But when he reached the cul-de-sac, he knew at once he’d have to think again.
A young woman with a baby on her back stood in the front garden of the cottage with the tall, thick-set man Nathan had seen the day before. He wore jeans, a heavy fisherman’s sweater, the same dark green hat with a floppy brim. He held a file of papers and pointed at the roof.
Nathan walked towards them, but as he drew closer they nodded to each other and disappeared into the cottage. The front door clicked and a light flickered.
Nathan cursed. He pulled an old biro from his coat pocket and wrote down the ‘for sale’ number on the inside of his wrist. Then he walked out of the cul-de-sac.
Now what do I do?
He heard Dad’s voice in his head. “I’d go straight back to Grandpa’s if I were you. At this very moment they’re wondering where on earth you’ve gone.”
I’m allowed out on my own. I’m not a kid.
“Sure, Nat, but that’s hardly the point. That girl you saw – OK, she was obviously upset. But it’s none of your business, is it? You can’t invade other people’s lives just because you’re curious about them.”
Nathan squared his shoulders, his determination sharpened. Can’t I just!
He’d go down to the beach and find the cliff with the metal footholds. He could get into the garden that way and try to find the girl.
He ran through the streets to the main road, raced on, down the steps to Porthminster Beach. His boots sank into the sand.
The beach stretched long and deserted. It curved in on itself, the rocks almost closing it off, then opened out into a smaller cove, and then another. Rock pools slurped at his feet. He slithered and climbed as fast as he could.
He looked up at the cliffs to get his bearings. At the top, on the corner furthest from him, stood a figure in scarlet trousers and a black jacket. Its pale face stared out to sea. The fair curly hair whipped back in the wind.
It’s her.
He waved but she made no response. He lowered his head, quickened his pace, strode away from the sea towards her. He stared up again. The man stood beside her, his green hat crammed over his head. It looked as if he were shouting at her, menacing her, threatening.
She stared ahead. Then she turned to face him, raised her fists, flailed at him. He caught her wrists and flung her arms to her sides. Something white fluttered to the ground. She turned, ran back towards the cottage. The man followed.
The wet sand made it hard to move fast. Nathan bent his head and lunged forwards, pulling as quickly as he could towards the cliff. It rose away from him, sharp and steep. He scanned it for the footholds and spotted glints of metal. The ladder snaked above him.
He grabbed at the first foothold, frightened it might not take his weight. It felt deadly cold but stayed locked in place. He started to climb. His feet skidded on the rungs and he told himself to slow down. Gradually his climbing gained rhythm. As he moved he saw a changing landscape: the flow of coves, the long ribbon of sea, the surly, darkening sky.
The ladder came to an abrupt end on a small plateau. He crawled on to it, feeling the sandy grass beneath his chin, fighting to catch his breath. A pair of gulls screamed away from him.
With a fierce swoop, the cliff rose again to the garden’s edge. Nathan climbed the last few rungs, clung to the surface and looked towards the cottage.
The girl and the man had gone.
Something lay crumpled on the grass. Nathan reached for it: a handkerchief, soft, white, bordered with creamy lace. It smelt weird. He held it to his nose. Oil paint, high and pungent, and something else, sweet and heavy, like honey. He turned the fragment of linen in his hand. An initial coiled in the corner, embroidered in deep yellow thread. The letter R. He traced his fingers over it.
Thunder grumbled the first few drops of rain. Startled, he stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket, stood up and ran into the garden. A light shone from the attic window. He stared up at it.
The man stepped from behind one of the trees. Nathan’s heart kicked.
“Who the hell are you?” The man’s eyes loured at him, black, heavy-lidded.
Nathan ducked away from him.
“Not so fast.” The man grabbed his arm, slammed him against a tree. He stood head and shoulders above him, thick-set and powerful. “This is a private garden. What are you doing here?”
“I was on the beach,” Nathan jabbered. The weight of the man’s hands gave him no room to manoeuvre. “I slipped on a rock, twisted my ankle. I needed a quick way home.”
