The Missing Link (5 page)

Danny laughed, a mad, tuneless sound against the tuneless buzz of traffic. ‘Where is he?’ he said.

‘Not far,’ said Darling. ‘I’ll show you.’

She hopped on to a parked jeep a little way ahead and we began to follow. ‘Only one problem, though,’ she said, as we came up to her.

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

Darling cocked her head and looked at me mischievously. ‘He’s picked up a stray,’ she said.

8

I TOOK A
dislike to Tina the first moment I saw her. As we approached her she glared at us with undisguised hostility. It was too busy for introductions on the bridge, and Darling and Oggy started to lead us to somewhere quieter. Tina hung back and I hoped she wouldn’t come, but Oggy wouldn’t go without her. He went back and whined at her, and put his head to one side, and made cute doggy gestures. I wasn’t so sure that I liked him, either.

Tina gathered up her sign and her bag. As we walked up Westmoreland Street on our way to Stephen’s Green I decided to try and be friendly.

‘Would you say there are less cars about?’

She was chewing some kind of gum and she went to great trouble to blow an ugly grey bubble before she answered me.

‘Less cars than what?’

I shrugged. ‘Less cars than yesterday?’

Tina looked around, but if she was in agreement with me she wasn’t about to admit it.

‘What if there is?’ she said.

‘Just . . . you know. The fuel crisis,’ I said. She looked blank, and I went on, ‘There’s no oil. The war in the Gulf. All the wells are burning.
Anybody
who has oil is hanging on to it, waiting for the price to go up. Brinksmanship, you know?’

I was surprised at myself for knowing so much. Or at least, for appearing to.

Tina blew another bubble.

‘So what?’ she said.

‘So there’s been rationing for ages. And now . . .’

‘Now what?’ said Tina.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But I know it’s got worse, that’s all.’

‘So what?’ said Tina, and I realised she didn’t really want to know. She just wanted to get at me. She was still giving me a dirty look, as if the sight of me offended her.

I sighed. ‘I suppose they’ll fix it, anyway,’ I said. ‘Get everything back to normal. They always do.’

‘Who’s they?’ said Tina.

She looked away and I took the opportunity to examine her a bit more closely. Her clothes were shoddy and worn, and she was thin enough to crawl through a letter-box. I realised that she inhabited a different world from me; a world without the supports that I had always taken for granted; without parents and schools and the comfort of cars. I couldn’t imagine what that world would be like, but I had a suspicion that I might be about to find out.

Tina turned and caught me looking at her. I looked away. But after a minute she stepped
closer
and said, ‘What’s wrong with your brother?’

It would take too much effort to explain.

‘He’s not my brother,’ I said.

Tina shrugged, and blew another bubble.

I bought myself some socks in Dunnes, and then coffees in Supermac’s to bring with us to Stephen’s Green. When we got there, we found a steady traffic of pedestrians going through, but it was too wet for people to be standing around, and we easily found a quiet corner. Darling had never got to eat her crusts, and she went off to where a scruffy old lady was feeding bread to a huge flock of pigeons. Despite perpetual squabbles, she did well enough for herself, darting in among the grey, feathery mass and snatching the best bits from under their noses.

When Oggy first spoke, my mind began to bend so hard that I was afraid it would snap. A bird was one thing; a step beyond mimicry. But a dog was something else. I brought all of the powers of my brain to bear upon it, but even the sharpest thinking was too blunt an instrument to carve comprehension out of the impossible, and I was left with only one option. To accept without understanding, that there were more things in the world than I had ever dreamt of.

As we drank the coffee I filled Tina in on what we were doing. She never looked at anyone who was talking to her, as though she was in a perpetual state of resentment against the whole
world
, but she was listening all right, and nothing escaped her. When Danny spoke she did a really cruel imitation of his sing-song speech. I found it deeply hurtful, but Danny just laughed, and after that he got on much better with Tina than I did.

‘So if there aren’t any buses, how do you propose to get to Dun Laoghaire?’ She said it accusingly, as if it was a major planning error and I was directly responsible.

‘You don’t have to come,’ I said, hopefully.

She ignored me. ‘I can nick a car,’ she said. ‘If one of you can drive it.’

