Paws for Alarm (12 page)

‘Do you think I could slip this under my belt?' A woman I had hitherto thought of as a staid member of the community held up a knobbly bottle.

‘Go ahead –' Her friend egged her on. ‘I'll say I'm your midwife and Customs will rush us through to get you off the docks before you go into labour and they have to help.'

Both women shrieked with bawdy laughter, clutching at their trolleys for support. A couple who were obviously French regarded them with disdainful amusement.

‘Oh, Nancy –' Lania was lurking around the next turning and decided to condescend. ‘Have you seen the Housewares? They're having a sale on Sabatier kitchen knives – they're one of the best value items in any case, so they're twice as good now. I know Rosemary was moaning that her knives weren't as good as they should be –'

‘Thanks,' I said. ‘I'll check that out.' I refrained from promising that, if I bought any, I'd leave them behind for Rosemary. I could do with some decent kitchen knives in New Hampshire myself. I noticed that Lania's trolley was filled with luxury items and decided to take a quiet leaf from her book: walnut oil, pâtés, cheeses, and some exotic dairy items.

Piers had also gone for the most expensive things on offer. A large tin of truffles nestled beside two bottles of Armagnac, fruits bottled in liqueurs, and the inevitable walnut oil.

‘Excuse me,' I said, ‘but where did you find the walnut oil?'

They pointed me in the right direction, which was also the gourmet section, and I spent quite a happy half-hour before the thought recurred to me that I had better go and see what Arnold was buying and tell him to stop it. Also to collect some money for all this. There seemed to be no rush – I was still surrounded by people from the coach wherever I went – and I got pleasantly lost trying to find my way back and didn't mind a bit.

Not until I suddenly realized that I had passed the candy section twice and not seen the twins. I kept the uneasiness under control by telling myself that, of course, they'd be with their father by now. I didn't really believe it – and I was right.

Arnold was all by himself with his calculator and his shopping trolley, lost to the world. He looked vaguely amazed at the speed with which I rushed up to him and moved defensively in front of his trolley, lest mine should collide with it.

‘Where are the kids?'

‘They were here a minute ago.' Arnold looked around absent-mindedly. I thought they'd gone back to you.'

‘I haven't seen them lately.' Maybe they were hunting for me. It was a favourite trick of theirs. Divide and conquer. Having piled their sweets in Arnold's trolley, they'd get fresh supplies and dump them in mine. With any luck, we'd be through the checkout register before we noticed what they'd done.

Then I remembered that I'd just come past the candy section without seeing them.

‘Arnold, they've gone!'

‘Gone where?' Arnold was still abstractedly tapping out more calculations. I snatched the calculator out of his hands and got his full, if pained, attention.

‘How do I know where? They're not in this supermarket, that's all I know.'

‘Take it easy, honey. They must be.' He tried to recapture the calculator, but I shoved it into my shoulder bag and snapped the bag shut.

‘Then help me find them. You go along the top of the aisles, I'll go along the bottom. We'll quarter the whole store. You'll see.'

When we came together again, back where we had started from, even Arnold was looking worried. He pulled up his trolley with a clinking of bottles.

‘They must have gotten bored and wandered out to the coach,' he said unconvincingly. ‘Let's pay for this stuff and get back to the coach. We'll find them there.'

We didn't. The flaw in Arnold's reasoning was clear: if they'd become bored with all the resources of the supermarket spread out before them, they'd have been twice as bored hanging around the coach waiting for everybody to show up.

‘Where are they?' I looked around wildly. Everything was strange and unfamiliar. All the signs were in French; all the roads led to unknown destinations. Two small children could so easily slip out of sight and be lost – perhaps for ever.

‘Take it easy, honey.' Arnold's voice shook. ‘They can't have gone far. We'll find them.'

‘Oh, sure. How?'

‘Let's ask the driver.' Arnold led the way to the back of the coach where the driver was helping load shopping into the luggage compartment underneath the coach. ‘Someone must have seen them.'

