'It's got him, its got him.' Then he shut
up and said nothing for more than a year. When he started talking
again he was just how you see him now." Tony tapped the side of
his head.
"Well,
what did happen to Jim Fox?"
"No
one knows. He'd disappeared. No body-nothing."
Logic
glared Chris in the face. "An accident, you'd suppose. I've seen
it myself on the causeway. The tide comes in, and although it's only
a few inches deep on the roadway you can't see the stones because
they're a dark color. You only need to wander off course a yard or so
and you'd fall in the sea."
"Even
so," said Tony, "at high tide you would only be about
chest-deep if you stood on the beach at the side of the causeway."
Ruth
lifted her eyebrows. "So, he cracked his head on the side of the
causeway when he fell. He wouldn't cry out, and the tide just carried
him away. It was an accident."
"Of
course it was." Tony chuckled, the jolly host again. "Tell
me to shut my trap if I get boring. I just wanted to give you the
facts before you heard any halfbaked tales. Right, I'm starving.
Shall we get started?" He ripped the foil from the plates.
"These burgers I made myself. I like experimenting. Some are
plain, those are with barbecue sauce, those with garlic, and I went
crazy with those and soaked them in red wine." Using a metal
fish slice, he began arranging the burgers on the barbecue grill;
morsels of meat fell into the flames to sizzle against the coals.
"Fancy some celery dip, Chris?"
Chris
rose. "In a minute, thanks. I'll get David."
He
strolled down the rolling lawn. He wrote off Tony Gateman's
disappearing Fox twin story as the minor eccentricity of one living
alone too long in a place like this. He liked the man; he was just
trying perhaps a bit too hard to be friendly-and interesting.
As
he sat on the swing, David told Mark everything. About the elephant
slide at the hotel the previous week. About the strange feelings and
dreams he'd had at the seafort. Grown-ups sometimes treat you like a
little kid when you tell them serious things. They laugh like you're
telling them a joke or say "That's interesting." But Mark
listened. He understood when David struggled to tell him that he was
making swaps. David couldn't explain it properly. But he did know
that if he gave away the toys and comics he liked to the sea, he
would be given something back, just as you give money in a shop for a
comic.
"You've
been making deals, David."
As
the swing came back ready for Mark's next massive push, Mark asked:
"What kind of deals are you making?"
"David
..." It was his dad's voice. "Come on. Tony's cooking now."
"Chow
time." Mark lifted David off the swing, then turned to Chris.
"Tony's not let his tongue run away with him, has he? He's a
decent guy but he can talk the legs off a mule."
"He
was telling us how he came to live here. It seems this place has
quite a hold on visitors."
"Sure
has."
"How
did you end up here, Mark?"
"Oh,
I used to work the North Atlantic merchant freighters, moved into
other jobs, then ... I just sort of drifted in. Looks as though young
David's worked up a thirst."
David
was greedily attacking a can of Lilt. A steady stream of green liquid
ran down the front of his white tshirt.
"Reminds
me of me when I was a boy." Tony turned the burgers; puffs of
flame leapt up through the grill. "Coming home from school with
gravy stains down my tie. Sent the old man hairless. Everyone got
salad? Right, who's for a garlic burger?"
The
talk was now purely small-talk. Tony did most of it with Mark
underpinning the conversation with a few comments in his rumbling
bass voice.
Sunset
came, and the sky turned dark blue; a few bats flickered overhead,
gorging on insects.
After
they had eaten the mood became even more relaxed. Tony settled down
into a lounger, while Mark laid more burgers on the barbecue. The
smell of sizzling beef filled the garden.
"Tempt
you with a brandy, Chris?"
"You
certainly can." Chris leaned
up and said nothing for more than a year. When he started talking
again he was just how you see him now." Tony tapped the side of
his head.
"Well,
what did happen to Jim Fox?"
"No
one knows. He'd disappeared. No body-nothing."
Logic
glared Chris in the face. "An accident, you'd suppose. I've seen
it myself on the causeway. The tide comes in, and although it's only
a few inches deep on the roadway you can't see the stones because
they're a dark color. You only need to wander off course a yard or so
and you'd fall in the sea."
"Even
so," said Tony, "at high tide you would only be about
chest-deep if you stood on the beach at the side of the causeway."
Ruth
lifted her eyebrows. "So, he cracked his head on the side of the
causeway when he fell. He wouldn't cry out, and the tide just carried
him away. It was an accident."
"Of
course it was." Tony chuckled, the jolly host again. "Tell
me to shut my trap if I get boring. I just wanted to give you the
facts before you heard any halfbaked tales. Right, I'm starving.
Shall we get started?" He ripped the foil from the plates.
"These burgers I made myself. I like experimenting. Some are
plain, those are with barbecue sauce, those with garlic, and I went
crazy with those and soaked them in red wine." Using a metal
fish slice, he began arranging the burgers on the barbecue grill;
morsels of meat fell into the flames to sizzle against the coals.
"Fancy some celery dip, Chris?"
Chris
rose. "In a minute, thanks. I'll get David."
He
strolled down the rolling lawn. He wrote off Tony Gateman's
disappearing Fox twin story as the minor eccentricity of one living
alone too long in a place like this. He liked the man; he was just
trying perhaps a bit too hard to be friendly-and interesting.
As
he sat on the swing, David told Mark everything. About the elephant
slide at the hotel the previous week. About the strange feelings and
dreams he'd had at the seafort. Grown-ups sometimes treat you like a
little kid when you tell them serious things. They laugh like you're
telling them a joke or say "That's interesting." But Mark
listened. He understood when David struggled to tell him that he was
making swaps. David couldn't explain it properly. But he did know
that if he gave away the toys and comics he liked to the sea, he
would be given something back, just as you give money in a shop for a
comic.
"You've
been making deals, David."
As
the swing came back ready for Mark's next massive push, Mark asked:
"What kind of deals are you making?"
"David
..." It was his dad's voice. "Come on. Tony's cooking now."
"Chow
time." Mark lifted David off the swing, then turned to Chris.
"Tony's not let his tongue run away with him, has he? He's a
decent guy but he can talk the legs off a mule."
"He
was telling us how he came to live here. It seems this place has
quite a hold on visitors."
"Sure
has."
"How
did you end up here, Mark?"
"Oh,
I used to work the North Atlantic merchant freighters, moved into
other jobs, then ... I just sort of drifted in. Looks as though young
David's worked up a thirst."
David
was greedily attacking a can of Lilt. A steady stream of green liquid
ran down the front of his white tshirt.
"Reminds
me of me when I was a boy." Tony turned the burgers; puffs of
flame leapt up through the grill. "Coming home from school with
gravy stains down my tie. Sent the old man hairless. Everyone got
salad? Right, who's for a garlic burger?"
The
talk was now purely small-talk. Tony did most of it with Mark
underpinning the conversation with a few comments in his rumbling
bass voice.
Sunset
came, and the sky turned dark blue; a few bats flickered overhead,
gorging on insects.
After
they had eaten the mood became even more relaxed. Tony settled down
into a lounger, while Mark laid more burgers on the barbecue. The
smell of sizzling beef filled the garden.
"Tempt
you with a brandy, Chris?"
"You
certainly can." Chris leaned
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