Cry of a Seagull by Monica Dickens Page B

thecinema, which was on the far side of the town near the estuary of the river. As part of her brilliant plan, Rose looked up the wrong time in the paper, and told Ben’s father that the afternoon show started half an hour before it actually did.
    â€˜Stupid Rosie,’ Ben said when his father had driven off and they found they were too early. ‘Why can’t you learn to look things up right?’
    â€˜Because I’m stupid,’ Rose said happily. ‘Let’s go and get something to eat. There’s a new American ice cream place on the other side of the bridge. Want to try it?’
    â€˜What are we waiting for?’
    They ran. Ben always ran everywhere. It was quite tiring going out with him.
    Rose had seen the ‘Texas Ice Cream Parlour’ when she was on the back of Evil’s motorcycle as Lynette. The gang had stopped there briefly and rattled the door because it was locked. It was on the corner of the short lane that led to the marina.
    After the hot chocolate fudge nut sundae, Rose took Ben to see the boats. The motor yacht
Princess Vicky
was not there. So either it had not arrived yet, or the worst had happened and it had already drifted away from the dock.
    While Ben was looking at the smaller yachts tied up at the slips, Rose turned towards the little paddock, and saw that it was empty.
    Oh, my God, then it
had
happened, and that poor patient donkey she had seen being dragged and pushed on to the boat was already out at sea, or in the sea, struggling to keep its white nose above the waves.
    The door of the whitewashed cottage opened. An elderly man came out and whistled, and, to Rose’s immense relief, the dark brown donkey emerged from a lean-to shed and went slowly towards him.
    The man limped out to the donkey and fed him with something out of his hand. Then the donkey stood with its legs askew underneath it, like a ricketty table, and rested its nose in the man’s hand while he stroked the side of its broad cheek.
    As soon as Rose saw him limp, she realized that she knew him. The same balding head and red cheeks and fond smile. What was left of his hair was white now, and he was thinner and more bent, but she recognized him as the donkey man who had given Georgie and her family rides on Newcome beach about twenty years ago, when Rose had been Ruth.
    And the donkey – of course it was the larky foal, now grown old. The same white stomach and nose. The same curious white rings round his eyes which made him look as if he were wearing huge clownish spectacles. Gully … Little Gully. Favour must have taken her on that first journey to show her that her mission this time was to save a donkey; and because she was concentrating on the people, she had been too blind to see that.
    So nothing had happened yet, thank God, but because of the gang, it would. If she tried to warn the donkey man, he would think she had gone barmy, and so would Ben. She had tried that before – warning people about something she knew and they didn’t – and it had fallen as flat as a lead balloon. No one took any notice, except to tap their heads pityingly as if she had gone off her rocker.
    The old man looked up and saw her. She waved at him.
    â€˜Nice donkey!’
    He tilted his head as if he couldn’t hear. Oh dear. Shouting at him would make it even harder. Should she … shouldn’t she…? Ben made up her mind for her by saying, ‘Come on, we’ll be late for the film,’ and dragging her off to run up the lane and over the bridge.
    She could hardly follow the film. Her mind was in a turmoil. The old man, the yacht, the gang, Evil with those flat eyes like the Lord’s sinister henchman, the memory of the man and the donkey standing quietly together like old friends …
    The hectic, noisy picture on the screen blurred and faded, and the lighted space was full of the sea. Nearer to the shore this time, small waves breaking, retreating, surging