A Place Called Here. Cecelia Ahern

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       12

      Helena was watching me curiously through the amber blaze of the campfire, the shadow of the flames dancing upwards to lick her face. The other members of the group had continued with their reminiscing of Derek’s rock-and-roll days, happy to move the subject away from my question about where we were. Excited chatter had resumed but I remained on the outside, though I was not alone. Finally, I lifted my eyes from the ash floor and allowed them to meet Helena’s.

      She waited for a silence to fall between the group before asking, ‘What do you do for a living, Sandy?’

      ‘Oooh, yes,’ Joan said excitedly, warming her hands around her tea cup. ‘Do tell us.’

      I had everyone’s attention and so I considered my options. Why lie?

      ‘I run an agency,’ I began and then stopped.

      ‘What kind of an agency?’ Bernard asked.

      ‘A modelling agency, is it?’ Joan asked in hushed tones. ‘With long legs like yours I’ll bet it is.’ Her tea cup rested in her hands not far below her lips, her baby finger was erect and standing tall like a dog on the hunt.

      ‘Joan, she said she runs the agency, not is a member of one.’ Bernard shook his head and his chin wobbled.

      ‘Actually, it’s a missing persons agency.’

      There was a silence as they searched my face and when they all looked at each other, they erupted in laughter. All except Helena.

      ‘Oh, Sandy, that was a good one.’ Bernard wiped the corners of his eyes with his handkerchief. ‘What kind of agency is it really?’

      ‘Acting.’ Helena jumped in before I had a chance to answer.

      ‘How do you know?’ Bernard asked her, rather in a huff that she knew something before him. ‘You’re the one who asked the question in the first place.’

      ‘She told me while you were all laughing.’ She waved her hand dismissively.

      ‘An acting agency.’ Joan looked at me with wide eyes. ‘How wonderful. We put on some excellent plays in Finbar’s Hall,’ Joan explained. ‘Do you remember that?’ She looked around at her friends. ‘Julius Caesar, Romeo and Juliet to name but two of Shakespeare’s finest works. Bernard was—’

      Bernard coughed loudly.

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Joan blushed. ‘Bernard is a fantastic actor. He played quite a convincing Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. No doubt you would love him to be in your agency.’

      And they fell into their usual chatter of swapping old stories. Helena made her way round the fire and sat next to me.

      ‘I must say, you excel in your occupation,’ Helena chuckled.

      ‘Why did you do that?’ I referred to her interjection.

      ‘Oh, you don’t want to tell them that, especially Joan with her voice so hushed she feels the need to tell everybody everything just to make sure she’s heard,’ she teased, but watched her friend fondly. ‘If anyone finds out you run a missing persons agency you’ll be swamped with questions. Everyone will think you’ll have come to bring us all home.’ I wasn’t sure whether she was joking or asking me a question. Either way, she didn’t laugh and I didn’t answer.

      ‘Who else is there to tell around here?’ I stared into the silent black woods. I hadn’t come across any others for two days.

      Helena looked at me curiously again. ‘Sandy, there are others, you know.’

      Apart from Ewoks, I found it hard to believe anybody else inhabited the dark and silent surroundings.

      ‘You know our story, don’t you?’ Helena kept her voice low so that the others couldn’t hear.

      I nodded, took a deep breath and recited, ‘“Five students are missing after disappearing during a school camping trip in Roundwood, County Wicklow. Sixteen-year-olds Derek Cummings, Helena Dickens, Marcus Flynn, Joan Hatchard and Bernard Lynch from St Kevin’s Boarding School for Girls and Boys in Blackrock СКАЧАТЬ