Without Looking Back

  ‘Told her what?’ Max was looking daggers at Louis, as if still trying to pretend there was nothing to tell.

  ‘Everything,’ Louis whispered.

  Max turned back to Tess, his eyes widening in horror. She nodded, biting back a sob.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Max stared at Louis. ‘Oh my God, you stupid, stupid idiot—’

  He stepped forward and Louis staggered back, crashing into the saucepan rack.

  ‘Stop it!’ Tess jumped up and stood in front of Max. ‘Stop it – there’s no time to lose, you’ve got to get out of here—!’ She was sobbing, clawing at Max’s arm.

  Max put his arm tightly around her. ‘This is all your fault,’ he hissed at Louis. ‘All your fault. If Dad gets arrested for this, I’ll never forgive you for as long as I live.’

  Louis felt a pain start up at the back of his throat. He looked at Tess. ‘You promised . . .’ was all he could say.

  Tess shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I wrote about it in my diary. And my stupid, snooping mum—!’

  ‘Right, come on, we’ve got to think fast.’ Max gripped the top of Tess’s arms and turned her round to face him. ‘Who knows, exactly?’

  ‘My mum,’ Tess gasped. ‘And she was on the phone to the police when I ran out of the house.’

  Max paled. ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Fifteen, twenty minutes—’

  ‘OK,’ Max said, his voice shaking. ‘It’s all right, we’ve got time. You go home. The police will probably come round and interview you and your mum. You’ve got to try and get the diary off her and burn it. Then you’ve got to tell the police that it was all a lie, that it was just a story you made up for fun, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ Tess gasped and nodded.

  ‘Go now.’

  ‘Max?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Will I ever see you again?’

  ‘Of course,’ Max said. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as we’ve got away. We’ll find a way to keep seeing each other, I promise.’ He kissed her, hard, on the mouth.

  Louis turned away.

  As soon as Tess had left, Max grabbed the phone to call Dad. Louis went in pursuit of Millie, who was running through the house. ‘I have to find Treasure—!’

  ‘You can’t take him, Millie.’

  She turned to him, stricken, her eyes filling with tears. ‘But he’s my cat! I’m not leaving without him!’

  Louis gripped his sister by the arms, fighting to stay calm. ‘Listen, Millie. We can’t go and find Treasure, we haven’t got time. Besides, we’d have to put him in a bag and he’d be really scared. We have to leave now, d’you understand? Otherwise we’re going to get caught and Dad will be arrested. Treasure will be all right. We’ll ask Tess to look after him.’

  Millie screwed up her eyes as if attempting to shut out the world around her.

  ‘Go and put on your shoes,’ he told her. ‘Then wait for me and Max at the front door.’

  Back in the kitchen, Max slammed down the receiver, breathing hard. ‘It keeps going straight to answerphone! Either he’s got no reception or he’s switched the bloody thing off! What the hell are we going to do now?’

  Louis clenched his hands into fists, trying desperately to think. His ears strained for the sound of distant sirens.

  ‘We need to leave the house as quickly as possible,’ he said. ‘The first place the police will look is here.’

  ‘But what about Dad?’

  ‘We’ll find a way of reaching him once we’ve left,’ Louis said. ‘But first we need to try and think of what we need to take. We need a rucksack.’

  They raced upstairs and Max went to get his rucksack while Louis turned Dad’s bedroom upside down. He emptied drawers and cupboards until he found what he was looking for – a shoebox full of passports, papers, ID and other documents. He would just have to pray it was all there. Max ran in with his rucksack and Louis shoved the lot inside and zipped it up. Then he swung it onto his back.

  ‘Anything else?’ Max gasped.

  ‘Can’t think. Let’s go.’

  ‘Dad’s laptop? It might have important stuff on it!’

  ‘Have we got another rucksack?’

  ‘Yours. I’ll get it.’

  Minutes later they were standing outside the farmhouse. Millie had pulled herself together, but her eyes were huge, her face white, terrified. Max locked up the house while Louis scanned the road at the far end of the dirt track for any sign of a police car. ‘Bikes,’ he said. ‘We shouldn’t go down the dirt track – they could cut us off.’

