Ordinary Joe and the Mark of Four
Epilogue

It was a cold Sunday morning in early January and soft snow lofted against the windows of 43 Edgmont Drive. Inside a radio played and the small, terraced house smelled of toast and coffee. In his bedroom Joe woke with a long yawn and stretched his arms.

Around the walls Iron Man and Hulk stared at him and the clock told him he had overslept; though his Uncle and Aunt let him sleep, knowing he had a stressful week ahead; a new school to survive and new friends to make. He wished Reece was with him, but he was miles away in Cardenfield and Joe was trapped in the seaside town of Hilderthorpe, busy in the summer months but a ghost town for the rest of the year.

He jumped out of bed and pulled a pair of warm socks from the radiator. His window was steamed over and he wiped a hole to peer outside. The streets were deserted, only half-filled footprints along the pavements suggesting anyone dared brave the cold.

He dressed quickly, listening to his Uncle laughing with his Aunt downstairs. Everyone congratulated his Uncle on his move to the coast and he enjoyed working near the sea, tending to the parks lining the beachside roads. Aunt Tina would be at the school, volunteering to help out in classes, and he knew everyone would love her immediately.

Joe hurried downstairs. Uncle Marty was working his way through a pile of Sunday papers and his aunt was sitting at the kitchen table, chewing a pen and struggling with a Sudoku. Behind her the washing machine whirled and thumped and a plate of sausages and bacon sat on the draining board by the sink, covered in cling film. Hearing his footsteps she sprang to her feet, opening a cupboard to replace him a plate for his breakfast.

“There you are,” she said, “You’d sleep all day if we let you.”

“I’m going to take Flake out,” he said and she stopped, a half-filled plate of sausages in her hand.

“Not without any breakfast you won’t!”

“I’ll get a bacon butty from the caf’.” She scowled at him,

“Take a slice of toast at least!” But Joe escaped, calling Flake after him, and was already halfway through the door, pulling on his coat. Flake bounded around his legs and he fastened her lead to her collar, setting off through the snow, his aunt’s cries trailing behind them.

They lived two streets from the beach and passed a few people on their way there, stopping to let them pat Flake. Some of the houses still had their Christmas lights up and the council had not taken down the decorations sitting on top of the lamp posts at the edges of the streets. He could hear the sea, a low soothing whisper in the distance, and hurried on past closed arcades and shuttered shops. Their neighbour told them the town wouldn’t open for business again until March, later if the sunshine didn’t return.

Finally they reached a long set of steps leading to the beach and he let Flake loose. She shot off across the sand like a white bullet, almost hidden against the carpet of snow. Joe trudged after her, hands deep in his pockets with her lead hung around his neck. Along the promenade, green tarpaulin sheltered the Dodgems and the horses of the Carousel from the icy winds blowing in from the sea. Towering above them the Big Wheel’s frost painted seats rocked and creaked.

He spotted a stick half buried in the snow and dug it free, throwing it far out to where the beach was covered with a sheen of water. She chased it happily enough but he could tell she was annoyed the tide was so far out. Flake liked to get herself completely drenched before they went back.

After a while Joe sat in the snow and stared out at the sea. It was weird seeing snow on a beach. His Uncle said it didn’t happen often and was a sign of a hot summer to come. Joe wasn’t sure. Maybe it only felt hot because the winter was so cold.

The sound of the sea made him sleepy but he was hungry and wished he had taken up his aunt’s offer of toast. Flake barked at him, spinning in a circle.

“You want to go and see Mr Zhang don’t you,” he said. Flake barked again, tail wagging excitedly. Mr Zhang was the owner of a small Café on the seafront and they usually stopped by after their walk. He always saved scraps for Flake, and Joe fancied a bacon butty and a cup of sweet tea. He stood up, looking out at the sea, and pressed a hand against the front of his coat. He could feel warmth deep inside,

“We’ll go back,” he said, “I promise.”