by Heide Goody
“And could I perhaps get your details? What number are you calling from?”
Sam stared at the phone and then put it back to her ear. “I don’t know. I borrowed it. It’s a satellite phone. I’m on a gas platform in Doggerland.”
“Doggerland. And that’s…?”
“In the sea. I’m out at sea.”
“Right.”
Sam could hear utter disbelief in the operator’s tone. “Please. Just tell him. As soon as you can. I don’t know if it’s just them. There may be others.”
There was a long pause. “Of course,” said the operator. “Let me get some of those details down again.”
77
Odin might have wanted the ship to be on the beach to greet the dawn, but Odin clearly hadn’t taken into consideration how long it would take two dozen men to get the longship from its shed to the shore. The dying blasts of the passing storm buffeted them to and fro as they moved. The ship pitched and yawed as though it was already at sea.
There had been casualties. A little light crushing as men got their bodies, hands and faces mashed between the ship and various caravans, trees and lampposts. The major non-human casualty was a poor Honda Civic they’d rested the ship on for a while so they could have a breather, and which now had a one foot deep indentation in its roof.
Thus it was that the longship and the Odinsons greeted the dawn while trying to navigate their way across the Seacroft road.
“Right!” bellowed Ragnar in the grey and uninspiring light of a December morn. “Not far to go!”
“You said that an hour ago!” someone shouted, in the safe knowledge that Ragnar could not see them behind the hulking ship.
“I’ll have none of that treasonous talk!” Ragnar snapped. Then he frowned. “What’s tha farsa doing up there?”
Hilde looked ahead towards the dunes. Sigurd was on a dune top, hands on his knees. To her eyes, it looked like he had either just thrown up or was preparing to. “I reckon he’s trying to get a good view of the scene so he can immortalise it in the sagas.”
“Aye, right you are,” said Ragnar. “Come on, lads! Have at it! All aiming for the path!”
“Sign ’ere says this area is a nature reserve of special scientific interest,” said Gunnolf, up front.
“Too bloody right,” said Ragnar. “This vessel is a bloody scientific miracle.”
“Be a miracle if we can get it to the beach in one piece,” muttered a voice which Ragnar either didn’t hear or pretended not to.
There was a defiant bleat. Hilde looked up to where the no-longer-sacrificial goat stood in a commanding position atop the carried ship.
“We should’ve killed that flamin’ thing, I tell thee,” said Ragnar with a rueful shake of his head.
78
Sam, Rich and Marvin weren’t on the helipad to see the arrival of their lift home. The winds were still strong, and no one wanted to be blown off the platform into the sea in their moment of liberation. All three of them gathered together in the arrivals corridor with their luggage (much lighter now that all the booze had been drunk). They even managed an un-British cheer as they heard the helicopter come overhead and swing round to land.
“Let’s go,” said Rich. “Sam, lead the way. Marvin, you next.”
Sam scurried along the covered walkway to the stairs leading up to the helipad. Many metres below, the waves swirled around the platform legs. Sam struggled to believe that no more than twice that distance down there was a prehistoric landscape of stone age settlements and animal remains waiting to be uncovered. A reclaimed Doggerland seemed even more of a fool’s dream than when Rich had first mentioned it.
She was so focused on her feet and her balance, she almost collided with Rich’s butler – coming down the stairs to meet them. Peninsula was not in his butlering clobber, but wearing a bright orange survival suit.
“If I may, miss,” he said. He took both her suitcase and Marvin’s. “Let’s get you on board.”
He jogged up to the pad and, with both hands free, Sam gladly followed. She ducked instinctively as they passed underneath the thrumming rotor blades. Once she was sure she had her dad close behind, Sam threw herself inside as though leaping aboard a life raft.
Once everyone was inside, with the doors shut and checked, the helicopter pilot peeled away with an assured speed that made Sam’s stomach flip. She put on her seatbelt, ensured Marvin had his, then grabbed a set of headphones.