‘Been too busy, mate.' The driver straightened with a rueful grin. ‘I've had me head buried in there –' he gestured to the dark recess – ‘for the past hour. Haven't seen a thing except carrier bags.'

‘Oh, God!' I fought back tears of panic. ‘Should we go to the police?'

‘It's a little early for that, honey. We haven't even looked properly yet.'

‘So how do we look? Where do we look? How can you be so calm? For God's sake, Arnold, they're
your
children!'

By this time, we had collected an interested circle of spectators around us as more and more shoppers returned to the coach with their booty.

‘Looking for your nippers?' A latecomer wheeled up an overloaded trolley. ‘Twins, aren't they?'

‘Yes, yes! Have you seen them?'

‘Saw them about three-quarters of an hour ago when I brought my first load out. They were hanging about looking proper cheesed-off. Asked me how much longer before the coach left. Told them it would be about another hour and a half, at least. So they went off and got the local bus back to town.'

‘
What?
' I whirled on the hapless man. ‘They've gone into Boulogne all by themselves? Why did you let them go?'

‘Why not?' He was affronted. ‘Nothing to do with me, was it? How was I to know you hadn't said they could?'

‘They're just children! Children –' I turned away. ‘This is a foreign country. They don't speak the language. They only have a few francs –'

‘They were doing all right.' Someone else spoke, trying to be consoling. ‘I saw them buying some sweeties. They gave the cashier some English money and she gave them francs. They had plenty for the bus fare.'

‘This is a friendly place,' another woman said. ‘Not like some French shopping ports I could name. They'll be all right.'

‘The best thing for you to do –' The driver spoke with weary authority, giving the impression that this was not the first time this had happened to him. ‘Take the bus into town yourself and find them. The place isn't all that big. Not if they stick to the centre of town – and they will. If they've changed some money, they probably want to do some shopping on their own. Look for the toy shops and the sweet shops. You can't go wrong.'

‘Right –' Arnold looked uncertainly at our trolley full of carrier bags.

‘Just leave that stuff, we'll load it for you. Over there –' The driver signalled to his French colleague behind the wheel of a local bus. ‘The bus is just ready to leave. If you run for it, you'll make it.'

‘Don't worry, honey, they're sensible kids.' Arnold was still trying to keep up his own spirits as much as mine as we plunged through the streets of Boulogne. ‘They can take care of themselves. They know where the ferry is and what time we're scheduled to leave. If we don't find them beforehand, they'll be at the ferry waiting for us when it's time to go.'

‘By which time, I'll have had a coronary!' All the stories I had ever read about sinister sailors, tramp steamers, and brutal sea captains who didn't care who was shanghaied to man their vessels, coalesced with memories of a thousand films set in shadowy foreign ports with villains lurking in dark doorways, shady ladies without hearts of gold – or any hearts at all – and unscrupulous lodging-house keepers with direct connections to the white slave traffic. ‘My babies!'

‘Stop a minute, honey.' Arnold pulled me to a halt. Take a deep breath. Maybe you should lean over and put your head between your knees.'

‘Oh, thanks very much. People think we're crazy enough now!'

We had been attracting curious stares as we hurtled past strolling pedestrians, wild-eyed and panting, occasionally calling out to unseen children.

‘Donald! Donna!' I threw back my head and screamed out the names for all I was worth. I must have been audible within a quarter-mile radius. A couple of people crossed nervously to the other side of the street.

‘Look, honey, I hate to say this –' Arnold sounded strange. I looked at him sharply and saw that he had gone a peculiar shade of grey. ‘But I don't feel very well. Do you think we could sit down for a few minutes? If we sit outside at one of these sidewalk cafés, we'll be able to see the kids if they pass. And maybe, if any of the people from the coach come by, we can get them to help us look.'

‘Oh, my God, Arnold, I'm sorry!' He was still convalescent and I had forgotten. ‘Your arm! Your -back!' I steered him to the nearest table at the edge of the sidewalk. ‘Are you going to be all right?'