  ‘Up Easedale?’ Max gasped as they ran for the barn.

  ‘Too bare. We’ll be seen. Let’s head for the wood.’

  They grabbed their bikes and set off away from the track, in the opposite direction to the village, across the grass and up the narrow path that snaked its way around the dales. The ferns and bracken were overgrown here, creating a dense green tunnel, but the path was stony and relentlessly uphill. Max led the way and Louis brought up the rear, urging Millie to try and go faster. ‘Come on, Millie! Push, push! Come on, come on, you can do it, I know you can do it!’

  But Millie’s gasps were laced with whimpers and she let out a small, frantic cry whenever the wheel of her bike bounced against a stone. Louis stood up on his pedals to try and get up some speed, the heavy rucksack weighing down his bike as it skidded and slithered over the uneven path. They met a group of hikers, who stood back and watched them shoot past with a look of surprise.

  Millie’s sobs were audible now. ‘I can’t go any further. My legs are hurting so much I’m going to die!’

  ‘Come on!’ Louis said desperately. ‘We’re nearly there, we’re nearly there. Look up – can you see the forest? It’s only another mile . . .’

  ‘I can’t, Louis. I can’t do it. I can’t breathe . . .’

  ‘Keep going, keep going,’ Louis urged her. ‘Max, slow down, for Christ’s sake!’

  As soon as they reached the edge of the wood, the air turned cool, damp and eerily still. The wheels of their bikes juddered over the gnarly roots and twigs, the sound of Millie’s rasping breath magnified in the still air. When Louis and Max decided they had gone in deep enough, they buried their bikes and bags in a tangled clump of undergrowth and looked about wildly for a climbable tree. There weren’t any.

  ‘What about this one?’ Louis panted, pointing.

  ‘No way!’ Max exclaimed.

  ‘I can give you a leg up,’ Louis gasped. ‘You’d be able to reach that lowest branch.’

  ‘S’pose we could try . . .’

  Louis leaned forward, bracing his shoulder against the tree trunk, legs apart, hands on his knees. He felt the sole of Max’s shoe against his spine.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The shoe suddenly became a pillar of weight, crushing down on his back. Louis staggered and heard Max gasp as he grabbed hold of the branch. There was the sound of scrabbling and then the weight disappeared. Louis stood up. Max was straddling the branch, its leaves shaking ominously. He leaned forward to lie on his front and reached a hand down for Millie.

  Millie was shivering, her teeth chattering loudly. ‘I can’t do it, it’s too high,’ she gasped.

  ‘Yes you can,’ Louis said firmly. ‘Stand with your legs apart.’

  She did as she was told and Louis got down on his knees and put his head between her legs. Bracing himself against the tree trunk, he raised himself up onto one knee. Then, with every muscle screaming, he fought his way up to a standing position. With Millie now seated on his shoulders, he swayed for a moment, almost losing his balance, then managed to stagger close enough to the branch so that she was able to reach it with her hands. He shouted at her to stand up on his shoulders and, with Max’s help, she scrambled up.

  Max helped her crawl across the branch and huddle into the fork of the tree. Then he looked down at Louis. ‘How the hell are you going to get up?’

  Louis st
aggered back, craning his neck to look up at them, his knees weak. ‘I’m going to get Dad.’

  ‘How? Where?’

  ‘I’ll cycle into Windermere. You two stay here for half an hour. Then come out of the other side of the wood and go down the hill towards the main road. Dad and I will pick you up at the fork in the road by the church.’

  ‘When exactly?’

  Louis checked his watch. ‘At three o’clock. Start cycling down at quarter to. Wait for us behind the hedgerow beside the church. Find somewhere to ditch the bikes. But whatever you do, don’t forget the rucksacks.’

  Louis bent down to retrieve his bike from the undergrowth.

  ‘Wait,’ Max said. ‘What if you get caught?’

  ‘I won’t,’ Louis said, with a great deal more conviction than he felt.

  ‘Three o’clock then,’ Max said. Suddenly, he looked as frightened as Millie.

