Footprints in the Sand. Eleanor Jones

nodded at me I saw that his blue eyes were sad, too.

      “Is the lass all right?”

      Mrs. Mac sighed. “Just cold and scared,” she told him. “Have you seen Billy?”

      He shrugged, frowning. “Not for a while. He and Joey went off along the coast.”

      “He’s gone hasn’t he, Ted—my Daffyd?”

      When her voice started to rise, I slipped down from her arms and ran to hide behind the sofa.

      “That Mad Mick Malone has finally done himself in and taken my boy with him.... I hope he rots in hell.”

      “Now, now, Mary.”

      Ted’s voice was soft and kind, and he placed an awkward hand on Mrs. Mac’s plump arm. “We don’t know that yet. Don’t give up hope. Now why don’t I get the little lass some breakfast?”

      My tummy rumbled as I crept out of my hiding place.

      “You nip next door and find her some clothes,” he suggested firmly.

      Mrs. Mac looked up at him, then looked at me with a funny expression in her faded eyes before ambling off to do his bidding.

      I didn’t think I’d be able to eat anything at all but the bread dipped in fried egg he made me tasted so good that I ate the whole plateful. Suddenly I felt sure my dad would come back after all. He knew the sea too well to let it get him, like it sometimes got other people. Mr. Mac’s brother was drowned in the sea; I think that was why he always looked so sad. Mrs. Mac looked sad now, too. Her face had gone gray and she ignored me when I went to try to sit on her lap. Ted crouched down beside me, his big knees sticking up past his elbows.

      “Just leave her be for now, lass,” he said. “Things will work out, you’ll see.”

      I looked past him toward the window, my eyes wide as I tried not to cry. “Be brave,” my dad had said, but what if “things” didn’t work out? Suddenly I didn’t feel big enough to be brave.

      “When will my dad come back?”

      My voice sounded shaky and I gripped the sides of my chair really hard. Ted coughed, covering his mouth with his hand as he glanced at Mrs. Mac.

      “We’ll just have to wait and see, lass,” he told me sadly.

      Mrs. Mac’s eyes were like pieces of glass and her voice was sharp, too, as if all her softness had suddenly turned into ice.

      “There’s nothing to wait for,” she said. “You know as well as I do that they’ve both gone for good.”

      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