Who Goes Home? Page 11

‘But not too soon,’ said Steven tersely. ‘I want to think this one out.’

  ‘So when do we tell about Stella Dalrymple?’ said Jacob with complete disregard for the mood his father was in.

  ‘In a day or two,’ said Steven smoothly. ‘Let the dust settle. There’s no point in rushing things.’

  But never far from his mind were the last words the cube had spoken before he left the spaceship:

  Javayl comes with you of course. You come home together.

  That was the real problem. Set next to that, Stella Dalrymple’s involvement was trivial.

  CHAPTER 23

  * * *

  The Homecoming

  Alison knew that her Ormingat powers were fading, but with determination she summoned up all her strength to get rid of the nosy inspector. She simply told him to go and leave them, but on the level of mind-fencing she made him believe that nothing really important had occurred. He had been on the point of questioning Nesta and was even talking about calling in the social services when Alison had fixed her gaze on him, told him very firmly that he was no longer needed, and quietly ordered him to be on his way.

  She had no idea that her efforts had been anxiously watched over by Steven and Jacob, scanning a screen in the upper room of a house two hundred miles away.

  Nesta walked from the station between her parents, holding on to both of them and determined never to leave them again. She had achieved her aim. They would never, ever leave this Earth. Ormingat could be forgotten.

  ‘It’s been hard, you know,’ said Alison as they drove back home. ‘You can’t imagine how painful it’s been.’

  She was sitting in the back seat, still holding Nesta’s hand. Matthew was content to be chauffeur so that mother and daughter could sit together. There was still a lot of healing to do.

  ‘I know, Mom,’ said Nesta. ‘I didn’t want to hurt you, but it was all too much. How could you expect me to leave this world in that tiny spaceship and stop being human? That’s what it would have meant, you know, however you try to make it seem normal. It wasn’t normal at all.’

  ‘For us it was,’ said Matthew. ‘That’s where we went wrong. We thought just being our child would be enough to make it – well, reasonably easy.’

  ‘Easy!’ said Nesta, indignation overcoming affection. ‘It was impossible. You should have known it would be.’

  ‘There, there,’ said her mother anxiously. ‘It’s over now, and probably best forgotten, but first we must know where you’ve been and what you’ve said to people. We can’t start over again without wiping the slate clean.’

  All her parents knew was that she had spent one night with Stella Dalrymple, the kind stranger who had phoned them and told them that their daughter was safe; the very kind stranger who had escorted their child to the railway station at York, saying farewell to her on the train so that no one outside her family need ever know where she had been.

  ‘Can it wait till later?’ said Nesta. ‘I’m still so tired.’

  ‘You’re tired!’ said Matthew over his shoulder, with a vehemence that was unusual in him. ‘You’re tired! How do you think we feel? Never for an instant have you tried to see our point of view. We’ve been through hell searching for you. And never in a lifetime will you know what we have lost.’

  Alison gave him a look of alarm.

  Nesta began to weep quietly.

  ‘Leave it,’ said Alison. ‘Leave it for now. We are all overwrought.’

  Matthew said no more, but it pierced him to think of the slate being wiped so clean. He was not even sure that he could manage it. And what would happen now? Even if they could persuade themselves to forget about Ormingat, would that be the end of it?

  Nothing more was said in the car.

  Even when they arrived home and settled into the comfort of their living room, the subject was left severely alone. Alison made tea and sandwiches.

  ‘No Sunday dinner today,’ she said with a wan smile. ‘I didn’t get round to making it.’

  It was Matthew who brought up the topic first. He regretted his outburst. He loved his daughter too much to want to make her unhappy. As they sat eating the meal and drinking their tea, he looked across at her and said gently, ‘It would help us to know where you have been since Wednesday. Four nights away from home is something any twelve-year-old would be expected to account for, Nesta. We know why you went, but we really do need to know where you went.’

  He was the right one to put the question. Alison would have phrased it wrongly and Nesta would have put up a barrier.

