No Stone Unturned (4 page)

Desperate to see where Tyson was, Kelly raced along the hedge to the footbridge and looked over the side. Relief flooded through her. There he was. Thank goodness, he had stopped. ‘Tyson. Come here, now!' she called.

But Tyson didn't budge. With his tail wagging furiously and his nose down to the ground, he was frantically pawing at the stones next to the track. At first, Kelly was horrified, thinking that he had caught the rabbit, but then she realised that whatever he was sniffing at was definitely not alive. It looked like something buried in the ground.

Kelly's panic returned. She knew how determined her companion could be and knew that he wouldn't give up his mini excavation until he had unearthed his prize. What if a train came?

Kelly looked up and down the track. She couldn't see anything coming but behind her the line curved around a hill, so if a train was approaching from the Stratford-upon-Avon direction, she wouldn't be able to see it anyway. And what was that noise? Was that the rumble of a train in the distance?

Kelly looked back at Tyson and shouted his name again, but he was still pawing away at the ground, stopping every few seconds to tug furiously at the object before resuming his dig.

The distant rumble began to pick up a rhythm. A stomach-churning pattern of metal rattling along lengths of track.

‘Oh my God, Tyson!' Kelly screamed, tears forming in her eyes. She felt helpless. She knew she couldn't reach him through the hedge, and climbing over the bridge would be suicide. In desperation she looked for something to throw. If she could startle and distract him, perhaps she could make the stubborn little dog move.

Louder now. The oncoming train sounded like it was just round the bend.

Scrabbling around on the ground, Kelly's fingers closed around a stone. She threw, letting out a desperate sob as it bounced off the rail and over to the far side of the track. Tyson didn't even notice.

Kelly quickly found a second rock and lifted her arm to take aim, the approaching train now terrifyingly loud. ‘Tyson!' She let out one final scream and drew her arm back. But before she made her throw, she saw Tyson stagger backwards as the object of his obsession popped out of the ground. Then, as if nothing at all unusual had happened, Tyson gripped the object in his mouth, and trotted triumphantly back up the embankment, his chin in the air.

Kelly raced down from the footbridge just in time to see Tyson emerge from the bottom of the hedge, proudly carrying his prize. He stopped and sat down, dropping the object at his feet just as the train thundered past.

Kelly ran up to him, tears streaming down her face. ‘What were you doing, you stupid little dog?' she cried, swooping him up into her arms. ‘You scared the life out of me. I thought you were going to get killed!'

Tyson's little body wriggled in Kelly's arms as he wagged his tail happily and licked her face.

Kelly wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and looked down to see what it was that had nearly cost her beloved Tyson his life.

There on the ground was nothing but a soil-covered, mangled old leather boot.

‘Is that all it was?' she asked in exasperation, as she put Tyson back down on the ground. ‘What on earth did you want that for?'

Tyson looked up at Kelly expectantly, still panting from his adventure. His tongue hung out and his tail swept from side to side on the grass.

‘You can wag your tail all you like,' said Kelly. ‘I think you've had enough fun for one day.' She bent down to put the dog back on the lead. ‘Come on, let's go home.'

She turned, ready to head back to the towpath but Tyson had other ideas. He dug his feet into the ground and refused to budge.

‘What?' asked Kelly.

Tyson looked down at the boot.

‘Surely you don't expect me to take that home?' She tugged on the lead. ‘Come on!'

This time, Tyson did spring to her heel, but not before he had picked up the boot with his teeth.

‘Oh, for heaven's sake!' Kelly shook her head in disbelief.

The boot was half as big as Tyson, but the little dog insisted on carrying, or dragging, it across the grass. Kelly had to admit he looked hilarious, and by the time they had reached the gravel path again, she had taken pity on him.

‘Oh, go on then, if it matters so much,' she sighed, as she took the boot from Tyson's mouth and tucked it under her arm. ‘You know you can always win me over, don't you?'

Chapter 5 – August 2012

T
hat evening, Kelly was sitting outside the caravan, helping her mum to peel the potatoes for tea. Exhausted from his adventure by the railway, Tyson was stretched out in the shade of his kennel, tied to a hook on a long lead. There was still plenty of warmth in the evening sun so lots of people were outside and there was a happy and contented bustle around the site as families prepared and enjoyed their evening meals, or relaxed while their small children played. As Kelly's mum chopped the peeled potatoes and dropped them into a pan of water, she hummed along to a Take That track playing on her iPod inside the caravan. She was about to launch whole-heartedly into the chorus of ‘Rule The World' when she and Kelly heard Dad's Nissan Navara coming through the gate.

‘Here's your dad,' said Mum, getting up out of her chair. ‘Better get these potatoes on. He'll be hungry.'

Kelly smiled and waved at her dad as he got out of the four-wheel drive.

‘Hi, love!' he piped cheerfully. ‘Good day?'

‘Well, it was interesting.' She gave him a kiss as he bent over her before flopping down in the chair Mum had just vacated. ‘How was yours?'

‘Good.' He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. ‘Bloomin' hot and sticky but we're making good progress. We've cleared all along the track up the slope from Stratford-upon-Avon and we're not far from here now. We're working near that hill where the track bends round before the final stretch into Wilmcote station. I reckon we'll be finished by the end of September if we keep going at this rate.'

Just then, Mum appeared at the caravan door holding two ice-cold beers in her hand. She came over to greet her husband and handed him one of the bottles.

‘Ooh thanks, love. I've been dreaming of this all afternoon.'

Mum chinked bottles with him then went back inside, taking her own drink with her.

