The Secret Page 12

  And it was a pity the window was locked, because if it wasn’t he could get in and be a burglar, perhaps. . . . And he did unlock it that time, didn’t he, when he wasn’t supposed to. . . . Did he lock it up, after? Did he even bolt it? He couldn’t remember if he locked it up after; perhaps he forgot, and it was open all the time! Perhaps an angel made him not lock the window up, so he could open it from outside, and climb in. Nicky believed in angels, so it might be true!

  Roy got off the doorstep, and pushed at the lower sash. It moved. He pushed some more. The rain that lashed down was a curtain of water across the street. No one could have seen him from the windows opposite, even if they had been looking. Roy pushed the window right up, and climbed through.

  10

  A new hope

  NICKY WAS WET through. The cloudburst had caught her while she combed the streets looking for Roy, and now she was huddled under a shelter in the bus station, waiting for the rain to stop. Her clothes and her hair were soaked. She considered swapping her wet cardigan for Roy’s dry pullover, but decided not to because she would miss the pullover too much when she had to take it off to give it to Roy. When she found him. Which she was certainly going to do! Even though she seemed to have looked everywhere already – except in the train station, where she was very much afraid to go.

  One place she looked, just before the rain, was up a hill and round into another road. There was a puddle here in one corner, and Nicky had an idea Roy might have made it, but there was no sign of him now. He must be somewhere, though. It was silly to be worried that she hadn’t found him yet; people don’t just disappear, they have to be in some place. She only had to find Roy’s place, that was all.

  The thing was, though, Roy would be so frightened. All alone, and not knowing what to do, he would be just terrified without her. She must find him, even if it meant going back into that horrible station, where the railman with the fast legs was, and the ticket man she bit.

  The day was really dark now, like a little night, almost. Sitting on the pavement, on the bus terminal, Nicky was miserable with cold; and the longer she sat the colder she got, and the more she wanted to go to the toilet as well.

  Would the rain never stop? Nicky watched the buses coming in, and the people who got off them struggling into macs and putting up umbrellas. She watched the people getting on the buses, going home to their nice dry houses and their tea. When she found Roy, they would go home too, she decided.

  She thought about the problem of bus fares. There was the ten pence the lady had given her for the toilet, but that wasn’t enough for one fare, let alone two, and anyway she was going to need it pretty soon. Nicky watched the buses coming in, queuing up one behind the other, waiting to go out again. People got off the back one, and then the bus was empty. After that, sometimes the driver got out of his cabin and searched the bus a bit to see if anything had been left behind; and sometimes he sat in his seat, eating sandwiches. She never saw him go upstairs. The back bus became the middle bus, and then the front bus, and the driver would open the front door to let the new passengers in. But she and Roy couldn’t go in that way, clearly, because the driver would want them to buy a ticket, and they hadn’t enough money. The driver was always very careful, she noticed, to make sure that everybody had a ticket.

  The middle door was the thing, the one the people came out of. She and Roy must push in, while everyone was getting out. They must keep their heads down, and run upstairs – lucky the stairs were just opposite the middle doors – and they must hide right at the front, where the driver wouldn’t see them even if he did come up. They would get home like that, then, after the rain stopped and she found Roy. She felt warmed, and comforted, thinking about it.

  But the rain went on and on, less heavy now but persistent. Nicky began to think she was so wet she couldn’t get any wetter, after all, so she might as well go on with her looking. Besides, she really must go to the toilet in the station, she couldn’t put it off any longer. And while she was there, while she was there, she might as well do that other thing she was scared of, and search the station to see if Roy was inside it, all the time.

  People were beginning to give her funny looks anyway, sitting on the pavement all by herself so long. Nicky made a hideous face at one woman who was staring at her; the woman flushed and turned her head, and Nicky felt quite powerful because she could make the woman do that. She contorted her features again, embarrassing the others who were looking, so she could feel even more powerful, and braver for going into the station, where she didn’t want to go.

