Washy and the Crocodile (13 page)

“That's a nice idea,” said Evie thoughtfully: “but I'm not quite sure it's true.”

“I know why,” said the giant; and they all stared at him. What did he mean? How could he know?

“Your father saved my life in Afghanistan,” said Mac in his deep voice. “And I wish to God he hadn't.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Jack, almost frightened by the revelation. Things were happening very fast!

“He means,” said Evie, “that he was the soldier who was blown up by the land-mine. The man whom Daddy saved.”

“That man!” Exclaimed Jack. “But he did nothing wrong! He couldn't have helped treading on the mine. He couldn't see it.”

“I did do something wrong,” said the giant, in his deep, hoarse voice, that seemed to ring out over the sea and travel for ever. “I shouldn't have been on that patrol. I wasn't a soldier. I was the regimental doctor. I shouldn't have been on any patrol. I wasn't trained for that. It was my job to stay in the camp and deal with casualties when they were brought in by helicopter. I had no right to be there. But I was curious. I wanted to see what things were like for myself.” He paused. “I did the wrong thing, and your father died as a result; and I can never forgive myself.”

He sat back on his seat, and put his head in his enormous hands, and covered his face; and his shoulders shook.

No one knew what to do; and they all looked at each other in their uncertainty.

Evie knew what to do.

She climbed carefully out of her seat, and went and sat beside the giant, and put her arm around his shoulder.

“You may not be able to forgive yourself, Malachy,” she said gently, “but we can.”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“We didn't want our Daddy to die,” she said carefully. “But we are very glad that you're alive.”

“Are you?” he asked.

“And I think we all know what you ought to do.”

“What?” He said slowly, lowering his huge hands and peering out through his massy thicket of hair.

“If the aborigines are right, and everything happens for a reason-”

“And even if they're not-” interrupted her brother.

“Whether they're right or wrong,” said Evie, “It's clear what you have to do... Doctor MacNamara. Go back to Oxford, and go on with your research. That's what you should be doing. That's why you were saved.”

“Should I?” Asked the giant doubtingly; but he was already beginning to accept her suggestion.

“Of course,” Jack endorsed his sister's view; and the others nodded their heads. Jack looked around and noted the consensus. “That's settled,” he said. What a special holiday this had turned out to be! “We have one last thing to do.” Very carefully, he began to take something out of his bag. It was the urn. “This is where Daddy's ashes should be scattered,” he said. “It's where he'd want to be.”

“Yes, Jack,” said Uncle Otto; “but there's one person who isn't here.”

“Are you sure?” Asked the giant: and pointed out to sea. The light was fading fast; but they could all see what he saw.

The canoe was silhouetted between gig and Lundy Island, and its sole occupant was standing up, in perfect balance with the waves.

He was a tall, dark man, and he seemed to be holding a long, thin paddle in his hands.

Or perhaps it was a spear.

“You don't often see a birch bark canoe off Pengelly,” said Malachy quietly. “In fact, I've never seen one before.”

But no-one was listening to him, for they were all watching the dolphin leap out of the water, impossibly high into the darkening sky: right over the birch bark canoe and its motionless occupant.

It was Friday morning, and Mummy was going to the bank.

It was raining heavily, a dour, persistent, dispiriting rain: but no one was really concerned about that.

They had far more important things on their mind.

Mummy had put on her brand new dress with the flared skirt, and she wore her high-heeled shoes with her black tights, and she was clutching the hand-bag which Uncle Otto had given her for Christmas. She had chosen it especially beforehand, because Otto was a man, and men didn't really know about hand-bags, and then she had wrapped it up for him, because men didn't really do wrapping, and then she had written a nice little note to herself saying how much she was appreciated, because men didn't really do nice little notes, and then—but we must go on with the story.

Mummy looked awfully pretty in her new frock, and her smart shoes, and her black tights, and she had done her hair especially, and—

“You look awfully pretty, Mummy,” said Evie, who could be a nice little girl when she tried. “Doesn't she, Jack?”

Tommy wagged his tail.

“No, not you, Tommy,” she said. “Jack.”

Jack looked up from his game.

“Jack! Were you listening? You look vacant. I said Mummy looks awfully pretty, doesn't she?”

“Yes, she does,” said Jack sincerely.

Mother and sister stared at him and Tommy wagged his tail again. What had happened to Jack? Had he been changed for another little boy, during the night?

“Thank you, darlings,” said their mother. “Now, you know I won't be out for very long—I'm only going to the bank manager to see if we can—to see if we can—”

She paused, and her hands stopped waving. She was at a loss.

“Extend our overdraft for just a little while longer. Until you've sold some paintings. And they're
bound
to sell soon.
Everyone
says so. Well... At least all your friends say so,” said Jack, judiciously, for he liked to get his facts right. “Your friend Vera says so, and she nearly bought one the other day.
Very
nearly. I heard her. When you thought I wasn't listening. You were talking together, and I was in the conservatory. Most of it was about men, and I didn't really listen to all that, but when you talked about selling your paintings I was really interested.”

Jack scratched his nose with a pen-knife.

“I think you should have made Vera sign an affiwhat's it, when she said she'd buy one of your paintings. I think it was really nice of her to promise. Only you can't always really rely on people's promises. There's been a what-d'you-call-it made.”

Jack paused.

He had his audience spell-bound.

He could see it. He could feel it. He could taste it.

He was an orator.

“A what-do-you-call-it,” said his sister sceptically. Jack sighed. Evie was all right, really. He supposed. For a girl. She couldn't really be expected to understand the finer points of oratory.

