Without Looking Back (22 page)

He positioned the bike, took a deep breath, and edged the front wheel forward, adrenaline pumping full throttle. One foot skimming the ground for balance, he began his descent, his knuckles white around the brakes. The first fifty metres or so weren’t too bad – the grass was thick and he was able to dig his wheels in and use his foot to take the edge off his speed. He was never fully in
control from the start – his descent was too rapid for that – but he could just make out some rocks jutting out from the hillside and he managed to keep them well to his left. Then the ground beneath his wheels began to harden and he could feel himself gathering speed; he tried to hold back, his hands like vices around the brakes, but found himself forced to lean forward just to keep his balance. The earth was growing dryer and looser by the second and it was with a jolt that he realized that very near the surface was solid rock. The wind whipped tears from his eyes and prevented him from drawing breath. There was not much he could do now but concentrate on staying on the bike. His wheels began to bounce against the stones, and he found himself grating his teeth together as the pace seemed to quicken yet further. He was now hurtling down the mountainside out of control, his brakes unable to take the edge off the speed, and all he could do was concentrate on staying upright. It was around this time, as the wind began to howl around him like a trapped animal, that he felt his front wheel lose its grip and begin to slide. He instantly pulled his weight back, trying to prevent a full slide, only to feel the back wheel give in the same way. He concentrated on staying as sideways on as possible, knowing now that a crash-landing was inevitable, and tried to
create some drag with his leg to slow his imminent fall.

With a blinding crack, his elbow met with a piece of rock jutting out from the earth and he was propelled forward and outward so that suddenly his bike was falling out from under him and the world began to whirl. It felt as if he was trapped in a giant washing machine, spinning round with incredible force, the ground coming up to slap him in the face at every turn. The firm knowledge that it would stop soon, that the ground would have to level out eventually, was of surprisingly little comfort. He closed his eyes, forced to submit to the inevitability of his roll, every crack sending shock waves of pain throughout his body and overriding any other sensation he could have possibly felt. It should have all been over in a few seconds, and in real time apparently it was, but his fall down the hillside seemed to last for ever. Something caught him hard above the ear and there seemed to be a moment of complete darkness before something else hit his knee, forcing him to acknowledge consciousness. And when the tumbling finally stopped, it took him by surprise and he thought he must still be rolling, although he could feel he was lying flat on the grass. He kept his eyes closed, teeth clenched, still expecting another hit, but none came. And it seemed he had been lying there for all eternity
before he realized he was staring up at a brilliant blue sky.

It took him an age to get to his feet, and longer still to find his bike. He kept telling himself to hurry, hurry, hurry, but his body seemed to have its own agenda. As he finally recovered his bike and hobbled down to the edge of the road, he saw that he had torn a huge hole in the leg of his jeans, revealing a knee that was raw and bloody. His bare arms stung like crazy, there was something soft and sticky above his eye and his mouth tasted of blood . . . The relief he felt when he discovered his bike was still rideable was quickly replaced by breathtaking pain as he tried to push the pedals round on the smooth tarmac road.

It took him nearly an hour to ride into Windermere. A car pulled up at the side of the road and his heart almost stopped, but it was just a passer-by leaning out to ask if he was all right. Louis ignored him and pressed on, every push of the pedals sending a blinding pain through his knees. His mouth was dry and gritty, his body was plastered in sweat. And all he could think was
I’ve missed him, I’ve missed him, I’ve missed him
.

Outside the shiny modern Donex building in the centre of Windermere, Louis dropped his bike on the pavement, ignoring the horrified stares, and
staggered into the lobby. He took the lift to the fourth floor, relieved to find it empty, and leaned dizzily against the smooth gold plaque of buttons, red blotches pulsating in front of his eyes. As the lift doors pinged open, he lurched into the corridor towards the receptionist’s desk.

‘I need to see Jonathan Franklin, it’s an emergency . . .’

A horsy woman in a fitted violet suit stood up and said, ‘Mr Franklin is in a meeting. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll—’

‘I need to see him now!’ Louis shouted. ‘Where is he?’

‘I said he was in a meeting,’ the woman repeated, glancing nervously towards a door on the left. ‘If you could just take a seat, I’ll see whether—’

Louis ran over to the door the woman had glanced at and threw it open. Seated round a long wooden table, a dozen or so men and women in suits were looking at a projection screen, next to which was standing—

‘Dad!’

