The Red Judge (11 page)

‘One day you'll
really
get yourself in trouble!' my mother had always said. But, this time, it wouldn't just be my father that I'd have to deal with. It would be the full force of justice in the courts of law.

For tonight, however, I sank back into what felt like the world's most welcome rest, listening to the sound of silver runners racing over the snow. To me it was the sound of life itself, wrapped around me like a child's comfort blanket, welcoming me home from the strange land of the dead.

I was surprised that Pawl took me back to his place, but relieved as well because I didn't know how I'd face Prospect House with the memory of Dr Katterfelto waiting on the stairs. The sled drew round the back and came to a halt in a small yard surrounded by sheds. Pawl unharnessed the dogs and gave me a hand down. I was astonished at how weak I was when I tried to stand. He had to lift me down and carry me inside.

The tin house was much bigger than anyone would expect from the outside, and it was homelier as well. I'd hardly ever been inside because, for all his friendliness, Pawl was a private man who rarely invited anyone in. Outside it was just a shack in need of paint, but inside it was warm and cosy, and smelt of Christmas cooking. It was tidy as well – never a virtue that anyone would associate with a man who mostly wore his clothes inside out and back to front – everything in its place, and everything carefully labelled.

Pawl dug out logs from a basket labelled ‘Fuel', and coaxed his wood-burning stove back to life. Then he pulled up a sofa and settled me on it with a hot-water bottle, labelled ‘Hot Water – Careful – Do Not Boil' and a blanket labelled ‘Spare Room'. He drew the curtains against the night, poked the fire until flames went leaping up the stove-pipe, and brought me a supper of turkey sandwiches and Christmas cake, served on a tray labelled ‘Pantry – Second Shelf'.

I stuffed it all down – even the marzipan on the Christmas cake, which I had never liked, but now it tasted wonderful. It was the first time in days that I had eaten properly and, when I'd finished, I felt exhausted. I lay back against a pile of cushions, basking like a sleepy fish in sunny waters. It was as much as I could do to keep myself from falling asleep right there and then, but Pawl had made a proper bed for me upstairs and wanted me to sleep in it.

He was obviously very proud of what he had achieved at a moment's notice, turning an unused junk room into a welcoming guest bedroom. I said how nice it was, and fell into bed. Pawl tucked me in as if I was a baby, announcing that he would leave me in peace.

In the doorway, however, he turned back. There was one final thing that he had remembered. ‘Good news about … Cary getting better … don't you think … turned a corner … best Christmas present … in the world …' he said.

‘
Getting better?
' I said.

Pawl nodded. ‘Yes,' he said.

I should have been thrilled – in fact, I should have been ecstatic – but I found myself shivering as if a chill
wind had blown into my life. Pawl disappeared before I could ask for details. I could have gone rushing after him, but something held me back. I lay in bed, blaming tiredness for the strange mood that had descended upon me. But I wasn't tired enough to get to sleep.

I lay awake for ages. Long after Pawl himself had gone to bed, I was still awake. Up the valley somewhere, farm dogs barked in a shed. Downstairs in the kitchen, Harri and Mari whined. I shivered under my covers.

Once I would have lain awake waiting for Santa on a night like this, I thought, but now I don't know what I'm waiting for.

I fell asleep in the end, but awoke before first light to hear Harri and Mari still whining in the kitchen. What was the matter with them? I looked out of the window to see if everything was all right. The yard was empty, and so was the bank up to the lane but, off in the night somewhere, I could hear those farm dogs again. It seemed to me that they were closer now. I stood listening to them crying in the darkness, and disturbing half-memories started coming back – shapes in the mist, and being chased, and other things too, which felt like the remains of a nightmare: strange white houses, and darkened rooms, and stubs of candles burning without giving any light.

In the end, to shake them off, I went downstairs. Harri and Mari looked up as I entered the kitchen. ‘It's all right,' I told them. ‘Don't look like that. Everything's fine. It's just that I can't sleep, that's all.'