  She felt braver anyway, after she had spent the ten pence, though it was a pity having to waste her last bit of money on something so uninteresting! She could have shared it with Roy otherwise, but never mind! She began her round of the station and the first place she looked, of course, was under the ticket office where she had found him before. But he wasn’t there, and he wasn’t in any of the other places this side of the barrier.

  Dared she?

  He might be stuck! All the time she was looking for him outside, perhaps he had got stuck behind the barrier, and didn’t know how to get out. Oh poor Roy, stuck behind the barrier! And look at her, a cowardy custard, too scared to go in and look for him! And she wouldn’t be a cowardy custard, she wouldn’t!

  She inched closer to the barrier, and peeped at the ticket man in the box at Platform eleven. But the ticket man had changed into a ticket lady, which was an encouraging start. She pushed her way on to the platform, just like before, and ran the way Roy had run, and it was easy to get out, easy! She looked in a few cubby-holes, just to make sure, but of course he wasn’t there. Why should he be, when it was so easy to get out of the station?

  Out into the rain once more, then, to search the streets. Up and down, round and round, poking into corners and alleys, trying farther and farther from the station, calling Roy’s name, until her legs dragged, and there was a blister on her heel, and her spirits were right down there in her heels somewhere, with the blister. She was cold from fear, as well as from the rain – exhausted, and finally despairing. She had lost him. She had lost him, and she couldn’t look any more because her legs wouldn’t go any more, and it had to be admitted, she didn’t know what to do!

  A clock on a high building told her the time was nearly half past six. She had been searching for hours, and soon it would be night. She couldn’t stay here all night! The rain had stopped, but there was no sun to dry her clothes, and now she was no longer moving, the chill of the damp evening sank into her bones. She couldn’t think any more, she couldn’t think! She just wanted to be home, and curled up in bed, and going to sleep warm and snug, and forgetting. She would think of something tomorrow. Tomorrow she would think of a way to find Roy. It was terrible to be going home without him, but what else could she do?

  Wearily, Nicky dragged her unwilling legs back to the bus station, and found the queue for the Number 52. Nicky pushed into the bus which was just disgorging its passengers. She kept her head down, so the driver didn’t see her, and the dismounting passengers couldn’t have cared less. With the last of her strength, Nicky scrambled up the stairs and crouched on the floor between the front of the bus and the front seat, until the new passengers started to come in. Then she sat up, and gazed desperately out of the window, hoping against hope that by some miracle he might, even now, come into view.

  The bus was moving. She was leaving him, she was leaving him! He was all alone out there somewhere, cold and hungry and terrified – and she was leaving him! She would have got out then, but her legs would not obey her brain’s command to them to move. Numb with exhaustion, Nicky went on sitting there, while the bus pulled out of the station and began its ponderous journey back to north-west London.

  From her high seat, Nicky saw again all the things which had given her such delight that morning, but this time she saw them without joy. Really and truly, this had been a very bad day indeed. She didn’t think she remembered having a day as bad as this, ever. I
t would be only right if something nice could happen, to end this day. Like, for instance, if Mum had come home all by herself after all. Like, for instance, if Mum was home now, making tea in the kitchen, her bag and her coat and her other things scattered all over the Back Room. It would be only right, if something like that could happen.

  ‘Tickets please!’ said a voice behind her.

  It was the bus Inspector, and instead of something nice, here was something else bad! All the virtuous people who had bought tickets were finding them, and holding them out for the Inspector to inspect. ‘Can I see your ticket please, love?’ said the Inspector to Nicky.

  ‘I think it’s in my pocket,’ said Nicky, pretending to look.

  ‘Hurry up,’ said the Inspector, ‘I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘It must have went on the floor,’ said Nicky, pretending to look there.

  ‘You haven’t got a ticket, have you?’ said the Inspector.

  ‘I lost it,’ said Nicky.

