Escape from Shangri-La (18 page)

We crossed the wide road that ran along the seafront, and walked along the beach. There was a chill breeze off the sea, so we went to sit down in the shelter of the dunes, where I discovered that French sand-hoppers were just the same as English ones, only there seemed to be more of them. The sea was murky grey and limpid. Each wave seemed so tired it barely had the strength to curl itself over and run up the sand. There were miles of beach, and miles of dunes, as far as the eye could see, all completely deserted, except for a couple of walkers out with their gambolling dogs.

Popsicle was looking out to sea. ‘That young soldier,' he said, ‘the one who pulled me out of the sea. I never even knew his name. I've still got that poetry book of
his,
The Golden Treasury
, always kept it. Sitting here like this, Cessie, it's all so peaceful. You can hardly believe it happened, all those ships out there, and the planes screaming down on us, and the bombs, and the bodies. I remember walking away from him. He was a body, like the others, and I never even knew his name.'

‘Names don't matter,' I said.

Popsicle seemed suddenly cheered by that. He put his arm round me and hugged me to him. ‘That's a true fact, Cessie,' he said. ‘That's a powerful fact. I may not know his name, but I have the memory of him, of what he did. Same with Lucie Alice. I'll never see her again, I know that now, but I have the memory of her, haven't I? And that's a whole lot better than nothing. If anyone should know that, then I should.'

He talked on and on, but I really didn't hear much of what he was saying. I was too cold, too tired to follow his thinking. After a while he seemed to sense it. ‘Come on, Cessie,' he said, at last, helping me to my feet and brushing the sand off me. ‘I'd better be getting you home. I'd better be getting us all home.'

We must have walked further than we thought – it seemed a very long way back to the harbour and the
Lucie Alice
. They were all on board and waiting for us, and so were the harbourmaster and the customs men.
Popsicle explained, in French and in English, how we'd got lost in the fog, that we had no passports, and that we were on our way home anyway. They complained a bit, and shrugged a lot, and then complained some more, but that was the end of it.

As we cast off there was a sense of deep sadness about the boat. They were clearly not at all the same cheery crew they had been. Even Harry had lost his sparkle and sat hunched and dejected in his wheelchair. I told him we'd been to the beaches. I told him about the sandhoppers, but he didn't seem to want to know. Big Bethany stood on her own, gazing back at Dunkirk. She had her handkerchief out and, because I knew why, I left her alone. Benny grumbled down in his galley, about all the washing-up he had to do. He didn't seem to want any help. Some of them had that vacant look on their faces, the same look I'd seen through the window up at Shangri-La.

I thought at first that it might be a kind of solidarity for Popsicle in his disappointment, but in that case you'd have thought they'd have been all over him with consideration and kindness, and they weren't. Then I thought they might be blaming him for bringing them on what had turned out to be a fool's errand, but that wasn't how they were, any of them. It wasn't only
fatigue either, although that was evident on every face around me as we steamed out of Dunkirk harbour and into the swell of the open sea. As I was sitting on my own under the red ensign at the stern of the boat, I finally worked out what it was that must be making them all feel so wretched. It could be one of two things, or maybe both: an unspoken dread in each of them, the dread of going back to Shangri-La, or an aching sadness that their grand adventure, our grand adventure, would soon be over.

There had been an hour or so of this all-pervading gloom, when Popsicle called everyone together up on deck. He handed each of us a tin of condensed milk. ‘To sweeten you up, you miserable beggars. Come on, it's not that bad. Do you think it's the last time we'll be doing this? Of course it's not. Don't you worry, I'll see to it.' He patted his wheel. ‘We'll go out in the old girl whenever you want to. She's my boat, isn't she? I'll take her out whenever I want to. They can't stop us. Promise.'

They seemed to brighten a little at that. Popsicle hadn't finished. ‘All right, so we didn't find what we came for. It didn't work out like I wanted. But we've had the time of our lives, haven't we? We may be a lot of old crocks, but I'm telling you, this old girl never had a finer crew, not even in her heyday. So let's not mope,
eh? We'll scoff down our condensed milk, warm ourselves up with Benny's tea, and we'll all come home smiling. I want them to see us smiling. And they'll be waiting, you can be sure of that. There'll be quite a kerfuffle when we get back, I shouldn't wonder. And the Dragonwoman'll be there too, bound to be. So let's just show the old crow what a time we've had. Let's show her what we're made of. How about it?'

The first of the sun broke through and flooded the deck with sudden warmth. ‘Here comes the sun,' cried Popsicle. ‘Come on, Cessie. Get your fiddle out. Play us a tune, there's a girl.'

How Popsicle did it, I'll never know, but somehow he transformed all of us. Within minutes we were the same happy bunch we had been on the way over – well, almost. Popsicle said later it was the magical properties of condensed milk that did the trick. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't my violin playing. I just couldn't get into my stride. My fingers wouldn't work as they should, and then my ‘e' string broke and I didn't have a spare in my violin case. You can't play very much without an ‘e' string.

