Northwest Passages Read online

  “I’ve always stayed with him.”

  “But you said that he likes to go off on his own, that you don’t think he’d notice if you didn’t come back.”

  Jack looked uncomfortable, like a witness caught out by a clever lawyer. “Oh, I just said that ’cause I was pissed off. He’d notice.”

  “Is he your boyfriend? Is that why you stay?”

  Jack looked shocked. “God, no! It’s nothing like that. It goes back a long way. . . . Remember I told you about that camping trip out to Sea Island? Well, when I went round to Robert’s house to get him his mom was there, fussing, you know, the way moms do, and he was getting kind of impatient, and finally he just said ‘Bye, mom’ really suddenly and went to get his bike, and his mom turned to me and said ‘Look after him.’ Which was kind of a weird thing to say, ’cause I was only eleven, and Robert wasn’t the kind of kid who you’d think needed looking after—well, we found that out next day. But I knew what she meant. She didn’t mean he needed looking after ’cause he’d do something stupid, she meant that he needed someone to . . . bring him back, almost, make sure he didn’t go off and just keep on going.”

  “Is that why you stay with him? So he doesn’t just keep on going?”

  “I guess.” His smile was tinged with sadness. “I’m not doing such a great job, am I?”

  “You’re a long way from Point Grey, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Yeah, and I can’t see us making it back anytime soon. Robert wants to keep heading north, up to the Yukon, and then head east.”

  “What on earth for?”

  Jack shrugged. “He does a lot of reading; he’s got a box of books in the van, all about explorers and people who go off into the wilderness with just some matches and a rifle and a sack of flour and live off the land. I think that’s what he wants to do; go up north and see what’s there, see what he can do, what he can find. He loves reading about the Franklin expedition; you know, the one that disappeared when they were searching for the Northwest Passage, and no one knew for years what happened to them. I think he likes the idea of just vanishing, and no one knows where you are, and then you come out when you’re ready, and tell people what you’ve found.”

  “The Franklin expedition didn’t come out.”

  “Robert figures he can do better than them.”

  “Well then, you should break it to him that the Northwest Passage was found a long time ago, and tell him he should maybe stick closer to home.”

  “He doesn’t want to find the Northwest Passage; anyway, he says it doesn’t really exist, there is no Northwest Passage, not like everyone thought back in Franklin’s time.”

  “And you’ll go with him?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You do have a choice, you know.”

  “Yeah, like you said, it’s a free country. But I kind of feel like I have to go with him, to . . . ”

  “Look after him?”

  “I guess.” He shrugged. “It’s like there’s something out there, waiting for him, and I have to make sure he comes back okay, otherwise he’d just keep on going, and he’d be like those Franklin guys, he’d never come out.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a vehicle coming up the road towards the cabin. Jack stood up so quickly his chair fell over.

  “Shit, it’s Robert.”

  “Probably,” Peggy agreed drily. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing criminal about having lunch with someone.”

  “No, but . . . Robert can be . . . funny, weird, sometimes. Don’t tell him what I said about looking after him, he’d be really pissed off.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  They went out on to the porch and watched the van drive up. Robert climbed out and glared at Jack.

  “Thought you’d be here,” he said, ignoring Peggy. “C’mon, let’s go.”

  “Hello to you too,” said Peggy. “You’re a friendly sort, aren’t you? In my day we’d have considered it bad manners to order a person out from under someone else’s roof. Guess times have changed. Or are you just naturally rude?” Robert stared at her, but she gave him no chance to speak. “Jack’s here as my guest; he’s had a good lunch, which I must say he needed, and you look like you could do with something decent inside you, whatever you might think. So you can either stay here and let me fix you some sandwiches, which I’m more than prepared to do if you’re prepared to be civil, or you can climb back into your van and drive away, with or without Jack, but I think that’s his decision to make, not yours. He found his way here by himself, and I’d guess he can find his way back if he decides to stay a bit longer.”

  Robert started to say something; something not very pleasant, if the look that flashed across his face was anything to go by. Then he took a deep breath.

  “Yeah, you’re right. He can stay if he wants. No problem.” He turned towards the van.

  “Wait a minute,” said Jack, moving off the porch. “Don’t go. Peggy said you could stay, she’ll fix you some sandwiches. Don’t be a jerk. You must be as hungry as me.”

  “We’ve got food back at our place,” said Robert; but he slowed down. Jack turned and threw a pleading look back at Peggy. What can I do? was written on his face.

  “Robert. Robert.” He stopped, but kept his back turned to Peggy. “If you don’t want to stay now, that’s fine; maybe this isn’t a good time, maybe you’ve got things to do, I don’t know. But why don’t you both come back over for supper? I’ve got some steaks in the fridge that need using up, and I can do salad and baked potatoes. Sound good?”

  “What do you say, Robert?’ said Jack eagerly. “I’ll come back with you now, then we both come back later and have supper.”

  Robert looked at Jack, then at Peggy. She put her hands in front of her, palms out, like a traffic policeman. “No ulterior motive, no strings, just a chance to give you both a good meal and talk to someone other than myself. You’d be doing me a big favour, both of you.”

