Eleanor Jones - Footprints in the Sand

Ted stood up, his shoulders bowed and his head almost touching the ceiling.

“Now, Mary,” he began. “Let’s not jump to...”

I didn’t find out what we shouldn’t jump to, though, for a gust of wind rushed through the house as the front door burst open. There was Mr. Mac. His stooped figure was outlined by sunshine, his white hair was all blown up into a funny shape and his mouth was working but no sounds were coming out. Clean salty air filled the room, the cries of gulls filled my head and I felt a great big sadness deep, deep down inside me. Perhaps the gulls were crying for my dad. Oh, how I wished he would come home.

“Is my dad back?” I cried, but Mr. Mac didn’t seem to hear me, then he stooped so far down that I thought he was going to fall.

Ted rushed over to help him across the small room and into his own chair by the fireside. I could tell by his face that the answer to my question was no, and so could Mrs. Mac. She seemed to have gone completely frozen now. I thought that perhaps she should get closer to the fire, too, and then she might go soft again; I liked her better when she was soft.

“Mick’s boat has been washed up on the rocks down the coast.”

Mr. Mac’s voice was so low and kind of croaky that it didn’t really sound like him at all, but I felt a great big jolt of excitement. My dad’s boat had been found! That must be good. But Ted’s eyes narrowed and I saw his jaw clench as he glanced across at me.

“Any sign of them?” His voice was low and urgent.

Mr. Mac’s face was very sad and he shook his head slowly from side to side.

“No one could have survived that storm...not even Mad Mick himself.”

I think I became invisible then because no one seemed to see me. Ted picked up his coat and headed for the door.

“I’ll go and see what I can find out,” he said. “And try not to worry.”

“Worry?” Mr. Mac murmured as the front door banged shut again. “It’s well beyond that.”

He turned to look at his wife, his eyes all wet and sad. “We’ve lost him, love,” he told her. “Our Daffyd’s gone.”

Suddenly she seemed to melt, crumpling onto the floor. But Mr. Mac didn’t go to help her; he just sat staring into space.

“There’s nothing left for us now,” he said

* * *

I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG we waited for someone to come. Mr. Mac didn’t seem able to get out of his chair and Mrs. Mac still lay on the floor, so I found a blanket and put it around her. It was a red-and-green checked blanket, her best one. I hoped she wouldn’t mind it being on the floor. Then I went and curled up next to the fire but it was getting lower so I tried to put on a log from the big brass box on the hearth. That only seemed to make it worse, though, so I decided to go and look for Ted.

The sun was so bright across the bay that I had to shade my eyes. It sparkled on the rippling water and glittered across the smooth expanse of sand, sand with no footprints at all. I searched along the shoreline but there was no sign of Ted anywhere, so I sat down and took off my shoes and socks. Sometimes, when my dad and me went for one of our walks along the beach, he would take off his shoes, too, and we would run together, right out to the edge of the sea. Now I looked down the coast to where I thought his boat might be and a big wave of loneliness stopped my breath. What if he never came back, what if we could never ever walk on the beach together again? I shook my head to get rid of the thought. My dad always came back.

I pretended he was right beside me as I stepped determinedly across the sand, feeling my bare toes dig deliciously into its crumbly surface. Ahead of me the sea glistened, a silver strip, way, way out near the sky, and I set off toward it, stopping sometimes to tread up and down until the sand beneath my feet went all soft and squishy. Then I had to jump out quickly in case it turned into quicksand and sucked me down forever. But the wet sand squelching between my toes made me feel much better, even though it was a bit cold.

I don’t know how I lost my shoes. A cloud rolled across the sun just as my feet got really cold, so I went to put them on but they were gone. I had walked almost to the edge of the sea and when I looked back to where our row of cottages nestled beneath the cliff they seemed a long way off, so I pretended to myself that my dad was right beside me as I walked back. However hard I tried, though, there was no one there, and my feet were becoming so numb that I couldn’t feel my toes at all. Eventually, when I just couldn’t walk anymore, I sat down on the huge stretch of lonely sand and started to cry.

I heard the siren blast out across the bay; an ear-splitting sound that brought me sharply to my senses. My dad had warned me about the tide so many times—“get off the sand when you hear that sound,” he used to say, and it felt to me as though he was right there speaking to me now, so I stood up again and began trudging toward the grassy shore.

I saw the white wave rushing at me around the other side of the bay. It didn’t look so dangerous, and anyway I could always swim. I was a good swimmer. I stared at it, mesmerized, wondering if I could outrun it. Fear prickled, my legs refused to work and then firm hands plucked me from the sand, swinging me high. My tears turned into a delighted shout—my dad had come to get me. I knew he’d never let me down.

“Now whatever are you doing out here all alone, lass?” came Ted’s voice. “And where are your shoes?”

A great loneliness welled up inside me, a pain that almost split my heart wide-open, and I went numb because suddenly I knew that my dad was gone forever.

I wanted Mrs. Mac, wanted to feel her plump arms enfold me, wanted her to hold me close against her big soft chest and wanted to hear her gentle voice telling me that everything was going to be all right.

“I want to go home,” I wailed as Ted swung me up to sit on his shoulders.

“And so you shall, little miss,” he promised, but his voice was flat and cold.

I clung tight to his forehead as he hurried across the sand, racing the water. It reached us just as he climbed the ledge onto the coarse grass of the shore, and then we were heading for the row of cottages that called me home.

* * *

MRS. MAC WAS SITTING IN A CHAIR now, but she still looked funny, not like Mrs. Mac at all. Ted said she had had “a bit of a turn,” but not to worry.

“It takes some people like that,” he told me in a quiet voice.

I could see he didn’t want her to hear so I whispered, too.

“Will she be better soon?”

Mr. Mac heard me. He looked up from his chair and his eyes were all misty and sad.

“We’ll never be better, lass,” he said, “for your father has lost our Daffyd.”

“Steady on now, Billy,” urged Ted. “She’s lost her father, too.”

Guilt hit hard, making everything inside me shrivel into a tight ball and I ran to the only comfort I knew. Mrs. Mac patted my head absentmindedly when I sank onto the floor, cradling her knees, but she didn’t pick me up.

“Go and get warmed up, lass.” Ted nodded at the dying embers of the fire. “Perhaps Mary will go find you some more shoes while I fill the coal bucket. The fire will be gone altogether if we don’t stoke it up a bit.”

Mrs. Mac just continued staring into space. “Elsa knows where they are,” she murmured. “She can get them herself.”

Her face was closed and gray, as if it belonged to someone else, and as I looked at her a big knot of sadness swelled and swelled inside me. Oh, why did my dad have to go away? If he hadn’t lost Daffyd, then Mrs. Mac would still be Mrs. Mac and I could sit on her knee and be cuddled. My knot of sadness hardened. I felt it grow tight inside me as I went next door to get my shoes, and by the time I came back it had turned into a solid lump. I felt cross with my dad and cross with the storm; in fact, I suppose I felt cross with the whole wide world. That night I put myself to bed, since no one else was going to. It felt lonely and cold in my bedroom at the top of our house and hunger pains gnawed at my stomach. I stared out into the darkness, trying not to cry as I watched the twinkling stars. Perhaps that was where my dad was, on a star. Or would he be an angel now?