She only popped to the shop for milk. Sam had used most of it making himself a bowl of cornflakes when he got back last night, whatever time that was, the selfish git. No thought of what they’d need in the morning.
When Christie gets home, she sees Sam at the bottom of the back garden having his first roll-up of the day. She doesn’t greet him but goes straight into the kitchen to start breakfast. She’s hoping baby Finn is still asleep in his crib upstairs. He should be – the little sod kept her awake most of the night. Another cold. The kid can be a delight, almost angelic, but also a total snotty nightmare.
She’s only just put the kettle on when she feels the draft around her ankles. She sticks her head into the hall to find the front door wide open. They rarely use the front door.
She legs it up the stairs two at a time. Tommy’s in the bathroom, but while Dan is messing about on his bed next door, the 116other bed is empty.
‘Where’s your brother? Dan. DAN!’
No reply.
‘Ben. Ben!’ she shouts.
No answer.
‘Tommy,’ she bangs on the bathroom door.
‘What? I’m not late,’ he protests, emerging pink from the shower, his tufty hair all over the place.
‘Have you seen Ben?’
‘Which one’s that?’ This is Tommy’s usual joke, pretending he can’t tell the twins apart.
‘Keep an eye on your brothers, yeah. I think Ben’s gone walkabout. I’m off out to look for him.’ She tries to keep her voice light, but inside she feels sick to her stomach.
She runs down the stairs, shouting for Sam.
‘Sam! Sam, where’s Ben? Have you seen him?’
Sam looks bleary-eyed and stupid as he comes in from the garden. There’s a bruise and a lump on his forehead.
‘Search the house. Ben’s missing. The door was open. I’ll look out front.’
‘What—?’
She shouts in his face, ‘Look for your bloody son! You were supposed to be watching them! For fuck’s sake!’
She rushes outside. No sign of the lad in the tiny front garden or on the path immediately ahead. She jogs towards the quay. Ben is obsessed with tractors and boats and the ferry is his favourite thing ever.
A group of visitors are walking up to the pub from that direction. In between breaths she asks, ‘Have you seen a little boy in his pyjamas? Dark hair? He’s only just four!’ 117
They haven’t. They volunteer to help look and she sends them back the way they’ve come as she runs over to Emma’s and bangs on the door.
As soon as her friend opens up, she asks, ‘Is Ben here? He’s gone missing.’ Her voice catches.
‘No, I’ve not seen him. I’ll call Bobby and he’ll put the word out,’ says Emma.
‘Thanks.’ Christie suddenly thinks she should head back and grab her phone.
‘Wait,’ calls Emma as Christie’s already at the gate, ‘Try by the Scilly Maid. He was playing with Tommy, Dan and my lot down there yesterday.’
Christie takes off.
All her boys have had swimming lessons. The twins are taught in the spa pool with the preschool group. She and Sam have taken them out paddling in the sea on warm, calm days often enough. The baby will start Aqua Tots in a few months. But that means nothing. You can’t be too careful. There are thousands of ways the sea can lure a child into jolly wavelets, then turn ugly and evil and sweep them away.
She’s read the kids the old book her mother gave her, ever since they were small: The Book of Sea Stories and Songs – full of warnings. The verse to keep them away from the blowhole up the North End:
We sea dragons gush and roar
Then sweep you through our deathly door
To silt your lungs with brine-slimed fears
While mothers keen their salty tears 118
She read them the verse to keep them away from the slippery rocks, even though she worried it wasn’t appropriate, with the drawings of the witches too sexy and scary:
We sea witches will entice
With gash-red smiles and hearts of ice
To grasp and jag with wiry weed
And split the heads that have no heed
But warnings to stay away from the sea can never be scary enough.
Christie’s gasping now, as much from fear as the run.
The Scilly Maid has been pulled up onto the shingle for repairs in the little hidden bay just along from the Flying Boat Club. As Christie sprints down the sand, she sees her son is out beyond the boat poking at a clump of seaweed at the water’s edge. How the hell did he get this far? Anyone who saw a child this age out on his own would have stopped him. Perhaps he hid. The twins can be cunning.
‘Ben!’ she screams. His Transformers pyjama bottoms are soaked.
He startles and freezes. By the time she’s reached him and snatches his hand, he’s in tears. As she hauls him back to the cottage, they’re both crying.
‘Never, NEVER go near the water when a grown up isn’t with you! DO YOU HEAR ME! You must NEVER leave the house without me or your dad! I swear I’ll bloody kill you if you run off again!’
Her son sobs.
Christie sobs too, not just from relief – hers are raw, angry tears. When they get back home she swears she’ll bloody kill her husband.