The people of Linden Drive had returned to privacy after the rumpus of the night before. Some still peeped from behind leaded lights and vertical blinds to watch the comings and goings around Number 8. The day was as cold as ever but the sun was shining brightly.
Each household had its own theory as to what had occurred.
‘Methane gas – bet you what you like.’
‘Terrorists? Couldn’t be – not in this street!’
‘A store of fireworks exploding? Used to be just Guy Fawkes, but they have the darned things all year round now.’
‘An unexploded bomb left over from the war? If it’s that it’ll be on the news – we’d better watch it tonight.’
Out in the street, a coven of cones had gathered round the holes in the road. A large, yellow van was parked outside Number 16. To the other side of the damaged area was a council wagon, and across the road a still and silent police car. This was Sunday morning in suburbia: work on the holes would not begin till Monday. The water main had been made safe. The only real activity was in the back garden of Number 8 where two workmen and a presiding scientist were digging out and inspecting what was left of the lily pad.
‘Found anything?’ said Inspector Stirling. He had come straight round to the back of the house on arrival.
‘Nothing so far,’ said the boffin from the lab. He was tired and yawning and in no mood for probing questions.
‘No sign of a detonator, or some such device?’ persisted the inspector. He stepped down into the basin of the pond. Cayley, the lab man, suppressed a smile as he said, ‘All we’ve found is this.’
He stooped and turned something. Water immediately sprayed into the air, sprinkling the inspector so that he had to jump back on the grass.
‘It’s for filling the pond,’ said Cayley innocently. ‘As you see, it is not even broken, though the nozzle should be set at a lower angle I suppose.’
Inspector Stirling glared at him as he made angry swipes at his damp jacket with his pocket-handkerchief. He had really thought there might be some sign of a child’s clothing, if nothing more gory. It was not that he relished the thought of infanticide; it was more that his suspicions now were so strong that it would have been a relief to have some sort of confirmation.
‘We may have to dig up the whole garden eventually,’ he said. There was no doubt in his mind that the visit to York Station would draw a blank. However many people might step off the train, Nesta Gwynn would not be one of them.
After that, he said no more and strode round the side of the house to the front door where his constable was already waiting for him.
‘So what do you think of our news, now you’ve had time to sleep on it?’ said Alison.
‘I’ll be able to tell you that when we’ve met your daughter at the station. You say she is on her way home, but we have no proof of that, do we?’ said the inspector. Then he added abruptly, ‘And where is she on her way from?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Matthew. ‘She hung up without saying.’
‘You must know which train you are meant to be meeting,’ said the inspector.
‘I see what you mean,’ said Matthew. ‘We hadn’t thought of that. She said she’d be on the London train. So she must be coming from somewhere north of here, though that doesn’t tell us very much. It could be anywhere between here and Edinburgh I suppose.’
‘Well, we’ll see, shan’t we?’ said Stirling, his cold, fish eyes fixed on a spot somewhere behind the Gwynns. They were all standing in the front room. Outside the window, the yellow van moved off noisily, its work done for the day.
‘I shall accompany you, of course,’ the inspector added in a soft voice, with a false smile. ‘It might be a good idea if we all travelled in my car.’
‘No,’ said Alison, glaring at him. ‘We shall take our own car. You can follow us. I have never travelled in a police vehicle and I don’t intend to do so now.’
The inspector gave her a look of impatience.
‘Then I shall have to travel in your car,’ he said.
‘Is that not extreme?’ said Matthew. ‘What do you think we are going to do? Have a car chase through York? Make a dash for the nearest airport?’
‘I never think too far ahead,’ said the inspector. ‘After all, it was you who asked us to find your daughter. I would like to accompany you to the station and be there when she alights from the train. That seems to me only right and fitting.’
The Gwynns both shrugged. The inspector’s damp clothing on a dry though cold morning might have made them wonder, but they said nothing. The inspector himself totally ignored the splashes the pond pump had made. An automaton could not have been more impervious.
‘It is now eleven forty-five. Be ready to go in an hour. I’ll come back for you. P.C. Bainbridge will go off duty now. Another constable is waiting to take over. I know this may seem unwarranted to you, but it is purely and simply a safety measure.’
Then, with the abruptness that was ingrained in him, he left the room and the house without any farewell.
As the door closed behind him, Alison gave it a look full of fury.
‘Don’t let him get to you,’ said Matthew, seeing her clenched fists and taut face.
‘If only Nesta had agreed to go to Ormingat,’ she said, ‘none of this would have happened.’
‘If only,’ echoed Matthew with a deep sigh. ‘We would be on our way home by now! But regrets are just as useless as anger. It’s no good crying over spilt milk. We are now permanent, lifelong citizens of Earth. Whatever powers we have will fade away. I can feel myself already losing the reality of Ormingat; even its name is changing on my tongue. Though I can’t think that the sense of loss will ever leave me. There will always be an emptiness.’
Alison clutched his hand in comfort. She felt, almost guiltily, that his feeling of desolation was somehow greater than hers.
‘Let’s have something for lunch,’ said Matthew, squeezing the hand that held his. They would always have each other, and would never be lacking in loving kindness. ‘It will pass the time. Besides, I’m hungry!’
Their new policeman came in and conscientiously followed them into the kitchen. He was clearly embarrassed but, like his predecessor, he obeyed orders. He was very young, and quite slightly built, not the stuff that bodyguards are made of!
‘I’m making some tuna sandwiches, Constable,’ said Alison, as she reached up into the cupboard for a tin of fish, ‘nothing ambitious or likely to blow up. Perhaps you would like some?’
The constable coughed awkwardly before saying, ‘No thank you, Mrs Gwynn. I’ve already eaten.’
‘Coffee then?’ she said. ‘Surely your inspector won’t mind if you have a cup of coffee with the suspects. Though I shudder to think what he suspects us of.’
‘Leave the lad alone, Alison,’ said Matthew. ‘You can see how embarrassed he is. None of this is his fault. We know we have done no wrong and we know we have cause to celebrate. An hour from now we’ll be on our way home with our daughter.’
‘I will have that cup of coffee,’ said the young man quite suddenly. ‘And I’m glad your daughter’s safe and well.’
He had a right to his own opinion after all and he felt happy to express it, even though in this story he is a man without a name.