“And the quickest way was up our cliff!” The man tightened his grip, shoved his face close to Nathan’s. He stank of beer. “I don’t think so.” The words slurred into each other. “There’s nothing wrong with your ankle, you stupid little liar. Clear off before I call the police. And no more tricks, do you hear? Next time, I’ll make sure you never get away.”
Nathan wrenched himself free and crashed across the grass. Sharp fingers of rain stabbed his neck. In the front garden he ran backwards, looking up at the attic window.
A hand pressed against the pane.
Five
Nathan slammed the door behind him and glared at the hotel room. It stared back, clean, blank and cold. He flung his wet coat on the floor.
I’ve had enough of this nightmare. I’m going to hitch a lift to London and then to Edinburgh. I’ll talk to Dad, see if I can come and live with him.
It took him five minutes to pack. His bag sat on the bed, bulging and zipped. But first I’ll ring Dad and tell him I’m coming. He reached for the phone. He’d just better be there, that’s all. If he’s out, I’m off, and I’ll think about it later.
His fingers shook as he poked at the dial.
“Hi, Nat.” Dad’s voice sounded a million miles away. “How’s tricks?”
“Fine,” Nathan lied. “I’ve swum in the pool, walked on the beach.” He swallowed. “How’s Edinburgh?”
“We had a terrible journey, what with the traffic and the snow. Amy was sick and Karen got really worried about her.”
“Is she OK?” Amy! Why are we talking about that smarmy brat? What about me?
“She’s fine, but she’s not a good traveller. I’d forgotten how much attention a tiny tot needs!”
“I need attention too.” The words spilled out of him.
“’Course you do, Nat. Next year I’ll make it up to you. You must come to us and we’ll have the best Christmas ever.”
“You’ll have a new baby by then.”
“All the more reason for you to come. He’ll be your brother.”
“Half-brother. Or half-sister.” Nathan hated the sound of the words.
“Quite right. Isn’t it exciting? … So, how’s Mum?”
Nathan took a deep breath. “You know she wants us to live down here?”
“Yes, she told me yesterday. I mean, I know we need to sell the house, but her decision came as a bit of a shock. I’d no idea she was planning to move back to Cornwall.”
“You and me both.” Nathan’s voice cracked. Ask him, ask him, you have to ask.
“Couldn’t I live with you, Dad? I’d really fit in well. I’d do anything to help.”
Please, Dad, please. Say yes.
“Oh, Nat.” Dad sighed. “That’s got to be out of the question, so don’t even think about it.”
“But I could come to see you now, Dad. It wouldn’t take long. I could hitch a ride. Then we could talk about it properly.”
“That’s a crazy idea.” Dad’s voice sounded louder, urgent. “Mum would never let you go. You mustn’t do anything like that. It’d really upset her. Please, Nat, promise me. Promise you’ll stay with her. Say it now. I promise.”
Nathan forced out the words. “I promise.”
“Good lad. Be sensible. We’ll make lots of plans for the holidays. Half-terms. And of course, after Christmas, we’re going to … We’ll write down firm dates for the diary. Be patient, that’s all I ask.”
In the background Nathan h
eard Karen calling. A frosty hand clutched at his heart.
“I must go,” Dad said. “Love you loads. Take care of Mum. We all love you, you know. Speak to you soon.”
“Dad—” Nathan said, but the line died.
He wanted to pull the phone out of its socket and throw it through the window. Instead he grabbed at his packed bag, unzipped it, hurled its contents one by one around the room. Then he sat for a long while, staring at the mess.
Dad doesn’t want me any more. That’s the truth, so why don’t I just face up to it?
He forced his arms to push him from the bed. He bent, picked up his wet coat. He fished in one pocket, then in the other. From it he drew out a small white lace-edged handkerchief. He clenched it in his fist.
The scent of oil paint and honey lifted into the air.
“Can I go into St Ives?” He and Mum finished breakfast in the dining-room. Invent an excuse. Anything to get away from the hotel. “I want to buy Gramp a Christmas present.”