  “Yeah,” said Robert finally, slowly, “yeah, okay, supper would be great.”

  “Fine! About six, then.”

  Robert climbed in the driver’s seat, and Jack mouthed Thanks! and gave a wave; the sun glinted off the face of his watch, making her blink. He got in the other side, and once more she watched as the van rattled out the gate and round the curve.

  “I hope I’ve done the right thing,” she said aloud. “Why can’t things be simple?”

  The afternoon drew on. Peggy did a bit more work on the paths, clearing some errant weeds. She straightened up at last, and glanced down across the valley below. It was her favourite view, particularly in the late afternoon sun, and she stood admiring it for a few moments, watching the play of light and shade across the trees. The wind, which had been playing fitfully about her all day, had at last died down, and everything was still and calm and clear.

  Suddenly she turned and looked up behind her. She could have sworn that she heard someone call her name, but there was no one there; at least no one she could see. Still, the feeling persisted that someone was there; she felt eyes on her, watching.

  The hills have eyes.

  For the first time she realised how exposed she and the cabin were, and how small. Crazy, really, to think that something as essentially puny and inconsequential as a human could try to impose anything of himself on this land. How long had all this been here? How long would it endure after she was gone? Work with it, not against it Len had said. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. But how could you work with something, join with something, that you couldn’t understand?

  She shook her head. This was the sort of craziness that came from too much living alone. Maybe Paul was right; maybe it was time to start thinking about moving to the Island permanently.

  Or maybe you just need a good hot meal said a voice inside her head. Those boys will be here soon; better get going. She took one last look at the hill, then turned towards the cabin. The wind chimes were ringing faintly as she passed
, the only sound in the stillness.

  Inside, she turned on the radio; for some reason which she did not want to analyse she found the silence oppressive. The signal was not strong, but the announcer’s voice, promising “your favourite good-time oldies”, was better than nothing. She started the oven warming and wrapped half a dozen potatoes in foil, to the accompaniment of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence”, then started on the salad fixings: lettuce, cucumber, radishes, tomatoes, mushrooms. As she scraped the last of the mushrooms off the board and into the bowl she glanced out the window, and saw a figure standing on one of the paths, looking back at the hillside. Jack, she thought to herself, recognizing the fair hair, and looked at her watch. It was ten past five. They’re early. Must be hungry.

  Simon and Garfunkel gave way to Buddy Holly and “Peggy Sue”. The oven pinged, indicating it was up to temperature, and she bundled the potatoes into it. When she returned to the window, the figure was gone.

  “C’mon in,” she called out, “door’s open, make yourselves at home.” She put the last of the sliced tomatoes on top of the salad, then realised no one had come in. “Hello?” she called out. “Anyone there?” Buddy Holly warbling about pretty Peggy Sue was the only reply.

  Peggy went to the door and looked out. There was no one in sight. The van was not there, and it registered that she had not heard it come up the road. It’s such a nice night, maybe they walked. She looked to her right, to where the trail they would have taken came out of the woods, but no one was there.

  A squawk of static from the radio made her jump. For a moment there was only a low buzzing noise; then Buddy Holly came back on, fighting through the static, for she heard “Peggy” repeated. Another burst of noise, then the signal came through more clearly; only now it was the Beatles, who were halfway through “Help!”.

  “Interference,” she muttered to herself. They often got overlapping channels at night; another station was crossing with the first one. She went outside and looked round the corner of the cabin, but there was no one in sight. When she went back in, “Help!” was ending, and she heard the voice of the announcer. “We’ve got more good-time oldies coming up after the break,” he said, and she realised the radio had been broadcasting the same station all along. They must have got their records, or CDs, or whatever they used now mixed-up, she decided.

  She placed the salad on the table and got the steaks out of the fridge. She was beginning to trim the fat away from around the edges when the radio gave another burst of static, then faded away altogether. She flicked the on/off switch, and tried the tuner, but was unable to raise a signal. Dead batteries, she thought. I only replaced them last week; honestly, they don’t make things like . . .

  She broke off mid-thought at the sound of a voice calling her name. Definitely not Buddy Holly this time, she thought, and walked to the door, ready to call a greeting. What she saw made her freeze in the doorway.

  Robert was running towards her across the grass; running wildly, carelessly, frantically even, as if something was chasing him, calling out her name with all the breath he could muster. In a moment she shook off her fear and began crossing the yard towards him, meeting him near the back of her Jeep. He collapsed on the ground at her feet, and she knelt down beside him as he gasped for breath.

  “Robert! Robert, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  “Jack,” he gasped; “Jack . . . he’s gone . . . got to help me . . . just gone . . . ”

  “Gone! What do you mean? Gone where?”

  He was still panting, and she saw that his face was white. He struggled to his knees and swung round so that he could look behind him, in the direction of the blank and staring hillside.

  “Don’t know . . . we were coming over here . . . walking . . . and then he was gone . . . didn’t see him . . . ”

  “Right.” Peggy spoke crisply, calmly. “Just take another deep breath . . . and another . . . that’s it, that’s better. Now then”—when his breathing had slowed somewhat—“you and Jack were walking over here—why didn’t you come in the van?”

