‘They’re no good. Fish are what you want to go after,’ he said contemptuously.
He turned his attention to Sophie, who was wading to the bank, shoes in hand, some yards farther up.
‘Who’s she?’ he inquired,
I delayed answering while I put on my shoes. Sophie had disappeared into the bushes now.
‘Who is she?’ he repeated. ‘She’s not one of the -‘ He broke off suddenly. I looked up and saw that he was staring down at something beside me. I turned quickly. On the flat rock was a footprint, still undried. Sophie had rested one foot there as she bent over to tip her catch into the jar. The mark was still damp enough to show the print of all six toes clearly. I kicked over the jar. A cascade of water and struggling shrimps poured down the rock, obliterating the footprint, but I knew, with a sickly feeling, that the harm had been done.
‘ Ho!’ said Alan, and there was a gleam in his eye that I did not like. ‘Who is she?’ he demanded again.
‘She’s a friend of mine,’ I told him.
‘What’s her name?’
I did not answer that.
‘Huh, I’ll soon find out, anyway,’ he said with a grin.
‘ It’s no business of yours,’ I told him.
He took no notice of that; he had turned and was standing looking along the bank towards the point where Sophie had disappeared into the bushes.
I ran up the stone and flung myself on him. He was bigger than I was, but it took him by surprise, and we went down together in a whirl of arms and legs. All I knew of fighting was what I had learnt from a few sharp scuffles. I simply hit out, and did my furious best. My intention was to gain a few minutes for Sophie to put her shoes on and hide; if she had a little start, he would never be able to find her, as I knew from experience. Then he recovered from his first surprise and got in a couple of blows on my face which made me forget about Sophie and sent me at it, tooth and nail, on my own account.
We rolled back and forth on a patch of turf. I kept on hitting and struggling furiously, but his weight started to tell. He began to feel more sure of himself, and I, more futile. However, I had gained something: I’d stopped him going after Sophie straight away. Gradually he got the upper hand, presently he was sitting astride of me, pummelling me as I squirmed. I kicked out and struggled, but there wasn’t much I could do but raise my arms to protect my head. Then, suddenly, there was a yelp of anguish, and the blows ceased. He flopped down on top of me. I heaved him off, and sat up to see Sophie standing there with a large rough stone in her hand.
‘I hit him,’ she said proudly, and with a touch of wonderment. ‘Do you think he’s dead?’
Hit him she certainly had. He lay white-faced and still, with the blood trickling down his cheek, but he was breathing all right, so he certainly wasn’t dead.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Sophie in sudden reaction, and dropped the stone.
We looked at Alan, and then at one another. Both of us, I think, had the impulse to do something for him, but we were afraid.
‘No one must ever know. No one!’ Mrs Wender had said, so intensely. And now this boy did know. It frightened us.
I got up. I reached for Sophie’s hand and pulled her away.
‘ Come along,’ I told her urgently.
John Wender listened carefully and patiently while we told him about it.
‘You’re quite sure he saw? It wasn’t simply that he was curious because Sophie was a stranger?’ he asked at the end.
‘No,’ I said. ‘He saw the footmark; that’s why he wanted to catch her.’
He nodded slowly.
‘I see,’ he said, and I was surprised how calmly he said it.
He looked steadily at our faces. Sophie’s eyes were big with a mixture of alarm and excitement. Mine must have been pink-rimmed, with dirty smears trailing from them. He turned his head and met his wife’s gaze steadily.
‘ I’m afraid it’s come, my dear. This is it,’ he said.
‘ Oh, Johnny -‘ Mrs Wender’s face was pale and distressed.
‘ Sorry, Martie, but it is, you know. We knew it had to come sooner or later. Thank God it’s happened while I’m here. How long will it take you to be ready?’
‘ Not long, Johnny. I’ve kept things nearly ready, always.’
‘ Good. Let’s get busy, then.’
He got up and went round the table to her. He put his arms round her, bent down and kissed her. Tears stood in her eyes.
‘Oh, Johnny dear. Why are you so sweet to me, when all I’ve brought you is – ?’ He stopped that with another kiss.
They looked steadily into one another’s eyes for a moment, then, without a word, they both turned to look at Sophie.
Mrs Wender became her usual self again. She went briskly to a cupboard, took out some food, and put it on the table.
‘Wash first, you dirty things,’ she told us. ‘ Then eat this up. Every bit of it.’
While I washed I put the question I had wanted to ask often before.
‘ Mrs Wender, if it’s just Sophie’s toes, couldn’t you have cut them off when she was a little baby? I don’t expect it would have hurt her much then, and nobody need have known.’
‘ There’d have been marks, David, and when people saw them they’d know why. Now hurry up and eat that supper,’ she told me, and went busily off into the other room,
‘We’re going away,’ Sophie confided to me presently, through a mouthful of pie.
‘ Going away?’ I repeated blankly.
She nodded.’ Mummy said we’d have to go if anybody ever found out. We nearly did when you saw them.’
‘But – you mean, right away? Never come back?’ I asked in dismay.
‘Yes, I think so.’
I had been hungry, but I suddenly lost my appetite. I sat fiddling with the food on my plate. The sounds of bustling and bumping elsewhere in the house took on an ominous quality. I looked across the table at Sophie. In my throat there was a lump that wouldn’t be swallowed.
‘Where?’ I asked, unhappily.
‘ I don’t know – a long way, though,’ she told me.
We sat on. Sophie prattled between mouthfuls; I found it hard to swallow because of the lump. Everything was abruptly bleak to the horizon, and beyond. Nothing, I knew, was going to be quite the same ever again. The desolation of the prospect engulfed me. I had to struggle hard to keep back tears.
Mrs Wender brought in a series of satchels and packs. I watched glumly as she dumped them close to the door, and went away again. Mr Wender came in from outside and collected some of them. Mrs Wender reappeared and took Sophie away into the other room. The next time Mr Wender came for some more of the packs I followed him out.
The two horses, Spot and Sandy, were standing there patiently with some bundles already strapped on to them. I was surprised not to see the cart, and said so.
John Wender shook his head.
‘A cart keeps you to the tracks; with pack-horses you go where you like,’ he told me.
I watched him strapping more bundles on while I gathered courage.
‘Mr Wender,’ I said, ‘please can’t I come too?’
He stopped what he was doing, and turned to look at me. We faced one another for some moments, then slowly, regretfully, he shook his head. He must have seen that tears were close behind my eyes, for he put his hand on my shoulder and let it rest there.
‘Come along inside, Davie,’ he said, leading the way back to the house.
Mrs Wender was back in the living-room, standing in the middle of the floor, and looking round, as if for things forgotten.
‘He wants to come with us, Martie,’ said Mr Wender.
She sat down on a stool, and held her arms out to me. I went to her, unable to speak. Looking over my head, she said:
‘Oh, Johnny. That awful father! I’m afraid for him.’
Close to her like that I could catch her thoughts. They came faster, but easier to understand, than words. I knew how she felt, how she genuinely wished I could go with them, how she leapt on, without examining the reasons, to knowing that I could not and must not go with them. I had the complete answer before John Wender had put the first sentence of his reply into ordinary words.
‘ I know, Martie. But it’s Sophie I’m afraid for – and you. If we were to be caught we’d be charged with kidnapping as well as concealment. . ..’