They landed in late afternoon sunshine. Shadows stretched from the trees bordering the fence line in front of them.
Awkwardly they picked themselves up. The lawn was soft and damp already from the first evening dew. Becky rubbed at a muddy patch on her jeans. Johnny looked around grinning. Then he punched the air. ‘Yee hah!’ he yelled.
Becky couldn’t help but laugh and gulp with relief. She looked behind her to find the bricks of Arcady House and the window they had jumped out of earlier. Oddly, it was closed. It didn’t matter. She had no intention of climbing back into the house.
‘Let’s get out of here!’ she whispered.
Johnny needed no second bidding. They hurried at first down the side of the house and when they saw the path beyond at the end of the lawn, with the avenue of blotch-barked plane trees, they broke into a run.
Dusk had still to fall when they reached Becky’s street.
‘I’ll come with you if you like,’ said Johnny.
Becky gave him a small grateful smile. ‘That’d be good.’
She was very worried, not only about her reception, but about how on earth they could explain their absence. She reckoned she had been away three nights, at least, although who really knew given the strange world they’d been in. Time could have been as dislocated as place. All the same, she cringed at what must have happened: the police would have been brought in and probably the media. Her photograph and Johnny’s would have been plastered all over the papers and on the TV. No doubt her father would have flown over. She corrected herself, possibly her father would have flown over.
The school principal would have been on TV, too. That always happened. They probably would have talked to Mrs Barnard and she would have told them in the most hint hint kind of way about her outburst in the rehearsal and about stress and pressure and words like that which everybody would have understood to mean emotional instability or more crudely nutcase. And what would they have made of the fact that Johnny Cadman had disappeared at the same time? She didn’t even want to go in that direction. It would be all too humiliating.
But what of her mother? How would she be feeling, her mother who had had so much to put up with recently. What would she have made of her disappearance? Not knowing where Becky was would have been bad enough, but worse would have been that it looked like yet another betrayal.
Donna Pym would demand an explanation; she would deserve an explanation. But what possible explanation could they offer that wouldn’t sound as if they’d been chewing some mind-altering drugs for three days and nights?
Becky paused by the door and turned to Johnny, muttering, ‘This is going to be absolutely bloody awful.’
‘I reckon,’ whispered Johnny.
‘Hold your breath then,’ muttered Becky. ‘We’re going in.’
She turned the handle and opened the door.
She was not at all sure what to expect, except that the atmosphere would be charged in some way, perhaps the way it is after a funeral when grief seems to hang in the very air. She expected there would be a support team for her mother, Aunty Chris probably and some of the neighbours. They’d probably be in the living room, hands wrapped around cups of coffee.
However, there was none of this. Nothing seemed changed; the atmosphere was relentlessly normal.
Johnny, following her, seemed to have shrunk into himself again. She wanted to rebuke him. Somehow, while they were in Arcadia he’d gained confidence and lost this characteristic slumped manner.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she whispered. ‘It’ll probably be bloody for a few minutes but it’ll be okay after that.’
Of course it would. Trumping all the worry and the anger would be Donna Pym’s relief, even joy, that Becky was back. That thought giving her more confidence, Becky pushed the door that led directly into the kitchen and dining room.
To her astonishment, the guy Max Willis, the colleague Donna Pym had been helping look at houses, was there. He and her mother were sitting at the table eating a meal and there was a bottle of wine between them and half-filled glasses. Far from looking distraught, her mother looked more relaxed than Becky had seen her in weeks.
At Becky’s entrance, she looked around in some surprise.
‘Oh, hello dear,’ she said. ‘You’re back early.’
This, along with her mother’s blasé reception, was astonishing.
‘We are?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘Hi,’ said Donna Pym with a friendly smile. ‘You must be Johnny? Come along in.’
‘Computer games not so much fun?’ asked Max Willis.
Johnny and Becky looked at each other as this new reality dawned. Johnny was first to take advantage of it.
He grinned at Becky’s mother and said, ‘Yeah, pretty boring really. Actually,’ he added, ‘to tell the truth we didn’t even bother. We went for a walk instead.’
Becky said, ‘Round by the river. You know, that path near Landon Street.’
‘That’s a nice part of the neighbourhood,’ said Donna Pym to Max Willis. ‘Pity there weren’t any houses for sale round there.’
‘They’d be expensive though,’ said Johnny.