The suits all turned round. Dad’s mouth dropped open. ‘Louis! My God!’ He moved quickly forwards. ‘What’s happened to you?’ And then he froze.

‘We’ve got to go,’ Louis said, his voice shaking. ‘
Now
.’

Dad stared at him for a moment longer. Then,
suddenly, he snapped into action. Grabbing his briefcase, he muttered something about a family emergency and was propelling Louis back down the corridor. ‘Where are the others?’ he shouted as they ran down the stairs.

‘They’re waiting for us! We have to go and pick them up!’

They raced into the car park, Dad fumbling with the keys. His face was white and Louis could see that his hands were shaking. They slammed into the car and pulled out of the car park with a screeching of tyres.

‘Don’t get us stopped, Dad,’ Louis warned him, bracing himself against the dashboard.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Down Whitely Road, to the fork that leads towards Grasmere.’

As they drove out of Windermere, Dad put his foot down and they raced back the way Louis had come, gobbling up in easy minutes the painful miles he had pedalled. Dad glanced over at him, sweat pearling on his forehead. ‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘How?’

‘Tell you later, Dad. Let’s just get the others.’ Louis’ stomach was in knots again. They were over half an hour late.

‘Are you all right, son? You’re covered in blood! My God, what on earth happened?’

‘I’m all right, Dad,’ Louis said.

They came to a halt beside the church at the fork in the road and leaped out of the car. There was nothing but the twittering of birds and the distant hum of cars from the motorway. ‘Oh, Christ, they’re not here,’ Louis choked.

The police car had been by to pick them up. Or else Millie had twisted her ankle jumping down from the tree. Either way, they were finished.

Dad looked at Louis in horror. Then a voice said, ‘What the hell took you so long?’

They both swung round in surprise. Max was climbing out from behind a tall hedge, pulling Millie after him. Her face was streaked with tears. ‘We thought you’d left us behind!’

‘Thank God . . .’ Dad breathed, grabbing the rucksacks from Max. ‘Oh, thank God!’

They got into the car and Dad pulled away with another screech of tyres. After ten minutes of silence they were suddenly on the motorway.

‘Where are we going?’ Millie asked in a small, exhausted voice.

‘I don’t know,’ Dad said quietly. ‘I just don’t know.’

Max turned round from the front seat and looked at Louis. ‘Christ, what happened to you?’

‘I had a bit of bumpy ride.’ It hurt to talk.

‘But you made it,’ Max said with a smile. It was a smile that said,
I’m sorry
. It was a smile that said,
Thank you.

Louis smiled back weakly, but felt only emptiness. He closed his eyes against the threat of tears. ‘I made it,’ he replied.

LOUIS LAY BENEATH
the duvet of the king-size double bed, staring up at the ceiling. The soft glow of the lamp cast a puddle of golden light on the pillow beside him. He could feel Dad’s weight on the end of the bed and see his back, hunched forward, as he anxiously watched the ten o’clock news. Millie was curled up next to Louis on the bed, fast asleep, her hair still damp from the shower. Louis noticed that she didn’t sleep sucking her two middle fingers any more. The slight chubbiness had gone from her cheeks, her face had elongated, and he suddenly realized how much she had changed since that snapshot on the missing-person’s poster, how much she’d grown. Max lay sprawled diagonally across the other double bed, chin propped up on his hand, also gazing at the television. Louis didn’t have the energy to
move his head to look at the screen. But so far there had been nothing about an Anglo-French custody battle.

They had driven all day, only stopping for toilet breaks and food. Now they were in Scotland, in a place called Glasgow, in a hotel beside the airport. Tomorrow they would be taking the plane again. As usual, Dad wasn’t saying where. Louis’ skin still tingled from the hot bath. His badly scraped knee had been carefully cleaned and bandaged and Dad had managed to get some self-adhesive stitches for the deep gash across his eyebrow. He had swallowed some painkillers with a huge meal of pizza and Coke and now he felt achy and woozy and terribly tired. The newsreader’s voice droned on. He turned his head on the pillow and looked at Millie’s softly sleeping face.
I love you, Millie
, he thought.

