Tunnels (10 page)

His search was cut short by his sister's insistence that he come and eat his supper before it got too cold. But before returning upstairs, he made a short detour over to the back door to check the coats hanging there. His father's hard hat and overalls were gone.

Back up in the hallway, he passed a cacophony of applause and laughter from behind the closed living room door as he went into the kitchen.

The two of them ate in silence until Will looked up at Rebecca. She had a fork in one hand and a pencil in the other as she did her math homework.

"Rebecca, have you seen Dad's hard hat or his overalls?" he asked.

"No, he always keeps them in the cellar. Why?"

"Well, they're not there," Will said.

"Maybe he left them at a dig somewhere."

"Another dig? No — he would've told me about it. Besides, when would he have had the chance to go off and do that? He was always here or at the museum — he never went anywhere else, did he? Not without telling me…," Will trailed off as Rebecca watched him intently.

"I know that look. You've thought of something, haven't you?" she said suspiciously.

"No, it's nothing," he replied. "Really."

The next day, Will awoke early and, wanting to forget about his father's disappearance, donned his work clothes and ran energetically downstairs, thinking he would grab a quick breakfast and maybe meet up with Chester to excavate the blocked tunnel at the Forty Pits site. Rebecca was already lurking in the kitchen; by the way she collared him the moment he turned the corner, it was obvious she'd been waiting for him.

"It's up to us to do something about Dad, you know," she said as Will looked at her with a slightly startled expression. "Mum's not going to do anything — she's lost it."

Will just wanted to get out of the house; he was desperately trying to pretend to himself that everything was normal. Since the night of the argument between his parents, he and Rebecca had been getting themselves to school as usual. The only break from the norm was that they had been eating their meals in the kitchen without their mother. She had been stealing out to help herself to whatever was to be found in the fridge and had been eating it, predictably enough, in front of the television. It was clear what she'd been up to, because pies and chunks of cheese had gone missing, along with whole loaves of bread and tubs of margarine.

They had seen her on a couple of occasions in the hallway as she shambled to the bathroom in her nightgown and her slippers with the backs trodden down. But the only acknowledgment Will or Rebecca received on these chance encounters was a vague nod.

"I've decided something. I'm going to call the police," Rebecca said, standing in front of the dishwasher.

"Do you really think we should? Maybe we ought to wait a while," Will said. He knew the situation didn't look good, but he wasn't quite ready to take that step yet. "Anyway, where do you think he could have gone?" he asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Rebecca answered sharply.

"I went by the museum yesterday and it was all closed up." It hadn't been open for days now — not that anyone had called to complain.

"Maybe he just decided he'd had enough of… of everything," Rebecca suggested.

"But why?"

"People go missing all the time. Who knows
why?
Rebecca shrugged her slim shoulders. "But we're going to have to take the matter in hand now," she said resolutely. "And we have to tell Mum what we're going to do."

"All right," Will agreed reluctantly. He glanced at his shovel with longing as they entered the hallway. He just wanted to get away from the house and back to something he understood.

Rebecca knocked on the living room door and they both shuffled in. Mrs. Burrows didn't seem to notice them; her gaze didn't waver from the television for an instant. They both stood there, unsure what to do next, until Rebecca went up to Mrs.
Burrows's
chair, took the remote from where it rested on the arm, and turned off the television.

Mrs.
Burrows's
eyes remained exactly where they had been on the now-blank screen. Will could see the three of them
relected
in it, three small, unmoving figures trapped within the bounds of the darkened rectangle. He drew in a deep breath, telling himself
he
was the one who should take charge of the situation, not his sister as usual.

"Mum," Will said nervously. "Mum, we can't find Dad anywhere and… it's been four days now."

"We think we should call the police…," Rebecca said, quickly adding, "…unless you know where he is."

Mrs.
Burrows's
eyes dropped from the screen to the video recorders below it, but they could both see that she wasn't focusing on anything and that her expression was terribly sad. She suddenly seemed so very helpless; Will just wanted to ask her what was wrong, what had happened, but couldn't bring himself to.

"Yes," Mrs. Burrows replied softly. "If you want to." And that was it. She fell silent, her eyes still downcast, and they both filed out of the room.

For the first time, the full implications of his father's disappearance came home to Will. What was going to happen to them without him around? They were in serious trouble. All of them. His mother most of all.

Rebecca called the local police station, and two officers arrived several hours later, a man and a woman, both in uniform. Will let them in.

"Rebecca Burrows?" the policeman asked, looking past Will into the house as he removed his hat. He took out a small notebook from his breast pocket and flipped it open. Just then, the radio on his lapel issued a burp of unintelligible speech, and he slid the switch on its side to silence it. "Sorry 'bout that," he said.

The female officer spoke to Rebecca. "You made the call?"

Rebecca nodded in response, and the woman gave her a comforting smile. "You mentioned your mother was here. Can we talk to her, please?"

"She's in here," Rebecca said, leading the way to the living room and knocking lightly on the door. "Mum," she called softly, opening the door for the two officers and then standing to one side to let them through. Will started to follow them in, but the policeman turned to him.

"Tell you what, son, I could murder a cup of coffee."

As the policeman shut the door behind him Will turned to Rebecca with an expectant look.

"Oh, all right, I'll make it," she said irritably and headed for the kettle.

Waiting in the kitchen, they could hear the low drone of adult conversation coming from behind the door, until — several cups of coffee and what felt like an eternity later — the policeman emerged alone. He walked in and placed his cup and saucer on the table next to them.

"I'm just going to take a quick look around the place," he said. "For clues," he added with a wink, and had left the kitchen and gone upstairs before either of them could react. They sat there, peering up at the ceiling as they listened to his muffled footsteps moving from room to room on the floor above.

