Melt Page 12

  I sit down again in the snow. ‘I thought you might be badly hurt,’ I say. Tears pool in my eyes.

  Yutu climbs down carefully from the snowmobile, which is leaning on one side. He crouches next to me.

  ‘I’m OK. Just a bit sore.’ He smiles. ‘I can’t say the same for the snowmobile.’

  I look up to see what he means. The right-hand ski is broken.

  ‘Can we fix it?’ I ask, already knowing the answer.

  ‘We’re going to have to walk the last bit.’

  ‘What about the snowmobile?’

  ‘We have to leave it here. We don’t have any choice. I’m sorry. We’ll need to move quickly. It’s not a good idea to be on foot after dark. There are more bears closer to town.’

  Near

  I let my feet find a natural rhythm. The bag of clothes and food is slung across my chest, thumping on my back with every step. It was too painful for Yutu to carry it.

  We’ve been walking for a couple of hours. I try not to think about how far is left. The sun has passed its zenith and sparkles across the near side of the mountains, casting the far side into cold shadow.

  If someone has decided to follow us, this will give them a chance to catch up. I keep glancing behind, but there is no sign of figures in the distance. I wonder what they might be planning instead.

  Yutu is quiet. I can tell that he is in pain. He’s not moving with his usual steady gait. When we stop to melt snow on the stove, he doesn’t sit down. It puts too much pressure on his bruised ribs.

  For the last thirty minutes or so we’ve been climbing steadily. My knee is beginning to throb. Low hills rise gently on either side. We enter a natural passageway between them. Its snowy sides deaden the sound of our footfall.

  When the hills begin to flatten out again, I gasp. Below, to our left, the bay stretches as far as I can see. The sea ice here has melted to create a jigsaw of white and deep blue water. A kilometre to our right, a huge grey warehouse sits behind a jumble of square buildings in pastel colours. There is no road leading into town, but snaking along one side is a rail track.

  I turn to look at Yutu. ‘Is this where we’re heading?’

  He looks at me and smiles. ‘Do you see any other towns around here?’

  It’s much bigger than Yutu’s village, but tiny compared to where I live. Freight trains rest in orderly lines, near a station building. The rail track doesn’t continue on the other side. This is the end of the line. In the other direction, lies home.

  Parting

  The snowy track becomes a yellowish gravel path which turns into a wide road running through the centre of town. I step on tarmac for the first time in almost a week. Instead of familiar, it feels weird. It’s not actual ground, but several layers on top. I’d never realized how much of my world is covered in tarmac and concrete, and how rarely my feet are on real earth.

  Yutu is still quiet. I’m not sure it’s just the pain in his ribs now.

  The town is no more than four or five rows of houses, either side of the main road. It’s easy to find the station building. It’s closed. To the right of the door is a buzzer to press. After a few minutes a woman appears round the side.

  ‘Sleeper train?’ she calls.

  I look at Yutu. He nods. ‘That’s the only one which will take you all the way home.’

  ‘Can I get a ticket for today?’

  ‘Sure,’ the woman says. ‘You’re lucky. It only runs three days a week.’

  Yutu reaches inside his coat for the sealskin wallet.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘You know I will make sure you get the money back, don’t you?’

  ‘I know,’ says Yutu, his eyes twinkling at me through dark lashes.

  ‘It doesn’t leave for another three hours,’ the lady says, ‘but it’s due to arrive soon. I’ll let you on after the passengers disembark. You can wait in here,’ she adds, unlocking a pale blue door. Inside is a small room with chairs around the edge. She switches on a heater halfway up the wall.

  Yutu lowers himself gently onto one of the chairs.

  ‘I’ll stay with you until the train arrives,’ he says.

  ‘What will you do then?’ I feel bad that during the whole journey I hadn’t once thought about Yutu having to make the whole journey back again, alone.

  ‘Grandma has friends here. They will be surprised to see me.’

  ‘Surprised in a good way?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course,’ he chuckles.

  ‘What will happen to the snowmobile?’

