And so Roald nearly cried out in despair when the girl didn’t continue down the road which would lead them away but stopped at the big skip.
‘I won’t be long,’ she shouted out to him. ‘Hold this.’
She handed him a small drawing in an old frame. And an hourglass. An hourglass.
Then she ran alongside the skip and scaled a couple of boxes and a tractor tyre before reaching the furthest hatch.
‘Liv, please stop. No more… We have to get out of here.’
But she had already disappeared inside, having opened the hatch as if she had done it every day of her life. Roald stared after her, speechless, before looking nervously at the buildings.
The fire had yet to reach a section of the farmyard between the gable end of the burning house and the dark wooden workshop. The old spinning wheel leaning against the wall below the kitchen window had got a new lease of life. The wheel spun while the flames danced underneath it. The fire had also reached the pile which had had the cooker at the top. On the first floor flames were coming out of every window.
It occurred to Roald that he was staring at a home with two burning parents inside it while waiting for their young daughter to emerge from what amounted to a skip. Her whole world, everything she had ever known, was going up in flames.
None of this felt real.
He looked at the framed drawing. It was a portrait of a woman, a beautiful woman. Perhaps it was Maria? It had her mouth. He was reminded of the Mona Lisa. This drawing was signed with a discreet ‘Jens’ in the right-hand corner. Roald stuffed both the portrait and the hourglass into one of the big front pockets of his coat. Then he reached for the letter in his inside pocket and quickly unfolded it. His gaze skimmed the pages without taking anything in. It was not until the final lines that he managed to hook his attention into the text:
Initially, I would like to visit you and your family. Rekindle our relationship – that is, if you want to. Please would you write to me? Or call me, if that’s an option. I’ve listed my home address and my phone number below.
There was a PS, which he didn’t have time to read because at that moment the hatch of the skip slammed shut. He could feel the metal echo from where he was standing.
Roald folded the letter and returned it to his pocket as he watched the girl come towards him. She had a book in one hand and a teddy bear in the other. A teddy bear.
She was still a child, just a child. A brave little child, armed with a dagger and a teddy bear. And now it was his job to take care of her.
When she reached him Roald tentatively stuck out his hand to her. She stared at it for a moment. Then she tucked the teddy under her left arm, freeing one hand. It cautiously took Roald’s.
‘Can we run now?’ he asked. ‘Down to the Neck?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, but we need to avoid another two traps.’
‘OK. You lead the way.’
She nodded again, and they ran.
His footsteps sounded like heavy explosions in the gravel. Hers made no sound. She ran so silently that he had to look down to see if her feet really touched the ground. She guided him away from the road and around the tall spruces, then back on to the road, then she led him right around the barrier, which they had to sidle past. Her small hand had a firm grip on his now. He felt strangely safe.
On the other side of the barrier they stopped, as if by prior agreement. As if the barrier were a protective device that could stop flames, death and tragedy. As if they were safe now.
‘Any more traps?’ Roald asked his well-informed guide.
She shook her head and stared up at her burning home. The fire had reached the workshop now. The big skip lay in front of it like a long shadow, awaiting its fate. Several of the trees were ablaze, and around them small fires were burning in the grass.
It broke Roald’s heart to imagine the girl’s feelings at the sight.
‘What’s your book about?’ he asked.
‘It’s Robin Hood,’ she replied, looking down at it.
‘Would you like me to carry it for you?’
She nodded and gave him the book, and he found room for it in one of his coat pockets. Under his vest and the lining of his trousers he could feel the green file sticking to his stomach.
‘You shot the dog through the heart so that it wouldn’t suffer, didn’t you?’
She nodded again, and looked sadly at him.
‘It was a fine shot. And the kind thing to do. Thank you.’
Her small face lit up briefly, although the tears were streaming down her cheeks now.
‘I can understand why you’re crying,’ Roald whispered.
And then he noticed that Liv was still clutching something in the hand which had held the book.
‘Is there anything else you would like me to hold for you?’
She carefully unclenched her fist and showed him a small piece of amber. ‘It’s my dad’s. There’s an old ant inside it.’
‘Really,’ Roald said. ‘Let’s take a look at it when we get back to my house.’
She nodded and put the amber into his pocket herself.
‘Would you like to carry on holding your teddy?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, pressing the teddy bear to her chest.
He spotted the parcel lying on the tree stump. ‘That parcel… Do you know what’s inside?’
Liv shook her head.
‘Shall we take it with us?’ Roald looked anxiously at the fire eating its way towards them. He shouldn’t have asked. They needed to leave now.
‘No,’ Liv said, looking back up towards the burning house. ‘I want to get away from here.’
She grabbed his hand. And they ran.
They followed the sharp bend to the south and ran down the gravel road along the spruces, through the birch grove, over the small clearing and onwards past the low-growing pines and the large area of wild roses, which were well past flowering for this year. Eventually they reached the Neck. Roald was starting to feel an unaccustomed lightness. His feet danced underneath him in an even rhythm, and her noiseless steps flew past him like a steady pulse in double time.
When they were almost at the bottom of the Neck they stopped and turned around. A thick black plume of smoke rose from the middle of the Head, and they could see a red glow behind the southernmost trees. Perhaps all of the Head would burn. Perhaps it was the right thing.
Roald placed his hands on the girl’s shoulders. He could hear her breathing and feel her shoulders rise and fall, so she wasn’t wholly supernatural. She could fly, but she was still breathing.
‘I believe that you have a nice uncle and that we need to find him. But I’ll look after you whatever happens, so don’t you worry.’
‘I’m not worried,’ she said. ‘Are you?’ She tilted her head and looked up at him.
He stroked her hair.
‘No. Not any more.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Roald.’
‘My name is Liv. And I’m not dead.’
‘I know that.’ He smiled.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Down at the pub.’
‘I’ve been there.’
Things Take Time
The lady with the white name badge says it’ll take time. She has read everything Mum wrote to me. We’ve a lot to talk about, she says.