‘Where do we go? Everyone we’ve spoken to says sit tight.’
‘Why would he jump off the roof like that? I keep turning it over and over. There’s something going on – we can’t just sit here.’
Mr Westlake stood up. ‘Where do you want to go? We’ll go anywhere you say.’
‘Why did we even consider it?’
Mr Westlake was silent. ‘We had to,’ he said at last.
‘I’ll never forgive myself. If we don’t get him home, Frank, just as he was, I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘They’re together, still. They’ll keep each other safe.’
Mrs Westlake turned to the window. ‘He’s going to the sea,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, but I can feel it in my bones. There’s a lighthouse – he’s going to that, I’m sure of it. It’s where Dad was, years ago.’
‘Let’s get a map. I’ll call us a cab – we can go into the town and get the things we need. Is that what’s best?’
‘Yes.’ The rain lashed the glass, but the grey surf was visible, just beyond the beach. Mrs Westlake gazed into space. ‘He’ll make for the sea,’ she said again. ‘I can feel it, stronger than ever.’ She felt the tears in her eyes again. ‘We’re going to need a boat, Frank – or we’re going to need to find someone with a boat . . . When he jumped off the roof, he wasn’t trying to kill himself. I know he wasn’t.’
She stopped.
‘What was he doing, love?’ said her husband. He put his arms round her. ‘Say it. Say what you feel.’
‘This is going to sound so stupid. But we haven’t dealt with it! He didn’t want to die. When I had that boy, he wanted life, and he thought he had wings. He wanted to just . . . fly away. Is that so stupid?’
‘No. I know what you mean.’
‘He wants his grandad.’
‘We should never have moved things. We should have waited.’
‘We had to make changes. Richard understood that—’
‘I’m not so sure. What does talking do? We should have waited much, much longer. He’s still in there, isn’t he? It’s his house, still, and he loved that boy more than . . . Oh, Lord, if I feel it, then Richard must be . . . he must have been in torment.’
Mrs Westlake wiped her eyes. Her husband could feel her heart beating. ‘Frank,’ she said quietly.
‘What?’
‘It was a year ago that he died. A year ago today.’
Mr Westlake felt his throat tighten, and a chill rose up through his body. For a moment he felt the old man watching, and though he knew that was ridiculous, he caught a whiff of pipe smoke. There was a flicker in the wardrobe mirror, and he found himself turning to look. It was gone at once, but the smell lingered. He held his wife harder.
A year ago, they had rushed to the hospital. His wife had got there just before him and was with Richard by the time he arrived. The old man had passed, and he heard the whole horrible story while holding Richard in his arms. His brave son, who’d tried so hard and was now carrying something too awful to bear, and so heavy it was crushing the life out of him.
Mr Westlake blinked, and kissed his wife. Then he turned and picked up the telephone. ‘I’ll call a cab,’ he said. His voice was shaking. ‘He needs us more than ever, doesn’t he? I don’t trust them. I trust my son – that’s who I trust.’
‘We’re going to need a boat,’ said his wife. ‘But I don’t know why.’
CHAPTER SIX
The commando unit was split into eight small squadrons. The soldiers dressed for ‘extreme conditions’, and all weapons were stripped down and oiled. Radios were tested, and a convoy of trucks took them through driving rain towards the mountain.
Unaware of this, Eric supervised breakfast. He made tea from spruce leaves, assuring everyone it would keep off scurvy. Mark checked the rabbit-snares and found that two had been successful. Eric’s book was coming apart in his hands, but he held it open as Salome did the cutting and gutting. Soon the thin, pink bodies were turning over the fire, while Jeff made coffee. They still had some bread rolls, so they chewed rabbit-burgers, and finished the baked beans.
They buried their rubbish, and struck camp. Within an hour they’d found the stream Mr Barlow remembered, and they all split up to find timber for a raft. The rain came down in a steady monsoon. Rikki and Richard had insisted on returning their coat to Jeff, so they were wrapped in a spare pak-a-mac Mr Barlow had salvaged from the bicycle he’d stolen.