‘No matter,' said Popsicle. ‘We'll have the radio instead. There'll be some music on. There always is.' He asked Mac to turn it on full volume so we could all hear it.

After a lot of wheezing and whistling and foreign-sounding stations, the radio at last settled on a clear signal, some jingly music, and then an English voice – a voice I knew at once, the voice of my father. Popsicle had recognised it too. He cut the engines at once.

‘That's him!' he said. ‘That's Arthur, that's my son! Listen, listen.'

‘This then is a message to my father. I just hope and pray that you're listening out there, Popsicle.'

‘He called you Popsicle,' I whispered.

‘So he did, Cessie, so he did. Hush now and listen, there's a girl.' There was a pause so long that I thought the radio must have gone wrong. My father cleared his throat, and went on.

‘All those years sitting on that wall I longed for you to come back. All my life ever since I've been wanting you to come home – that's the truth of it. And then when you did come, all I did was give you the cold shoulder and send you away again. What I did was shameful, I know that now; but just how shameful it was I never really understood until we found Cessie gone this morning, until we read your letter, Cessie, the one you threw away. Lowestoft, the
Michael Hardy
, Dunkirk, Lucie Alice, my mother – I know it all now, I know you've gone off to look for Lucie Alice in Dunkirk.
I pray you find her alive and well, but if you do not, then please come home and be with us. We want you with us. I want you with me. There'll be no more Shangri-La, I promise you that. And, Cessie, if you're listening out there, come home safe and sound and bring Popsicle with you. Take care, both of you.' I thought he'd finished, but he hadn't, not quite. ‘I've played a lot of requests on my shows over the years, but this is the first one I've ever requested myself. This is for you, Popsicle, to serenade you home. I know you're a lot older than sixty-four, but it'll have to do. Here it is then: “When I'm Sixty-four” by the Beatles. God bless. We'll be waiting for you.'

Those who knew it – and that was most of us – hummed or sang or clapped along. But Popsicle stood at his wheel and just listened, gazing out to sea all the while. When it had finished, he rubbed his hands together and blew on them. ‘Cold. It's cold out here,' he said. ‘Let's go home, shall we, Cessie?' And he started up the engines.

As Popsicle had predicted, there was indeed quite a reception committee waiting for us. In mid-Channel a helicopter found us and circled overhead for a while. We were still several kilometres off when the first boat came out to meet us, a police launch. They came alongside
and, through a loudhailer, offered to put a couple of officers on board – to help us, they said. Popsicle refused, and made it very plain that we were quite capable of bringing the
Lucie Alice
in under her own steam and needed no help whatsoever. They seemed a bit disgruntled at that and told us rather curtly to follow them in. Popsicle replied that we were a lot bigger than they were and faster too, so they could follow us – if they could keep up, that is.

Word had clearly got about, because before long there was a flotilla of small ships all around us escorting us in. The closer we came to the shore, the more there were. Another helicopter was hovering overhead now. There was a cameraman on board, hanging out of the side as he filmed us. It was as if we'd been single-handed round the world, not just over to Dunkirk and back.

Once inside the harbour there was a cacophony of hooting all around us, and one ship had even turned on its fire hoses to greet us. The quay was lined with people cheering and waving. My arms were aching with waving back; but I never stopped, not once. Popsicle stayed at the helm, as he had done all the way. I looked up at him and I could see that, tired though he was, he was enjoying every moment of it, as I was, as were all the ancient Argonauts. You may not have brought back
your Golden Fleece, Jason Popsicle, I thought, but even if you had, the welcome could not possibly have been any better.

We were edging our way back into the lock when I first saw my father and my mother. They were standing side by side in front of the lock-keeper's house, slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, as if they wanted to enjoy it all by themselves, in private.

It seemed an age before we were through the lock and tied up once again, the great engines silent at last. I saw Chalky give them a last wipe, and kissing each of them a fond goodbye. Big Bethany enveloped me against her warm softness and said I was to come and play my violin for them one day up at Shangri-La. I promised, and I meant it too.

My mother was first on board. It was while we were still clinging to each other that I saw Shirley Watson and Mandy Bethel, and a few others besides, watching from the towpath. I wriggled my fingers at them. They wriggled theirs back. After a time I managed to disengage from my mother. My father was looking at his father.

‘We heard you, Arthur, on the radio,' Popsicle said.

‘Welcome home, Popsicle,' said my father. And there on the deck of the
Lucie Alice
they hugged each other, for
all the world to see; and judging from the applause, all the world seemed to be enjoying it hugely. They hugged and hugged, long enough, I thought – and I hoped – to make up for all the years they hadn't.

Who would you like to have an adventure with?

a) On my own

b) A ghost

c) Someone in my family

d) My best friend

e) My pet

Where would you like to go on holiday?

a) A remote island or a far-away mountain

b) A fantasy world

c) Anywhere as long as my family and friends are there

d) A different time period

e) The countryside

I would like to be . . .

a) Explorer

b) Author

c) Someone who helps others

d) Warrior

e) Circus ringmaster

My favourite stories are . . .

a) Full of adventure

b) Magical

c) About friendships and family

d) War stories

e) About animals