by Charlotte Lo
“Maybe it’ll make Dad feel better,” said Fabien.
“I bet it would,” I replied. “Remember those photos of him at Glastonbury when he was younger? He looked so happy in them.”
“I guess it’s worth a try,” said Margot.
“And we could invite Mr Billionaire to thank him for the island,” said Fabien.
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “We’ll have to keep the festival a secret from Mum and Dad though. There’s no way they’ll let us do it if they find out. In fact, it’s best not to tell them about my donkey sanctuary either.”
“Or my plane,” said Margot.
“Can we have a sheep pageant?” asked Fabien.
I shrugged. “It’s our festival, so we can do whatever we want.”
“Where would we hold it?” asked Margot.
“How about the north beach? It’s out of the way enough that we can decorate it without Mum noticing,” I suggested.
“All right then,” said Margot. “Let’s do it.”
I stretched out my hand, and Margot and Fabien piled theirs on top to seal the pact. The secret festival was on.
I was so hungry by lunchtime that even the sight of washed-up seaweed made my tummy rumble. We’d walked back to the beach after shutting up the stables, because Fabien wanted to check for buried treasure and Margot was hoping to find a cove in which she could build an aeroplane hangar. I looked towards the house and saw a wisp of smoke. Maybe Mum was cooking again.
“Look, Luna!” said Fabien, bouncing up to me. “I’ve found an old flip-flop, and it fits!”
“Marvellous,” I said, looking at the washed-up flip-flop in his hand. “Although you have two feet, remember?”
“Yeah, I reckon the other one might be buried somewhere,” he replied.
“Let’s go back and get lunch before you start digging up the beach,” I said.
We waved Margot over, who was in a huff because she hadn’t found a cove yet, and walked back to the house. As we got closer, I realised the smoke wasn’t coming from the barbecue, but from a chimney stack. I wondered what was going on. It wasn’t cold enough for a fire yet, not in the daytime.
“Did you set fire to the house?” I asked Margot suspiciously.
“Of course not! I’ve been with you all morning. Maybe Dad’s trying to burn it down instead,” she replied.
We hurried inside the house, and followed the sound of crackling logs into the living room. Soot covered the floor, and a fire roared in the hearth. It was about two thousand degrees inside the room.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I might have dislodged a brick while I was cleaning the chimney. Just checking everything still works,” said Mum. She had an old, sooty broom in one hand, and a small brick in the other.
“And does it?” asked Margot.
“Yes, I think so,” replied Mum.
She threw me a duster, and a bottle of very old cleaning spray. “We need to make a start on sorting the house out. Can you three clean the bedrooms, while I tackle this room?”
“What about lunch?” I asked.
“I’ll bring you something up in a minute,” she replied.
Margot grabbed a big hoover from the hallway, and Fabien found a feather duster. We started with the guest bedrooms, which were tucked away in the loft. I guessed this was where Mum’s yoga guests would be staying. There were three rooms, all with little round windows that looked out over the beach. Margot plugged the hoover in, and it made a whoosh noise, like a jumbo jet. It seemed to cheer her up.
Fabien raced through the room with his feather duster, twirling it around the lampshade as dust fell on his head, and I squirted cleaning spray on everything that didn’t move. There was fresh bedding in the cupboards, zipped away in plastic storage bags. I pulled out a blanket and draped it over the bed, to make it look a bit prettier.
Mum came upstairs just as we’d finished the first bedroom, carrying a big butler’s tray in front of her. I hurried over as she set it down on the newly made bed. On it were three bowls of cereal, some crackers, a lump of very warm cheese and an open tin of peaches.
“Wow, this room looks lovely,” she said. “After they’ve all had a good lick of paint, I’ll be able to charge a fortune for my yoga retreats.”
I picked up a cracker. “Is this all there is to eat?”
“I got a couple of tinned steak pies yesterday, but I thought we’d save them for dinner,” said Mum.
“We really need to go food shopping properly,” said Margot.