  ‘I think it just needs a new runner. Snowmobile parts aren’t hard to come by. I’m hoping Grandma’s friends will help me. They’ll know a better route back. One which doesn’t go through the river. Grandma will feed them well at the other end.’

  We are both silent for a while. For the first time, it feels awkward.

  Then the silence is broken by a gentle rumbling noise outside. I look at Yutu, frowning.

  ‘It’s the tracks,’ he says. ‘Your train’s coming.’ He fiddles with the zip on the bag. ‘Bea, can you give me your email address or a phone number?’ He pauses. ‘So that I can check you’ve made it back home OK?’

  ‘Yes, and can I have yours too?’

  Yutu smiles. ‘I’ll ask the stationmaster for a pen. Your emergency kit had everything except a pen.’

  He goes outside to look for the woman, returning a few minutes later with a scrap of paper and a pen.

  He gives me his grandmother’s phone number. ‘Sometimes the connection isn’t great,’ he says. ‘You might need to keep trying.’

  I put the piece of paper carefully in my pocket.

  ‘Why don’t you keep the bag?’ I say. ‘The emergency stuff might be useful, and a set of dry clothes.’

  ‘OK. But take some food. I think it’s a long journey.’

  ‘Deal,’ I say, just as the door to the waiting room opens. It’s the stationmaster.

  ‘You can get on if you want. It’s warmer on the train.’

  I stand up. ‘It’s not due to leave for a couple of hours. You should go before it gets dark.’

  Yutu nods.

  As I walk through the train to find my seat, he follows me, along the platform.

  I sit down, and he raises a mittened hand in the air. I wave back. Then he puts his hood up and heads towards the street.

  I watch until he fades from view.

  The train lurches from the station and grinds slowly down the tracks, past a few buildings. In less than a minute I have left the town behind me. My eyes adjust to the vast horizon. White tundra sprawls for almost as far as the eye can see, rising into shadowy peaks. I want to ask Yutu what they’re called. I look at the empty seat opposite. It feels strange to be on my own.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I start to think about how close I am to discovering the truth about Dad, but the motion of the train feels so smooth, after days on the snowmobile. My eyelids are heavy. It’s almost forty-eight hours since the last time I really slept. I pull a lever at the side of the chair. As the seat tilts back, a footrest rises up.

  I don’t want, You look tired out, darling, to be the first thing Mum says when I see her. After a few seconds I realize that’s exactly what I want her to say. Before she puts her arms around me and gives me a hug.

  Home

  The train jerks a little from side to side. I open my eyes. It feels like I’ve been asleep for ages but it’s still dark outside. I have no idea what time it is.

  The carriage is quiet, except for a few gentle snores. I’m sharing it with two or three other people.

  I try to work out which day it is. This must be the fourth night since I left home, so tomorrow is Wednesday. I wonder what Stella and the gang think has happened to me. Maybe that I’m ill, or just couldn’t face going in to school. None of them could ever guess the real answer.

  The last four days are tangled up in my head. I need to get my thoughts in order, to make sure I don’t forget something, that I don’t leave out any im
portant detail about what happened to Dad. I try to picture the faces of the men who attacked him. I remember their surprise when I appeared at the window, the looks of determination when they came after me. Already their features seem less distinct. Could I pick them out in a crowd? I think about sprinting down the runway. How desperate they were to stop me from getting away. They didn’t expect me to be there. A witness.

  A flare of anger heats my chest when I think about the message they sent to Yutu’s village. How dare they spread lies about Dad. It made me see how easy it is to believe things about people you’ve never met. Especially bad things.

  I try to imagine I’m lying on my bed at home, looking up at the ceiling. That’s where I go when I need to think. I imagine the soft padding of Hester’s paws across the carpet. The little miaow as she jumps up to join me, walking in circles until she has just the right spot to lie down. Then I find myself thinking about Yutu, sitting on the little stool in Miki’s house. The smell of bread mixed with pinewood.

  The sky is turning a pale dawn-grey. A few houses are scattered in the distance. Everything looks dull and ordinary without a magical dusting of snow.