“—can only repeat my most heartfelt apologies, sir,” Peninsula was saying.
Rich laughed. “Oh, think nothing of it. We coped admirably in adversity, didn’t we, Sam?”
Sam didn’t have an answer.
“We coped,” agreed Marvin, adjusting his microphone.
“We had quizzes and games,” enthused Rich. “And we had some rather sexy Christmas crackers. And we ate well.”
“We ate,” agreed Marvin.
Peninsula lifted a blue pail hamper from the floor and opened one side. “I thought you might appreciate some sandwiches for the journey home.”
Marvin’s hand was in and out like a striking cobra.
“Roasted turkey sandwiches with honey crackling, cranberry chutney and pepper seasoning,” said Peninsula.
The cabin comms channel was soon filled with the sound of chewing and grateful murmurs of culinary delight.
“Oh, and Sam reckons she solved several murders,” mumbled Rich around his second sandwich.
Peninsula’s thin moustache twitched and he gave Sam an unreadable look.
“Several murders?” she said. “Maybe. There’s something going on, and I think I have at least half of it right.”
Rich made a complicated movement in the air. “Everyone swapped their murder victims. Including the turkey.”
“Turkey, sir?”
Sam looked through the cabin to the cockpit and the flat seascape beyond. “Mr Pilot, sir. How long until we’re back in Skegness?”
“Now that we don’t have a winter storm bearing down on us, it’s going to be a much quicker journey. We’ll be at the airfield well before eleven.”
“Thanks.” She tapped Rich’s foot with hers. “Did the police call you back on your satellite phone?” She checked her own phone to see if they had come back within the mobile signal range or any messages had helpfully popped up.
“Do you think you could land us near Otterside retirement village?” she asked the pilot.
“You planning on arresting them yourself?” said Marvin.
She shook her head. “I don’t have all the pieces yet.”
“Your theory is bizarre but sound,” he replied. “Those men and women had some wrongs to right in their own lives – I’m not saying I’m condoning it – and they came up with a plan.”
“I’m not sure.” Sam looked to the horizon again, willing it to come closer. “What was it you said about masterful players of games?”
He smiled. “Was I drunk when I said it? No idea.”
79
The rest of the Odinson clan, the women, the children and the workshy who’d had a good few hours’ sleep while the men hauled their ship to the shore, came back in dribs and drabs to line the rest of the route through the dunes and cheer them on. Hilde walked alongside Ragnar, making sure the pace was steady, monitoring the ship carefully as it made its slow progress towards the beach. As they came down the last of the dunes, Hilde was surprised to see an ice cream truck on the beach, selling cornets at this early hour.
“What the hell? It’s Boxing day!” she said. She caught a look from her farfar. “I mean, as far as the Saxons are concerned it is. I’m surprised they turned up today.”
“It’s all part of mekking it an event they’ll treasure,” said Ragnar, tapping the side of his head.
Hilde understood. The ice cream truck was there by invitation. Indeed, all the little Odinsons were running up to get ice creams She scanned the horizon, wary of any other unexpected surprises. Sigrid was up in the dunes, capturing the scene on an
easel, or at least pretending to, while quelling his rebellious innards. Ragnar was keen to have pictures to accompany the saga and appeared glad to see him so enthusiastic.
From the edge of the grassy dunes, they reached the flat part of the beach and set the longship carefully down. It sat heavily in the sand. Skegness town was a full mile to the north. The pier was just a smear of dark lines in the distance, the town almost entirely hidden behind dunes, the fenced off compound of the Skegness boating club, and the trees and concrete walls that fringed the children’s boating lake. Out here, against the vast backdrop of the North Sea and the miles of sand that stretched away in both directions, the ship didn’t look as enormous as it had done during construction. If anything, it looked small and fragile. Hilde knew the design was good and the construction sound. It was a good ship and she felt pride swell in her heart.