Fabien crammed a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Nah, this is great!”
Mum ruffled his hair. “We’ll get some supplies from the mainland tomorrow.”
“Where’s Dad?” I said.
“I asked him to tidy our bedroom,” replied Mum.
“Can I see if he wants some cheese?” I asked.
“Of course,” replied Mum, and she cut a chunk off for me.
I wrapped the cheese in a napkin, and ran downstairs to Mum and Dad’s new bedroom. The door was open, and Dad was sitting on the bed with his laptop beside him. I glanced around and saw a pile of dust in the corner, beside a broom. A few of his shirts hung from coat hangers in the wardrobe. It wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but it looked like Dad had at least tried to clean up a little.
“What are you watching?” I asked.
He jumped and looked up at me. “What have I told you about sneaking up on people, Luna?”
“Sorry. I just thought you might want some cheese,” I said, perching on the bed beside him.
He shook his head. “Thank you, but maybe later.”
“Are you watching Midsomer Murders again?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s on DVD,” he replied. “Your granny was brilliant at working out who the killer was. She usually knew before the first murder.”
“Can I watch it with you for a bit?” I asked.
“No, you should go and finish your lunch,” he said. “I’m going to tidy a bit more anyway.”
That was a good sign. I got up and headed back into the hallway, but Dad didn’t move. He just sat there on the bed and continued to watch his TV show. Maybe he was going to clean more later. I thought about asking if that’s what he’d meant, but my tummy rumbled, and I went upstairs instead.
Mum was sitting next to Margot, picking at the cheese and crackers. I grabbed a bowl of cereal and wondered when she’d leave. I wanted to talk to Margot and Fabien about our festival, but I couldn’t do it in front of her. We needed to start making a plan, and didn’t have any time to lose.
“I think if we all pitch in to clean your bedrooms we ought to finish by teatime,” said Mum.
“Can’t we do it tomorrow?” I asked.
“Best to do them today, while we’re in the zone,” replied Mum.
I groaned. Cleaning our bedrooms would take the rest of the afternoon. I guessed planning our festival would have to wait until tomorrow.
“We’ll need a stage, and a band to put on the stage,” said Margot the next morning.
I curled my toes in the sand. “Fabien can sing.”
“We can’t charge people ten pounds to come and hear Fabien. We need a band, or somebody famous,” said Margot.
“All right, we’ll put an advert in the local paper,” I said.
“What if Mum reads it? I thought we were keeping the festival a secret,” said Margot.
“We are. You know she only reads the paper when it’s wrapped around chips,” I said.
“That’s true,” replied Margot.
As if her ears were burning, Mum appeared from the trees behind us with Fabien. There was no sign of Dad. She waved at us, and untied Lady Agatha from her mooring, ready for our supplies trip to the mainland. My tummy flipped nervously at how she’d almost overheard us. We’d need to be careful with planning the festival. It was much better to tell her about it on the day, when it was too late to cancel. Besides, it was more likely to cheer Dad up if it was a surprise.
&nbs
p; I jumped into the boat behind the others, and we sped away from our island. Mum let me steer for a bit, and we weaved our way past fishing boats, lazy seagulls and a yacht. Margot studied the computer system, and Fabien waved at everyone we passed from beneath his deerstalker hat. It was a bit different from our usual tube ride.
Before long, we reached the harbour and I leapt off the boat. The first person I saw was Kai. He was in the window of The Wig and Pen, sticking something to the inside of the glass. I waved, but he scowled back and turned away. He definitely didn’t like us. I wondered what we’d done to upset him.
“Can I use The Wig and Pen’s Internet?” I asked Mum.
“Me too!” said Margot.
“All right,” replied Mum. “I need to go to the butcher’s first, so go straight inside and I’ll meet you in there.”
“I want to go to the butcher’s too!” said Fabien, who liked to picket their shops, shouting anti-lamb-eating slogans.
