He listened more intently, made out Jack's voice, frightened, asking what happens at thirteen o'clock. A sudden rush of panic swept through Caleb. He sprang up from the bracken and spun round, searching the immediate vicinity for his son. There was no sign of either boy. He was about to call out when he heard Jack shouting from the top of a dune some sixty yards away. The boy waved to him, then followed Gary and the dog down the slope.
"You're s'posed to hide, Dad," Jack said, as they arrived, breathless, beside him. "That was too easy."
"We would have found you anyway," Gary said. "Cyril had your scent."
There was nothing in either boy's faces to confirm what Caleb had heard. He had imagined it, he told himself. The wind and his own anxiety about Jack. Understandable, if foolish. He thought the boy looked a little pale, but he seemed untroubled. "Okay," he said. "I think it's time to go."
"Not yet," Jack said. "We only had one go of hiding."
Gary nodded, and without waiting for Caleb to agree, he tore off up the nearest slope. Caleb felt a surge of anger but he suppressed it. He gestured to Jack. "Get going," he said. "Make it good."
Jack sped off after his friend. Cyril stayed with Caleb of his own accord. It was getting on for seven and a chill lingered in the late April air. As he watched them disappear over the top of a high dune, he regretted letting them go again and considered calling them back. But they were gone now, and despite his sense of unease, he didn't want to spoil their fun.
He counted slowly to fifty, then set out on their trail. He climbed the dune and scanned the nearby hollows for any trace of them. "Where they go boy?" he said, more to himself than the dog, who had stopped to investigate a few pellets of rabbit shit. Caleb shrugged, scrambled down the dune towards a trail that skirted the copse separating the dunes from the marshlands beyond.
He followed this path to the end of the trees, then climbed up the nearest slope to get a belter view. From the top, he saw the grey ocean and a thin line of sand, separated from him by the expanse of green, cascading dunes. A sudden, intense fear bloomed inside him as his eyes searched the wind-swept slacks. "Jack," he cried out. "Time to go son."
No voice came back to him, just the moan of the insistent breeze through the coarse grass and brittle sea holly. He moved in a shore-wards direction, clambering down one dune and up the next, calling Jack's name. He felt a tight knot in his stomach as he forced himself up the yielding slope. It sapped his strength and robbed him of breath. He reached the top, light-headed and panting. Cyril scampered up the path behind him, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He stopped abruptly and turned, just as a figure burst out from the scrub.
It was Gary. Caleb's relief dissipated when he saw the boy was alone. "Dammit Gary," he snapped. "Where the hell is Jack?"
Gary's grin slipped. "I–I'm sorry Caleb. We didn't mean to —»
Caleb saw that he had frightened the boy unnecessarily. "It's all right. Just tell me where he's hiding."
"I didn't see," Gary said.
Caleb's fear intensified. "Which way did he go?" he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
Gary looked around, then pointed back towards the marsh. Caleb took his hand, and together they headed down the slope. The sweat chilled his body as he raced over damp scabious, calling out.
The minutes ticked by and dusk began to roll in from the bay. Odd terrors clawed at the frayed edges of his mind, and his limbs shook with fatigue as he searched through the trees. What had he been thinking, especially after what Jack had been through? Please, please, let him be okay.
A whispered sound caught his attention. He turned and saw the dog running along another path back into the dunes. "There," he shouted at Gary, a sharp pain piercing his side. He staggered after the boy and dog. Beyond them, he caught a glimpse of yellow through the scrub, lost it, then saw it again, unmoving on the ground behind a stunted tree. His heart was pumping furiously and the cry of despair was on his lips as he came round the tree and nearly crashed into Gary, who stood over the motionless form.
Jack was grinning up at them. "What took you so long?" he said.
For a second, Caleb teetered on the edge of rage, then he fell to his knees and hugged Jack tightly to his chest.
Caleb turned into the school car park. Beside him, Jack stared blankly ahead. He'd not spoken in the six-minute drive from the doctor's surgery to the school.
After a dreamless week, the nightmare had returned to ravage the boy. Caleb had heard him cry out sometime after midnight. He'd run to Jack's room and had found him sitting upright, his gaze fixed on nothingness.
Traces of whatever haunted his dreams lingered in his eyes even after Caleb had woken him, but he had been unable to ascribe it a material substance or meaning. And all the doctor had had to say was that there was nothing physically wrong with Jack. Jesus Christ — what did he expect? Broken bones? A gaping wound? Caleb had wanted answers, not fucking platitudes. Tell him why Jack was having these nightmares, what was scaring him. Instead, he'd had to listen to bullshit reassurances about Jack's overactive imagination and how they should maybe monitor his TV viewing and ease up on the bedtime stories.
Polly would be relieved, even if she had more or less predicted what the doctor would say.
Caleb turned off the ignition, his body tense with anger and concern. He glanced at his son in the passenger seat. Jack looked too fragile, he thought, too lost inside his own head. He wanted desperately to hug the boy, to let him know that he would do anything for him, but he was afraid that Jack would somehow see the truth.
"You sure you want to go to school?" he said. "I can take you home if you want."
"I'm okay," Jack said.
Caleb felt sick with anguish. He didn't want to quiz his son but felt he had no choice. "Jack, the other day, when you asked Gary about thirteen o'clock, what did you mean?"
"About what?"
Caleb forced a smile. "When we were down at Oxwich. You asked him what happens at thirteen o'clock."
Jack seemed confused. "I don't know what you mean, Dad."
Caleb wondered if his son was being evasive. "Maybe, like Rat and Mole, you feel that it's better to forget some things?"
Jack shook his head, making his uncertainty evident. "I never heard of it."
Caleb believed the boy. He leaned over and hugged him, trying to squeeze strength into his son. "I love you, Jack. You know that?"
"Yes."
"I won't let anything hurt you."
"Dad," Jack said, his voice muffled against Caleb's chest. "I don't want you to go."
Caleb stifled a sob and patted him on the back. "I got work, Jack."
The boy pulled away from him. "I didn't mean — " He stopped then, kissed his father and got out of the car. Caleb waved after him as he ran across the schoolyard, but Jack didn't look back.
Alone, his eyes watered, and he felt overwhelmed. His love was compromised by a sense of powerlessness, of having failed his son. He felt guilty too, at being afraid, not for Jack but for himself. He was ashamed of his weakness and angry at what he saw as the failure of his reason.
He caught sight of something in the rear-view mirror, a child's bewildered face staring at him from the back seat. Jack's, he thought at first, but after a moment he realized it was his own, as it had been thirty years ago. The cheeks were pale, the lips thin and trembling, the eyes haunted. Caleb felt the glacial creep of fear across his skin. Wanting to connect with the abandoned child, he reached up, touched the mirror, and saw the child's features blur and reassemble themselves into his own, harrowed face.