1984
If only you could get shoes on Sark. It was easy to guess the sizes for his clothes—if a T-shirt was a little big, it could be tucked in, the ends of trousers rolled up—but the shoes were a different story. She had to buy a couple of sizes each time and return the ones that didn’t fit. But this time the smaller size was much too tight, and the bigger ones were the right length but too narrow and they pinched his feet.
‘Just take him over. Get him properly fitted. There’s only a week before he starts. First pair of school shoes are a bit of a big deal, anyway. I remember getting mine.’ He ruffled Luke’s hair. ‘What do you say, Luke? Fancy a trip to Guernsey?’
Luke nodded. ‘Can we go in a car when we get there?’ He’d never been in one. He’d never left the island.
She felt sick at the thought of it, out among all those people. The High Street, the shops, the crowds. It would be too hard to keep him safe.
Reg sensed how nervous she was. ‘I’ll come. We’ll make a day of it. It’ll do the boy good. We’ll show him all the sights,’ he joked.
She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile.
‘He’s a strong, healthy lad, Rachel. You’ve got to stop all this fussing. He’s not going to break.’
Reg was right. Luke was strong and healthy. He was smart, too, and curious, full of questions about the world around him, about nature and the weather and the sky at night. A trip to Guernsey wouldn’t break him. She was another matter.
They went on a Thursday. Luke’s grip on her hand was too slight and she had to keep pulling him back, towards her. She had thought that having Reg there would be useful, an extra pair of eyes on the child. Instead, he hindered her efforts.
‘Let him go.’
‘He’s four years old.’
‘He just wants to look at everything. We’re right beside him.’
‘He’s not used to the cobbles. He might fall.’
‘Well, then we’ll pick him up.’ He was getting exasperated, but she held on to Luke’s hand anyway. Tighter.
To make matters worse, it was the town carnival. Colourful bunting fluttered between the buildings. As they walked from the seafront onto Le Pollet, the cobbled road that led to the High Street, they passed a man dressed as a clown. He held a bunch of bright helium balloons in one hand. He bent down, smiled at Luke.
‘Are you coming to see the show?’
Luke looked at her. He was a good boy, knew not to talk to strangers.
‘I don’t think so, thank you.’
She started to walk, pulling Luke with her.
‘When is it?’ Reg asked.
‘Eleven o’clock in front of the Town Church. There’s a Punch and Judy.’
Luke’s eyes widened. ‘Can we go?’ he whispered.
It was so hard to say no to him.
‘We’ll see,’ she said.
Beghin’s was the only place for school shoes, Reg said. It was right next to the Town Church, the red-and-white-striped Punch and Judy tent already erected and catching Luke’s eye.
‘We’ve got plenty of time, Luke,’ Reg reassured him. ‘Let’s get you sorted in here first. Then we’ll find a good spot to watch the show, eh?’
It was decided, then. She could hardly say no now. She glared at Reg. He pretended not to notice. They went into the shop.
A stern-looking assistant dressed in a sombre suit with a dark green tie and a pair of wire-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose placed Luke’s feet in an unwieldy metal measuring contraption. He told him to stand up straight, slide his heels back, then disappeared without a word. He returned a few minutes later with boxes stacked to his chin. Luke dutifully tried each pair, walking the length of the shop and back, wiggling his toes so the assistant could feel them through the stiff leather. The fourth pair he tried were declared a perfect fit, and Luke agreed that they were not too big, too small, too tight or too slippy and that he would probably be able to run quite fast in them. The assistant packed them back into the box, carefully folding the tissue paper over the top.
‘I’ll ring them up for you.’ He smiled.
‘Can we take the next size up?’ she asked.
He wrinkled his brow. ‘But these fit perfectly.’
‘As well as those. Two pairs.’ She’d have asked for the size after that too but was worried that Reg would baulk at the cost. As it was, he just gave her a look, then rolled his eyes. Much as her eccentricities seemed to perplex him, he liked to see her happy.
Luke roared with laughter at the Punch and Judy, right until Mr Punch put the baby in the sausage machine. Then he looked at her confused as the string of fabric sausages flowed over the side of the tent.
‘Is the baby dead?’ He had tears in his eyes.
‘It’s just pretend, sweetheart. And look.’ She pointed to the show. The sausages disappeared back into the grinder; the baby was removed, paraded back and forth, unharmed but still unsafe, wobbling precariously in Mr Punch’s arms.
‘He shouldn’t have done that,’ Luke said quietly.
‘It’s just pretend,’ she said. ‘And anyway, wait until you see what happens at the end.’
With the baby safely returned to Judy, Luke started to laugh again, and by the time the devil had walloped him off the stage, he was clapping and cheering.
Rachel looked around for Reg, who had been standing at the back, a shopping bag in each hand.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Time to go home.’
He was tired on the way back to the ferry and she carried him, his head nestled into her neck.
‘It would have been better if the policeman had got him,’ he said. There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It would have been better if Mr Punch had gone to jail. Because after the devil hit him, he was OK and he might be mean to the baby again and to Mrs Punch.’
‘Her name’s Judy. I don’t think he was mean to them anymore. Not after seeing the devil. I think that would be enough to teach anyone a lesson, don’t you?’
‘Have you ever seen the devil, mummy? Does he really look like that?’ He held her tighter.
‘Don’t be a silly billy.’
She felt him relax a little. His eyelashes fluttered against her cheek. ‘He probably only comes for bad people, doesn’t he?’
‘That’s right Luke. So we have nothing to worry about.
It hurt to swallow past the lump in her throat.