Frank's face grow more animated.
'Or maybe the old guy pushed the kid in front of the lorry to make sure he didn't suffer. Hey, that would be sinister, like when'
Miss Eklund drifted over to the boys. 'You two want to make conversation, do it outside. This is a library. We don't converse in the library.'
Frank winked at Andrew and fled. Andrew checked the book out to take home.
Frank wasn't in school the next day. Andrew wanted to share his discoveries about Turkey with him, not that it was the kind of thing Frank would have wanted to know. Turkey was right near Russia. It had the Black Sea on one side and the Mediterranean on the other. The country had its own language, called Turkish. He hadn't gone far enough in the book to learn if Turkish delight came from Turkey, though. He also read that they had bad earthquakes there. Maybe Frank would find all the deaths that came from their earthquakes interesting. That was the kind of thing he found fascinating. On his way home, he stopped by Frank's. Mrs Delaney answered the door.
'Is Frank at home?'
Her face screwed up and she leaned over to put her nose about an inch from Andrew's. She stank of brandy. 'Well, now, he's supposed to be with you, Mr Andrew Crawford, so I should be asking you just that thing. He told me he was going to meet you on the tarmac and you were both going to the church to see about helping that old man.'
'To the church' Andrew tried to recall which church that might be. 'Well, I must've got it wrong, Mrs Delaney. I thought we were meeting here. I'd better get on to the church then, hadn't I?' He smiled sheepishly.
'You two aren't cooking something up together, are you?'
'No, Mrs Delaney. We honestly want to make the man feel better. His kid was about our age and we just thought'
'How nice. You had better get going, Andrew. It'll be dark soon.' She shut the door before he could reply.
Why hadn't Frank told him he was going to the church? And which church? He couldn't recall. He walked down to the Catholic church which was closest and looked for someone to help him. A washerwoman told him the old man was staying with a family up by Strutts School. The Methodist chapel was where they were coordinating aid for the Turkish man. He thanked the woman and started off in the direction of Strutts. It occurred to him that his Aunt Molly would be sick with worry if he didn't stop home first. But then he risked being told he couldn't go at all.
It was a long walk down to Strutts. The only way to get there before dark would be to take a bus. He checked for change in his pocket and raced to the bus stop where a bus had just pulled up. It was the number 14 that stopped right across from the Methodist chapel at the bus station. Just his luck.
Though the bus was crowded, he got a seat by the window behind the driver. He watched the people walking determinedly up and down the streets, the cars moving ever so slowly in the traffic of the A6. Another bus crawled along going in the opposite direction. They were across from each other at one point. Andrew stared into the other bus, scanning the faces. He stopped at the old man, the one he had seen by the cottage. He was sitting with his arm around another boy, smiling his dicey smile, and listening to the boy's animated chatter. Andrew felt a flurry of butterflies in his belly before he really looked at the boy, knowing anyway that it was Frank Delaney.
Andrew spun in his seat, hands to the windows, and shouted Frank's name. 'Frank, Frank. Oh, no' The bus driver asked Andrew to quiet down, but Andrew had already gone silent. He kept his eyes on the bus as it ambled on in the other direction. He wasn't certain, but he thought that for a second the old man looked right at him.
He got off at King Street and walked back up towards home. When he told his mum and auntie what was going on, they would understand why he was late. He hoped so. Nothing else had gone right that day.
'It's none of your business what that Frank Delaney does with his life, Andy. If he wants to run off with the Queen, he can, but you have your own life to live.'
His mother started on him before dinner and it was now his bedtime. His auntie had listened carefully and said, 'What a shame.' But when his mum got home, Molly retold Andrew's story with unusual histrionics. She used expressions like 'kidnapped' and 'paedophile', working his mum into a frantic state.
'And if he was kidnapped, all the better then that you keep away from that boy. Frank finds trouble where there isn't any, isn't that right, Molly?'
Aunt Molly was wringing her hands and nodding. 'At least the authorities know who he is and where he's staying. That old man isn't going to get far.'
Andrew's mum made moaning noises in her throat. 'Let's call the police. It can't hurt. If it's innocent, then we'll just feel like fools, but if Frank was kidnapped, they'll be glad of our call.'
As his mum and auntie got on the telephone, Andrew sneaked out the back door. He had to get over to Frank's. The bus had been going in the direction of his house. It could all have been innocent. Couldn't it?
This time, when Mrs Delaney answered the door, a strange man barked from upstairs to get back to him. She looked dishevelled in her bathrobe and her face flushed in the light of the foyer.
'What's it now? You get it wrong again? Were you supposed to meet up at school then?'
'You mean Frank's not here?'
She shuddered at his anxious tone. 'No, Frank is not here. What is going on, Andrew Crawford?'
Andrew looked down at his feet. 'I think he's gone off with someone. I saw him on the bus with the old man whose ward was killed at the triangle last week. I thought maybe they were coming here.'
Though she looked a bit panicked, Mrs Delaney held her robe shut at her throat and said, 'Frankie does as he pleases. He's tough enough to take care of himself. I'll worry if he don't come home for days. He's like his brother that way.' The man's voice came from upstairs again, more insistent this time. Mrs Delaney lowered her voice to Andrew. 'Don't you worry, Andrew Crawford. Frankie's all right. Go home.' Then she shut the door on him, again.
He ran home, hoping his mum and auntie were consumed by the police and hadn't noticed he'd gone, but there they were, in the street, a police van pulled up to the house, two coppers talking to them.
