Midnight. Tommy swung his legs off the bed and crept over to the door, picking up the shopping bag en route. When he stepped out onto the landing the paper crackled as the bag brushed against his leg. His heart skipped a beat as the chorus of snores from his parents’ bedroom momentarily broke up on a wave of grunts and snuffling. Only when the earsplitting snorting took off again did he tiptoe down the stairs, holding the bag well away from his body.
Outside, he gathered up the bags from the shed, together with the lamp. Then he silently re-hooked the door catch and stole across the yard to the back gate, the hinges of which he hadn’t thought to oil. This time he didn’t wait to see if the creaking had aroused anyone, but strode off rapidly down the back entry.
Now that he was wearing pumps, he knew his footfalls would be barely detectable. The rain was falling steadily now, and when he was almost at the end of the entry, he removed an old sou’wester from the top of Alfie’s clothes bag and slipped it over his head. It was torn, pretty useless and ready for the dust cart, giving him small measure of cover as he set off once more. On top of that, it rustled loudly as he walked. But not enough to advertise his presence. Every window he passed was in darkness. He kept well out of the way of the gas lamps as he made his way along the winding route to Mullond’s Beach. His earlier excitement had evaporated. All he wanted now was to complete his task and return to the warmth of his bed. By the time he reached the bend in the road leading to the cliff path, his feet and calf muscles were beginning to stiffen, having not yet recovered from his earlier efforts of tracking round at the double.
On the highway he got his first real fright since setting out when he spotted a cyclist squeaking down the road – someone else in need of an oilcan, apparently. The heavily caped figure was topped by the easily recognizable bobby’s helmet and Tommy quickly dodged behind a hedge, his heart thumping wildly until the squeaky bike and its uniformed rider was safely out of sight. Just to be sure he hadn’t been seen, he waited several minutes before stepping foot on the road once more.
As he turned into the road for Mullond’s Beach, he pulled up short at the sight of lights in the downstairs windows of the Holdcrofts’ house, giving him a second scare. The reflections lit up the front garden and strayed some way over the pavement. After waiting several minutes with still no sign of them retiring upstairs, he decided to risk a quick sprint past.
He hoped and prayed he hadn’t been spotted.
*
Rayne had been sent up to bed immediately on their return from the police station. Tired, Lenny followed shortly afterwards of his own accord, leaving Morris, Lizzy and Andrew downstairs to continue discussing the shocking events of the day.
The scent of rain was heavy in the room as Lenny shut the door with a quiet click; sodden earth and damp cloth almost like the smell of wet dog. He went over to the window and saw immediately that it was still open, letting in the moist night air. Ledging his knee on the ottoman, he released the sash and pulled the window shut. The wet from the ottoman immediately soaked his trouser leg and he quickly withdrew it.
Glancing over at the huddled lump in the nearest bed, he thought: you won’t half catch it if it isn’t dry by morning. As if in answer a soft, melodious snore echoed round the room. He shrugged off his jacket, smiling to himself. The little scamp. He began to unbutton his shirt, remembering the moment when Rayne had nearly forgot himself in front of Inspector Benton and began to rattle off in storybook mode.
As he pulled on his pyjamas he looked again on Rayne’s sleeping form and watched the gentle rise and fall of the blankets. An overwhelming feeling of protectiveness swept over him, and his smile of fondness twisted to a grimace as the faces of Alfie Borne and Ronnie Clarke swept across his inner eye.
Ronnie Clarke was safely under lock and key, but Alfie was still very much at large. Until he was caught Lenny feared that everyone in his family was at risk. Obviously the threat to Grandpa was nothing but a crass means of blackmail, yet it had been very effective on a child of nine. The worrying question now was how would Alfie react when he learned of their statements to the police. Would he likely come looking for them? And where on earth could he be hiding? Despite a thorough search, which would carry on throughout the night, he seemed to have vanished into thin air. Could he possibly have fled the area altogether? The best outcome would be to see him safely locked up alongside Ronnie. But if that wasn’t going to happen soon, he prayed that Alfie was far away by now.
Lenny crept back to the window intending to draw the curtains. He was just about to pull them shut when he spotted a shadowy figure hurrying furtively past on the opposite side of the road. It was obviously a man, but the darkness ruled out any possibility of identification. He seemed to be making for Mullond’s Beach. Whoever it was, Lenny was now too tired to care. All he wanted was to close his weary eyes.
He drew the curtains and then flopped into bed, falling asleep practically as soon as his head touched the pillow.
*
While there was still daylight, Alfie had acquainted himself well with his temporary abode. Once inside, he had kept well away from the mouth of the cave to avoid detection. There was only one person he feared might show up at any time of the day or night – Billy Dix. And he could easily deal with him if the necessity arose.
The last time Alfie had been in here was almost thirty years ago, as a child. He had all but forgotten the layout, and certainly the little alcove at the rear of the cave.
Thoughts of his lost childhood caused him a momentary feeling of self-pity. If only things could have been different. The beatings and neglect had all but robbed him of feelings of warmth towards his fellow man – until Tommy had come along. There were fourteen years between them, and Tommy had had it a lot easier thanks to Alfie’s protection. At the age of about two, when Tommy had started to get under his father’s feet, Alfie – who by this time was sixteen and had outgrown intimidation from any quarter – had been there to scoop him out of harm’s way. Roles had become reversed with Thomas Borne senior living in fear of Alfie.
But the past couldn’t be mended and he had quickly put aside all such thoughts to concentrate on his present predicament, starting with a careful exploration of his surroundings. The forgotten alcove had definite possibilities.
Experimenting in the niche, he had set light to a few disposable pages from his address book and risked an appearance at the mouth of the cave in an attempt to see if the glow would show. He couldn’t be entirely sure until darkness fell, but hopefully, once everyone in the near vicinity was abed, he could risk a candle – as long as Tommy remembered to bring it.
Knowing that he would have to climb down the hazardous rock-face to the beach in darkness, he had lain on the floor at the cave entrance and studied every jutting boulder and safe foothold. Then, reasonably certain that he had memorized the safest path down, he had returned to the alcove where it was possible to hide in the event someone were to enter the cave; barring a bunch of kids or an invasion of blue uniforms. He thought this extremely unlikely, particularly since the weather had taken a turn for the worse, which he was rather thankful for as it worked in his favour, though it didn’t stop him from feeling chilled, damp and miserable. Moreover, it was a long time since he had ever felt so hungry.
With nothing else to do, he was presently perched on a dank ledge in the alcove, worrying that it might activate his haemorrhoids – if old wives’ tales proved true – and was working his way through the one pack of cigarettes that Tommy had given him. His mind was energetically focused on forming a viable contingency plan, once he had got hold of some wheels.