  ‘Three o’clock at the church.’ Louis straddled his bike and pushed away.

  Freed from the heavy rucksacks and now on a downhill slope, he was soon able to pick up speed, the wheels of his bike raking up the damp earth. He was afraid of getting lost in the wood, afraid of going round in circles, but knew that if he carried on in a straight line, going in the opposite direction from the way they had come, he would eventually have to emerge from the other side and should find himself above the main road. But time was running out. Perhaps he was already too late. If this had been a normal day, Dad would have gone home by now. But today he had that important presentation . . .

  Erupting from the wood into brilliant sunlight, Louis slammed on his brakes and skidded to a halt. From here, looking out round the curve of the mountain, he could just make out the farmhouse and the thin wisp of dirt track leading up to it. At first the track looked empty, but as Louis’ eyes followed it up towards the farmhouse, he saw something that made him gasp. A car was parked in front. From this distance, he couldn’t make out the markings on the car, but he recognized the small domed shape on the top. It was a police car. Louis felt himself start to shake. How long till the police looked through the kitchen window at the half-eaten pasta and realized they had done a runner? How long till they met the group of hikers coming down from Easedale and asked them whether they had seen three kids running away? How long till the hikers pointed the police in the direction of the wood? Louis looked wildly around him. The hikers’ trail followed the side of the wood and then curved gently downwards towards the bottom of the mountain, but there was no time to follow that route. Here, out of the wood, he was bare and exposed. The police only had to look through a pair of binoculars to see a boy on a bicycle weaving his way down the side of the mountain. No, he had to get down as quickly as possible and disappear amongst the cars that dotted the main road. And the only way to do that was to go straight down the side. The thin curve of grey tarmac stretched out beneath him, snaking its way round the foothills, matchbox cars following it along. He toyed with the idea of sending his bike down on its own and then sliding down after it, but realized that if he broke the bike, the plan was finished. It seemed like the only obvious thing to do was go down the steep grassy mountainside on his bike. But the thought of it made his insides twist and clench with fear.

  He positioned the bike, took a deep breath, and edged the front wheel forward, adrenaline pumping full throttle. One foot skimming the ground for balance, he began his descent, his knuckles white around the brakes. The first fifty metres or so weren’t too bad – the grass was thick and he was able to dig his wheels in and use his foot to take the edge off his speed. He was never fully in control from the start – his descent was too rapid for that – but he could just make out some rocks jutting out from the hillside and he managed to keep them well to his left. Then the ground beneath his wheels began to harden and he could feel himself gathering speed; he tried to hold back, his hands like vices around the brakes, but found himself forced to lean forward just to keep his balance. The earth was growing dryer and looser by the second and it was with a jolt that he realized that very near the surface was solid rock. The wind whipped tears from his eyes and prevented him from drawing breath. There was not much he could do now but concentrate on staying on the bike. His wheels began to bounce against the stones, and he found himself grating his teeth together as the pace seemed to quicken yet further. He was now hurtling down the mountainside out of control, his brakes unable to take the edge off the speed, and all he could do was concentrate on staying upright. It was around this time, as the wind began to howl around him like a trapped animal, that he felt his front wheel lose its grip and begin to slide. He instantly pulled his weight back, trying to prevent a full slide, only to feel the back wheel give in the same way. He concentrated on staying as sideways on as possible, knowing now that a crash-landing was inevitable, and tried to create some drag with his leg to slow his imminent fall.

  With a blinding crack, his elbow met with a piece of rock jutting out from the earth and he was propelled forward and outward so that suddenly his bike was falling out from under him and the world began to whirl. It felt as if he was trapped in a giant washing machine, spinning round with incredible force, the ground coming up to slap him in the face at every turn. The firm knowledge that it would stop soon, that the ground would have to level out eventually, was of surprisingly little comfort. He closed his eyes, forced to submit to the inevitability of his roll, every crack sending shock waves of pain throughout his body and overriding any other sensation he could have possibly felt. It should have all been over in a few seconds, and in real time apparently it was, but his fall down the hillside seemed to last for ever. Something caught him hard above the ear and there seemed to be a moment of complete darkness before something else hit his knee, forcing him to acknowledge consciousness. And when the tumbling finally stopped, it took him by surprise and he thought he must still be rolling, although he could feel he was lying flat on the grass. He kept his eyes closed, teeth clenched, still expecting another hit, but none came. And it seemed he had been lying there for all eternity before he realized he was staring up at a brilliant blue sky.