"What does he think he's going to find?" Will said. They heard him come downstairs again and walk around the ground floor, and then he appeared back in the kitchen doorway. He fixed Will with an inquiring look.

"There's a basement, isn't there, son?"

Will took the policeman down into the cellar and stood at the bottom of the oak steps while the man cast his eye over the room. He seemed to be particularly interested in Dr.
Burrows's
exhibits.

"Unusual things your dad has. I suppose you've got receipts for all these?" he said, picking up one of the dusty clay heads. Noticing Will's startled expression, he continued, "Only joking. I understand he works in the local museum, doesn't he?"

Will nodded.

"I went there once… on a school trip, I think." He spotted the dirt in the wheelbarrow. "So what's all that?"

"I don't know. Could be from a dig that Dad's been doing. We usually do them together."

"Dig?" he asked, and Will nodded in reply.

"I think I'd like to take a look outside now," the policeman announced, his eyes narrowing as he studied Will intently and his demeanor taking on a sternness that Will hadn't seen before.

In the garden, Will watched as he systematically searched the borders. Then he turned his attention to the lawn, crouching down every so often to examine the bald patches where one of their neighbor's cats was accustomed to relieving itself, killing off the grass. He spent al little time peering at the Common over the ramshackle fence at the end of the yard before coming back into the house. Will followed him in, and as soon as they entered, the officer put his hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me, son, no one's been doing any digging out there recently, have they?" he asked in a low voice, as if there was some dark secret that Will was dying to share with him.

Will merely shook his head, and they moved into the hall, where the policeman's eyes alighted on his gleaming shovel in the umbrella stand. Noticing this, Will tried to maneuver himself in front of it and block his view.

"Are you
sure
you — or any members of your family — haven't been digging in the garden?" the policeman asked again, staring at Will suspiciously.

"No, not me, not for years," Will replied. "I dug a few pits on the Common when I was younger, but Dad put a stop to that — said someone might fall in."

"On the Common, eh? Big holes, were they?"

"Pretty big. Didn't find anything much there, though."

The policeman looked at Will strangely and wrote something in his notebook. "Much like what?" he asked, frowning with incomprehension.

"Oh, just some bottles and old junk."

At that point, the policewoman came out of the living room and joined her colleague by the front door.

"All right?" the policeman said to her, tucking his notebook back into his breast pocket. He gave a last penetrating look at Will.

"I got everything down," the policewoman replied, and then turned to Will and his sister. "Look, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, but per standard procedure we'll make some inquiries about your father. If you hear anything or need to talk to us — about anything at all — you can contact us at this number." She handed Rebecca a printed card. "In many of these cases, the person just comes back — they just needed to get away, have some time to think things over." She gave them a reassuring smile and then added, "Or calm down."

"Calm down about what?" Rebecca ventured. "Why would our father need to calm down?"

The officers looked a little surprised, glancing at each other and then back at Rebecca.

"Well, after the disagreement with your mother," the policewoman said. Will was waiting for her to say more, to explain exactly what the argument had been about, but she turned to the other officer. "Right, we'd better be off."

"Ridiculous!" Rebecca said in an exasperated tone after she had shut the door behind them. "
They
obviously haven't got the faintest idea where he's gone or what to do about it. Idiots!"

"Will? Is that you?" Chester said, shielding his eyes from the sun as his friend emerged from the kitchen door into the cramped back yard behind the
Rawlses
' house. He had been whiling away the time that Sunday morning by swatting bluebottles and wasps with an old badminton racket, easy targets as they grew lazy in the noonday heat. He cut a comical figure in flip-flops and a beanie hat, his oversized frame accentuated by baggy shorts and his shoulders reddened by the sun.

Will stood with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, looking a little preoccupied. "I need a hand with something," he said, checking behind him that Chester's parents weren't in earshot.

"Sure, what with?" Chester replied, flicking the mutilated remains of a large fly off the frayed strings of his racket.

"I want to take a quick look around the museum tonight," Will replied. "At my dad's things."

He had Chester's undivided attention now.

"To see if there are any clues… in his office," Will went on.

"What, you mean break in?" Chester said quietly. "I'm not…"

Will cut him short. "I've got the keys." Taking his hand from his pocket, he held them up for Chester to see. "I just want to have a quick look, and I need somebody to watch my back."

Will had been completely prepared to go it alone but, when he stopped to think about it, it seemed natural to enlist the help of his friend. Chester was the only person Will could turn to now that his father had gone. He and Chester had worked very effectively together in the Forty Pits tunnel, like a real team — and, besides, Chester seemed genuinely concerned about Will's father's whereabouts.

Lowering his racket to his side, Chester thought for a moment as he gazed at the house and then back at Will again. "All right," he agreed, "but we'd better not get caught."

Will grinned. It felt good to have a real friend, someone other than his family he could trust, for the first time in his life.

* * * * *

After it had grown dark, the boys stole up the museum steps. Will unlocked the door and they slipped in quickly. The interior was just visible in the zigzag shadows thrown by interlacing bands of weak moonlight and the yellow neon from the street lamps outside.

"Follow me," Will whispered to Chester and, crouching low, they crossed through the main hall toward the corridor, dodging between the glass cabinets and grimacing as their sneakers squeaked on the parquet flooring.

"Watch the—"

"Ouch!" Chester cried as he tripped over the marsh timber lying on the floor just inside the corridor and went sprawling. "What's that doing there?" he said angrily as he rubbed his shin.

"Come on," Will whispered urgently.

Near the end of the corridor, they found Dr.
Burrows's
office.

"We can use the flashlights in here, but keep your beam down low."

"What are we looking for?" Chester whispered.