Eric checked Chapter Five, and lashed the raft-spars. They carried the finished item downstream, and soon they came to a possible launching point. This river, of course, had spent the night absorbing gallons of water from the mountain, and had burst its banks to become a raging torrent. Everyone squatted in a mist of spray, and it wasn’t easy to speak over the roar. According to Nailhead, the main thing was to have an edging of rope all the way round the raft, which they could cling to with hands and ankles. Bags would all be strapped to their bodies and steering would be out of the question. The depth meant that they’d be safe from rocks, or so they hoped – they would trust to the physics of water.
The launch was frighteningly sudden. They clambered aboard by forming a human chain, and there was no going back. The last man let go, and a swirl of water took the raft out into midstream. There, the current simply lifted it and shot them forward like a missile.
The children screamed, clinging on for dear life. In seconds, they were plunging down the valley in clouds of foam, the granite whipping past as the water curled and bulged. At last they were spat right through the air, and they thought the raft would split – they felt rocks under them, but they were now going so fast they simply skimmed over the top. Somehow the knots held, and they hit a great elbow of white water where they were turned three times in a full circle, before bobbing on again. The water became brown, and widened out, and eventually they slowed to a brisk, steady sailing. Mr Barlow pointed out two herons and a cormorant.
They came to a sandy bank under a great shelf of yellow stone, and they used a loose pole to ease themselves towards it. They clambered up onto a dry platform and held each other, laughing – astonished that there were no broken bones.
‘And there she is,’ panted Mr Barlow. ‘Steeper than ever. The Devil’s Chimney.’
They all looked up at a jagged crevice, rising vertically into mist and forest.
‘The thing about this kind of climb,’ the teacher continued, ‘is that it looks harder than it is. We’re not exposed, so we won’t get blown off. The rock’s actually quite dry, because of the natural shelter of the walls. So as long as we keep our heads and work together, I don’t see a problem. Does anyone see a snag?’
Nobody did, so the ropes were salvaged from the raft. Aparna revealed that she’d done a bit of climbing in the Hindu Kush, with her uncles. She supervised the tying of the belay that would keep them in line. Salome was the strongest, and was a regular at her community centre’s indoor climbing wall. She went first, therefore, and was soon looping off at appropriate intervals as the rest of the party followed her. They paused every twenty metres or so and gazed out at the cloud.
Every minute, the world changed. Cloud was nudging down the valley, billowing over the river. Cloud was coming up the chimney, almost between their legs. Cloud was also skudding over their heads, sliding down upon them like a great grey lid. There was moisture everywhere – for the whole mountain seemed saturated – but they felt dry inside their waterproofs, and even warm. Now and then the sun would find a hole to peer through, as if it was checking they were still together. Then a blast of thunder would send everything swirling again, and there was the occasional crackle of thin, cruel lightning.
Jeff laughed. They were balanced together on a narrow ledge, getting their breath back after a particularly tough stretch.
‘What’s funny?’ said Richard.
‘Do you remember the scholarship exam?’ he said. ‘Question seven: Write about an experience of nature.’
‘I didn’t do that,’ said Salome. ‘I’d
never really had one.’
‘I missed that whole section,’ said Mark.
‘I wrote a poem,’ said Richard. ‘God, it was bad.’
‘Do not look for me, God,’ said Mr Barlow in a deep voice:
‘For I will look for thee.
The mountains are our home,
And everything we own, is given up for free.’
‘Nice,’ said Rikki. ‘What does it mean?’
‘I was never sure,’ said Mr Barlow. ‘It’s Walt Whitman, or someone like him. Very mystical.’
Mark said, ‘I’d be a teacher if it wasn’t for that boring stuff.’
‘Poetry?’ said Jeff.
‘Yeah. So dull.’
‘There’s nothing boring about teaching,’ said Mr Barlow. ‘But I’m afraid I was a very boring teacher.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Aparna.
‘Oh, he could be,’ said Salome. ‘Remember Great Expectations? . . . That is the only time I ever actually fell asleep in the classroom.’
‘I fell asleep a lot,’ said Eric. ‘But then I wasn’t sleeping at home.’
‘I liked school,’ said Jeff. ‘But next year I’m going to start rebelling.’