The next morning Dad woke them up at the last minute. There was a tense few moments spent scrabbling round for clothes and checking under beds. But there wasn’t really anything to pack. Dad promised them breakfast on the plane and they left their key at the empty reception desk and walked out of the sleeping hotel and into the cool dawn.

When they arrived at the near-empty check-in desk, the stewardess told them they would have to hurry. ‘The flight to Amsterdam is about to board,’ she said.

Amsterdam
. Louis shot Max a wry smile. But there was no excitement any more.

This time there were no cartwheels in the waiting lounge. Millie sat huddled against Dad, her face pale and sleepy. Max, for once without his GameBoy, gazed out of the windows at the pink sunrise lighting up the sky. Dad was dishevelled and unshaven and looked like he hadn’t slept. There were lines on his face that Louis didn’t remember seeing before. His eyes were exhausted. He caught Louis looking at him and smiled. And suddenly Louis realized that love was a very powerful thing. It could make one man risk everything, even his freedom, just to be with his children.

Their plane was being called. Dad was urging them to gather their few remaining belongings. Louis handed Millie the second rucksack containing Dad’s laptop as they followed the handful of other passengers down the mobile corridor towards the whirring mouth of the plane.

‘But it’s really heavy,’ Millie complained.

‘Just take it, Millie.’

Millie gave a dramatic roll of the eyes but took the rucksack from him without further fuss. The stewardess was getting ready to close the door of the plane as they arrived.

‘Just in time,’ she said. ‘You’re the last passengers.’

Max stepped through the opening and onto the plane. Dad took Millie’s hand. Louis felt his heart lurch. He stepped back.

‘Hurry, Louis,’ Dad said, turning back in the doorway.

‘I’m not coming,’ Louis said.

‘What?’ Dad started to get off the plane again.

‘Sir, we really have to close up now,’ the stewardess said. ‘Are you boarding this plane or not?’

‘Yes,’ said Dad. ‘Yes! Louis, don’t be silly, get on now!’

‘No, Dad, I’m not coming,’ Louis said again.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘What’s going on?’ Max had reappeared in the door way. ‘Is this our plane or not?’

‘Louis says he doesn’t want to come,’ Dad said, a tremor in his voice.

Max gazed at Louis with a disbelieving smile on his face. ‘What are you talking about? You want to stay in Glasgow?’

‘I’m going back to live with Maman,’ Louis said.

‘Why?’ Max asked in astonishment.

‘I don’t want to be doing this any more.’

‘But we won’t always be moving around, w-we’re going to find a place, we’re going to settle—’ Dad was stammering.

‘Sir, you’re holding up the flight. I’m going to have to ask you to remove yourself from the doorway right now.’

‘Fine, everyone off!’ Dad snapped. ‘We’ll get another flight.’

‘No way!’ Louis moved quickly, blocking Dad’s path. ‘I nearly killed myself yesterday, and I didn’t do it just for you to get caught!’

‘But . . .’

‘I’ll see you when I’m sixteen, Dad.’

‘Louis, please listen—’

‘
Now
, sir!’

Dad’s eyes were filling with tears. ‘Are you serious? This is what you really want?’

Louis nodded.

‘You’ve got Mum’s number? You’ll go straight back to the hotel and wait there till she comes to fetch you?’

‘Yes, Dad, I promise.’

‘And – and if you
ever
change your mind – I’ll come and pick you up, Louis, anywhere! D’you understand?’

‘I understand, Dad.’

‘Sir—’

‘Oh, Jesus!’ Dad put his hand to his eyes, stumbled backwards and let the stewardess guide him into the aircraft.

‘Look after him,’ Louis said to Max.

Max stared at him. ‘You’re really not coming?’

‘No.’

Millie suddenly shot out and grabbed Louis round the waist. He felt her sob into his T-shirt. Louis bent down and kissed the top of her head. ‘Bye, Millie,’ he whispered.

She wouldn’t let go. He tried to loosen her arms from around his waist but she clung on tight. ‘Millie, you’ve got to get on the plane. Dad needs you. I’ll come and find you in a few years, I promise.’

Max reached down and pulled her firmly back. ‘Millie, the plane’s about to leave.’ He looked up at Louis, his incredulous smile beginning to fade. ‘I-I guess I’ll see you in a year or so.’

Louis nodded.