Footprints in the Sand

That was when I decided to go and ask Ted if I could live with him.

A narrow lane led along the shore to our row of cottages, so close to the sea that in high tide the water lapped right up to it. Ted’s house was at the other end, higher up on a rocky incline. It was small and white with twinkling windows—a clean and friendly house, I thought, as I walked quickly toward its neat red door.

A slim blonde woman answered my knock. I had seen her before in the village with Ted, and she was at Daffyd’s funeral. Mrs. Mac called her “the city girl.” I don’t think she liked her very much.

“Hello,” she said in a high, bright voice. “I’m Victoria. How can I help you?”

My heart beat hard inside my chest.

“Is Ted here?”

Her face darkened and a shadow came into her pale eyes. “Ted’s busy, I’m afraid, Elsa.”

I stared at the floor, squirming as I realized that I was wearing mismatched shoes. I had forgotten that Ted had someone.

“I know Ted’s been watching out for you, but...well...”

Her eyes were kind but her whole body was tight and her mouth was a thin line.

“Look, dear...” Her words died out as his huge shape appeared behind her, towering over her slight frame. Now, I thought with a lurch of joy, everything would be all right.

“Come inside, lass,” he urged, but there was worry in his eyes, and he kept glancing down at Victoria’s smooth blond head as if he was afraid of her. That was a silly idea. How could anyone so big be afraid of someone so small?

She took hold of my arm—I wanted to pull away but I didn’t—and made me sit down on a sofa that was much too big for the cramped room. It was pale cream with pink flowers all over, and I’m sure it would have been soft and comfy if it hadn’t been covered in plastic.

“Would you like some lemonade?” she asked.

I shook my head and gritted my teeth, trying to say the words I had rehearsed. They wouldn’t come, though, so I sat quietly, twisting my feet together to hide my shoes.

Ted wasn’t like himself; he looked sad and distant.

Please don’t let him change, too, I said to myself, searching deep down for my lump of crossness so I wouldn’t cry. Why didn’t she go away and let me talk to Ted by myself?

“Ted,” she ordered, “come and help me make some tea.” Her voice was brittle, like a thin piece of glass. Then she turned to me with a bright, empty smile. “Are you sure you won’t have some lemonade, Elsa? Or we have orange juice?”

Ted grinned uneasily as he followed Victoria out of the room, but I just frowned.

I could hear their voices through a crack in the door. I pressed my ear up close to listen.

“You’ll have to tell her, Ted.”

Victoria spoke in the hushed whisper that all adults used when they didn’t want kids to hear, so I listened even harder, knowing they were about to say something bad.

“But what will she do? She has no one,” Ted argued. “She relies on me.”

“That’s not the point. The longer you leave it, the worse it’ll get and the more she’ll depend on you. She’ll be wanting to come live with us next.”

“Well...I suppose...”

Ted’s voice was wavering and I knew all was lost. It seemed that it was possible for a small person to be the boss of a big one after all. My crossness hardened into something sharp and painful.

“She needs proper care by people who know what they’re doing. Anyone can see the poor kid has problems. Frankly, I’m not surprised, living all alone with that Mad Mick Malone. The authorities will—”

I burst through the door, letting it bang against the wall, screaming as loudly as I could, so loudly that Ted’s face went white. Victoria gave him an “I told you so” look and pursed her lips. She reached out to grab me, but I broke free, sprinting from the house into the lonely comfort of the bay.

It was easy to get away from Ted—by the time he’d put on his shoes I was already way out along the shingle beach. I didn’t walk onto the sand, even though I really wanted to, because that would have left footprints for them to follow. I found a place behind an old wooden jetty where no one could see me.

If they sent me away from this place, I suddenly realized, there would never be any footprints to follow again. So if my dad came back, how could he ever find me? I would just lie down here on the shore, I decided, and go to sleep forever and ever. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my face into the sand.

I heard Ted’s feet running and I heard him shout but I ignored him, digging into the sand, listening to the seagulls and trying not to cry. When I opened my eyes again, a huge black-headed gull had landed close by, staring at me with beady yellow eyes. It stepped cautiously toward me, head leaning to one side, beak half-open.