‘Mr Barlow,’ said Rikki. ‘Did you notice how we used to call you “Bra-low”?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you notice all the spit jokes?’ said Eric.
‘I’m afraid I did.’
Mark shook his head. ‘What were we doing? I feel so bad!’
Salome said, ‘You should have screamed at us. You should have . . . battered us.’
‘I should have laughed,’ said Mr Barlow. ‘That’s what I should have done.’ He smiled and hauled himself upright. ‘And that’s what I shall do from now on, I hasten to add. I’m going to spend a lot more time laughing. This world is too wonderful. We have another two hours at least, by the way – and then it’s uphill walking.’
‘Did you deliberately choose the hardest way up?’ said Aparna.
‘No,’ said Mr Barlow. ‘It was the one my old patrol leader chose. Of course, he may have chosen the hardest way up – he had a lot to prove, as I remember. There may well be easier ways, but . . .’ He beamed at Aparna. ‘Would you want the easy way?’
‘No. Yes.’
‘You can see the sea from the top, you know. And the Kiduggan Lighthouse.’
Aparna nodded. ‘I do know. You see, this is what I painted.’
‘When?’
‘Icarus,’ she said. ‘It’s what Icarus saw. Isn’t it?’
Mr Barlow was right.
After two more hours of strenuous climbing, they came out of the chimney into a bulge of thick forest. There were no paths, but Jeff and Eric took compass bearings and led the party onwards and upwards, for the mountain peak appeared and disappeared. Around mid-afternoon – just as they came to the edge of the trees – they heard an engine.
They crouched down and froze.
A helicopter puttered overhead, coming in low. Eric waved them back, and they retreated. Soon the noise was deafening – it seemed as if the craft was just above the treetops. It lingered, and hunted. It moved left then right. They all peered up, but nothing was visible. Eventually – after several breathless minutes – it moved on and the children, and Mr Barlow, relaxed.
‘They’re on to us,’ said Rikki.
Salome slipped her arm round him. ‘They’re not going to get you. Don’t worry.’
‘It’s good they’ve looked around here,’ said Eric. ‘It means they’ll move on somewhere else. It was an Army helicopter, wasn’t it?’
‘Should we stay in the wood?’ said Aparna.
‘No,’ said Jeff. ‘I think Eric’s right. If they’ve got a whole mountain to cover, then they can tick this bit off, and go elsewhere. I think we keep going.’
‘Where to, though?’ said Mark. It was clear he was getting tired.
They looked beyond the forest, to a cliff of grey rising up to another wedge of cloud.
‘I want to get to the top of that,’ said Rikki.
‘You have to,’ said Aparna.
‘We won’t get up tonight,’ said Richard. ‘We’ll have to camp at the base. How long to get there?’
‘It’s going to be hard work,’ said Eric, ‘but I’d say three hours. Everyone warm enough?’
‘No,’ said Jeff. ‘I’ve lost a glove. My hand’s like ice.’
‘Use these,’ said Mr Barlow, stripping off his own. ‘Go on, Jeff, do as I say. I’m warm as toast.’
They took another compass bearing, in case the mist came down again, and set off. In a short while the rain was horizontal, so they trudged close together, listening for the return of the aircraft. They felt the weather was on their side, for the worse the visibility got the more likely it was that the pilot would be forced to give up.
It was Rikki who started singing:
‘One more step along the world I go!’
He sang out in the rain, and Salome kept the beat on his shoulders. Mr Barlow took up the chant, and sang lustily – it was the hymn Aparna had so often played at the end of assembly. They plunged through the deluge, shouting the words like a football song:
‘One more step along the world I go!
One more step along the world I go!
From the old things, to the new –
Keep! – me travelling along – With! You!’
The chorus became a war song, and they roared it together:
‘And it’s fro-om! The old! I travel to the new! Yes!
Keep. Me! Trav-ell-ing! Along. With. You!’
They got to the cliff face, breathless, exhausted, but laughing. They leaned back and looked up at the lightning. The cloud was pouring down, thick as smoke, and the thunder couldn’t keep up with the jagged forks that sprang through it – north, south, east and west.
‘One hour,’ shouted Eric. ‘One more at the most!’
‘An hour of what, though?’ yelled Mark.
