Whitstable Read Free Page A

lost.
    “I… I saw what you did,” he stammered eagerly, tripping over his words, but they nevertheless came ten to the dozen, a fountain. “You… you were powerful. He escaped back to his castle and he… he leapt up the stairs four, five, six at a time with his big strides but you were right behind him. You were determined . And you couldn’t find him, then you could . And he was about to go down the trapdoor but he saw you and threw something at you and it just missed and made a really big clang, and then he was on top of you squeezing the life out of your throat and it hurt a really lot…” The boy hastily put his book between his knees and mimed strangulation with fingers round his own neck. “He had you down on the floor by the fireplace and you couldn’t breathe he was so strong and mighty and you went like this—” His eyes flickered and he slumped. “And he was coming right down at you with his pointed teeth and at the last minute you were awake—” The youngster straightened his back. “And you pushed him away and he stood there and you stood there too, rubbing your neck like this. And he was coming towards you and your eyes went like this —” He shot a glance to his left. “And you saw the red curtains and you jumped up and ran across the long, long table and tore them down and the sunlight poured in. And his back bent like this when it hit him and his shoe shrank and went all soggy and there was nothing in it. And he tried to crawl out of the sunlight and you wouldn’t let him. You grabbed two candle sticks from the table and held them like this —” He crossed his forearms, eyes blazing, jaw locked grimly. “You forced him back and his hand crumbled to ashes and became like a skeleton’s, and he covered his face with his hand like this, and all that turned grey and dusty too, and his clothes turned baggy because there was nothing inside them. And everything was saved and the sign of the cross faded on the girl’s hand. And after you, you— vanquished him, you looked out of the coloured window at the sky and put your woolly gloves back on. And the dust blew away on the air.”
    Indeed.
    The man remembered shooting that scene very well. The old ‘leap and a dash’ from the Errol Flynn days. Saying to dear old Terry Fisher: “Dear boy, I seem to be producing crucifixes from every conceivable pocket throughout this movie. Do you think we could possibly do something different here? I’m beginning to feel like a travelling salesman of crosses.” He’d come up with the idea himself of improvising using two candle sticks. He remembered the props master had produced a duo at first too ornate to work visually, but the second pair were perfect.
    “That was you, wasn’t it?”
    “I do believe it was,” Peter Cushing said.
    He did not look at the boy and did not encourage him further in conversation, but the youngster ventured closer as if approaching an unknown animal which he assumed to be friendly but of which he was nevertheless wary, and sat on the wall beside him squarely facing the sea.
    The man was now patting his jacket pockets, outside and in.
    “What are you looking for?” The boy was curious. “A cross? Only you don’t need a cross. I’m not a vampire.”
    “I’m very glad to hear it. I was looking for a photograph. I usually have some on me… I really don’t know where I’ve put them…”
    “A what?”
    “A photograph. A signed one.” No response. “Of yours truly.” Still no response, puzzlingly. “Isn’t that what you’d like?”
    “No,” the boy said, sounding supremely affronted, as if he was dealing with an idiot.
    “Oh…”
    “I want to ask you something much more important than that. Much more important.”
    “Oh. I see.”
    Cushing looked around in a vain attempt to spot any parents from whom this child might have strayed, but there were no obvious candidates in evidence. If the boy had got lost, he thought, then it might be best for him to keep