Mum looked at him over her teacup. “OK, but don’t completely disappear off the face of the earth like yesterday. One minute you were there, the next no Nathan for hours and you turn up soaked to the skin. Gave us quite a scare. Grandpa was pacing the kitchen like a caged lion.”
“I’m not a kid. I can go off on my own if I want.”
She put down the cup. “He cares about you, Nathan. You’re his only grandchild.”
Nathan gazed at the tablecloth. “That’s not my fault.”
“I tell you what. I’ll meet you for a Coke at eleven. Sharp, mind. I don’t want to spend the morning worrying about you. Is that clear?”
“Yeah.” What a pain. I’d really like the day on my own.
“Go down to the waterfront. Walk to the end of the Wharf. Fish Street leads off it. Kathy’s Bar’s about halfway along. I’ll see you there.”
“Right.” Nathan looked at her. “May I have some pocket money, please? Last week’s and this?”
“Sorry, Nathan. I completely forgot. I must owe you tons.” She rooted in her bag. “Here. Special bonus.”
“Thanks,” he said without much feeling. He put the crisp notes in his pocket.
“By the way. Your Christmas present. Grandpa wants you to choose something special.” She smiled at him. “Have a look around. Something might take your fancy.”
He pulled on a thick-ribbed sweater and a scarf, and checked his jeans. Money, the oil-paint-and-honey handkerchief. He raced down the corridor, out of the hotel.
Freedom!
In the woods, sunlight flecked through the firs. A squirrel spotted him, its paws clamped to its mouth. It rippled towards a tree, its tail flying like a flag on a grey boat. Nathan reached the end of the path, opened the gate and crossed the road to be nearer the sea, the sound of its swirling roar. It’s like having a new friend.
He ran down the hill to the metal steps leading on to the beach, clattered down them and crunched across the pebbly sand to the shoreline’s edge. The sea sucked and heaved to its own insistent rhythms, splashing his boots, filling his ears with its great welcoming sighs.
He crouched, his elbows on his knees, looking out across the grey waters to the soft ripple of coves.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Nathan. Looks as if we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”
He pulled off his gloves and reached for a handful of pebbles. They smelt of salt and tar. One by one, he threw them, cold and wet and smooth, into the sea.
He stood up.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
He walked swiftly down the narrow streets, peering into shop windows. He bought Grandpa a cookery book, Mum an orange woollen scarf. As he crossed the road by the church he caught sight of Grandpa scurrying along, carrying a small fir tree. Nathan hesitated. He could offer to help but that would be the end of the morning on his own. Instead he ducked out of sight and ran down to the waterfront to watch the boats bumbling on the shore.
And then cool fingers seemed to stroke the back of his neck. He spun round.
The girl was walking swiftly past the harbour shops. She wore the same scarlet trousers and black jacket. She was carrying a parcel, her head bent over it. She stopped outside the art shop and vanished inside.
Nathan spurted across the street. He reached the shop and pushed at the door. The bell clanged. A familiar scent wafted towards him: oil paint but with a rougher base, a mix of wood, paper and canvas. Watercolours in boxes stacked in pyramids next to bulging tubes of oil paint. Bristling brushes like baby hamsters peered over the shelves at pencils with tips as sharp as pins.
“Morning, Charlie.”
The voice from the far end of the shop called to Nathan like a bell. He ducked behind a shelf.
“I’ve brought you two more paintings.”
“Rosalie.” A man’s voice, deep, with a rich burr. “Good to see you.”
“Here …” Rustle. “Do you like them? The paint’s hardly dry on that one.”
“Very much.” Chuckle. “I recognise that.”
“I thought you might! … Could you sell them for me?”
“I’ll certainly do my best. Trade’s pretty brisk at the moment, what with Christmas.”
“Thanks, Charlie.” More rustling. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you these watercolours for Christmas.”
“Oh …” Nathan heard the voice catch for a second. “You’re one in a million.”