  ‘Do you realize you can be prosecuted for travelling on a bus without a ticket?’ said the Inspector. ‘Had up in Court!’

  ‘Will I go to prison?’ said poor Nicky.

  ‘More than likely,’ said the Inspector, to give her a good fright. ‘So buy a ticket or get off the bus. Now. Before I change my mind and take your name and address.’

  Nicky got off the bus, and shivered as a little wind cut through the wet wool of her cardigan. Her legs were rested a bit, but stiff, as she forced them to follow the bus route another mile and a half. A long, weary, limping mile and a half.

  And she might have known it, she might have known it! The bad things of this day were still not finished because, home at last, there was that awful old Polly Pry, standing outside the house, looking very self-righteous and rather pleased. ‘I’ve been knocking and knocking at your door,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘And ringing. And I can’t get nobody to answer. Isn’t your mother in?’

  Nicky tried to look unconcerned and ordinary, but her knees were strangely wobbly now, and her brain seemed as stiff as her legs. It was quite a hard struggle to think of a lie. In fact, she suddenly thought, she was sick of telling lies. She would like never to have to tell another. ‘Mum’s ill in bed,’ she said. ‘She can’t be bothered answering the door.’

  ‘What about your brother then? Isn’t he in?’

  ‘He’s ill too. They both got the ’flu.’

  ‘In July?’

  ‘Can’t you get the ’flu in July?’

  ‘I never heard of it,’ said Mrs Williams, with a sniff.

  ‘You haven’t heard of everything.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I’ve heard of burglars!’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘What I say. Burglars. Getting in through open windows. And don’t tell me I’m a nosy old bag for having my eyes open!’

  Nicky saw it then; the Front Room window wide open, and the curtains blowing about. Nicky stared at the open window in bewilderment. ‘Mum must have opened it to get some fresh air,’ she said faintly.

  ‘I never see that window open before since your mum come here to live!’

  ‘She opens it sometimes.’

  ‘Well she must have forgot to shut it then. Gone upstairs and forgot it. I know there’s nobody in the Front because . . . well anyway, I know. And she should thank this nosy old bag for noticing. You can’t leave the downstairs windows open these days. Not unless you want to have the burglars in.’

  ‘She must have forgot to shut it,’ said Nicky. ‘Like you said.’ Her head spun. Who had opened the window? Who?

  ‘I was in two minds to call the police,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘In case a burglar got in already.’

  ‘Oh we don’t want the police!’ said Nicky.

  ‘He might have got in while your mum was upstairs in bed. And she never heard him. Us nosy old bags do have their uses, you know.’

  ‘We don’t want the police, though.’

  ‘He might have forced that window anyway, and your mum never opened it at all. Aren’t you scared to go in there? By yourself? In case he’s still there? Where have you been, anyway? You’re soaking wet!’

  ‘Getting the medicine of course. For Mum and Roy. It’s a special medicine for ’flu you get in July. I have to hurry up and give it to them. Excuse me.’

  She was terribly frightened, in fact. She left the front door a little bit open in case she needed to run out; then she stood in the hall listening, her ears strained to catch the slightest sound.

  Silence.

  She peeped into the Front Room. Nothing had been disturbed; no ornaments were missing, no drawers spilled out. Which Mrs Williams must have seen herself, when she came poking and prying and sticking her long nose in. The nasty old thing just wanted to give me a fright, Nicky thought.

  But someone had opened the window.

  The sofa was a bit wet – which was not surprising with all that rain coming in. And there was a cushion on the floor, but the wind might have blown that, she thought. Were those wet footmarks on the carpet?

  Nicky went into the Back Room and the kitchen, and everything was just as they had left it. She went to the front door again and looked out. Mrs Williams had set her heart on getting some excitement out of this occasion, and she stood there still, her eyes gleaming hopefully. ‘Go home!’ Nicky shouted, furiously. ‘Go home, and do your washing up!’

