Wind buffeted them in the steep walled lane. They stepped out of the blustery current, into an exposed yard and a battlement wall where a cannon overlooked the city. It fired at one o’clock every day. Simon and Jake ran over to it.
Magnificent views looked out over the north of the city across to a glittering strip of sea.
A different Guide in the familiar red anorak was giving the history of the western defenses to a Chinese tour group. Pete and Audrey and the three kids loitered nearby, listening in.
The castle was being besieged by Jacobites, announced the Guide. Some of the soldiers inside were sympathetic to the rebel cause and conspired to let in the besieging army. But they were caught. They were hung from these very walls by their own coats, left to rot there as a warning to others.
The tour group took turns looking over the wall, cooing, gasping, giggling with fright. Simon and Jake and Pete looked over the edge. Simon screamed. Jake laughed at him and Simon took it in good part. Audrey looked over and felt her stomach jolt at the sixty foot vertiginous drop to jagged black cliffs below.
Hannah stayed well back, giggled into her cuff and shook her head when Audrey pretended she would make her look.
When they were safely twenty feet away Simon did a little leap sideways towards the wall, pretending he was jumping over, showing off to Jake. Jake threw his head back and laughed. Simon was delighted at his brother’s approval. He loved Jake so much but it had never been safe to show it before.
They walked on, Simon pretending to jump over every wall they came to. He wore the joke out, he was only little, but Jake was kind about it and grinned when prompted.
They stopped for a cake and the boys sat together. Jake pretended his ginger cake was jumping off the battlements. Simon was thrilled that Jake was copying him. He was so happy he actually glowed. With their hoodies over their heads, one blue, one green, they looked like mismatched twins. Only Hannah held back.
When they had finished their cakes, Jake asked to see some dungeons. They walked up to an exhibition about prisoners of war. Napoleonic prisoners had been held in these very vaults, the sign said. They were held here for years. Hammocks were strung up high on the walls and plaster models of prison loaves were nailed to wooden plates. The kids wandered around, touching things and looking and Pete and Audrey finally got a minute to speak.
“What is he doing?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” beamed Pete.
They watched the kids clamber onto a high bench. Simon and Jake pretended to eat the plaster loaf. It was chipped and worn but they were miming eating it as if it was delicious. Hannah sat apart from them, still watchful, but softening.
“Maybe he has just grown out of it?” said Pete.
The boys were getting down and Jake put his arms around little Simon’s chest and swung him easily to the floor. He tried to help Hannah too but she yanked her arm away and wouldn’t let him touch her.
Audrey hummed noncommittally. Something felt wrong. Growing out of behavioural problems was gradual, she knew that. It would be fitful, would come and go, if it happened. She should tell Pete about the ashtray by the bed this morning but it would spoil his day. She’d tell him later.
Crown Square was the highest point in the castle, a small courtyard with buildings on each side. It was busy, the clock was creeping towards lunchtime. Tourists thronged in groups, talking loudly in many languages, queuing impatiently for the tea room and the toilets.
They had promised the kids a baked potato for lunch, their favourite, but they had just had a cake so they needed to wait for an hour or so. The least busy door led to the National War Memorial.
Pete led them up the circular steps to the open entrance.
It was a beautiful building. It had been a hospital, then a store, but its insides had been scooped out and it was refurbished as a secular chapel. Across from the entrance was an apse with a steel shrine containing an honour roll of all those who had died in conflicts since 1914. High windows of fine stained glass gave the place a sombre, whispery atmosphere. The kids liked it because there was lots to see. They all walked down to the left, to the western transept and found the memorial to noncombatants. The kids were guessing at Latin translations to the regimental insignia. They were all calm and whispering appropriately. It was how Audrey had always hoped it could be.
She nodded to the Latin motto the kids were struggling with.
“What does it really say?” She whispered to Pete, who had a little Latin.
“Hmmm. ‘If... you like... pina colada...’.” He smothered a smile.
“Interesting.” Audrey cupped her chin, playing the part of the interviewer, “And this second line here, what does that say?”
“Ah, something about enjoyment and rain. Just let me conjugate the verb ‘to capture’.”
They giggled, muffling their laughter, leaning into one another, snorting. Their foreheads touched, just briefly, but it felt like a kiss. They hadn’t laughed together for such a long time. Audrey and Pete looked at each other, here in this unexpected pocket of calm. He mouthed “You’re gorgeous, Audie” and she smiled and slapped his arm playfully. She looked up for the cause of all their worries.
Jake was gone.
Simon and Hannah were together, she chewing her cuff, he with his green hoodie pulled up and tight around his face, tracing names carved into marble with his finger. The War Memorial was crammed with people.
“Jake!” Audrey’s voice reverberated around the silent stone room. Every face turned to look at her, none of them Jake.
Pete grabbed Hannah and Simon by the shoulders and ploughed his way through the crowd to the door. Audrey followed in his wake.
From the top of the stairs they could see the entire courtyard, see the alleys and doors. Even at a gallop he couldn’t have gone far.
“STAY HERE!” she shouted at Pete and the kids.
She ran diagonally across the courtyard, past David’s Tower and up to a wide battlement with a low wall.
No Jake.
A pack of French school children milled around her chatting, checking phones, waiting for someone. She ran over the wall and scanned back towards the Portcullis Gate.
No man, no Jake.
Getting her bearings, she realized that there were lots of places to hide over at the other side of the castle. Loos and cafes and doorways. She bolted downhill, running over the lawn at the back of the War Memorial, scanning the thinning crowds for Jake’s blue hooded head. Nothing.
Down through a narrow lane, she elbowed her way through a tight group of Korean women. She could hear them calling indignant reproaches after her as she ran, back to the cafe where they had eaten their cakes. She kept thinking I am going to find him. I am going to find him. She ran the phrases over and over in her head like a mantra, as if she could will it true.
Down by the cannon where the Jacobite soldiers were hung. No sign.
In the cafe, no sign.
She sprinted down into another courtyard. No sign.
She checked all the toilets she passed, holding open the doors of the gents and shouting “Jake?” but nothing. Then she saw a Guide with his walkie-talkie crackling on his shoulder. She ran over to him.
“Help me!” She was out of breath, sounded rude, “Sorry, I’ve lost my son.”
He nodded calmly, as if this happened all the time, and held his walkie-talkie up to his mouth. “What’s he wearing?”
“Blue hoodie top. Cotton, pale blue. Hood up, pulled tight around his face. He’s eleven. He’s lost.”
The Guide put out a call to all of his colleagues, giving them her description of Jake and the last place he was seen.