock.
“Can we have some photographs?” someone called. With another clock ward glance, Owen agreed, and they trooped outside to oblige.
“Now the parents will find out”, Nick sighed.
“Oh golly”, Ross said, trying to hide behind Arthur who ducked unhelpfully.
The rest of the holiday passed almost uneventfully. The bruises healed, and Dean was allowed to visit on his way home, all covered in bandages and trying not to bounce because it hurt, but promised a full recovery he was eagerly telling everyone he would be back next year, at which news, Owen gave a mock groan and rolled his eyes. By the end of the week, the bruises had faded and only Nick showed signs of wear and tear when they arrived home.
“Good time, dear?” Ross’s mum asked, trying to give him a kiss. Ross evaded it.
“It was great,” he said and waited for the outburst about dangerous places. There wasn’t one. Well. If they weren’t going to mention it, nor was he. Of course, being in Paris, they’d missed the newspapers.
“What did you do?” his Dad prompted him.
“Oh. Skiing, sailing, go karting, hill walking and er horse riding”.
“Horse riding?” his Dad asked
Ross grinned. “The sailing was the best”.
It was six months later, the truth leaked out, or rather came out with a splash. Jack, Nick and Arthur were all awarded bravery medals and of course all the local newspapers went mad on the story.
“That’s when you were there, wasn’t it?” Ross’s Dad asked vaguely as he perused the article.
“I didn’t know Nick was there too,” his mum exclaimed. “If I’d known Nick was teaching, I would have said no”.
Ross didn’t know what to say. His eye strayed to the attached photograph and he winced – it was the photograph of the rescuers. His mum saw what he was looking at and focussed.
“Oh Ross,” she said. “I knew you were too young to go”.
“But Mum…”
His Dad’s rumble overrode him. “Oh, I don’t know. Sounds to me as if he proved himself more than capable, and I guess Nick has done some growing up while we weren’t looking as well”, He was reading Arthur’s comments, and gave Ross a man to man wink, the pride showing through.
THE HEROES