‘They’re all pretty old, too,’ said Becky. ‘Unless you like old houses?’
‘Anywhere I hang my hat,’ said Max Willis, and Donna Pym gave him a quick little look before turning back to Becky and Johnny.
‘But that means you won’t have had any dinner?’
Becky shook her head,
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Johnny. Then feeling a little awkward, suddenly said, ‘I really ought to be getting home, I suppose.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Donna Pym. ‘Becky, there’s another couple of pieces of steak in the fridge and there’s lots of salad and potatoes here. Max has only nibbled at his food …’
Becky looked inquiringly at Johnny. ‘Do you want to?’ she asked.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘If you’re sure it’s okay.’ Then he turned to Becky’s mother, ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘It’s very nice …’
‘Nonsense,’ said Donna. ‘It’s lovely to have one of Becky’s friends here. It doesn’t happen too often.’
Later, as they were still sitting round the table, Max Willis winked at Donna Pym then said to Becky, ‘So you didn’t play your flute to Johnny, Becky?’
Becky and Johnny exchanged glances and Becky felt a moment of alarm. In all of the excitement she’d forgotten completely about the flute.
She looked at Max Willis’s smiling, expectant face. She could make some silly comment to brush away his silly question, but sooner or later she’d have to confess to the missing flute. Best deal with it quickly, she told herself.
She turned to her mother, flushing a little. ‘I’ve lost it!’ she blurted.
‘Lost what, dear? The flute?’
Becky nodded.
Donna Pym’s face became more serious. ‘But how?’
Becky felt helpless. How could she possibly explain how she’d ‘lost’ the flute. How could she tell her mother that the last time she’d seen the instrument it was in the hands of an angry Greek goddess who had just turned a drunken goatherd into a horse.
Johnny came to her rescue, ‘It’s sort of my fault,’ he said.
Becky glanced at him gratefully.
‘To save Becky carrying it I’d put it in the delivery basket on my bike,’ he said, ‘and when we walked along the path I left the bike against a tree. We kind of forgot about the flute. When we got back, the flute was gone.’
Becky looked back at her mother, nodding.
‘Somebody must have taken it,’ Johnny concluded rather lamely.
‘Oh, Becky!’ said Donna Pym.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Becky miserably.
‘Put an ad in the paper,’ suggested Max Willis. ‘It might turn up.’
Becky gave him as small smile.
It won’t though, thought Becky. And while the loss was distressing to her mother, Becky could not help feeling a wave of relief.
Later, she walked Johnny to the gate.
‘Thanks, Johnny,’ she whispered, slightly surprised to find that almost for the first time she was using his name directly.
‘That’s okay.’ He grinned in the darkness. ‘Pretty difficult to tell the truth.’
‘I know …’
Becky knew he was right, but felt a little guilty all the same. With her mother, she’d buried what the flute was doing to her. She should have tried to explain, even in the most roundabout way. It had cost a lot to buy the flute and her mother deserved a little more.
‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘I’ll need to let her know something, somehow …’
‘I’ve no idea how you can do that,’ said Johnny, ‘but good luck. At least I don’t have to tell my folks anything.’
Becky took his hand and squeezed it. ‘Thanks for being there for me, too,’ she whispered. ‘It was all so weird and so scary. I don’t know that I could have done it on my …’
‘No worries,’ said Johnny. ‘It was seriously weird, though. It had its moments.’
‘I wonder what’ll happen to Faunus.’
Johnny shrugged. ‘I don’t know. That woman with the flute was pretty angry.’
‘Poor old Silenus.’
‘Poor old Silenus my backside,’ said Johnny. ‘He was going to kill and eat me. You too, if he could have caught you. Do him damn good to eat grass from now on.’
‘They were all mad,’ said Becky. ‘Faunus, Silenus, all appetite and the women all so cold.’
‘Your hand’s not cold,’ whispered Johnny. ‘It’s rather warm.’
‘I’d better get back in,’ said Becky, releasing his hand and surprised that she felt so reluctant to do so. ‘Mum’ll be getting suspicious.’
‘Bull,’ grinned Johnny. ‘You just don’t want to leave her alone with that guy.’
When Becky returned to the kitchen, Max Willis and her mother were just finishing up the dishes.
‘I could have done those,’ she said.
‘I see you have her well trained, Donna,’ said Max Willis.
‘I wish,’ said Donna Pym, giving Becky a small grin.
