Without Looking Back (9 page)

Millie turned round with her mouth open. ‘Is Maman on the phone? I want to speak to her!’

‘Not now, Millie,’ Dad replied. ‘She’s very busy at the moment.’

That night, after Dad had sent them upstairs, Max lay fully clothed on his bed, playing with his GameBoy, while Louis kicked off his jeans and tried to throw them into the hamper on the other side of the room. Max suddenly said, ‘Why are you being so funny about staying here another week? Don’t you like this place or something?’ He didn’t look up from his GameBoy, but Louis could tell he wasn’t really paying that much attention to the game.

‘Of course I like it here,’ Louis said, pulling off his socks and sending them the same way as his jeans. ‘I just think it’s a bit strange, that’s all.’

There was a silence. Then Max said, ‘Yeah. Me too.’

Louis looked at him sharply, taken by surprise. Well, this
was
a revelation. Could it be that Max was feeling the same sense of unease at the way Dad had spoken to them about extending their holiday? The forced flippancy about missing school; the way his eyes had shied away . . .?

‘What d’you mean?’ Louis asked, cross-legged on his bed in his pants and T-shirt, looking at Max carefully. ‘I thought you really wanted to stay.’

‘I did.’ Max still didn’t look up. ‘I wanted Dad to try and persuade Mum to let us stay, just on the off chance that he might be successful. But I never thought it would work.’

‘You mean you wanted to stay in theory, but when it became a reality, you realized you’d rather go home?’

‘Are you kidding me? Go back to school and tests and screaming teachers and all that crap?’ Max did look up now, switching off his GameBoy and tossing it across the bed. ‘Of course not. I’d much rather stay here.’

‘So what are you saying?’

‘What I’m saying is . . .’ There was a pause. Max seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. ‘I don’t think Mum agreed to this.’

‘
What?
’

‘I think Dad just decided himself to stay here another week. I don’t think he called her at all. And if he did call her, then my guess is she said “No way” and Dad said “Tough luck, see you in a week.”’

Louis could feel his mouth opening in amazement. ‘But you know what Mum’s like. She’d be furious! She’d come straight over and drag us back!’

‘Would she?’ Max looked doubtful. ‘I mean, yes, sure, she’d be furious. But if she flew over to England, she’d have to take several days off work, and right now she’s in
the middle of that big Steinberg deal and working practically round the clock—’

‘But Dad must know that once we do go home she’ll be so angry with him she’ll never let us stay with him again!’

Max gave Louis a meaningful look. ‘But if Dad knows this is the last time he’s allowed to have us to stay anyway . . .’

A slow grin of amusement crossed Louis’ face. It did sound like something Dad might do. He would figure –
I’ve got nothing to lose and my ex-wife hates me anyway, why not keep my kids on holiday with me for an extra week?
Louis inhaled slowly. ‘Mum’s going to be soooo mad.’ Another thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘D’you think she’s going to be angry with
us
?’

‘She can’t,’ Max said pragmatically. ‘We’ll say we thought she’d OK’d the extra week. She never has to know we guessed what was going on.’

‘But she might anyway,’ Louis countered. ‘And then she’ll stop all our pocket money and ban us from watching TV for a month and get us to do all the housework like the time when we—’

‘Who cares?’ Max gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Even if she does, it’ll still be worth an extra week’s holiday with Dad, I reckon.’

Louis smiled. ‘Yeah, that’s true,’ he agreed.

The following week was much better than the first. There were still some bits and bobs in the house to tidy up – Dad repaired the broken cupboard doors in the kitchen and bought them each a desk and chest of drawers for their rooms. Dad helped Millie paint her room pale pink, and for three days she slept in his bed. They went outside into the garden at the back of the house and Dad cut the grass with a rusty pair of garden shears while Max hacked away at the overgrown bracken and Louis and Millie piled all the garden waste into heavyduty refuse sacks. They collected the rotting apples for compost and Dad made Millie a vegetable patch, where she planted seeds bought at the local garden centre. They went regularly into Kendal as Dad was reluctant to let them use the shops in the village, saying, ‘They’re all so nosy in a place like this. They’ll start asking lots of questions and wonder why you aren’t in school.’ He pretty much forbade them to speak to strangers, and Louis wondered what on earth he could be afraid of in a quiet place like this. Now and again, Dad would have to go into town for ‘business’. Louis didn’t know what business he could possibly have to do here but he didn’t ask, for he sensed that, with the new house and everything, Dad was trying
to get himself back on his feet again. Maybe he wanted to have a job lined up by the time they went back to Paris so that he could then say to Mum, ‘Look, I can take care of my own kids. Not only have I got a new house but I’m also in a job again.’ Louis didn’t say anything to the others, but he so hoped this was the case. If Dad managed to hold down a job, then there couldbe no doubt in anybody’s mind that he really was cured.