‘Before the end of the world!’ cried Richard.
Eric called back, ‘One more hour of daylight. Not that it’s . . . very bright, I know. I say we dig in. At the back of these rocks. We don’t have much light left.’
‘You do the snares,’ shouted Salome. ‘We can get the tent up.’
‘I’ll do the fire,’ yelled Mark. ‘How deep do I go for a firepit, huh? I’m cold, man.’
‘I’ll help you,’ said Rikki. ‘Let’s check the book.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Darkness fell, and the soldiers inched closer.
The children began a slow stir-fry, stirring the last of the rabbit into the vegetables. Aparna had brought tinned spinach, sweetcorn and a bag of lentils. They kept adding water, and the food kept thickening. After three quarters of an hour they had a huge pan of the sweetest-smelling stew they’d ever tasted.
‘You don’t eat meat,’ said Jeff suddenly.
‘Who doesn’t?’ said Mark. He was happy again, for the tent was warm. His long arms hugged his knees.
‘Aparna! She’s a vegetarian.’
‘Not today,’ said Aparna. ‘I can’t be – and I wasn’t yesterday.’
‘I thought it was a religious thing,’ said Salome. ‘Can you just . . . take a break when you want?’
‘I just decided there wasn’t much choice,’ said Aparna.
‘But you’re not going to throw up, are you?’ said Richard. ‘It must taste pretty disgusting – if you only do vegetables.’
Aparna smiled. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘It’s a bit like banana.’
‘Look, Aparna—’ said Rikki.
‘Here we go,’ interrupted Jeff. ‘Get ready.’
‘No, listen. I don’t want to be a bore, but we were arguing about this yesterday. Who smashed up that picture of yours? Because Richard thinks it was me, and I think it was Richard – and probably everyone thinks it was one of us. But it wasn’t.’
‘I still think it was Mr Barlow,’ said Eric. ‘He’s the real villain.’
Everyone laughed.
‘It could have been any kid,’ said Salome. ‘If Rikki and Richard say they didn’t do it, we ought to believe them.’
‘But I know,’ said Aparna. ‘It was me.’
The laughter stopped. Then Mark sniggered, and said, ‘Huh?’
‘How was it you?’ said Richard.
Jeff grinned. ‘She’s just trying to make everyone feel better . . .’
‘What do you mean?’ said Richard. ‘Let her speak.’
‘I think the girl’s serious,’ said Salome. ‘Are you serious, Aparna – or are you joking with us?’
Eric said, ‘That was about the nicest picture in the world. You won a prize for it. Everyone says you’re going to be an artist, if you’re not a dancer, if you’re not a lawyer. And you’re saying you smashed the glass and wrote all over it?’
‘Did you see what was written on it?’ said Mark.
‘Yes,’ said Jeff. ‘The word Rikki likes so much. It wasn’t you, Aparna – that’s crazy!’
‘I’d had enough of it,’ said Aparna softly. She stirred the meal. Mr Barlow made the hot chocolate, as quietly as he could. The hurricane above suddenly lashed at the tent-skin extra hard, and they heard the guy ropes groan. Jeff turned his torch off, and the only light was from the fire in the hole below, and a candle on the ledge. Nobody spoke, and the wind set up a high, sighing moan.
‘Tell them why,’ said Mr Barlow.
‘I don’t know if I can,’ said Aparna. ‘I’d just had enough of it, and I’d had enough of me. I wanted to get Rikki expelled, of course. I knew if I smashed it up everyone would think it was him, and I . . . I’m afraid I hated you, Rikki. Richard. I hated you so much I wanted to kill you. It was me that did all that to your locker too, and messed up your books. I stole all the planes. I cut up the wings-badge because I knew you loved it.’
‘What wings?’ said Salome.
‘What did you do to his locker?’ said Eric. ‘I’m not understanding this at all.’
‘We didn’t tell anyone,’ said Richard. ‘We didn’t know what to do, and—’
‘We didn’t have time,’ said Rikki. He looked around at the faces. ‘Someone threw stuff in our locker. Trashed it, tore everything up . . . I didn’t think it was you, Aparna, but . . . I’m so glad it was.’