  There is a crackling sound, then a muffled voice filters over the tannoy. We’re due to arrive in fifteen minutes.

  I feel a flutter in my stomach. I’m so close to home. Then with a shudder I remember that someone might be keeping watch, looking for me. I’ll keep my hood up. It will be cold outside, so that won’t seem strange. I don’t have any bags, so maybe it won’t look like I’ve just arrived. Another thought strikes me. I don’t have any money for a taxi and I have no idea how to get home.

  Almost imperceptibly the train begins to slow. There is a rustle of bags as people start to pack things away.

  I slip my coat on, feeling the soft fur of my sealskin mittens in the pockets.

  The brakes screech gently. I’ve never seen this station before. It doesn’t feel like coming home, but it’s bringing me back to Mum.

  I pull up my hood and step into the morning air. It feels fresh on my face but doesn’t snatch my breath away like on the tundra.

  I scan the ticket hall. The exit is directly opposite. People hurry past to buy tickets or make their way to the platforms. I weave round them, moving quickly without seeming to rush. A man sits on a bench, reading a book. I notice him because he is still, within all the movement. It’s impossible to know whether he’s watching me too.

  I turn right outside the station. It seems the busiest route. I keep walking until I see a sign to the town centre. I can find my way back from there. My legs ache from walking in the snow yesterday, but I pick up my pace. Every step is taking me closer to Mum. Closer to the truth. So far I have only been able to guess at what happened to Dad. At least with guessing, there are different possibilities.

  The centre of town is humming with cars and people, everyone rushing to work or school. I’m beginning to sweat but I don’t want to take my hood down, in case someone is following me.

  After a few wrong turns, I’m on the wide avenue close to home. I turn left onto my street. There is a black car parked in the road. Everyone has their own drive. My heart starts to beat faster. It’s too late to turn back. The car is sleek and expensive-looking. As I approach my house, I glance up, but keep walking, past the car, my head down like I’m lost in thought. At the end of my street I turn left, and then left again down a dirt path which runs between the back gardens.

  I know that the sixth house on the left is mine. Halfway along our fence I see a gate. I twist the latch, but the gate doesn’t budge. It must be bolted on the inside. I look around to see if anyone’s about, then grasp the top of the fence and haul myself over, protected from the rough wood by my thick coat. I look up at the back of the house and pause for a minute. I can’t see any movement inside.

  I cross the grass to the back door and peer through the window. After a few minutes, I knock gently on the glass. No one comes. I knock again, more loudly. What if Mum isn’t here? Then I see her, walking through the kitchen, her face is pale. She looks towards the back door, frowning. Then her eyes open wide, and her jaw drops a little. She grabs the key from the hook and fumbles to open the door. I throw my arms around her and bury my face in her shoulder. I stay there until Mum unwraps her arms and looks at me properly.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she says. ‘That’s all I need to know right now.’

  I wipe my eyes on a soft mitten and nod.

  ‘Then come and sit down.’ She takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen table. ‘I need to hear everything. Are you hungry?’

  I should be hungry, but I don’t feel like eating right now.

  Mum reads my expression. ‘Hot chocolate then?’

  I nod again. All the things I planned to say seem to have evaporated. Hester pads into the kitchen. She sees me and gives a little miaow before running over, tail in the air.

  Mum goes to the kitchen counter, but instead of picking up some mugs, she reaches for her phone and a scrap of paper and begins dialling a number. I leap up from my chair.

  ‘Mum, stop!’

  She looks up in surprise. ‘What is it?’ Then she sees me staring at the phone in her hand. ‘I need to let people know you’re safe. They are out looking for you.’

  ‘Mum,’ I say more quietly, ‘can I talk to you first?’

  She hesitates. ‘OK. Perhaps that’s a good idea.’

  She puts her phone down.

  When we’re both sitting at the table with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, Mum says, ‘Why didn’t you call back? Bea, after you hung up, I had no idea where you were or if you were on your way home. Where have you been?’