The Viking warriors all looked to Ragnar for further instruction. Hilde looked down the beach and saw Hermod approaching from the north in his red truck. He pulled up alongside. Hilde organised a group to remove the hoist from the flatbed of Hermod’s truck so they could place it onto the longship.
“What’s tha crane thing for?” asked an Odinson child as it licked a Mr Whippy with raspberry sauce.
“Farfar needs a hoist to bring our raiding treasure on board,” said Hilde. “Woah! You! Stop!” She ran over to the burly oafs who were trying to shift the hoist from the flatbed to the ship hull. “I need to be sure we hold the ship good and steady while we bolt this into place. If it topples over it’s going to hurt someone.”
The goat in the boat bleated in agreement.
Hilde boarded the ship, and had her burly assistants line up the base of the hoist with the wooden platform she’d had built for it. She wasn’t certain this was even slightly authentic for the period, but it was the best she’d been able to come up with for Ragnar’s planned raid.
“We’re nearly ready for launch, farfar,” she said. “I need to do the safety briefing now.”
Ragnar nodded. He turned to Gunnolf, who was jotting notes for the saga. “I reckon we can put this down as ‘The women stood by the ocean-side sobbing for the safe return of their men’.”
“Don’t you dare!” exclaimed Hilde. “Tha can say something like ‘Each proud warrior made certain they were fully prepared for every possible turn of fate, and much wisdom was exchanged at the seashore’.”
“Yep. What Hilde said,” said Ragnar, with a nod.
Hilde walked down the beach until she stood between the longship and the sea. Ragnar stood beside her.
“Think it’ll float?” he said.
“It’ll be fine,” she replied.
“It looks blummin’ marvellous, dun’t it? Like a great big dragon in the sand.”
“A sand drake,” said Hilde.
“Oh, I do like that.” He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Gunnolf! We’re calling it Sandraker! Put that in the saga!”
Not many of the Odinsons were listening. Someone had cracked open more mead and the drinking horns were being passed round for a celebratory drink.
Hilde blew loudly on a whistle. “Pay attention to me! All of you! Conditions are good for launch, but we need to make it soon. It will not happen until we’ve completed the safety briefing and Ragnar is satisfied you all understand what I’m about to tell you.”
There was some foot shuffling, but Hilde saw that everyone’s gaze was on her. “Now, is everyone wearing their life jacket?”
There was some indistinct grumbling.
“It’s essential that you all wear your traditional Viking robes,” bellowed Ragnar.
“Traditional Viking robes?” said an Odinson, holding an orange life jacket aloft.
“Your ceremonial Viking robe is a modified life jacket, that you must wear at all times when on board,” said Hilde.
“Orange, like the flames of victory!” said Ragnar. “Gives you a big chest like Thor the mighty!”
Hilde nodded in approval. “In the event of an evacuation, your emergency exit is over the side,” she said, indicating with an outstretched arms. “You can inflate the life jacket by pulling on the leather toggle, like so. You can top up the air by blowing into this tube. Your life jacket also has a light and a whistle. Please do not inflate your life jacket on board the longship as it may impede your exit. In the event of an emergency evacuation, you should also take with you the nearest flotation device. These are the decorative shields situated around the edges of the ship, which you’re all familiar with. Please secure your own device before helping others.”
She paused to let all of that sink in. Many of them were exploring the features of their life jackets.
“Any questions on keeping safe?” she called. “Just in case this needs saying, do not bail into the sea unless you have absolutely no choice. It’s cold out there.”
As the Odinsons considered the real dangers of going to sea, and a team worked to get the hoist into place, a Land Rover rolled along the damp compacted beach.
“It’s the fuzz!” shouted a gaggle of Odinsons, pointing.
Hilde looked and nodded. It looked like the police.
Ragnar stroked his hairy chin. “Stay sharp, lads. Saxons ahoy.”
80
Polly couldn’t rightly say how long she’d been awake.