  It took him an age to get to his feet, and longer still to find his bike. He kept telling himself to hurry, hurry, hurry, but his body seemed to have its own agenda. As he finally recovered his bike and hobbled down to the edge of the road, he saw that he had torn a huge hole in the leg of his jeans, revealing a knee that was raw and bloody. His bare arms stung like crazy, there was something soft and sticky above his eye and his mouth tasted of blood . . . The relief he felt when he discovered his bike was still rideable was quickly replaced by breathtaking pain as he tried to push the pedals round on the smooth tarmac road.

  It took him nearly an hour to ride into Windermere. A car pulled up at the side of the road and his heart almost stopped, but it was just a passer-by leaning out to ask if he was all right. Louis ignored him and pressed on, every push of the pedals sending a blinding pain through his knees. His mouth was dry and gritty, his body was plastered in sweat. And all he could think was I’ve missed him, I’ve missed him, I’ve missed him.

  Outside the shiny modern Donex building in the centre of Windermere, Louis dropped his bike on the pavement, ignoring the horrified stares, and staggered into the lobby. He took the lift to the fourth floor, relieved to find it empty, and leaned dizzily against the smooth gold plaque of buttons, red blotches pulsating in front of his eyes. As the lift doors pinged open, he lurched into the corridor towards the receptionist’s desk.

  ‘I need to see Jonathan Franklin, it’s an emergency . . .’

  A horsy woman in a fitted violet suit stood up and said, ‘Mr Franklin is in a meeting. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll—’

  ‘I need to see him now!’ Louis shouted. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I said he was in a meeting,’ the woman repeated, glancing nervously towards a door on the left. ‘If you could just take a seat, I’ll see whether—’

  Louis ran over to the door the woman had glanced a
t and threw it open. Seated round a long wooden table, a dozen or so men and women in suits were looking at a projection screen, next to which was standing—

  ‘Dad!’

  The suits all turned round. Dad’s mouth dropped open. ‘Louis! My God!’ He moved quickly forwards. ‘What’s happened to you?’ And then he froze.

  ‘We’ve got to go,’ Louis said, his voice shaking. ‘Now.’

  Dad stared at him for a moment longer. Then, suddenly, he snapped into action. Grabbing his briefcase, he muttered something about a family emergency and was propelling Louis back down the corridor. ‘Where are the others?’ he shouted as they ran down the stairs.

  ‘They’re waiting for us! We have to go and pick them up!’

  They raced into the car park, Dad fumbling with the keys. His face was white and Louis could see that his hands were shaking. They slammed into the car and pulled out of the car park with a screeching of tyres.

  ‘Don’t get us stopped, Dad,’ Louis warned him, bracing himself against the dashboard.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Down Whitely Road, to the fork that leads towards Grasmere.’

  As they drove out of Windermere, Dad put his foot down and they raced back the way Louis had come, gobbling up in easy minutes the painful miles he had pedalled. Dad glanced over at him, sweat pearling on his forehead. ‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘How?’

  ‘Tell you later, Dad. Let’s just get the others.’ Louis’ stomach was in knots again. They were over half an hour late.

  ‘Are you all right, son? You’re covered in blood! My God, what on earth happened?’

  ‘I’m all right, Dad,’ Louis said.

  They came to a halt beside the church at the fork in the road and leaped out of the car. There was nothing but the twittering of birds and the distant hum of cars from the motorway. ‘Oh, Christ, they’re not here,’ Louis choked.

  The police car had been by to pick them up. Or else Millie had twisted her ankle jumping down from the tree. Either way, they were finished.

  Dad looked at Louis in horror. Then a voice said, ‘What the hell took you so long?’