‘Izzy? Izzy?’ His feet were beginning to throb in the tight brown lace-up shoes he was wearing. They weren’t really suitable for walking or for the summer months but his father insisted on them being smart, even if it was only to go out and play.
Sitting down on the grass in the clearing, Arnold took off his shoes and rubbed his right foot; he could see a blister forming and if he put his shoes back on it’d only get worse.
The dancing sunbeams on top of the flowing river were mesmerising, making the water look like crystal glass waves, bubbling and breaking against the edges of the steep bank. As he watched the birds dive in and out of the water, Arnold noticed a large black bundle which looked like a bag on the side of the bank near the disused watermill. Getting up and shielding his eyes from the sun to see it more clearly, he realised that it wasn’t a bag at all; it looked more like a heap of material.
Leaving his shoes and enjoying the sensation of the grass between his toes, Arnold walked round the arch of the river towards the heap. He stopped dead. His heart banged in his chest and his breathing became shallow, then his legs started to run as his mind screamed. It wasn’t a piece of material. It was Izzy’s jacket and he could see it moving. He could see something struggling. It was Izzy.
The river gushed over her face as she fought to keep her head above the water level, clinging onto the side of the broken submerged limestone wall of the mill. The river careering towards the weir a few feet along.
‘Izzy!’ Arnold threw himself down on the ground, leaning his body over and hoping to reach his sister.
‘Help me Arnie. Help me; I fell.’
‘Hang on Izzy, I can’t reach you, I’ll get a branch.’ There were twigs, ivy and broken pieces of brushwood but nothing that would do. Arnold tried to pull on a hanging branch, hoping to break it off, whilst all the time calling encouraging words to Izzy, but the branch simply bowed, holding on solidly to the body of the tree.
Running back to the river empty handed, Arnold leaned over the side again, pushing himself further forward than last time.
‘Izzy, you’ve got to try to reach up and hold my hand.’
‘I can’t Arnie, I can’t let go.’
She was right. It was impossible for her to let go of the wall with one hand and stop herself from being swept along into the weir.
‘I’m going to go and get help Izzy.’
‘No, Arnie, no; don’t leave me.’
Arnold looked into his sister’s eyes, wanting to stay but knowing he needed to get help.
‘Izzy I have to go. Promise me you’ll hold on until I come back. Promise me Izzy even if you don’t think you can any more; I need you to hold on. Don’t leave me.’
‘I promise I won’t let go; I won’t leave you. Come back Arnie, come straight back.’
‘I will. I’ll never leave you but you’ve got to be strong.’
Running faster than he ever thought he could, Arnold darted back through the woods towards the house, calling his father as he ran. ‘Papa! Papa!’ Arnold opened the door wide, running into the hallway and shouting to his father. ‘Papa, please come quickly.’
The thunderous sound of his father running down the stairs and the wrath he saw on his face didn’t stop Arnold from screaming. ‘Papa, it’s Izzy.’ His father grabbed him, shaking him in frenzied anger. Arnold felt his head jolting back and forth as he swallowed the words he was trying to say.
‘Where are your shoes Arnold? Why are you covered in dirt?’
‘It’s Izzy, Pappy; please there isn’t much time, she’s in trouble.’
‘Answer me boy. Where are your shoes?’
Arnold looked at his father, then at his feet. Almost immediately, a different kind of fear hit him; he’d forgotten to put his shoes back on. He didn’t bother looking up, but was well aware of his father’s rage towering above him as he continued to speak. ‘Rules, Arnold. Rules are here to be adhered to and not to be broken. Haven’t I told you not to shout? Haven’t I told you never to get dirty? I’ve told you about the rules haven’t I?’
‘Yes Papa.’
‘Then why would you come running in here covered in dirt with no shoes on?’
Terrified, Arnold answered. ‘I left them up by the river Papa.’
The clump of hair being pulled from his head made him yelp out as he was dragged silently by his father into the quiet of the front parlour.
His father threw him towards the dark oak chair which was already placed in the middle of the room.
‘Sit down Arnold.’
He couldn’t sit down. He needed to be brave for Izzy. She was relying on him. He had to get his father to understand Izzy was in danger. ‘No, Papa.’
Arnold watched as his father gave a bemused smile and squinted his eyes, reminding Arnold of the monsters he’d read about in the storybooks at school.
His father’s footsteps sounded on the wooden floor as he unhurriedly crossed the room. Arnold trembled and imagined that every pore of him was beating.
He continued to look straight ahead; his view out of the far window blocked by the looming figure of his father centimetres away from him. The view of his father’s chest became the view of his father’s face as he crouched down to Arnold’s eye level.
‘What did you say boy?’ Arnold thought he was going to be sick; he could feel his knees tapping together and his body felt like his spine was no longer supporting him. His tears interfered with his speech as he clenched his fists desperately wanting to find strength. ‘It’s Izzy Papa, she needs our help.’
‘Sit down Arnold and listen to me. I’m going to go back to my office now. I’m going to leave the door open and give you the choice of staying here as I told you to, or break my rules by leaving this house without permission. Think carefully Arnold; the choice is yours.’
His father swivelled on his heels, creating a squeaking sound on the highly polished floor as he went to leave. He stopped in the doorway, not bothering to turn to look at his son, only to give him a warning. ‘As I say son, it’s entirely down to you, but remember; bad things happen to boys who break the rules.’
The room seemed to be spinning round as Arnold sat on the chair. He tucked his hands under his seat as his legs spasmodically shook. He needed to get to Izzy, he’d promised her he’d come back with help. If his father wouldn’t help, then he’d have to do it all on his own. He looked across at the open parlour door. It was only a few feet away, but for some reason Arnold couldn’t move.
All he needed to do was to stand up and run; run out the door and go to help Izzy. But he couldn’t. Something he couldn’t see but could feel was holding him back. Fear was pinning him to the chair. Fear was stopping him going to save his sister.
Arnold went to get up but found instead he sank ever deeper into the chair. His head became filled with a high-pitched scream unheard by the rest of the world. ‘Izzy, I’m sorry. Izzy please forgive me.’