  ‘I don’t want anyone to get into trouble because of me,’ she said.

  ‘No one will,’ said Matthew.

  ‘What about the police?’

  ‘They will never be told anything,’ said Matthew. ‘There’s no fear of that. We asked them to find you. It was a mistake, but not too serious a one. Your mother saw to that.’

  Nesta smiled obliquely at her mother before giving her full attention to her father again.

  ‘And you wouldn’t get on to the school either, would you? Or anybody’s parents?’

  ‘No,’ said Matthew slowly, but he did wonder what was coming next.

  ‘Promise,’ said Nesta.

  ‘I promise,’ said her father. ‘Neither your mother nor I will ever tell anyone whatever you tell us now.’

  ‘I stayed with Amy,’ said Nesta. ‘I stayed three nights in her garage. She looked after me.’

  ‘I knew!’ said her mother. ‘I just knew you would be with Amy Brown. If only we’d known her address!’

  Nesta shivered. Thank goodness you didn’t! You might have got me back in time and forced me into the spaceship, though I’d have put up a struggle, no mistake!

  ‘What did you tell Amy?’ said Matthew anxiously.

  ‘That you were going home to Boston and that I didn’t want to go there.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘What else could I tell her?’ said Nesta huffily. ‘Even if I weren’t keeping your secrets, do you think she’d have believed in fiddly little spaceships and people diminishing? She’d have thought I wasn’t all there.’

  ‘So how did you end up in Belthorp with Mrs Dalrymple?’ said her father, no longer interested in Amy’s part in what he supposed both girls would regard as some sort of adventure. He deduced that camping out in the garage might even have been a game they enjoyed. It sounded like fun!

  ‘I couldn’t stay at Amy’s on Saturday because her brother comes home at weekends and keeps his bike in the garage.’

  ‘But to go all the way to Belthorp to find Mrs Dalrymple?’ said Matthew. ‘That was a bit much, wasn’t it? How did you even think of it?’

  ‘Please, Dad, try to understand me. I had to go somewhere and I thought I might be found if I wandered about here in York. Then I was drawn towards Stella Dalrymple. I wanted to meet the only person on Earth who knew that Thomas and his father were aliens; I felt as if she might somehow be able to give me some sort of clue.’

  ‘And did she?’ said Matthew.

  Alison looked keenly at her daughter, eager to know how she would answer this.

  ‘She loved the Derwents,’ said Nesta. ‘She didn’t care about anything as long as they were safe and happy. She wasn’t even all that interested in Ormingat. She somehow made it feel not so fantastic. But she did tell me not to talk about it to anyone, and not even to let anyone know that we had ever met. Keeping it a secret was what was really important to her.’

  ‘And that helped?’ said her mother.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nesta. ‘I think it did. It means just what you said. We can wipe the slate clean. We can forget all about it.’

  ‘There must be no more running away,’ said Alison, speaking like any Earth mother to her wayward child. ‘Not ever again.’

  Nesta’s eyes darkened to a deep shade of grey. She tugged a strand of hair across her lip. The look she gave her mother was not pleasant or submissive. She was nearly thirteen and mature for her age. The past few
days had made sure of that.

  ‘I didn’t enjoy it,’ she snapped. ‘I didn’t run away for fun.’

  ‘Don’t push it,’ said her father, feeling irritation rising again. ‘Just don’t push it. When you think how much you have suffered, have the grace to realize that we are suffering too.’

  Nesta smiled as sweetly as she could and took her father’s hand in hers. ‘I am sorry, you know,’ she said in a conciliatory voice. ‘Wiping the slate clean doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.’

  Matthew sighed and said no more.

  CHAPTER 24

  * * *

  See to It!

  It was Tuesday evening before Steven and Jacob went once more up Swains Lane to report to the spaceship. The cube heard them out and was silent for at least half an hour. During that time, Jacob was tempted to speak but Steven’s look warned him to be silent. The communicator must be left to assimilate the knowledge laid before it.