“A study,” said Jack. Of whether people keep their promises. Or not. Like when you promised last Christmas to share your present with me—whatever you were given. And then—and then—”

He choked, and Tommy wagged his tail in sympathy. He knew what it was like to be promised something. Like a walk, for example. Only to have something else come up. Why, only this morning—

“Now, now, darlings,” said Mummy, who had seen what was coming just a little too late to stop it. “We don't want to talk about that now, do we? Mummy has to go out.” She picked up her handbag, and started looking for her umbrella. “Or we shan't have any money,” she added as an afterthought.

There was a pause.

“Good luck, Mummy,” said Evie; and threw her arms around her mother's legs.

“Good luck, Mummy,” said Jack; and patted her on the back. He had to reach up to do it, but he managed. It was the manly thing to do.

“Good luck, Annie,” said Uncle Otto, and kissed her on the cheek—something he hadn't done since Christmas. “You can do it. You know you can.”

Annie blushed, and found her umbrella, and checked that the button was working, and almost began to walk out of the door—and stopped.

“Thank you, darlings,” she said. “Now: Mummy won't be long. And don't forget to make sure that Tommy has plenty of water, and that you eat up all of your nice lunch at lunchtime, and that—”

“Good-bye, Mummy,” said Jack firmly, and opened the door widely. “And don't forget to smile. It's surprising what a smile can do. It can transform people.”

“How do you know that?” Asked his mother in surprise.

“I don't,” he said. “You told us.”

“Good luck, Mummy,” said Evie firmly, and pushed her spell-bound mother through the open door.

“Good luck, Annie,” said Otto, and blew her another kiss.

Mummy went.

***

The news reached them about lunch-time. Somehow. The details were few, and sketchy, and contradicted each other: but it appeared that something very wrong was happening at the bank.

Mrs Jones said it was the IRA. But Mrs Jones had lost a nephew to the IRA—he had trodden on a mine in County Fermanagh—and Mrs Jones' judgement was not entirely reliable.

Mr Jamieson thought that they were Islamic militants. After all, they had a dark car; and everyone knew that Arabs were dark-skinned. All right, then: how did he know they had a dark car? He didn't.

Mr Bullwinkle, who had actually gone up to the door of the bank and tried to see in—which was very brave, his neighbours said, not to say reckless, and he shouldn't have done it, not for all the tea in China—Mr Bullwinkle had seen nothing at all. But he could hear
shouting
.

It didn't make sense.

Evie cried, and Jack looked very fierce, and Tommy ran around in circles as if a rat had got into the sitting-room, and even Uncle Otto looked as if he did not know quite what to do.

Until he slipped out into the garden. Just for a few minutes, he said. He left Jack in charge. He was the elder of the two children, after all. By ten minutes. Jack looked out of the window, and saw his uncle squatting beside the bottle-brush tree at the bottom of the garden. In the rain, which was still falling hard. He appeared to be talking to the tree, or at least talking to someone; and he looked very calm.

Talking to a bottle-brush tree! Really! What use was that, in an emergency? Jack had always thought his uncle was a little vague, but this was going too far.

When Otto came back, he was smiling.

What's happening?” Sobbed Evie, tearfully. “What's going on at the bank? What are those wicked men doing? And where's Mummy?”

“She's fine,” said Otto reassuringly. “Just fine. She'll be home very soon.”

And he went out again, as if his presence were needed elsewhere. Which it couldn't have been. Uncle Otto had lost the plot. Seriously. Mummy would be quite cross with him. She was never cross for very long, thought Jack; but she would be cross with Otto this time—uncle or no uncle. Daddy would have been
very
cross. Jack felt a drop of something on his cheek, and wiped it away.

And they waited.

***

What happened, Mummy?” Asked Evie, after Mummy had taken off her new shoes, and rubbed her feet, and rubbed Tommy on his hairy tummy and made a great fuss of him, and kissed her children, and after that kissed them again, and looked at the photograph on the mantelshelf above the fire, and shed a few tears, and then kissed her children for the third time, and said a little prayer, and smiled at Uncle Otto, who had slipped in through the back door just as she returned, and winked at the two children to say nothing about his absence—

“I don't know,” she said. And then she began to massage her feet again, and to talk about her shoes. Which was quite unlike Mummy.

She said that she was going to take them back to the shop and never wear them again and always wear
sensible
shoes because high-heeled shoes were pretentious and painful and silly and in any case, she didn't need to impress anyone with her legs, because they could jolly well appreciate her for what she was, and if they couldn't do that small thing for her, then—

“Mummy?” Said Jack.

“Yes, darling?” Said Mummy.

“You do know that you're babbling, don't you?” Said Jack. “It's probably the shock,” he added kindly.

“Yes, darling,” said Mummy, with just a touch of amusement in her voice; and Jack felt he had said the right thing. After all, she was only a woman, and Daddy wasn't there any more, because he had gone to somewhere called Heaven which was where people went when they died, and Uncle Otto wasn't much use at a time like this, really, although he usually tried his best, and—

“Are you feeling upset, Mummy?” He asked hopefully. “Shall I get you a glass of water? Evie: go and fetch your mother a glass of water! Now!”

“I'm not feeling upset, darling,” said his mother. “Quite the opposite. In fact... I've just seen something rather wonderful.” And she smiled.

“Have you, Mummy?” Asked Evie. She had been very quiet until now. But she wasn't going to let her brother be in charge all the time.