Free Submersion by Guy A Johnson Page B

descend and rally her round through a variety of tactics. Mother wasn’t sure just how long this could take – although I could have suggested forever, guessing just how resistant Aunt Agnes would be to the idea – hence her decision to bring me along this time.
    On arrival, Mother had instantly dismissed me, actively encouraging a visit to Old Man Merlin’s. Given my concerns about seeing my friend again, I’m not certain I would have returned to him that day, had she not insisted.
    Whilst I was in the habit of letting myself in, as I hadn’t been at the Cadley residence for some weeks, I decided to knock first, waiting on his platform out the front. Yet, after several raps, there was no response. So I simply went in.
    Usually the rustling sound I created as I stripped out of my protective gear was enough to alert the man. But, on this day, I heard nothing from him. Deciding it wouldn’t be right to simply ascend to the upper quarters, I went in search of him.
    I found him as I expected: in his back rooms, pottering, it seemed at first. Yet, his puzzled, crunched brow suggested deep concentration, as did the fact he failed to see me for some minutes.
    He was working in his kitchen area. He had the back off an old radio and was fiddling with a screwdriver, putting wires back in place, from what I could see. Without replacing the back, he turned the item round and turned a dial on the front with his right hand, whilst wiggling its aerial with the other. Eventually, a sound came through, a sound he was clearly searching for, as he celebrated with an exclaimed ‘ha!’
    Voices came from the radio. Not the sort of voices I heard at Papa Harold’s, when he got his old radio out. Papa H’s radio voice had told stories, occasionally news, if you tuned in at the right time. At Aunt Agnes’ there was also a radio, but that mainly played music, like that I heard in the music room at the Cadley residence. But the voices on that day were different: they were official voices. That was the best I could assume. Official voices – maybe police, maybe government or other official voices. One thing was clear: we shouldn’t have been listening. And, when I decided it was best to back away, sneak off unseen, and bumped into a table behind me, rattling a jar of screws, finally catching Old Man Merlin’s attention, the look on the old man’s face and his subsequent reaction confirmed this.
    ‘How long have you been lurking there?’ he accused, coming forward urgently, his voice fraught with fear and anger. ‘How long have you been listening in, boy? What did you hear? Tell me, what did you hear?’
    Had I wanted to flee, I couldn’t: he had me by my wrists, gripping each with considerable strength given his age.
    ‘Just voices, that’s all,’ I winced and seeing my pain, his grip lessened, as if instantly he realised he was scaring me. ‘I’m sorry. I just came to say hello.’
    He turned from me, rubbed his chin and paced a little, thinking through his next move.
    ‘I have to know I can trust you, boy,’ he eventually said, turning back to me, with eyes sharp and serious. ‘If you are to come here, if you are to know my secrets, I have to know I can trust you. You understand?’
    I nodded.
    ‘Good, good. Then I need something in return. I need a secret from you. Something that nobody knows, or only a few know. Something that could land you in trouble if it gets out. Do you follow me? Do you have something?’
    As odd as the request seems now, looking back, at the time I was swept along with the necessity that Old Man Merlin made of it.
    Yes, I nodded again. Yes, I had something.
    ‘Then tell me.’
    And so I did. With a huge serving of apprehension, I served him the truth about my father.
    ‘I’m not supposed to tell a soul. So, please, you mustn’t tell anyone,’ I pleaded. ‘I wasn’t supposed to see. Wasn’t supposed to be looking.’
    The old man nodded, still somber.
    ‘I won’t. All the time you keep