  “It wouldn’t start; battery’s dead or something.”

  “Okay, so you decided to walk, and Jack went on ahead, and you lost sight of him. Well, as mysteries go it’s not a hard one; he’s already here.”

  Robert stared at her. “What do you mean, he’s already here?” he almost whispered.

  “I saw him, over there.” Peggy pointed towards the paths. “I looked out the window and there he was.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Peggy frowned. “Well, I don’t know; I went outside, but couldn’t see him. I thought you’d both come early and were looking around.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Ten past five; I looked at my watch.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Robert flatly, in a voice tinged with despair. “At ten past five he’d only just gone missing, and I was looking for him a mile from here. There’s no way he could have got here that fast.”

  Peggy felt as if something was spiralling out of control, and she made a grab at the first thing she could think of. “How do you know exactly when he went missing?”

  “I’d just looked at my watch, to see how we were doing for time; then he was gone.”

  “Maybe there’s something wrong with your watch.”

  Robert shook his head. “It keeps perfect time.” He looked down at his left wrist, and Peggy saw him go pale again.

  “What the fuck . . . ” he whispered, and Peggy bent her head to look.

  The face of the digital watch was blank.

  Robert began to shiver. “What’s going on?” he said, in a voice that was a long way from that of the sullen youth she had seen earlier. “Where’s Jack?”

  “I don’t know; but he can’t have gone far. Did you two have a fight about something? Could that be why he went on ahead?”

  “But he didn’t go on ahead,” said Robert, in a voice that sounded perilously close to tears. “That’s just it. We were walking along, and he asked what time it was, and I looked at my watch—it was only for a couple of seconds, you know how long it takes to look at a watch—and then he was just . . . gone.”

  “Could he have . . . I don’t know . . . gone off the trail? Gone behind a tree?”

  Robert looked at her blankly. “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know!” Peggy took a deep breath. The boy was distraught enough, without her losing control as well. “Playing a joke? Looking at something? Call of nature?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Think! Are you sure you didn’t just miss him?”

  “I’m positive. There wasn’t time for him to go anywhere, not even if he ran like Donovan Bailey. I’d have seen him.”

  “Okay.” Peggy thought for a moment. “You say you were both a mile from here, at ten past five, which is the same time I looked outside and saw Jack here, at my cabin. I’d say that your watch battery was going then, and it wasn’t giving you an accurate time, which is how Jack seemed to be in two places at once.”

  Robert shook his head again. “No.” He looked straight at Peggy. His breath was still ragged; he must have run the mile to her cabin. “Jack’s gone.” Then, more quietly, “What am I going to do?”

  Peggy got him inside the cabin and into an armchair, then went back out on the porch. The clock on the radio had died with the batteries, but her old wind-up wristwatch told her it was almost six. Time for Jack and Robert to be arriving. . . .

  She called out “Jack!” and the sound of her voice in the stillness startled her. She waited a moment, then called again, but the only reply was the tinkle of the wind chimes. She walked round the cabin, not really knowing why; Jack hadn’t seemed the kind to play senseless tricks, and she didn’t expect to see him, but still she looked, because it seemed the right—the only—thing to do.

  She stood at the front of the cabin, looking down over the valley. All those trees; if someone wandered off into them they c
ould disappear forever. She shivered, then shook her head. Jack hadn’t disappeared; there had to be an explanation. He and Robert had had a fight; Jack had stormed off, and Robert was too embarrassed to tell her about it. Jack was probably back at their place by now . . . but that didn’t explain how he had been outside the cabin at ten past five. Unless he had come to the cabin as originally planned, then decided he couldn’t face Robert, and gone back to their camp by road . . . no, it was all getting too complex. She took a deep breath and walked round the side of the cabin . . . and stopped short at the sight of a figure over on the paths.

  Only it wasn’t a figure, she realised a split second later; there was no one, nothing, there. She had imagined it, that was all; perhaps that’s what she had done earlier, looked up and remembered the image of Jack standing there from before lunch. He hadn’t been there at all; Robert was quite right. In which case . . .

  “We need to go looking for Jack.”

  Robert looked up at her as if he did not understand. Peggy resisted the urge to shake him.

  “Did you hear me? I said we need to go look for Jack.”

  “Shouldn’t we . . . shouldn’t we call the police?”

  “Yes; but first we need to go looking for him.” She told him about her mistake with the figure. “He was never here at all. So you must have missed him on the path. And he must be injured, or lost, or he’d be here now. So yes, we’ll call the police when we get back. Even if we called them now, though, it would be almost dark before they could get here; they wouldn’t be able to start a search until daybreak. We’re here now; we have the best chance of finding him.”

  She turned the oven off—last thing I need now is to come back and find the place burned down—then gathered together some supplies: two flashlights, a first aid kit, a couple of bottles of water, a sheath knife. She put them in a knapsack, which she handed to Robert. Then she went into her bedroom and got the .202 out from the back of the cupboard. The sight of it seemed to make Robert realise how serious the situation was.

  “What do you need that for?”