  No burglars, because burglars stole things, and messed things up, and they hadn’t. But someone had opened the window. Of course the window had been closed when they left that morning, of course it had! She would have seen it otherwise, she couldn’t possibly have missed a thing like that!

  So who had opened the window?

  She had better close it, of course, before someone did break in. What happened to the special lock? It had been undone! With the special key! From inside!

  So who had opened the window?

  Mum?

  Nicky’s heart did a little dance. ‘Mum!’ she called. ‘Mum!’ She forced her aching legs up the stairs, treading hard on the blister and not even noticing. She stood in the doorway of Mum’s room, and gazed with shining eyes. ‘Mum!’

  There was no doubt about it. There was someone in Mum’s bed!

  She was only deceived for a moment; the body in the bed was much too small to be Mum’s. She pulled back the cover and there he was! ‘Roy!’

  He had been asleep but he woke up now, and the china-blue eyes filled with tears immediately. ‘Why didn’t you come to find me, at the station?’

  She hugged him until the sobs subsided, rocking him in her arms. ‘I did, I did, I looked for you everywhere!’

  ‘I thought you would f-find me if I stayed still, but you didn’t c-come!’

  ‘I must have not looked in the right place. . . . How did you get home, Roy?’

  ‘I went back in the station, but you weren’t there,’ said Roy, not answering her question.

  ‘Were you frightened?’

  ‘Course I was. . . . I thought you got caught, I thought you got c-caught!’

  ‘Oh, poor Roy!’

  ‘I hurt myself when we come off the train. Look!’

  ‘Oh, poor Roy! I think I know where there’s some plasters.’

  ‘It stings.’

  ‘Never mind. You’re home. You’re home! And I thought I lost you.’

  ‘And I thought I lost you.’

  ‘We thought we lost each other, but we didn’t. . . . How did you get home though, Roy?’

  He turned his head, not answering.

  ‘Well come on, how?’

  ‘I just came.’

  ‘You’re hiding something.’

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘How did you get home, then?’

  ‘How did you?’

  ‘I came on the bus. Some of the way. The Inspector made me walk the rest, because I didn’t have a ticket.’

  ‘That’s the same thing happened to me,’ said Roy.

  ‘The same thing? Really? . . . You’r
e telling a lie!’

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘Yes you are. You couldn’t do the same thing as me, you couldn’t think of it.’

  He turned right round then and lay, twisting his fingers miserably.

  ‘So what happened really?’ said Nicky.

  ‘I got some money,’ he admitted in a small voice.

  ‘What money?’

  ‘Just some money . . . this!’

  ‘Where did that come from? You didn’t steal it, did you?’

  ‘No! It’s mine. It’s my own.’

  Light dawned. ‘You mean it’s your pocket money?’ said Nicky.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were supposed to share that.’

  ‘It’s mine, though,’ said Roy. ‘It’s mine!’

  Nicky was hurt beyond words. ‘You had all this money in your pocket, all the time, and you let me think we were skint?’

  ‘It’s my money.’

  ‘I shared everything with you, Roy. I nearly stole for you, did you know that? I give my best beads to Joycelyn to get some money for you. You didn’t know that, did you? And I only spent the ten pence the lady gave me because I was bursting to go to the toilet.’

  Roy squirmed. His fingers twisted frantically, and he kept swallowing.

  ‘I looked for you everywhere,’ Nicky went on. ‘I nearly killed myself looking for you, do you know that? All round the streets, and I got wore out. And a big blister on my foot, look, so I can’t walk properly!’

  He was ashamed. More ashamed than when he wet the bed. More ashamed than when he couldn’t fight. He buried his face in Mum’s pillow, and held out the money to Nicky, not looking at her.

  ‘Keep it!’ said Nicky, bitterly. ‘I don’t want it.’

  ‘Go on!’

  ‘I don’t want it. It’s yours, you said.’

  ‘I don’t want it neither though. I want it to be for you. I want it to be for you. . . . I want it to be for you!’