I gave them both a hug and wished them Happy Christmas. But if it was Christmas morning, then why
had Pawl cooked his turkey a day early? I caught sight of its carcass in the pantry, and saw the Christmas cake he'd started too, and the beers he'd opened, with ‘Alcohol – Christmas – 25th', written on their carrier. Then I saw a roasting pan in the kitchen sink as well, and discarded wrapping paper in the bin, as if Pawl had opened his presents a day early.

I stooped and got it out, smoothed it down and read the labels, telling myself that yet again poor old Pawl had got his days mixed up. But what if
I
was mixed up, not him? What if my strange half-memories were trying to tell me that I'd lost a day? My mind went back to the sound of bells on the mountain. I'd thought they rang for my survival, but what if they'd rung for Christmas Day instead, and something had happened to me on that mountain –
something that I wanted to forget?

‘No,' I said. ‘I'm being ridiculous. It isn't possible!'

I turned to leave the kitchen, as if to shake off my nameless fears. But suddenly a small room came to mind, and I remembered someone there with me in the darkness, and felt their presence. Then all sorts of things came flooding back, words and memories that I couldn't contain:

‘
I'd do anything
…
I'd go through anything
…
I'd give you anything
…
even my own life
…
take me instead
.'

Now I said the words again, like an actor repeating lines. And I knew them all by heart,
because the words were mine!

I
said
them, I thought. I really did. It wasn't a dream. It actually happened. I was trapped there in that room –
and I know who by!

I started flying about the kitchen, grabbing everything I'd need to make a getaway. I had to escape, and I had to do it fast. For it was payback time. I'd struck a deal with the red judge, and he'd kept his side of the bargain – and now he'd sent his
C
ŵ
n y Wbir
to collect!

In the biggest panic ever, I grabbed food, drink, warm clothes, blankets and anything else that came to hand, including Pawl's big black coat hanging on the back door. He wouldn't mind, I told myself – not if he knew the danger I was in. I hauled it all outside, piled it into Grace's sled, tied it down with a tarpaulin and then hugged Harri and Mari, who stood in the doorway as if they couldn't figure out what was going on, telling them that they couldn't come with me, and this was farewell. Then I got behind the sled, and tried to push it off. But it was frozen to the yard, and wouldn't budge. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't break it out.

In the end, Harri and Mari had to help me. They did a magnificent job, too, harnessed to the sled and breaking it free as if they were old hands, straining first to one side, then the other, then lunging forward so that it came shooting out of the ice.

I had to run behind to catch them up. They pulled the sled up the bank to the lane, and would have carried on, too, if I hadn't made them stop. I thanked them and went to undo their harnesses, but they looked at me as if I was mad. I hadn't really meant that this was farewell, their eyes seemed to say. Surely I knew that they wanted to come too? They'd caught a whiff of something blowing up the valley – a promise of adventure that they couldn't resist.

‘No,' I said. ‘You can't.
We
can't. You're Pawl's. He needs you. You can't come with me. You've got to go home.'

I glanced back at the tin house, afraid of Pawl seeing what was going on. And there he was, sure enough, standing at his bedroom window, holding back the curtain as if he'd seen it all. I went again to unharness the dogs, but he waved a hand as if to say, ‘No, no, off you go. It's fine by me.
I understand
.'

Then he stepped back from the window and let the curtain drop. I knew he'd never tell a soul about what he'd seen. I mightn't understand why, but suddenly I knew that there was more to Pawl than met the eye. I'd always felt that there was, but now I'd seen it for myself.

I waved my hand as well, wishing that I knew him better, but guessing that I never would. Then I climbed on to the high bench seat, and we set off. The tin house fell behind us. I watched it disappearing. Harri and Mari pulled the sled down the side of the bridge, then started along the frozen Afon Gwy as if it were a six-lane highway. There were no signposts to direct them, but who needs signposts?

Plynlimon lay behind me, and the river lay ahead. I knew that if I kept on course then I'd be safe. Nobody would ever find me, not even the red judge. I shivered at the thought of it – shivered with excitement. My journey stretched ahead of me all the way to the sea. I felt it waiting like the gateway to a whole new life.