Margot and I waved goodbye to Mum, and opened the door to The Wig and Pen. I stood in the entrance and gawped. Every surface was covered with slices of Victoria sponge, Battenberg and chocolate eclairs. Half the village seemed to be there too, buried up to their necks in crumbs, and licking icing from their lips. It was like a natural disaster movie, but the tsunami was made of cake.
“Are you here for the Cakeathon?” asked Heidi, who was halfway through munching a slice of Swiss roll.
“What’s a Cakeathon?” I asked.
“We’re raising money for charity by eating cake,” she said. “Can I tempt you to a slice of lemon drizzle?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” I said.
I made a beeline for the computer, and was almost there when a lady sprang out at me from behind a pile of red-velvet cupcakes. “Daisy Gifford, editor-in-chief of the Wishnook Gazette,” she said, waving a hand at me.
“Um … hello,” I replied.
“Any quote for me?” she asked.
“Excuse me?” said Margot.
Heidi got up and steered the woman away from us. “Please excuse Daisy. News is a little slow around here, so your arrival is front-page material.”
“We don’t want to be in the paper,” I said.
“Nobody really does. That’s the problem,” replied Daisy.
I smiled at her awkwardly, and edged away to the computer. Maybe advertising for bands in the newspaper wasn’t such a good idea after all. Something told me Daisy Gifford wasn’t the type of person who could keep a secret.
The Wig and Pen’s computer groaned into life. I waited about ten years for it to start up, and then began to google photos of festivals. Margot made a note beside me of all the things we needed, from bunting to speakers. The list got longer and longer.
“It’s going to cost a fortune to even put on the festival,” said Margot.
“Not if we make everything ourselves,” I said.
“How are we going to make a stage?” asked Margot.
“There must be instructions somewhere,” I replied.
Sure enough, the first website I clicked on had a step-by-step guide to making a stage. It wasn’t a big one, but was just tall enough to raise a band above people’s heads. I printed it off and highlighted all the things we needed: a few pallets, a box of nails and a couple of screws. The whole thing looked pretty easy. A lick of black paint and I bet none of the visitors would know we hadn’t bought it.
“Now all we need to do is find some wood,” I said.
Heidi sashayed over to the bar, and glanced at the instructions in my hands. “Building something?”
“A bat house,” I lied, covering the diagrams.
“Oh, how sweet! Well, the McAndrews always have spare pallets,” she said, scraping a piece of chocolate cake on to a plate. “Tell you what, I’ll ask Kai to take you there when he delivers their newspaper tomorrow.”
I didn’t know whether to feel excited or sick. “Really? I don’t think Kai likes us very much.”
“Nonsense!” Heidi laughed. “Kai likes everyone.”
As if by magic, Kai appeared from behind the bar. I smiled at him, but he ducked behind a pile of banana bread to avoid my gaze. Heidi was wrong; Kai definitely didn’t like everyone, or at least not me.
Before I could say anything, the door tinkled open and Mum entered, followed by some kind of large, fluffy lump. It looked like a werewolf crossed with a rug. I narrowed my eyes in concentration, and tried to work out what it was. A pair of trainers stuck out of the bottom of the strange thing, and I recoiled in horror. The trainers belonged to my brother.
Margot glanced over, and her face went pink with embarrassment.
“I found a sheep costume in the charity shop!” Fabien announced, twirling around.
The costume was at least three sizes too big, and hung off his shoulders like a tent. It was made of real matted wool, which looked like it needed a good wash. There was a pair of pointy ears on Fabien’s head, and a button attached to his nose with elastic. It was like he’d rolled around in a bag of cotton balls.
“I’m going to fool the goats into thinking I’m one of them!” he said.
“Won’t they realise you’re a sheep?” I asked.
“Won’t they realise you’re a person?” muttered Margot.
“No, because I’m going to do my very best goat impression,” said Fabien.
He knelt down and bounded across the floor towards me. I screamed as he bumped into a table and an avalanche of fondant fancies fell on his head. He leapt up, startled, and collided with a fruit cake. It sailed through the air and landed on the end of a cake slice, which spun across the room, smashed into a chocolate cake and splattered icing all over Kai.