  I look at the dark circles underneath her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to talk to you, and when that man took your phone, I realized you weren’t alone. I didn’t want anyone else listening to what I had to tell you.’

  ‘But they were trying to help,’ says Mum.

  ‘I have to talk to you about Dad.’

  Mum pauses. ‘Yes,’ she says softly. ‘We need to talk about Dad.’ Mum is looking at me intently.

  I realize that my ordered thoughts are competing to arrive at once, in a swirling, confusing rush. I need to calm down.

  ‘Mum, when Dad and I landed in the Arctic, there were two men waiting for him at the airport. They attacked him. They didn’t know I was there, but I saw it happen. I was looking through the window. Dad was lying on the floor. Then one of the men spotted me. He chased after me.’ I realize I haven’t really taken a breath. I feel a bit lightheaded. Mum is still watching me closely. ‘I ran to the plane to get away, but he carried on chasing me, even when I was driving the plane along the runway.’

  Mum takes my hand.

  ‘I’m sure if I hadn’t been there they would have—they might have—’ I feel a sob rising in my chest. Mum walks round the table and pulls me into a hug.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘You’re here now.’

  ‘But where is Dad?’

  ‘Do you want to finish telling me first?’

  I nod.

  I tell her about how I flew the plane, alone, and landed it.

  Mum shakes her head slowly and closes her eyes, but she doesn’t look angry.

  ‘I didn’t crash into the hut though, which was lucky, because there was a boy inside it.’

  ‘A boy?’ Mum says.

  ‘Yes. He had hypothermia. I gave him some dry clothes—some of Dad’s, and some food. When he felt better, he drove me back to his village.’

  Mum has stopped shaking her head, but her mouth is slightly open. ‘So, this boy had a car?’

  ‘No. There are no roads up there. He had a snowmobile.’

  Mum closes her eyes and nods. ‘Of course,’ she says so quietly I can hardly hear.

  I describe the warning message sent to the mayor.

  ‘They were pretending to be the police. They didn’t want anyone to speak to me. They didn’t want anyone
to know the truth. They tried to make it sound like I’d be really confused, that what I said couldn’t be trusted.’

  Mum is looking at me. Her expression isn’t one of shock or horror at what I’ve just said. She doesn’t even look surprised. The energy has gone from her eyes. I want her to say something. She isn’t reacting in the way I thought she would. I want to know what she’s thinking. I want to know what’s wrong. I want to know what’s happened to Dad.

  ‘Dad’s missing,’ Mum says. A coldness creeps down my spine. What does missing mean?

  Mum looks so tired. ‘Bea,’ she says slowly, ‘there’s no reason to think the people who left the message were pretending to be police.’

  I scan Mum’s face to check that she’s serious. Her expression is unchanged.

  ‘Dad has done something he shouldn’t have done,’ she says.

  ‘No,’ I say, shaking my head.

  ‘Bea, when you flew north with Dad, he had arranged to meet someone.’

  ‘Yes, they were going to take us to our hotel, or wherever we were supposed to be staying that night.’

  ‘No,’ Mum says quietly. ‘Dad had arranged to meet someone he could give a file to. A file with secrets about the oil company. Secrets which he would get paid a lot for.’

  I keep on shaking my head.

  ‘Bea, Dad didn’t need to fly north for a work trip. They hadn’t asked him to do a survey there.’ Mum takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. ‘He was going to sell information. It’s called industrial espionage.’

  ‘They’re lying. I saw what happened. I was there. They attacked him. They took him by surprise. There were two of them—’

  ‘Darling, I want to believe it too.’ She closes her eyes.

  ‘Then why don’t you tell them it isn’t true? Why don’t you tell them what I saw?’

  ‘Bea, the person Dad was selling the secrets to, had a change of heart. He knew it was risky. He got in touch with the company. He told them what Dad was doing. The company bosses said the meeting should go ahead as planned, and then they could catch Dad red-handed. That’s what you saw. That’s what happened. The detectives explained everything to me. They’ve been working on the case for several weeks.’