going to get nuked over that one.’
‘Suez crisis?’ echoed Freddy.
‘Yeah—you know … when the Egyptians grabbed the Suez canal and the Russians sided with them and everyone thought …’ Ben tailed off and glanced at Uncle Jerome.
‘That was in the November ,’ he said. ‘Freddy and Pauline disappeared in the spring of that year … May or June, I think it was.’
‘I don’t care about some rotten old canal!’ burst out Polly. ‘What about Father? What about him ? If it was his blood on the floor—what—what happened to him? Someone must have attacked him! What—what if—?’ She put her hands over her eyes and shook her head. ‘No! No—this can’t be real. It can’t be!’ Suddenly she ran out of the kitchen and back down the hallway, shouting: ‘Father! Father! Daddy—oh, Daddy! Make it stop! Make them all stop and come back! Come back !’ She flung open the front door, fought her way past the wisteria and out into the garden and ran.
Freddy raced out after her and the rest of them followed. Rachel felt her heart contract with sorrow for Polly as she heard the girl stumbling and slipping back down through the wet garden shouting ‘Daddy! Daddy! Come back!’ over and over again. Eventually they found her, crouched, hugging her knees, in the damp little cave space which had been beaten into the rhododendron bushes on the bank by years of den making. Tears streamed down her face.
Freddy gave her a hug. ‘Come on, old girl,’ he said. ‘It’ll be all right. It’ll be all right … I mean, at least we’ve still got family, eh? Even if one of them is the oldest nephew in living history …’
Uncle Jerome followed Ben and Rachel into the tight, leafy cave, hanging awkwardly from a slippery green branch. ‘Yes, quite right too, Freddy. You and Polly will be fine with us. You’ll stay here with us and we’ll look after you. And I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to find out what happened to your father. And imagine! You’re fifty-three years in the future— all kinds of things for you to see and experience! Ben and Rachel will be your guides and keep you safe. What an amazing thing! What a challenge!’
‘Yes—that’s right. It’s a challenge,’ said Freddy, briskly, as Polly wiped her eyes, sniffed and nodded. He nodded too and added, robustly: ‘Eat my shorts!’
‘I hope you don’t mind sharing,’ said Rachel as she showed Polly into her bedroom, which was at the front of Darkwood House, overlooking the driveway and the five-bar gate that led out onto the lane. ‘There are other rooms but they’re a bit dusty and old. There’s a spare bed that comes out from under mine—it’s really nice,’ she explained, pulling out the red mattress on a low frame on little wheels. ‘I’ve used it for sleep-overs and it’s comfy.’
Polly gazed all around her. She said nothing. Rachel’s heart suddenly thudded with realization. ‘Oh … was this your room, before?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Polly.
‘I’m sorry. It must be really weird seeing all my stuff in it.’ Rachel glanced around at her books and stuffed toys and clothes and teen dolls, all mixed up with magazines and CDs for her mini sound system, her digital camera, the fibre optic lamp in the corner and the yellow bead blinds that hung over the high sash window, matching the lemon paint on her walls and the duvet cover on her high pine cabin bed. She saw it with different eyes now. ‘What was it like in nineteen—I mean—yesterday?’
‘It was green,’ said Polly, softly, her eyes travelling the walls. ‘Wavy green leaves on the wallpaper and cream paint on the ceiling.’ She glanced up to the white ceiling which had yellow and orange stars randomly painted on it, at the yellow glass bead lamp-shade over the light, and then across to the window. ‘With a dressing table there—by the sash—a glass topped one. I had a silver-backed brush and comb set on it and a mirror on a stand. And a pot of
‘Suez crisis?’ echoed Freddy.
‘Yeah—you know … when the Egyptians grabbed the Suez canal and the Russians sided with them and everyone thought …’ Ben tailed off and glanced at Uncle Jerome.
‘That was in the November ,’ he said. ‘Freddy and Pauline disappeared in the spring of that year … May or June, I think it was.’
‘I don’t care about some rotten old canal!’ burst out Polly. ‘What about Father? What about him ? If it was his blood on the floor—what—what happened to him? Someone must have attacked him! What—what if—?’ She put her hands over her eyes and shook her head. ‘No! No—this can’t be real. It can’t be!’ Suddenly she ran out of the kitchen and back down the hallway, shouting: ‘Father! Father! Daddy—oh, Daddy! Make it stop! Make them all stop and come back! Come back !’ She flung open the front door, fought her way past the wisteria and out into the garden and ran.
Freddy raced out after her and the rest of them followed. Rachel felt her heart contract with sorrow for Polly as she heard the girl stumbling and slipping back down through the wet garden shouting ‘Daddy! Daddy! Come back!’ over and over again. Eventually they found her, crouched, hugging her knees, in the damp little cave space which had been beaten into the rhododendron bushes on the bank by years of den making. Tears streamed down her face.
Freddy gave her a hug. ‘Come on, old girl,’ he said. ‘It’ll be all right. It’ll be all right … I mean, at least we’ve still got family, eh? Even if one of them is the oldest nephew in living history …’
Uncle Jerome followed Ben and Rachel into the tight, leafy cave, hanging awkwardly from a slippery green branch. ‘Yes, quite right too, Freddy. You and Polly will be fine with us. You’ll stay here with us and we’ll look after you. And I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to find out what happened to your father. And imagine! You’re fifty-three years in the future— all kinds of things for you to see and experience! Ben and Rachel will be your guides and keep you safe. What an amazing thing! What a challenge!’
‘Yes—that’s right. It’s a challenge,’ said Freddy, briskly, as Polly wiped her eyes, sniffed and nodded. He nodded too and added, robustly: ‘Eat my shorts!’
‘I hope you don’t mind sharing,’ said Rachel as she showed Polly into her bedroom, which was at the front of Darkwood House, overlooking the driveway and the five-bar gate that led out onto the lane. ‘There are other rooms but they’re a bit dusty and old. There’s a spare bed that comes out from under mine—it’s really nice,’ she explained, pulling out the red mattress on a low frame on little wheels. ‘I’ve used it for sleep-overs and it’s comfy.’
Polly gazed all around her. She said nothing. Rachel’s heart suddenly thudded with realization. ‘Oh … was this your room, before?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Polly.
‘I’m sorry. It must be really weird seeing all my stuff in it.’ Rachel glanced around at her books and stuffed toys and clothes and teen dolls, all mixed up with magazines and CDs for her mini sound system, her digital camera, the fibre optic lamp in the corner and the yellow bead blinds that hung over the high sash window, matching the lemon paint on her walls and the duvet cover on her high pine cabin bed. She saw it with different eyes now. ‘What was it like in nineteen—I mean—yesterday?’
‘It was green,’ said Polly, softly, her eyes travelling the walls. ‘Wavy green leaves on the wallpaper and cream paint on the ceiling.’ She glanced up to the white ceiling which had yellow and orange stars randomly painted on it, at the yellow glass bead lamp-shade over the light, and then across to the window. ‘With a dressing table there—by the sash—a glass topped one. I had a silver-backed brush and comb set on it and a mirror on a stand. And a pot of
Similar Books