“They want to send me away, bird,” I whispered.

It took a step closer and I reached out my hand.

“There you are,” Ted shouted.

The seagull, my friend, flapped its wings and flew off, and the crossness took over. I screamed and started to run, but Ted pinned me down.

“There, there, lass,” he murmured. “Let it all out.”

We sat like that for a very long time, until all my sobs were cried out. When they turned into whimpers and my tears dried, he tilted my chin and looked into my eyes.

“All everyone wants is the best for you, Elsa.”

I knew that wasn’t true. Mrs. Mac didn’t, and even if Ted did, Victoria wouldn’t let him.

“You have to be with people who can look after you properly,” he told me in a gentle voice.

“But when my dad comes back...” I began.

He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Elsa, but they’ve found him. I’m afraid your dad will never come back to you now.”

CHAPTER FIVE

EIGHT-YEAR-OLD BRYN SNIFFED loudly and ran his nose across his sleeve, looking cautiously around to make sure that Mrs. Dibble hadn’t seen him. Mrs. Dibble was not impressed by children who forgot to use a tissue, and he didn’t want to miss out on ice cream for tea. They always had ice cream when a new child came.

All in all he didn’t really mind Mrs. Dibble. She ruled Appletree House with a rod of iron, but Bryn could usually get around her. Over the past three years he’d learned that a smile and a sorry went a long way. So did a pleasant smile, and it always helped settle in the new arrivals. The girl who was coming today, though, was supposed to have problems. He knew that because he’d overheard Mrs. Dibble and Sarah, the social worker, talking about her. They’d used words like traumatized, disturbed, hostile and antisocial.

Some of the children who came here were frightened and shy, and others were loud, rough and outspoken. “Gutterkids” he’d heard Mrs. Dibble call them. Disturbed and hostile were different kinds of words, though, and what exactly did traumatized mean? He wondered how old she was, imagining a teenager. Bryn liked to be responsible for helping the new kids settle in, but since he was only eight, maybe this time it wouldn’t be possible.

He headed for the door. It was hours until teatime so he might as well go play on the new swing in the oak tree that Bob, the gardener and handyman, had put there especially for him. Bryn had a way of getting people to do things like that.

* * *

FROM THE WINDOW OF HER office, Martha Dibble watched the little boy with the unruly dark hair and bright smile. She always tried not to get too involved with the children in her care, but with Bryn Evans it was difficult not to. He sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve, and she raised her eyebrows, knowing she should reprimand him. It was important to stay in control, as most of the children who came to Appletree were desperately lacking in parental guidance. She half rose and then sat down again, thinking better of it. If she took away Bryn’s ice cream, he’d look at her with those huge brown eyes, and with his ever-ready “sorry, Miss” he’d make her feel like the dragon they all said she was. Bryn ran off toward the garden and with a deep sigh she went back to the file she was reading. Maybe she was going soft in her old age. Of all the children who’d passed through Appletree over the past decade, Martha decided, narrowing her eyes to decipher the social worker’s scrawled handwriting, this child sounded as if she was going to be one of the worst. Words like hostile and emotionally disturbed painted a grim picture of a little girl who’d just turned six. Discipline and routine usually worked, though—Martha had found that they made children feel more secure. Lack of security was the root of most of their problems.

She sighed again and gazed out the window. At the moment, unfortunately, the security of Appletree House itself hung in the balance. Funding was changing and the modern consensus was to move children into more family-oriented environments, such as foster homes. But many of the kids at Appletree were from difficult backgrounds, and they needed more expert care. In Martha’s opinion, institutions such as hers fit the bill perfectly, combining the discipline of school with a secure home environment and professional care. Then there were children such as Bryn—well-adjusted, loving kids who’d come to Appletree because they had no one to take care of them. He might have benefited from being placed in foster care at first, but Appletree was his home now. And he was growing into a normal, caring, intelligent young man with a promising future ahead of him.