But time was running away from them and soon they found themselves approaching the end of the week again. Louis turned his thoughts back to school, and the stories he would have to tell Pierre and Luc and the others, and even though he felt sad at the thought of leaving the farmhouse behind, he sensed that they would be back. He had a feeling that Dad was about to turn the corner – he couldn’t remember seeing him so relaxed and happy since the divorce. And surely Mum would give in and let them go and stay with Dad again, as soon as she got over her anger that they’d stayed on an extra week.

‘Who fancies going to the beach today?’ Dad asked one morning at breakfast.

They all looked up at him in surprise. As usual, Millie was spreading Nutella thickly over her toast. Max was
devouring a bowlful of chocolate-flavoured cereal. Louis was sticking to croissants.

‘Where?’ Millie asked, turning to look out of the window as if she expected a beach to suddenly appear in the garden.

‘Whitehaven,’ Dad replied. ‘Less than an hour’s drive. And just look at the weather today!’

Outside, the sky was a brilliant blue. Golden sunshine splashed through the kitchen window, creating puddles of light on the breakfast table.

‘But it’s windy,’ Millie pointed out. ‘It’s not hot enough yet.’

‘I’m not suggesting we swim,’ Dad said. ‘Just that we go for a day trip. Have a walk on the beach. A picnic if it’s not too cold.’

‘Cool!’ Millie exclaimed. ‘Daddy, will you buy me a kite?’

‘Why not,’ Daddy said. ‘Max? Louis?’

‘Bags me sitting in the front,’ Max said quickly.

Louis pulled a face at him.

They set off after breakfast. Millie insisted on packing a rucksack full of dolls as well as a towel in case she felt brave enough to paddle. Dad and Louis made pâté sandwiches and they picked up some lemonade on their way through the village. They arrived in the bustling town of
Whitehaven at noon and Dad left them in a supermarket car park while he ran some errands at the bank, then Louis swapped places with Max and map-read until they reached the coast. They parked the car in a lay-by and climbed the steep sand dunes to survey an empty strip of sandy beach that stretched out in both directions for as far as the eye could see.

Max gave a low whistle into the wind. ‘Wicked,’ he breathed.

Millie had already spotted a beach shop, set back down by the winding road. ‘Daddy, Daddy, let’s buy a kite, and an ice cream, and buckets and spades!’ she cried.

‘All right, all right!’ Dad laughed. ‘And while we’re at it we can go and get the picnic bag from the car.’

‘I need to get my iPod,’ Max said. ‘I left it on the back seat.’

They turned and started making their way back down the sand dune. Then Dad looked round and called, ‘Louis?’

But Louis could already feel the heels of his feet rising off the rough grass as he tipped forward down the steep dune towards the vast stretch of beach ahead. The sand was soft and powdery and he half skidded, half tumbled to the bottom, pausing only to pull off his
trainers and socks before breaking into a run. Almost immediately, the wind seemed to strengthen, whipping the hair back from his head, screaming in his ears and tearing at his eyes. He took in great lungfuls of the cold, salty air and felt the powdery sand firm up beneath his bare feet. It was an incredible feeling. All this beach, all this sea, all this sky, stretching out in every direction. He felt tiny and insignificant in all this vastness; even when he tried to shout, the sound was immediately whipped from his mouth and extinguished. He felt liberated, intoxicated and wildly free.

The bottoms of his jeans were getting soaked as he splashed through freezing shallow pools of water left behind by the retreating tide. The sand grew firmer still, the little bumps left by the waves pummelling the soles of his feet. He skidded to a stop at the water’s edge and began to turn
fouettés
, his favourite dance move. His heart thumped as if it was about to burst but he was determined to beat his personal best of twenty-five turns. When he finally allowed himself to stop, collapsing dramatically onto the wet sand, he felt as if he was going to pass out, but it was a wonderful feeling – a feeling of pushing your body to the limit, a feeling he hadn’t had since his last dance lesson. He had missed it so much.

