Read Online Loss of Separation by Conrad Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Conrad Williams
Tags: Horror
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and cleaned the blade. I was grateful that he didn't pry, didn't ask my what was wrong. He was old enough to know, to understand. Something to do with his own father, perhaps. Something to do with Gordon.
'We were up north. In Cumbria for some reason. Visiting relatives, maybe. Maybe just a drive to the Lakes. I don't know. It was winter. I was, what? I was maybe four or five years old. There had been a heavy snowfall. On the way back I needed the toilet, so he took me to a park he knew. We were in south Manchester, close to the airport. This park... I can't remember its name. There was a frozen duck pond and a play area. And a café overlooking large gardens with a massive tree in the middle of it. It was misty and sunny at the same time, you know? Weird, but beautiful weather.
'There were kids sledging down the slope towards the tree. My dad must have felt sorry for me - we didn't have a toboggan - so he nipped into the café and came back with a black plastic bin bag. It worked, kind of... but it didn't matter. I was having fun with Dad and it was a great day. But then there was this noise. Big, big noise. I was scared. But I couldn't run to Dad because I was on the bag and I was sliding down the incline. It sounded like the world was shattering. Thunderous. Getting bigger, closer all the time.
'And right at the moment when the bag stopped sliding, I fell back against the snow and looked up at this golden mist, and a shadow passed through it. Huge. Like a shark. And the roar was on top of me. And I remember reaching for it, as if I might be able to just grab it out of the cloud like a toy. Suddenly I wasn't scared any more. I was shaking, but it was from excitement, not fear. Dad thought I was having some kind of panic attack. All I could talk about from then on was aeroplanes. They became my world. I was such a jet nerd after that. All I ever wanted to do was go to air shows or visit the viewing platforms at Heathrow. My bedroom was filled with plastic models.'
Charlie was still inspecting his knife. He seemed unimpressed. And why should he be? It was my thrill, my passion. I probably sounded like a complete arse to him.
'Anyway,' I said, 'flying... it's pretty straightforward. It's just physics. It's just lift and thrust.'
'And crash, far as I can see it.'
I kept my mouth shut. I could have quoted the facts and figures, how, if you had been born on an aeroplane and lived on board 24 hours a day, the likelihood was that it would take over a hundred years before you were involved in a fatal accident. But there was no point with Charlie. There were some who flew their entire lives - the front-seat people, the tea-and-coffee chuckers, the self-loading baggage - and the worst that happened was the occasional hard landing, or a prolonged bout of heavy turbulence. I could tell him we were far more likely to die on his boat, but I didn't want to start a fight.
'These wrecks,' I said. 'From the world wars?'
'Yep. There's about 150 off these shores alone. And from the battle of Winter Bay, y'still get stuff cropping up even now. Y'know, cannonball, and the like.'
'Winter Bay,' I said, nodding. 'Sixteen seventy-two?'
'That'll be the one.'
'I saw something about that the other day. Something about children.'
'Children?'
'Yes. Someone had written in a book. Scribbled on the back pages about children. About suffering. Something took them.'
'Took?'
I waited for a moment, but Charlie was obviously struggling past one-word statements. I said, 'I'll dig it out when we get back. Do you know what it means?'
He shook his head. 'Bit 'fore my time, Winter Bay.'
I wasn't convinced. He knew Southwick inside out, possibly better than anyone living in the village.
'Are you superstitious, Charlie?' I asked.
'O' course,' he said, and for a moment I thought his face might collapse. I wondered if his superstitions were tied up with Gordon. I wondered if he refused to come to sea without a photograph of his little boy in his wallet.
'We were up north. In Cumbria for some reason. Visiting relatives, maybe. Maybe just a drive to the Lakes. I don't know. It was winter. I was, what? I was maybe four or five years old. There had been a heavy snowfall. On the way back I needed the toilet, so he took me to a park he knew. We were in south Manchester, close to the airport. This park... I can't remember its name. There was a frozen duck pond and a play area. And a café overlooking large gardens with a massive tree in the middle of it. It was misty and sunny at the same time, you know? Weird, but beautiful weather.
'There were kids sledging down the slope towards the tree. My dad must have felt sorry for me - we didn't have a toboggan - so he nipped into the café and came back with a black plastic bin bag. It worked, kind of... but it didn't matter. I was having fun with Dad and it was a great day. But then there was this noise. Big, big noise. I was scared. But I couldn't run to Dad because I was on the bag and I was sliding down the incline. It sounded like the world was shattering. Thunderous. Getting bigger, closer all the time.
'And right at the moment when the bag stopped sliding, I fell back against the snow and looked up at this golden mist, and a shadow passed through it. Huge. Like a shark. And the roar was on top of me. And I remember reaching for it, as if I might be able to just grab it out of the cloud like a toy. Suddenly I wasn't scared any more. I was shaking, but it was from excitement, not fear. Dad thought I was having some kind of panic attack. All I could talk about from then on was aeroplanes. They became my world. I was such a jet nerd after that. All I ever wanted to do was go to air shows or visit the viewing platforms at Heathrow. My bedroom was filled with plastic models.'
Charlie was still inspecting his knife. He seemed unimpressed. And why should he be? It was my thrill, my passion. I probably sounded like a complete arse to him.
'Anyway,' I said, 'flying... it's pretty straightforward. It's just physics. It's just lift and thrust.'
'And crash, far as I can see it.'
I kept my mouth shut. I could have quoted the facts and figures, how, if you had been born on an aeroplane and lived on board 24 hours a day, the likelihood was that it would take over a hundred years before you were involved in a fatal accident. But there was no point with Charlie. There were some who flew their entire lives - the front-seat people, the tea-and-coffee chuckers, the self-loading baggage - and the worst that happened was the occasional hard landing, or a prolonged bout of heavy turbulence. I could tell him we were far more likely to die on his boat, but I didn't want to start a fight.
'These wrecks,' I said. 'From the world wars?'
'Yep. There's about 150 off these shores alone. And from the battle of Winter Bay, y'still get stuff cropping up even now. Y'know, cannonball, and the like.'
'Winter Bay,' I said, nodding. 'Sixteen seventy-two?'
'That'll be the one.'
'I saw something about that the other day. Something about children.'
'Children?'
'Yes. Someone had written in a book. Scribbled on the back pages about children. About suffering. Something took them.'
'Took?'
I waited for a moment, but Charlie was obviously struggling past one-word statements. I said, 'I'll dig it out when we get back. Do you know what it means?'
He shook his head. 'Bit 'fore my time, Winter Bay.'
I wasn't convinced. He knew Southwick inside out, possibly better than anyone living in the village.
'Are you superstitious, Charlie?' I asked.
'O' course,' he said, and for a moment I thought his face might collapse. I wondered if his superstitions were tied up with Gordon. I wondered if he refused to come to sea without a photograph of his little boy in his wallet.
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