‘Yeah, sure.' Arnold sank gratefully into the chair while I looked around frantically: for the waiter, for the kids, for a policeman, for anyone who could possibly help.

The waiter materialized first and Arnold ordered cognac for both of us. We must have looked as though we needed it; the waiter brought it in record time. Arnold ordered a second round before we touched the first. That came promptly, too.

‘Drink up and try to relax, honey.' Arnold set an example, his glass was empty when he set it down and he reached for the next one. ‘Try to cheer up. The kids are probably having the time of their lives running around this place. We'll catch up with them back at the ferry.'

‘Will we? How do we know they even got the right bus? They can't read French. Maybe they got the wrong bus. They could be in some town fifty miles from here, with no idea of where they are or how to get back. And nobody there will speak English or be able to help them. They'll wander farther and farther away. Alone, frightened, crying –'

I discovered that I was crying myself. Also that my glass had mysteriously emptied.

‘Atta, gal,' Arnold encouraged as I reached for the other glass, sobbing. ‘Get it out of your system.'

Except that I seemed to be getting it into my system. The waiter appeared with a fresh brace of cognac and I realized that we had not eaten since breakfast and it was now late afternoon. Very late.

‘Arnold –' I choked. ‘Arnold, it will be dark soon. And Donna's only just gotten over being afraid of the dark. She'll –'

‘Drink up, Babe.' Arnold patted my hand, ‘Then we'll start looking again.'

‘Well never find them. We'll never see them again – never. They're gone for ever. I should never have left them. If they'll only come back, I'll never do it again. I'll take better care of them: I'll –'

‘Here they are now,' Arnold said, looking over my shoulder.

‘I'll kill them!' I pushed back my chair and whirled to face them. ‘Where the hell have you brats been?'

They were eating ice cream – perhaps that was the most infuriating thing about it. They looked at each other and shrugged, then turned winsome smiles on me.

‘I was afraid you'd be worried.' Hazel saved us all from infanticide. Until she spoke, I hadn't even noticed she was there. ‘We've been looking for you.'

‘Have you?' I could imagine how much looking the twins had done.

‘It was awfully good of you to find the kids and bring them back to us.' Arnold spoke quickly.

‘Actually, they found me.' Hazel did not sound exactly pleased about it.

Donna and Donald exchanged their secret twin-smiles again. I found I was clenching my fists. I tried counting silently to ten. It would not do to make a public scene in the middle of Boulogne. The French probably had old-fashioned ideas about murdering children – no matter how richly they deserved it.

‘Now see what you've done, you kids,' Arnold scolded mildly. ‘You've got your mother all upset. You shouldn't have gone running off on your own like that.'

‘We got tired of hanging around,' Donald said.

‘Yes, it was very boring.' Donna backed him. ‘We didn't want to come all the way to France and then stand around in a boring old supermarket. We wanted to see the country.'

‘Oh, you did.' Never mind seeing the country, I was seeing red. ‘Well, let me tell you, you're really going to find out the meaning of the word bored. When we get back to England, you're going to be confined to quarters for the next week. And Angela and Peregrine are not going to be allowed to visit you!'

‘Aw, Mom –'

‘That's enough! You've been thoughtless, disobedient, inconsiderate — and a nuisance to everyone. You can stay up in your rooms and think about how lucky you are that we aren't sending you back to the States so that we can enjoy ourselves in peace for the rest of the summer!'

‘Aw, Mom –'

There was just the faintest trace of a satisfied smile on Hazel's face.

Quite frankly, the rest of the week was harder on me than it was on the kids, but I stuck to my guns. The next day we were treated to a double-fit of monumental sulks. By Friday, they had graduated to the sympathy racket.

‘It's no use your trying that one again,' I said heartlessly, as they limped wincingly through the kitchen on their way to the back yard for one of the periodic breaths of air they were allowed. ‘It isn't going to work.' I had already inspected their feet last night, when they had first begun acting as though they were walking on burning coals.

‘If you've blisters, it's your own fault – running all over Boulogne. You're lucky you didn't break a leg – or get hit by a car.'