  Suddenly there was a whirr and silver zigzags crossed inside the cube before its speech emerged.

  Too many things have gone wrong. You have failed to stem the flow. You must see to it. You must put right the errors.

  Steven and Jacob looked at one another, wondering what putting right the errors would involve. Jacob was rapidly coming round to his father’s point of view that the communicator often expected too much of them. Steven had dutifully given the information about Stella’s appearance on the platform at York Station.

  ‘There was nothing I could do to prevent things going wrong. I carried out my instructions; I passed on my observations. And you have to know that I did a brilliant job in ensuring that Vateelin and Tonitheen made it to their spaceship in time,’ Steven protested. It was important to remind the cube of this success; it might mitigate the York failure.

  One simple thing might have been sufficient. You should have protected the coat on the hospital bed. You should have rendered it unnoticeable. It was well within your power.

  ‘Speed was important,’ said Steven. ‘A few seconds more and our friends would not have made it to their ship in time.’

  Yet it was a thought, a tormenting thought. If only he had taken the time and effort to protect that coat! It was the one area in which he and the Brick were absolute experts. Some nurse would have removed it from the bed quite absently, to tidy up. Another might have put it in the lost property, to be auctioned off for some charity at a later date.

  ‘It would still have been necessary to account for a missing child,’ said Steven defensively. ‘The coat was not the be-all and end-all.’

  Cry not over the milk that has spilt.

  Steven grimaced at the machine’s crude translation of a proverb it could barely understand. Did they have milk on Ormingat?

  ‘So?’ he said.

  Go and see Stella Dalrymple. Ensure that she poses no future threat.

  ‘And the Gwynns? What about them?’

  For this the rule must be changed.

  ‘Which rule?’

  You must make personal contact so that your influence will be felt. Go and see them. Let them know how complete the break is. Make them understand the importance of forgetting. Make them forget. But first, find out about their knowledge of Stella Dalrymple.

  Jacob had sat by his father’s side listening to every word. ‘Can you really make them forget that they are from Ormingat? You could not make me forget anything as important as that!’

  Steven pulled the lever to exclude the cube from their conversation. ‘I do have powers,’ he said. ‘Powers I have never used. I will be truthful with you – I don’t know how well they work. My expertise is with the Brick. The rest is questionable. To my mind it will all depend upon how much resistance I meet with.’

  He pulled the lever back to re-establish communication with the cube.

  You have made Javayl to understand.

  ‘That was my purpose,’ said Steven without actually confirming or denying how much or how little Jacob now knew and understood.

  So go and do what must be done.

  Steven grimaced at Jacob, who merely shrugged in return.

  Remember well that all must be complete before the month of February is fled.

  ‘Very poetic,’ snapped Steven, irritated at the mention, however indirectly, of the date of their departure. Jacob knew nothing of it yet and his father did not know how, or when, or whether to tell him.

  Back in the workroom, after a late tea, Steven and Jacob were once more seated in front of the Brick. On screen was the village of Belthorp. Steven focussed upon the door of Stella Dalrymple’s cottage.

  ‘Do we go in? Can we see her?’ said Jacob eagerly.

  ‘Just briefly,’ said Steven. ‘I want to see her home before we visit. I want to see her moving about in it, living her life.’

  The beam was trained on the windowpane and then the Bradwells had a view of Stella’s sitting room. No one there – a log fire burning, two shaded lamps giving the place a burnished glow. In front of the settee there was a table with a tray on it, a patterned china cup and saucer, an empty plate beside it. Then the lady of the house came in, unmistakably Stella, the light glinting in her coppery hair. She picked up the tray and went out again.

  On the mantelpiece were photos: one of a young man in academic robes, a degree portrait. Another had the same young man standing by a younger Stella in her wedding dress. The other pictures were of Thomas Derwent at different ages – one with Patrick beside him, another with Stella, and two more of Thomas on his own.

  ‘We know her now,’ said Steven, withdrawing the probe.

