Читать книгу To See The Light Return - Sophie Galleymore Bird - Страница 18

Will could see the flares come into life, throwing the silhouettes of the breakwater’s lighthouse and fortress into sharp shadow. He could only imagine the exchange taking place between the occupants of the tiny boats and the cargo ship that could turn them all to kindling if it chose. The fire on the dockside couldn’t have helped. But at least the worst damage to himself was some singed hair – he knew that because he could smell it – and scorched hands.

The drunk he had rescued was still out cold. The best Will could do for him was turn him over on his side so he wouldn’t choke if he threw up, and cover him with his jacket, heavy with the night’s rain. There was no sign of the boys who had set fire to the shack, and no one had come to investigate, but he had withdrawn into shadows by the fence, in case that changed and he had to leg it.

Nothing that had happened had been his fault, he knew that, but he still felt responsible for the disastrous fire. Thinking he’d completely screwed everything up was agonising, as he waited for some sign of how things were going for the rest of the team. After some few minutes that dragged by like aeons, the flares were extinguished abruptly and the horizon went suddenly dark. Did that mean they had succeeded, or that the ship had ploughed into the dinghies and sunk them all? He wouldn’t know until he went to the rendezvous point. If no one turned up he’d be left with the knowledge that he’d caused the deaths of everyone in his unit, ruined the mission, and had no way of getting home. And where would home be? There would be no point in going back to the bunker. He could rejoin his parents in Cornwall, but would they want him when they heard what he’d done?

It would be a while before he knew either way, but there was no point hanging around at Millbay any longer, he might as well head for the pier. To get there he would have to climb back through the hole he had made in the chain-link fence and scuttle down Soap Street, a waterfront once bustling with industry and now full of half-built houses that had achieved dereliction before they’d even been finished.

The wind coming in off the sea was picking up and cut through Will’s jumper. Once he moved away from the fire he would really feel the cold. He could do with his jacket and looked over at it longingly. Could he live with himself if he took it from a helpless old man? A sudden gust that tried to blow him off his feet told him he could try. After all, the old guy had the flames to keep him warm, and they wouldn’t die down for a while yet. Of course, the poor sod would be in deep shit if the lads came back, but Will told himself they must be long gone.

He crouched down and took hold of a sleeve. The old man stirred and rolled onto his back, pinning the jacket beneath him. Will grabbed hold of it with both hands and pulled. Bloodshot eyes opened and stared blearily up at the sky. The old man looked confused. Will supposed he had every right to be – he’d gone to sleep in a shed and woken up out of doors, with a stranger looming over him, lit by fire.

‘What … what’s happening? What you doing?’ The drunk’s voice was high and quavering.

‘I’m, uh, just taking my jacket.’ Will grabbed the sleeve draped over the man’s stomach and pulled.

‘No, it’s mine!’ The sleeve was snatched out of Will’s hands. For an old drunk, he was surprisingly strong.

‘Er, no, it’s mine. I put it over you after …’ Will gestured vaguely towards the blaze. ‘I pulled you out. Remember?’

The old man sat up and turned towards the source of heat and light. He turned back. Will wasn’t expecting a rush of gratitude but the fury that distorted the man’s features was startling.

‘You set fire to my home!’ Rage deserted him and tears leaked down the filthy, lined cheeks.

‘No! That wasn’t me. They said you’d puked on their shoes, three young guys. They ran away.’

‘My home!’ He started to sob, rocking back and forth.

Will didn’t know what to do. He wanted his jacket but he could sacrifice that. He needed to leave, but how could he walk away from a defenceless old man, grieving for the roof that had protected him and his few possessions, now going up in roiling black smoke?

‘Look, I’ve got to go. You can keep my jacket.’

The old man ignored him. Until Will stood up; then he began to wail louder and rock harder.

Shit! ‘Look, you can come with me.’ If he was still alive, the Major would kill him, but what else could Will do? ‘Come on, get up.’ The old man flinched when the boy stooped over him, cowering into himself. Will grabbed him under the armpits, leaning in to the stench of unwashed body and piss-stained clothes that enveloped him, strong enough to cut through the acrid smell of burning. Heaving him upright, he slung the old man’s arm over his shoulder, tipping him off balance as Will was several inches taller. The jacket was slipping to the ground. Will grabbed it and threw it around both of them like a cape.

‘Right, now, we got to go.’

‘My things …’

The rucksack was lying where Will had dropped it. Bending awkwardly, he grabbed it. The old man snatched it away from him and hugged it to his chest, crooning softly.

Sighing, Will exerted gentle pressure and hobbled round to turn the two of them towards the fence. They lurched towards it in a zombie shuffle.

Progress towards the pier was slow. Will had to help his companion through the hole in the fence, bending him like a doll, desnagging him from the bits of wire that caught in his clothing. Every couple of minutes Will was asked where they were going, what was going on, who was he? After the first few times he responded with grunts, which didn’t seem to bother the old man, who started up the same round of questions and lapsed eventually into an incoherent mumble.

Some of the ruined houses they inched past seemed to be inhabited. Lights flickered in windows and Will could hear voices. Shrill, drunken laughter erupted as they passed one house less dilapidated than others. That the old man had chosen to sleep alone in a shed when there were houses and companionship available here told Will he didn’t want to hang around to meet the neighbours. Exerting slightly more pressure, he hurried them along, keeping to shadows wherever possible.

Hulks of sunken boats protruded out of the water, still tethered to the two concrete jetties set at right angles to the harbour wall. A long low warehouse ran along the length of the first one they came to. For a moment Will thought he could hear a child’s crying coming from inside but put it down to gulls wheeling overhead, their white plumage tinged pink. It was not a reflection of the blaze; looking to the eastern horizon saw that dawn was beginning to break. It was time to get out of sight.

Behind the warehouse, a ramp led down to the water and rotting pontoons with slightly more serviceable boats moored to them. Some of these were used by fishers, smugglers or drug runners. Will chose the first pontoon, canted at a steep angle by the dropping tide. The old man seemed fearful and held back, but Will persisted, keen to get out of sight, and hustled him down it, making encouraging noises, until eventually letting go and snarling in frustration, ‘Right, stay here then. I’m off.’ The old man clung to him fearfully and cried and Will felt ashamed. ‘Come on then, it’s not much further.’

The two of them staggered down sideways, stepping with difficulty over missing planks. The pontoon at the bottom ran along the harbour wall towards the jetty at the end and a row of empty berths; the rendezvous point. When they reached the first of these Will slumped down on to the rotten boards, completely spent. All he could do now was wait.