‘I can,’ said Danny. Luckily, Tina had the sense not to take him up on his offer.

9

WE WALKED THE
nine gruelling miles across the south side of the city, while the soft rain fell on our heads. We followed the bus route, but no buses came. And as the day wore on the traffic became thinner and the expressions on the faces of other pedestrians became more tense.

Trudging at Danny’s slow pace was a lot more tiring than ordinary walking but, wet and miserable though I was, it was him I was worried about. I didn’t know much about his history, but I knew that Maurice had always kept him quietly hidden at home. The furthest I had ever known him to go was the half mile to the woods and back. But, to my surprise, he turned out to have more stamina than either Tina or me, and he stayed cheerful and optimistic even when the rest of us lapsed into a tired, mechanical crawl.

It was well after dark by the time we arrived at the ferry port in Dun Laoghaire. The closer we got, the thicker the crowds became, and it was soon clear that Danny wasn’t going to be able to manage the crush in the ticket hall. So we got him as near to the door as we could, and I persuaded him to sit down and rest for a while.
The
others stayed with him, while I joined the scrum and wriggled my way into the hall.

It was a lot worse than the bus station. Over the next fifteen minutes I learnt what it must feel like to be a sheep in a pen. After five of them I gave up trying to make individual progress and allowed myself to be carried along, until eventually I came within sight of the ticket counters. They weren’t even open. A big sign stood there instead.

TONIGHT’S SAILINGS FULL. PLEASE AWAIT ANNOUNCEMENTS REGARDING FURTHER SAILINGS
.

I tried to resist the relief that began to infiltrate my mind. It would be embarrassing, of course, to have to back down, phone Maurice again, put up with the blame that would always be laid on me, no matter what I said. But he would come and get us, I was sure of that. Fuel or no fuel, he’d make it. Even if he had to push the car all the way here and all the way back. Maurice was like that.

And then I would be home; warm and dry, and free from the responsibility that was beginning to feel like a strain.

I set my face towards the door and waited for the next wave to carry me out. On the way I was jostled past a coffee stand and managed to hang on to it for long enough to put in an order. They had sold out of rolls and sandwiches, but they still had pre-packaged flapjacks and carrot cake slices, so I bought a dozen of each, and three large hot chocolates, and a bottle of spring water for Oggy.

It was quite an achievement to get it all out of there unspilled and unsquashed, but I succeeded. Danny was deflated when he heard about the tickets, but the grub was a feast and we all felt a bit better afterwards.

‘Oh, well,’ I said, pouring some of the bottled water into my empty cup for Oggy. ‘That’s the end of Scotland, I’m afraid. At least we tried.’

‘I’m not going home,’ said Danny. ‘I’m going to Mother.’

‘You’ll have to swim, so,’ I said.

‘I will, then,’ said Danny.

‘You will not,’ I said. ‘You know you’re terrified of anything deeper than the bath!’

‘I’m not,’ he said, stubbornly. ‘I’m going to Mother. I’m going . . .’

He was struggling to get to his feet. I pushed him back down and he clobbered me so hard I saw stars.

‘Hold your breath, Danny,’ I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. He was going to flip, I knew it.

‘You hold it,’ he said, pushing me aside and succeeding in getting up.

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Oggy whispered, climbing between us like a referee and licking each of our faces in turn. ‘I’ll get us on the boat. Just hang around a bit, OK?’

Danny relaxed, as though entrusting his future to a sheepdog was quite natural. Oggy barked up at Darling in the rafters and the two of them vanished off into the darkness.

I squeezed into the warm spot beside Danny that Oggy had vacated.

‘Easy for them,’ said Tina, bitterly. ‘Easy for a dog and a bird to sneak on to a boat. I bet they don’t come back.’

‘They’ll come,’ said Danny. ‘They’ll come.’

And they did, too. Sooner than any of us expected. Oggy jumped on to Tina’s lap as if he was just pleased to see her, but I knew that he was saying something.

She looked surprised, and then scornful. ‘Of course I can,’ she said.

She stood up and gathered her things, gesturing to us to follow. Oggy led the way into the vehicle park, where the cars and vans that were going to make it on to the next sailing were standing in neat lines.