Nathan inspected a box of chalks as if he were reading the works of Shakespeare. He dared not look round. He listened as the footsteps reached the door. Then he spun round and out of the shop.
The girl had turned right. She walked fast, down the harbour road, her hair bouncing. Her trousers were streaked with paint. Nathan followed, his stomach clenched into a ball of fire.
What am I doing, Banksie? Chasing after a girl!
“Great stuff, Weed. Go for it!”
But what if I catch up with her? What’ll I say?
“Tell her about yesterday, that you went back specially to see her.”
Right. I’m so near I could touch her. If I reach out, I could tap her on the shoulder.
The girl raised her arm suddenly and waved. Two tall fair-haired boys shouted a greeting from the waterfront. She stepped off the pavement and ran towards them.
Nathan stopped. He looked over at the small group, reminded that he had no friends here, jealous of the way they talked and laughed. Downcast, he turned away.
I don’t believe this. So near and yet—
“Yeah, yeah, so far! Come on, Weed, get your act together. Have you still got that ‘for sale’ number?”
Nathan checked the inside of his wrist.
“Right. Now tell me what you’re going to do next.”
I’m going to meet Mum, get her to ring it.
“And just remind me why.”
Because maybe if I can get inside that cottage I can meet that girl. Face to face.
Mum sat by the window of Kathy’s Bar. She waved. Nathan stepped into the scent of freshly ground coffee.
“I bought you a Danish pastry and a Coke,” Mum said. “OK?”
Nathan sat down. “Thanks.”
“When you’ve eaten, I thought we might do some more estate agenting.”
“Yeah.” Nathan straightened his shoulders. “Thing is, I’ve been thinking.”
Mum flushed. “You’re not going to start arguing again, are you? I really couldn’t bear—”
“No, you’ve got it wrong. OK, I didn’t want to move. I am still thinking about it. But the thing is, I found a cottage. On Saturday.”
Mum choked into her coffee. “What?”
“I wasn’t looking for anywhere. I was running and I stopped to catch my breath. There’s a ‘for sale’ note pinned on a wooden post.”
“Well, I’ll be—”
“I haven’t been inside. I kind of like it. I mean, I think it’s worth looking at.”
“I’m gobsmacked.”
>
“The back garden, it probably goes down to the sea. You can’t hear traffic or anything. It’s very quiet.” He bit into the pastry.
“Nathan Fielding, you astonish me. … This ‘for sale’ note, was there a phone number on it? Did you by any chance write it down?”
“I might have done.” He checked the faint blue scribble along the veins of his wrist and read it out. He grinned. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
Mum leapt across the café to the corner phone.
Nathan demolished the pastry and drank the Coke. He stared out of the window, thinking about Rosalie. He knew her name now. It suited her, had a kind of ring about it, like her voice. She might walk by, her hair flying in the wind, her face intent, watchful.
If she did, he’d jump up and race out – and this time, he wasn’t going to let her get away. He’d throw himself in front of her and say he’d tripped. And she’d say, “Hi! Haven’t I seen you before? Of course! You’re the boy in the garden!”
Then he’d ask her how she’d known he’d be there and why he’d been too late? What had he been too late for? Who was that bloke by the cliff? And she’d smile and say, “All in good time,” and they’d walk together down to the waterfront and on to the beach. And then—
“There’s no reply.” Mum slid back into her chair. “I tried twice. Are you sure it’s the right number?”
“I’ve just remembered. The note said ring in the evening.”
Mum’s shoulders sagged. Then they revived. “We could walk there and see the place from the outside.”
“That’s a great idea. Can I drop these parcels at Tregenna?”
Mum stood up, looking young and energetic. “Lead on, explorer.”
They stood at the top of the cul-de-sac.
“There it is, right at the end.” He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice.
“Wow. I see what you mean.”
They walked towards it, stood looking at the front garden. Nathan skimmed the windows. No sign of Rosalie. Perhaps she was still in St Ives.
“It’s a pity we can’t see the back garden,” Mum said. “I wonder what it’s like.”
Girl in the Attic Page 4