  ‘We know her?’

  ‘We know all we need to know. At half term you and I will pay her that visit and tidy up loose ends. Till then, we can leave her to get peacefully on with her life.’

  ‘So we wait till half term before going north?’ said Jacob.

  ‘It’s practical, if you are to go with me. Your mother doesn’t like you missing school.’

  ‘And will that give you enough time to finish everything? The Cube said you must be all done before the end of February.’

  ‘Before the first of March,’ said Steven, correcting him.

  ‘And in the meantime, do we watch the Gwynns?’ said Jacob. He was eager to see Nesta again. The eagerness showed just a little too much.

  Steven smiled. ‘We’ll look in from time to time,’ he said. ‘It’s only another three weeks. Then we’ll be on their doorstep, presenting ourselves in whatever guise seems best by then.’

  Steven set the screen to roll back into the Brick. ‘Go downstairs now, Javayl. I’ll soon follow. Let’s have an evening away from this.’

  Jacob turned to go, but suddenly he stopped in the doorway. A strange thought had come to him. ‘Why before the first of March?’ he said. ‘What is so special about that date?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Steven. ‘It’s too late now.’

  The one question that Steven did not want to answer should never have been asked. He was becoming increasingly aware that his influence over his son’s thoughts was weakening. The shield was still there, but the mind-fencing was encountering opposition.

  CHAPTER 25

  * * *

  Stella’s Unwelcome Visitor

  At tea time on Wednesday the newspaper shop in Belthorp was busy.

  ‘That’ll be eleven pounds eighty altogether, Mrs Budd,’ said Sam Swanson after pondering over the entries in the book.

  ‘All that money on newspapers,’ said Mary Budd, taking two ten-pound notes from her purse. ‘It’s not all that long since you could keep a family for a week on that!’

  ‘Time goes by,’ said the newsagent, handing his customer her change. ‘Seems no time since I was a lad delivering the papers and here I am with two kids of me own nearly ready to take over!’

  Philip and Anthony had just come home from school and were behind the corner counter looking for the Wednesday comics before going upstairs for their tea. Mickey Trent was with them, his back to the shop.<
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  At the main counter, three women with children were waiting to be served. As Mary was about to leave the shop, yet another customer entered. This was not a villager. Mary stepped to one side, deciding to stop and see who it might be. All of the women looked askance at him. Sam smiled at them, as much as to say, I’ll get rid of this one and then we can get on with our business. The youngsters always dilly-dallied, so there was no harm in allowing the stranger to jump the queue.

  ‘Can I help you?’ said Sam.

  Rupert Shawcross smiled politely. If he’d been wearing a hat he would probably have doffed it. It was part of his technique to be smooth. This was not his first visit to the village: he had been there once before, to interview Stella Dalrymple. He was not a journalist nosing out a story. He was a government investigator. His office in Manchester specialized in collecting information about possible extraterrestrial visitors; hence his interest in Mrs Dalrymple, the lady whose neighbours had so mysteriously disappeared.

  ‘I’ll take a packet of those cigars,’ he said, indicating a pack on the shelf behind the newsagent. ‘And a box of chocolates. They’re for Mrs Dalrymple. Do you happen to know what sort she likes?’

  The women inspected him more closely.

  ‘I’m a friend of hers,’ said Rupert, stretching the truth. He had only met her once, and then she had given him short shrift!

  ‘You’ll not have seen her for some time, then?’ said Sam, just a shade suspicious of the stranger. ‘We don’t get many strangers in the village.’

  This was Rupert’s opportunity to enquire about any other strangers, but he missed it. One of the mothers joined in the conversation, saying, ‘I knew I’d seen you somewhere recently. You were at Stella’s just a couple of weeks ago.’

  At the corner counter, Mickey Trent kept his head well down. He had met Mr Shawcross and he didn’t want to meet him again. He had come snooping, asking questions about Mickey’s best friend, Thomas Derwent.