It was funny having a man in the kitchen again doing the domestic things her father used to do, thought Becky. She couldn’t work out whether it was something pleasant or something she resented.
After Max made his farewells, Donna made them another cup of coffee.
‘I shouldn’t do this,’ she said. ‘I’ll be up all night.’
Becky felt obliged to make some comment about Max. ‘He seems quite nice,’ she said neutrally.
Donna shrugged. ‘I hardly know him really. But, you’re right, he’s pleasant enough and it was fun going round the houses.’
‘Fun?’
Donna smiled. ‘He’s quite sharp really, and he liked to tease the land agents when they were over egging it, you know?’
Becky, stirring her coffee, nodded.
Donna looked at her speculatively. ‘We’ve never really talked about this, Becky, but it’s been a long time now since Roger … since your father left. I don’t mean this one, but should I meet someone … how would you …?’
Becky took a sip. She wondered what had prompted this. Max being here for dinner, or Johnny? She glanced up at her mother. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I was thinking before that it was kind of funny to have a guy in the kitchen doing the dishes and stuff. That hasn’t happened for yonks. I don’t know …’
For a moment or two, nothing was said. Becky thought of Arcadia again. It had been warfare there: scheming Faunus and his reduced fauns versus bitter nymphs, all trying to outdo one another. There had to be a better way.
She sensed her mother was waiting. She looked up at her and shrugged. ‘It depends on the guy, of course,’ she said. ‘If he were you know …’ She meant: kind, considerate, gentle, loving. ‘… I guess it could be all right.’
Donna Pym gave her a small grateful smile and nodded. ‘Thank you, kiddo,’ she said.
Becky impulsively reached and took her mother’s hand.
‘About the flute, Mum …’ she said.
Donna looked at her. ‘The flute?’
‘It was lovely of you to buy it and I know how much it cost, you know, and not just in dollars.’
‘I know,’ said Donna.
‘But there was something really strange about it and I can’t really tell you without your thinking me some kind of fruitcake, but believe me it was real and it was scary.’
Her mother looked at her. Becky wasn’t given to odd excesses.
‘Johnny’s story wasn’t quite what happened.’
‘What?’
‘If I told you what really happened you’d be calling in the people in the white coats so I’m not even going to try.’
‘Go on.’
Becky thought desperately of some way of telling her mother how her life with the flute had been that she could understand. ‘Well, the first thing is that the flute never really belonged to me …’
Donna Pym wanted to protest, but Becky shook her head. ‘No, you have to listen. It didn’t. And I found out who it really belonged to, and they took it back. It’s been really, really hard, believe me. But the flute was kind of jinxed, cursed and it nearly drove me mad.’
Despite her growing astonishment, Donna Pym refrained from interruption.
‘Listen, you know when I played it in that shop and you were amazed at the piece I played?’
Her mother nodded. ‘It was quite beautiful.’
‘I know,’ said Becky. ‘But I had never played that piece before. I hadn’t even heard it. And here’s where it gets so weird. The flute would only play that piece. I could not at any stage play any other piece on it. You never heard me play any other piece. Paddy never heard me play anything else. Actually she told me what it was. It’s something called Syrinx by Debussy. So when I had to rehearse in the orchestra I had to sit out and that was so difficult as I was lead flute. If I had tried to play it would have been more awful. Paddy bawled me out and I ran away. It was ghastly. I had to go to Mrs Barnard. Everybody thought it was something to do with me, but it was all about the flute …’
Her mother looked at her with growing astonishment. ‘Becky … why didn’t you say?’
‘What could I say?’
‘How strange. How dreadful.’
‘It was worse,’ said Becky softly. ‘It was frightening.’
‘But you said you found the owner?’
‘There was a card in the box and it led me to the person who owned it. I went back to that horrible pawnshop and they gave me the address.’
Becky looked at her mother helplessly. She was trembling. ‘Mum, I can’t tell you any more. It was like a nightmare. If it hadn’t been for Johnny …’
Donna Pym knew when to withdraw. What Becky had told her was beyond her comprehension, but she knew it was real and had been terrible for Becky. She squeezed her hand.
‘Well, whatever it was, it’s over now.’ She gave her a little smile. ‘And look at it like this, you’ve lost a flute, but you’ve gained a friend.’
Becky looked at her mother gratefully. She smiled, ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she whispered, and all at once she felt matchboxes in her throat again.