‘Just act natural,’ said Tina, as we made our way between them. I could see her reasoning; the area was well-lit and we couldn’t have remained unseen no matter how hard we tried. But, a moment later, something happened that I should have been prepared for. And wasn’t.

10

BEYOND THE LINES
of waiting cars, beyond the looming bulk of the ferry, we got our first glimpse of the Irish Sea.

Danny froze, as though a sudden, unbearable pain had hit him between the eyes. Seeing him, I froze as well, stunned by my stupidity in having allowed this to happen.

Since Mom had married Maurice, I had never gone anywhere near the sea. It didn’t bother me; I couldn’t swim anyway and never saw the point in getting wet and cold. But Mom missed the water, and sometimes went off on her own for a walk or a swim at the coast.

Maurice said Danny had been traumatised by something that happened to him when he was a baby, and that the sight of the sea always made him flip his lid. He even turned off the television when those marine programmes came on, just in case Danny came in.

I ought to have remembered, somehow taken evasive action. But it was already too late. Danny was staring at the sea as though it was about to rise up and swallow him.

‘Hang in there, Danny,’ I said, standing in front of him, blocking his view of the water. He
shifted
his gaze to me, and his expression was distant and inscrutable.

I grabbed at the chance. ‘Let’s go away,’ I said. ‘Away from the nasty water. Let’s go home to Mom and Maurice and the nice, hot bath.’

It was the wrong tactic. I could almost see his resolve rise to the forefront of his mind.

‘Scotland,’ he said. With an effort of will, he averted his eyes and, as he followed after the others, kept his vision firmly fixed upon the ground.

At the edge of the waiting area a high wall separated the outgoing traffic from the incoming lanes and the customs sheds. Against that wall some of the last holiday makers of the year had parked their car and caravan, and a nice, dark pool of shadow lay behind them. As nonchalantly as we could, the five of us slipped into it.

Danny stood with his back to the sea while Tina worked at the lock on the caravan door. She was surprisingly quick and had just succeeded in getting it open when a man in a fluorescent yellow rain jacket appeared round the front of the car.

We were rumbled. My blood sang like feedback in my temples.

‘Hello, lads,’ said the man. ‘This your car?’

He looked curiously at Danny’s back.

‘Yup,’ said Tina, as casual as could be.

The man nodded. ‘How many travelling?’

‘Five,’ said Tina.

The man nodded again, carefully counted out
five
flyers from a bundle under his arm and handed them to me.

‘Special offer,’ he said. ‘Best stay with the car, now. We should be loading soon.’

We waited until he had gone out of sight, then climbed aboard the caravan. Tina and I were so relieved that it was hard to avoid falling around the place and giggling, but Danny lay down on the floor and stared at the ceiling, like someone in a trance. I could hear the waves lapping against the harbour wall.

‘You sure about this, Danny?’ I said.

He nodded, minimally.

‘You have to be careful. You have to stay quiet and calm.’

Again he nodded and, as a sign that he understood, he took a deep breath and held it.

I let mine out and looked at the flyers by the weak light that leaked in between the curtains. They were vouchers, five pounds on each, to spend in the On Board Shop.

‘Fat lot of use they are,’ said Tina.

Then Oggy said, ‘Shhh!’

We kept still and listened as a voice spoke over the tannoy.

‘Will all passengers travelling by car on tonight’s sailing please rejoin their vehicles now.’

As delicately as possible we all eased ourselves down on to the floor with Danny, where we lay in a damp, fuggy huddle, hardly daring to breathe. A few minutes later we heard the car doors open, one on each side, and slam closed
again
. After another few minutes the engine started and then, unbelievably, we were moving.

Despite my reluctance, my fear and my guilt, the spirit of adventure returned and filled my heart.

PART THREE

1

AS FAR AS
I could tell, Danny spent the whole journey staring at the ceiling, listening to the wash of the sea far beneath us. The gentle rolling of the ferry was comforting, womb-like, and the rest of us dozed; even Darling, perched on the edge of the caravan sink. It seemed like no time at all before the great engines ground and roared, and then died down as we docked.

I had been dreaming about talking sardines, and as I opened my eyes I could see why. Tina’s foot was in my ear, Danny’s head was on my shoulder, and Oggy was draped over my knee. But we were, at least, warm and dry.