When he could finally breathe again, he rolled his
jeans up to his knees and waded out into the sea as far as he could, his feet and ankles throbbing with cold as he stared out at the grey-green water and crashing waves. From holidays in the south of France he remembered only crowded beaches, soft yellow sand and warm blue water. This was different – stark, cold and desolate.

He turned round to wade back onto dry sand and realized how far he had run, the huge dunes now only molehills in the distance. He could also make out three tiny figures, smudges only, making their way out towards him, following his long trail of footprints. It seemed to take them for ever, even though the smallest of the three figures appeared to be running.

Millie got to him first, her cheeks bright pink from the cold. ‘Wow, there’s no people, there’s no people,’ she crowed.

Max arrived next, wearing his earphones and beat-boxing into the wind. Dad arrived last, sounding puffed, carrying a bucket and spade and the picnic bag. ‘Good grief, we’re all going to freeze,’ he said. ‘Louis, what have you done with your shoes?’

Millie tiptoed to the water’s edge and began to squeal. Max ran to join her and pretended to be trying to push her in. Millie’s screams strengthened.

‘Max, for heaven’s sake don’t let her fall in the water!’ Dad shouted across the wind.

Louis did a string of cartwheels and backflips along the sea edge, the water soaking into the cuffs of his sweatshirt. Max splashed him and Louis splashed him back and soon they were engaged in a water fight.

Dad shouted something about not having any dry clothes to change into, and so to shut him up, Max started organizing a game of sumo wrestling, drawing out the ring in the sand. He then set out the rules, adding that whoever fought Millie had to do so on one leg.

Max and Dad went first, and even though Dad was stronger and heavier, Max was much more agile and kept jumping out of the way and tripping him up, until finally he got Dad to step out of the circle. Against Millie on one foot, he really struggled and came perilously close to the circle edge before finally getting her to step out. But as Louis stepped forward, Max’s eyes narrowed and Louis immediately realized Max was going to give it all he’d got. They pounced together, grabbing each other by the shoulders, and tangled for several minutes, their puffs and grunts filling the air. Millie cheered for Louis and so Dad cheered for Max, and for a long moment there was a standoff, their feet raking up the
sand. Then Max’s superior strength began to show and Louis’ feet began creeping back towards the circle’s edge. Waiting till the very last minute, when Max was almost sure he’d won, Louis suddenly turned on the ball of one foot and spun himself round, and Max went flying out of the circle with the force of his own push.

Louis fell onto his knees, punching the air in triumph while Max got slowly to his feet, brushing the sand off the front of his jeans. ‘Did you just pull some fancy
dance move
?’

And they were off, the game of wrestling turning into a game of tag, until nobody could run any more.

They ate the sandwiches back in the warmth of the car, sand between their toes and all over the seats, trainers with socks stuffed inside lying abandoned on the floor. This side of the dunes, away from the chill of the screaming wind, the still air seemed warm and almost balmy. Soon they lapsed into a state of near-exhaustion, still hungry from all the exertion, so when Dad suggested going home for an early fish-and-chip dinner and a DVD, everyone agreed.

They were driving back towards the town of Whitehaven, Louis having claimed the front seat thanks to his map-reading skills, when a thought, or rather a feeling, occurred to him.

‘Damn, I really need to piss.’

‘Louis, your language,
please
,’ Dad said.

Max groaned. ‘You should have gone in the sand dunes like the rest of us!’

‘What if someone had seen you?’ Louis always got stage fright if he tried to go in public.

‘There wasn’t anyone
there
!’

‘I suppose pulling over on this deserted stretch of road is out of the question,’ Dad said.

‘You supposed right,’ Louis tersely retorted.

‘I really don’t know where we’re going to find a public toilet around here,’ Dad said. ‘Perhaps when we get to Whitehaven . . .’

But in Whitehaven, everything looked closed and there wasn’t a McDonald’s in sight. ‘I could try and sneak you into a pub . . .’ Dad suggested dubiously.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Max huffed in the back seat. ‘Can’t you hold it till we get home?’