I wandered down to the kitchen. How could I ask Aunty M why I was in the photo and who was the other baby? If I asked, I would have to tell what I had been doing in the attic. The babies looked just the same as me, when I was a baby. Identical in fact. I had unearthed so many secrets. Secrets that I needed answers to, but who could I ask? These were the sort of questions I needed to ask mum. Suddenly I had a strange feeling in my tummy. Perhaps the reason the man in the photo looked familiar was that I looked a little like him. The hair was different, but his eyes and the gap between his front teeth were like mine. I couldn’t explain why but somehow I felt like I knew this man, that he was somehow connected with me. Then I had a shocking thought. Perhaps the man in the photo was my father. But where was he now? What happened to him? Why was mum not still married to him? My life was somehow not going to be the same. Who am I? I was jolted out of my daydream by the phone ringing.
“Hello. Mum? Gosh how are you?” I spluttered down the phone. She was the last person I thought would phone.
“Hello, it’s us. We’re in Sydney. Just thought we’d phone to find out how everything is?”
Huh. What did she think? I had three questions to ask her just to start with. Who did you marry before dad, who is my father and why are there two babies that look like me? But it’s not easy to ask when she was ten thousand miles away.
“We are fine. I’m having a lovely time. Aunty M and I are getting on really well.”
“I hope you’re behaving yourself. I don’t want to hear you’ve been trouble Florence, if this works well, I’m sure Aunty M will have you again and it sounds like you like it there.”
“Yes I do, and I do want to stay again and I am being good.”
“Good. Well, better say goodbye. See you when we get back.”
“How’s dad?” But all I heard was the click and the dial tone.
I turned to see Aunty M coming into the kitchen. Her hair was tied up in a floral scarf; tied up in the front like the ladies in the old black and white films in the war.
“That was mum on the phone,” I said with a lump in my throat. I stared at the shelf of jams and pickles and tried to pretend I was interested in them even though I wasn’t. I didn’t want Aunty M to realise I was so disappointed that mum couldn’t even think of anything to say to me, like she missed me.
“Oh, how are they?” she asked and I could feel her eyes penetrating through my clothes into my back willing me to turn around.
“Mum didn’t say much about what they are doing. She just wanted to remind me to be good,” I replied feeling a terrible sadness overwhelm me.
“Well at least she phoned sweetcake. She doesn’t mean to be so sharp. I think she just doesn’t think.”
“Would it be Ok if I took Biggles for a walk along the beach?” I asked wiping my runny nose on the back of my hand.
“That would be such a help Florence. I must get this picture finished and it would mean I could carry on.”
“Walkies Biggles, come on.”
Biggles and I walked to the end of the garden. He ran ahead of me down the wooden steps to the sand. As I walked along, I tried to clear my head but I couldn’t. My life was not the same at all any more. It looked like my dad was not my dad and who was the other baby in the photo?
It was only drizzling now and Biggles jumped in and out of the waves. I threw a stick in for him and he charged in for it, but as he dived in, a wave caught him and tossed him under. He bobbed up to the surface only to be knocked down again. He started paddling furiously but made little progress towards the beach. I realised he was struggling and that I had to help him and with that, I found myself plunging into the waves.
The water was icy cold and the waves bigger than I thought, but it did not matter; I had to save Biggles. I trod water but the sea heaved me up and tossed me down. As I bobbed up I saw a flash of yellow. Biggles was swimming towards me rising and falling on the swell. As the next wave rose and fell, I reached for his collar but the wave he was on went back out again. Then a wave caught me and tossed me under. I didn’t know whether I was up or down. Then I bobbed up and shouted,“Biggles, swim, swim,” I screeched but the wind caught my voice and carried it away. I could feel myself being dragged further and further out.
I started to cry out his name again and again. It was hopeless. I felt exhausted and desperate. We were both going to drown. My body almost started to relax as I realised there was nothing I could do to save Biggles or myself.
My fleece suddenly tugged and I felt like I was being strangled. I fell back on the sand. Next to me was Biggles, panting, sneezing and coughing.
“Biggles, you’re Ok. Thank God.” I flung my arms around his neck.
I looked around for whoever it was that had helped us. There was no-one there. Who saved me? A chill ran through me then an enormous sense of relief and thanks. I had had a close shave, and one I never wanted to repeat. But a nagging thought was in my mind that someone helped us but there was no-one on the beach but Biggles and me.
“Come on Biggles. Let’s go home.”
Together, we walked slowly back. What would Aunty M say? I knew I’d done the wrong thing in trying to rescue him. I just didn’t think. If anything had happened to him, I’d never forgive myself but I realised, I too, had been in danger and what’s more, I was soaking wet.
I stuffed my clothes into the washing machine hoping Aunty M wouldn’t notice my wet clothes; harm had been done and the last thing I wanted was for Aunty M to have to get cross with me. Up in my room, I quickly changed and it was then I noticed that the padlock on my diary had been opened.
Someone read about my secret thoughts. But who?