Boxing Day morning and she sat at the little table in the little lounge in her little apartment at Otterside. The cup of tea she’d made herself had gone cold, undrunk. The misshapen remote control device that Bernard had passed her sat in the centre of the table. She had not touched it since she’d placed it there the day before.
At some point, a light had come on the side. Polly couldn’t recall what that light meant. She couldn’t even be sure how long it had been on.
Her mind was full and empty at the same time. She was confused, disgusted, angry and excited, and nothing at all. She was tired and perhaps needed to go back to bed.
She massaged the bridge of her nose and, as she did so, there was a knock at the door.
She stood automatically. Finding she was upright, went to answer the door.
It was Erin.
“Merry Christmas, Aunt Polly,” said Erin.
“Christmas was yesterday,” said Polly.
“Still in the twelve days of Christmas.”
“You were going to come before Christmas.”
“It was always going to be before Christmas, or after. We’d not decided, had we? But here I am. Merry Christmas.”
There was a forced note of Christmas jollity, but her face had either failed to receive the message or struggled to maintain the charade.
So, Erin had come as promised to exchange Christmas presents. A fleeting moment of contact between family members, brushing past but not connecting. Polly had her neat stack of presents ready on the side in the lounge area. It had been ready for the past forty-eight hours.
“Merry Christmas,” said Polly and looked past Erin. “Are they here?”
Erin looked behind her. “Who?”
“Jack? Iris?”
“No. I didn’t want to stress them out by bringing them in here.”
“Stress them?”
“Oh, you know. Co-ordinating children. It’s like a full-scale military operation.”
“Not even brought them in the car?”
“They were so worn out from yesterday. Big Christmas lunch. Some naughty treats. David brought over a sinful pavlova.”
Polly simply looked at her.
“Are you not inviting me in?” said Erin. “I’ve brought mince pies.” She waggled a box of Marks and Spencers mince pies in demonstration.
“You’re staying for a mince pie but you didn’t think to bring the children—”
“Oh, these are for you,” said Erin with assured generosity. “Every one of them. Something to enjoy at Christmas.”
“It was Christmas yesterday.”
“You said.”
“I wanted to see my family.”
Erin dro
pped all pretence of festive cheer, her face become cold and tense. “Fine.”
She shoved the mince pies back in a carrier bag and stepped back into the corridor, taking her phone out as she did. Her hand went involuntarily to her jacket pocket and the e-cig there.
“Yes, Jack,” she said. “It’s mummy. Yes. Get Iris.”
As she waited, Erin gave Polly a candid stare, one that said, ‘Look at what you’re putting me through. I hope you’re happy now.’
Polly found herself about to say something, but then tinny voices came from Erin’s phone. Erin put it on speaker.
“Hi, Auntie Polly. Hi.”
“I wanted to speak to them,” she whispered to Erin, realising she was very much in danger of crying.
Erin continued to hold the phone.
“Hi, darlings,” said Polly, unable to control the tremble in her voice. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas!”
“Did you get some nice presents? I’ve got a couple of presents for you here. I’ll…” She turned and went into the apartment and picked up the pile. Why she was picking them up now she could not say; she couldn’t pass them down the line.
When she came out again, Erin had the phone to her ear once more. “Yes, yes. That’s fine. Tell dad there are to be no more biscuits until I get home.” She ended the call.
“I wanted to speak to them,” said Polly.
“I offered.”
“Spend time with them then.”
Erin glanced at the wrapped presents. She held open the carrier bag for Polly to drop them in, a bin held out for waste.
“They’re not toys, Polly. They’re not here for our amusement. Do you think they’re interested in you? Or me, for that matter?” She took out her e-cig and puffed on it.
Polly closed her eyes and tried to maintain a semblance of calm. She had just wanted to see her family, be part of them for a while, exchange gifts, share chocolates. She’d had every intention of keeping it to that and not bringing up anything else. But Erin had denied her even a sliver of proper happiness, had only offered her shop-bought mince pies and human connection at a distance so…