‘You must be working just round the bend from where I was with Tyson today,' said Kelly. ‘I was on the footbridge. You know? The one you have to cross to join the canal towpath, the other side of the station.'

Dad nodded as he took a long swig from his beer bottle. ‘So what was so interesting about it, then?' he asked, smacking his lips. ‘You said your day was interesting. That makes a change from the usual moans about how bored you are.'

Kelly told Dad about Tyson, the rabbit, and his close escape.

‘Well, good for you for not trying to follow him,' praised Dad. ‘You hear crazy stories about people getting into trouble trying to rescue their dogs. People walking out onto frozen lakes and falling through the ice and drowning, that kind of stuff.'

‘I know. But you can understand it though, Dad. I was so scared. I thought he was going to get hit by that train.'

‘Well, keep him on the lead in future. Unless you're one hundred per cent sure he can't go anywhere he shouldn't.'

‘I know. I will.'

They both fell silent while Dad drained the rest of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his grimy hand. ‘That didn't touch the sides, that didn't. It's thirsty work, clearing that embankment in this heat. Anyway, what did you say it was that Tyson dug up?'

‘I'll show you.'

Kelly jumped up and ran over to Tyson to retrieve the mouldy old boot which he had been lying with, protectively, ever since he came home. She sat back down next to her dad, holding it out in front of her, and turning it over and over in her hands.

‘Why on earth would you let him bring that home?' asked Mum, as she came out to join them. ‘It's just a mucky old work boot. Don't you think about bringing it inside my caravan, will you?'

‘I didn't intend to bring it home at all,' replied Kelly. ‘But Tyson wouldn't come without it.'

‘You spoil that dog,' moaned Mum.

‘Well, dogs love leather chews, don't they?' laughed Dad, nudging Kelly's arm with his elbow. ‘I guess that's, like, the crème de la crème of dog chews!'

Kelly chuckled. ‘Ha ha. Good one, Dad. We sure know Tyson's always liked the smell of sweaty old feet, don't we? Just think of all those times when he's licked the sweat from between your toes when you've had your socks off.'

The two of them laughed loudly while Mum turned her nose up in disgust. When she'd finally stopped giggling, Kelly peered inside the boot again.

‘For goodness sake, put it down!' cried Mum. ‘It's filthy! You don't know who's had their foot in there.'

‘Actually, I think it's really old.' Kelly was trying to peel back the tongue, which was stiff with mud and fused in place. ‘I mean, it could be Victorian or something.'

‘Nah,' said Dad. ‘It's probably just made to look old.'

‘Maybe. Perhaps there's a label inside. I'm going to clean it and see if I can see anything that might give me a clue.'

Mum shook her head in disbelief as she watched her daughter head off to fetch an old washing-up bowl.

Kelly brought out a kettle and filled the bowl with some warm soapy water. She used a sponge to gently clean all the mud and silt from the boot. It took quite a time, and a couple of changes of water, but eventually the leather began to regain some of its original colour and started to soften so that Kelly could open it up and have a good look inside the boot. She could see where there had been an imprint in the leather sole on the inside, but it was far too faint to make out clearly.

‘I definitely don't think this is a modern boot, you know, or even a replica of an old-fashioned one. I think it is old,' she said to her dad as he returned from his shower, rubbing his hair with a towel. ‘It's not that big, either. I don't think the owner could have been very tall.'

‘It still just looks like a smelly old boot to me,' said Mum. ‘What on earth is the fascination with it?'

Kelly couldn't answer that straight away. It puzzled her too. But there was certainly something about the boot that fascinated her. Something that made the hairs tingle on the back of her neck.

‘I guess I'm just curious to know whose foot it might once have been on. It might have belonged to one of the old steam train drivers, or one of the men who built the railway in the first place. When was our line built, Dad? Was it Victorian?'

Dad laughed. ‘Don't ask me, love. History's not my thing. I never learned to read and write at school, let alone learn all those dates and boring old facts. I'd be interested to know if your boot was worth something, though. You sometimes hear on the news about people digging up old coins and daggers, and ancient Roman sandals and all that, don't you? They must be worth something. So you never know, Kel. You might have struck lucky there!'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' scoffed Mum. ‘I think the sun's gone to both your heads. Anyway, supper's ready. Come inside, both of you.'

Mum was probably right and the boot was unlikely to be anything special, but somehow Kelly couldn't bring herself to throw it away. Quickly, she climbed up the ladder attached to the back of the caravan and slid the boot onto the roof where it could dry off safely in the sun. At least Tyson wouldn't get hold of it up there, and when it was dry she could add the boot to her treasure chest under her bed.

Although it was only a cheap plastic toy crate with a clip-on lid, Kelly's treasure chest was full of special objects—things she had found, been given or collected, which had taken on special meaning to her. Tucked into a corner was one of Uncle Dave's old Rizla tobacco tins, still secreting its vanilla-sweet scent, in which Kelly kept a small collection of old buttons. Her favourite was one of Nana's old cardigan buttons. It was navy blue with gold patterned edging and Kelly always thought that it looked royal in some way, as if it belonged on the robe of a king or queen. Then there was the sparkly butterfly hairclip that Dad had bought her when she was tiny and which she had dreamed once belonged to a fairy princess, and an old piece of glass, worn smooth by the weather, which Kelly had spied poking out of the soil on their campsite near Malvern. It had a beautiful aquamarine colour and was oval in shape. Finally, tucked among this random collection of odds and ends were some old family photographs and an envelope of used tickets and receipts from places Kelly and her family had visited.

Everything in the chest had a story and, as Kelly went inside for her supper, she wondered what the story of the old boot might be. One day, perhaps, she could tell it.

Chapter 6 – 2 February 1852