Читать книгу The Kid Who Came From Space - Ross Welford - Страница 17

If the events leading up to my discovery of Tammy’s bicycle are clear in my mind, then what came next is all a bit of a blur.

As I pedalled along the pot-holed forestry road towards the village, I kept thinking of reasons for Tammy’s bike to be abandoned.

She had left it there and decided to walk. Not likely. In fact, so unlikely as to be impossible.

She had accepted a lift in someone’s car. Again, not likely. Why would she? And besides – who from? Hardly anyone comes along that road, and why would they offer her a lift, and why would she leave her bike? And … the whole thing was silly.

By the time I crossed the bridge over the burn, I was convinced something horrible had happened to Tammy.

The south side of the village is pretty much a single street of old terraced farm cottages. I pulled up next to Scottish Sheila’s house and allowed my bike to clatter to the ground as I leapt off and hammered on the old lady’s door.

‘All right, all right!’ came a voice from inside.

I had started talking almost before the door was open.

‘Is Tammy here?’ I jabbered. ‘She was supposed to come here – have you seen her?’

‘Hello, young fella,’ said Sheila with a smile, as though she hadn’t heard me.

‘Well, have you?’ I barked, and she looked taken aback.

‘Have I wha …’

‘Have you seen Tammy?’ I shouted. I was panicking and my manners were shot.

‘Well, no. No’ today. I thought—’

‘Bye!’ I said and ran back to my bike. I turned it around and cycled as fast as I could back to our end of the village.

The Stargazer was lit up, and there were lights on the big tree outside that I had helped to put up last week with Tammy. As I cycled up the driveway, I could hear singing already. The carols had started early, and I saw through the window that Cora Fox-Templeton, Iggy’s mum, was accompanying them on the pub’s jangly old piano. Iggy was standing next to her and Suzy was sitting on top of the piano like she was about to lay an egg. The singing came through the windows:

‘Hark the herald angels sing, Glory to the newborn king!’

I jumped off my bike and burst through the doors into the entrance lobby and went straight into the bar, where the noise and the heat and the music hit me.

‘Peace on Earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled …’

A cheer went up over by the bar and Dad called out, ‘Right, you lot! Who’s for a Goblet of Fire?’ It’s one of his barman’s stunts which I’ve seen loads of times: a tray of cocktails is lined up then they all burst into flames as he sets fire to the alcohol. I love watching it normally.

Mam had picked up the tray, and I pushed my way through the groups of people till I got to her.

‘Mam! Mam!’

She turned to me crossly, shaking her head as she carried on singing.

‘Mam! You’ve got to listen!’

‘Watch out! I’m holding a fire hazard here!’ she said. ‘Right – who wants one? Not now, Ethan!’

‘Yes, now!’ I shouted.

People had noticed, and one or two nudged one another and stopped singing. I had no choice. I grabbed the lid of the piano and slammed it down on the keys while Iggy’s mum yelped and pulled her hands out just in time. There was a loud bang as the lid shut, a rattling of Cora’s bangles, and Suzy ruffled her feathers in disapproval. A few seconds later, the singing wound down.

‘Ethan! What on earth …’ began Mam, pushing her way towards me, but I wasn’t listening.

Instead I turned to everyone in the bar and said, ‘Tammy’s gone missing! Her bike’s by the side of the road but I can’t find her anywhere.’

A murmur went around the bar. Someone at the back who hadn’t heard me said, ‘Oi! What’s happened to the music?’ and someone else said, ‘Shhh!’

Then Dad, who was dressed as a toy soldier, came from behind the bar and held his hands up. ‘All right, all right,’ he said calmly. ‘What’s going on? Ethan?’

And so I told him again what had happened, and how I’d called for Tammy and how her bike lights were still on, and how Scottish Sheila hadn’t seen her. It was all spilling out of me so fast that twice Dad had to say, ‘Steady on, son. Slow down.’

Then I looked at Mam, and as our eyes met, I had never seen a person look so fearful. The colour had drained from her face: she was a ghostly grey.

Two minutes later, the bar was emptying as people ran to the car park and got in their cars.

‘You take the forestry trail, Jack!’

‘I’ll go up the north road – come with me, Jen.’

‘Did she have a phone with her?’

‘Has anyone called the police?’

‘Meet back here in half an hour, yeah?’

‘Have you got my number? Call me if you find her!’

… and so on. It seemed as though the whole village leapt into action, with cars going in different directions.

Dad seemed to be coordinating things, or at least trying to, but it was all pretty hectic. I was sort of caught in the middle of it without having anything to do. Gran was pulling on her running shoes and a head torch: she said she would run her regular forest path that a car couldn’t go up. And through the chaos I looked across the bar to see Iggy sitting on the piano stool, his eyebrows practically knitted together with worry, his hands twisting his cap in front of him. His mum, Cora, stood next to him, looking forlorn in a red-and-white Santa hat.

‘Mel,’ said Dad to Mam, ‘why don’t you stay at home?’

‘No!’ protested Mam. ‘I’m coming to look for my daughter!’

Dad looked at me next. ‘You OK to stay, Ethan? In case she comes back here?’ He glanced over at Cora Fox-Templeton and they exchanged a look that somehow left Cora in charge as the ‘responsible adult’.

She nodded and the bell on her hat jingled.

‘Keep your phones on. Don’t leave the pub,’ said Dad, pulling on a coat over his soldier outfit. ‘We’ll let you know when we have found her.’

When. I liked that.

And so it was that Iggy, his mum, his chicken and I went into the pub lounge to wait for Tammy while the search got under way.

There was an uncomfortable silence. It’s not as if I knew either of them all that well.

Eventually, Iggy said, ‘They found my father.’

I looked at him quizzically.

‘He went missing when I was little. He was found two weeks later, living rough in London. So, you know …’

‘Is … is he OK?’ I said.

His mum was looking out of the window, not seeming to listen.

Iggy nodded. ‘Yes. He’s got another family now. But he’s coming to see me after Christmas, isn’t he, Cora?’

Cora turned to him. ‘He said he’d try, Iggy. It’s a long way, and you know what he’s like.’

Iggy looked downcast, and I was embarrassed, so I took out my phone and tried to call Tammy for the umpteenth time.

‘Hi, this is Tammy. I’m not here so please leave me a message!’

The worst thoughts were going through my head. She’s been kidnapped. She’s been killed …

But I still could not think of who would do that, or how.

So I told them both the story again. I left out no details this time. I told them about going down the path, and hearing a humming noise and seeing a column of mist …

They listened, and nodded thoughtfully. Then my phone went and I saw that it was Mam calling. I tried to tell myself not to hope for good news. But just as I had imagined Tammy would come out of the woods fastening her jeans, I could not help wishing it would be Mam saying, ‘We’ve found her’.

Instead it was: ‘No news. We’re coming back. The police are coming and will want to speak to you, Ethan.’

I was looking at Iggy – when he heard the word ‘police’, he kind of flinched. I knew already it was bad. But that was when I was certain.