Daisy Gifford’s camera lit up the room with a series of excited flashes.
I groaned, and buried my head in my hands. If Kai hadn’t already hated us, then he definitely did now. Our trip tomorrow was going to be torture.
I met Kai outside The Wig and Pen the next morning, while Mum sat inside and tried to create a website for her yoga retreat. It was just me and him, because Margot had decided to stay on the island and work on her plane, while Fabien crafted a goat shelter from an old anorak. I hoped the trip wouldn’t take long.
Kai was leaning against two bicycles, one covered in mud, and the other in painted flowers. He waved a newspaper at me. My face was on its front page.
“You’re famous,” he muttered.
I took the paper from him and read the headline: New Family Move to Rook’s Island and Cause Havoc! It went on to explain how we’d won the island, and to describe how Fabien, dressed as a sheep, had destroyed the Cakeathon in a matter of thirty seconds. The word “bonkers” was used several times.
“That’s so unfair!” I exclaimed. “Can’t we sue her or something?”
“She’s not lying,” replied Kai.
I threw the newspaper back at him, and prayed Margot would never see it.
Kai climbed on to the muddy bike, and pointed me towards the flowery one. It was huge, and the frame was bent in the middle. I stared at it, and tried to remember the last time I’d ridden a bike.
It took me a few seconds to get the hang of balancing, and I had to lean on the wall to steady myself. Mum and Dad had never let us cycle in London. They’d made us walk everywhere, even though Margot had once argued that it was child abuse.
“Ready?” asked Kai, but he set off before I could answer.
I pressed my feet to the pedals, and zigzagged after him. The morning fish market was in full swing down at the harbour, and the village was busier than I’d seen it before. Tables of salmon and crab stretched across the shore, and the smell of them made my eyes water. People shouted prices and weights over the sound of jingling money belts. It was so different from the supermarket next to our old flat.
We reached the edge of the village, and the market petered out. The road snaked uphill, and I fumbled around with the gears. My legs felt like they were made of stone.
“Race you!” said Kai.
He tore up the hill, and left me in a swirl of dust. I gripped the handlebars, and pressed my toes hard against the pedals. The wheels went click, click, click beneath me. I gritted my teeth, determined to catch him. Kai was testing me to see if I could keep up. I’d show him.
My wheels drew level with Kai’s, and he eased up on the pedals. I slumped over my handlebars and tried to catch my breath. My heart drummed quickly and I wished I could hide how exhausted I was.
“Not bad for a city rat,” said Kai.
“It’s easy to keep up with a country slug,” I replied.
“Slugs have more teeth than sharks,” said Kai. “You shouldn’t annoy them.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, but didn’t want to ask.
Kai sped off again, and I pedalled after him. Soon the coast disappeared, and all I could see were green fields. They rolled into the distance for miles and miles. Every direction looked the same, and my stomach churned. If Kai left me now, I’d have no idea how to get back to the village. I’d be lost.
A farmhouse appeared in the distance. Kai swung his bike down a gravel road, and I hurried to keep up with him. Smoke mushroomed into the sky, and I caught a whiff of burnt wood. This must be it.
“I hope they’re not burning the pallets!” I said.
“What do you want them for anyway?” asked Kai.
“I’m building something,” I replied.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “What sort of something?”
“Why are you so interested?” I asked.
“Because you’re going to mess everything up!” he snapped.
“Mess what up?” I said, bewildered.
“The island. My dad used to take care of it for Mr Harding. He made sure the cliffs were clear of rubbish so the seals could breed there, and the bats had enough shelter, and the trees didn’t starve the other plants of light. He kept the house clean, and repaired the mooring, and stopped the pipes freezing in winter,” explained Kai.
“Well, he didn’t do a very good job, because the house is full of bats, and the stables are covered in vines and full of rubbish,” I said.