The time has come to tell you about my other father. I'm not talking about my real father here, who was dead, or my Fitztalbot father, who was best forgotten. I'm talking about the father I made up for myself when I didn't have anybody else. The one I called my ‘seafaring father'.

He's the reason why, that morning, knowing that the sea lay waiting for me up ahead meant so very much. I made him up when I first moved to Pengwern. Faced with the awful reality of my new Fitztalbot father, I started fantasising about the sort of father that I'd really like. Over time, I polished him up until I got him just the way I wanted. Then – when he was perfect – I believed in him.

I know it must sound crazy but, for years, he was so real that if I'd met him on the street I would have known him. He was just like me – a rebel too, who hated school and uniforms and being made to keep the rules; someone who ran away to sea when he was scarcely my age, and who understood me so well that
when I looked at him, I couldn't help but understand myself.

I saw my dreams fulfilled in him. For years, I imagined running away and finding him waiting when I got to the sea, tanned by the wind, dark-haired, tough and wiry, and as handsome as a gypsy. ‘
Life's for living, not keeping shop
.' That was one of his favourite sayings, as made up by me. ‘
You're only as good as the storms you have survived
.' That was another – and he knew what he was talking about!

My seafaring father had seen it all – waves as tall as skyscrapers, and nights on seas so calm that you couldn't tell where the sky ended and the sea began. He'd fought with pirates and found treasure islands. Met fabled beasts and ghost ships. Survived storms the likes of which most people could never imagine. His tales were tall and wild – and I always believed them, even though I was the one who'd made them up.

That's the one important thing I want to get across. Even though I made him up, I still believed in my seafaring father. It was like believing in the future. Having hope against all odds. One day, I told myself, the two of us would go off together across the seven seas. We'd do battle with wild storms and always win. Drink ourselves silly in every port. Share girls together – legendary lovers, father and son. There'd be nothing I couldn't achieve with him by my side, and nothing he wouldn't do for me.

He was twice as alive as anybody else. He wasn't like my real father, who had gone and died. And he certainly wasn't like my Fitztalbot father, who didn't know what it meant to live. Even as I grew older and stopped thinking about him so much, I still knew that
he was out there on the high seas, waiting for the day when I would join him.

And now that day had come! My head knew that my seafaring father wasn't real, but my heart told me that he'd be waiting when I got downriver to the sea. Here I was facing yet another unexpected, new and highly uncertain life, and there he was, waiting for me like he always had done.

Suddenly the journey took on a whole new light. I wasn't running
from
something any more, but
to
something instead. Morning broke across the sky. It lit the tops of all the hills, but I refused to look back. It was too bright a morning for looking back, and the world ahead was too exciting. The air was clear and blue, as if the atmosphere had been stretched out thin. The sun rose in a perfect sky and my spirits rose as well. I felt them soaring through the air. Felt like a bird flying down the river.

I've done it, I thought. I've got away. The
C
ŵ
n y Wbir
won't catch me, and neither will their master. I'm shaking off his shadow, and I'm free of him. Free of everybody else as well who ever tried to put me down!

It was a moment of sheer exhilaration. Completely unexpectedly, the future was suddenly bright. I'd tricked the red judge into saving Cary's life, then slipped through his fingers and got away with it.

Suddenly I felt free. Old landscapes fell behind me and new ones appeared. Harri and Mari drew the sled down a long, narrowing valley, their muscles working like the Furies underneath their shaggy coats. I didn't have to drive them, or tell them where to go. They ran as if our destinations were the same.

Cliffs started closing in on us, and the sun disappeared. We entered a gorge with heavy woodland on either side. Shadows fell across the sled, but I didn't feel cast down by them. I felt safe, as if the cliffs were strong arms holding the world at bay.

Even when Harri and Mari stopped at last, and couldn't go any further, I still felt safe. In front of the sled lay a jumble of boulders, fallen tree-trunks and plates of ice, frozen together to create thick wedge-like steps. There was no way forward, apart from picking our way down them slowly, but I didn't care. The gorge was too beautiful to mind slowing down. In the icy morning, it was like a treasure chest stuffed full of jewels.