by Charlotte Lo
The ice-cream van settled on the sand, and Doug sped back to the mainland. I hopped into the cab and looked around. There was a stick that worked the indicators, a dial to turn on the headlights, and a big, red unlabelled switch. I hovered my finger over it. The temptation to press it was irresistible.
A loud jingle boomed out of a speaker on the roof.
“Turn it off!” shouted Margot.
I pressed the switch again, and silence returned to the beach. Margot climbed in beside me and tutted. It was a good thing the ice-cream maker was off, because her glare would have melted everything.
“You’ve driven before, right?” I asked Margot, to distract her from wanting to kill me.
“Yes, although not a van exactly… It was more of a ride-on lawnmower, but it’s pretty much the same thing. I’ll do the pedals, but you can help steer if you want.”
“Don’t we need a driving licence?” asked Fabien.
“Not on our own island,” replied Margot. “Besides, there’s nothing for us to hit here, other than sand and grass.”
I turned the key and the ice-cream van vibrated into life. Margot scooched closer to me and pulled on the gearstick. The van made a horrible grinding sound. Margot thumped her foot on to one of the pedals, and I held my breath. The van jolted forwards, and I gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. The engine groaned, and we bumped across the beach at speed. A miniature sand dune loomed up in front of us.
“Left!” yelled Fabien.
I yanked the steering wheel left. The ice-cream van rocked and wobbled from side to side. Margot jammed her foot on the brake, and we drifted over the sand dune on two wheels. Steam poured from the engine, and the temperature gauge crept up towards the red zone. Margot shoved her foot back on the accelerator, and the van wobbled on to four wheels again.
The engine cut out. Silence filled the beach. We’d broken down.
Margot popped the bonnet, and steam whooshed up at us. We were only a few metres from the grassland now, but it felt like miles.
“What do we do?” I asked Margot.
“We wait for it to cool down,” she said.
I looked at my watch. It was breakfast time, which meant Mum would be getting up at any minute. We had to get the van off the beach, and fast.
“Let’s try pushing it,” I said.
“But it looks heavy,” worried Fabien.
Margot assessed the beach. “We might be able to nudge it down the slope, if I put it into neutral. Gravity should do most of the work.”
I wasn’t sure I understood what she meant, but I ran to the back anyway, and pushed against the bumper. A fly landed on the windscreen wiper mockingly. The van didn’t budge.
Margot and Fabien came over to help, and the van’s wheels started to turn. Its bald tyres slipped over the grains of sand. I held my breath and pushed harder. The van inched slowly across the beach, and then started to pick up speed. I leaned back a bit as the wheels turned faster and faster. Margot let go, and the van barrelled away from us. I ran along behind it and watched it rock.
The ice-cream van bumped on to the grass, and the jingle blasted out of its speakers again. I dived through the open door as the van started to slow, and fumbled around for the switch. The bumpy ground must have knocked it on again.
As the sound died, Margot clambered inside after me, ripped a plaster off her knee and stuck it over the switch to hold it in place.
“That’s gross!” said Fabien.
“That’s necessary, if we don’t want Mum and Dad to hear,” she said.
We waited a few minutes for the engine to cool down, and then I tried the keys again. The ice-cream van turned on with a groan. I peered at the temperature gauge, and saw it was already in the orange zone. Gently, Margot pressed her foot on the accelerator, and we crept up the grassy hill in front of us, inch by inch. A minute or so passed, and the van conked out again.
“Somebody should go back to the house and make sure Mum is still asleep,” I said.
“Good idea, but it’ll have to be you, Luna,” said Margot.
I turned to see what Fabien was doing, and found him sitting bolt upright, like a meerkat, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. I followed his gaze and saw a goat in front of us. Fabien tensed with excitement, and I sighed. There was no way he’d make it back to the house without getting distracted. Margot was right: I’d have to go myself.
“Meet you at the north beach,” I said to Margot.
I’d barely taken two steps before I saw a figure heading towards us, and my tummy tightened. Even from a distance I could tell it was Mum. I tore across the grass towards her, quicker than I’d ever run before. A big pair of sunglasses covered her eyes. I hoped she hadn’t spotted the van yet.
“Mum!” I yelled, colliding with her legs.
I spun her around, so she was facing the opposite direction, and hugged her waist. She smiled warily and patted my head. Behind her, Margot fanned the van’s engine frantically.
“What’s got into you? Where are Margot and Fabien?” asked Mum, taking off her sunglasses. Her proper glasses weren’t underneath, and I almost sighed with relief. She was pretty blind without them.
“They’re…” I began.
I glanced at the ice-cream van and saw Margot close the bonnet. A second later, one of Fabien’s goats scrambled on to it. Margot waved her arms in a shooing motion, and Fabien climbed on to the van after it. He bounced on the bonnet from foot to foot, and then another goat jumped up beside him, as if he was doing some sort of goat-summoning ritual.
The first goat pranced across the top of the van and headbutted the plastic ice-cream cone on the top. It flew through the air, bounced off the windscreen and clonked Margot on the head. Fabien tried to get the goats off the van, but they turned their bottoms to him, tore off one of the windscreen wipers and tried to eat it.
Mum looked over her shoulder to see what I was staring at, but I leapt up and down and tugged on her arm. “Can I go snorkelling?”
She turned back to me, just as I saw the goats trotting off with the windscreen wiper.
“Snorkelling?” she asked.
“Yes, or scuba diving?” I said.
Margot and Fabien hopped back into the van, and I heard the engine start up.
“What’s that noise?” asked Mum, trying to turn around again.
“It’s my stomach,” I said, pulling her back towards the house. “Can you make me some breakfast?”
“It’s a kind of buzzing…” she said, brushing me away.
“Maybe it’s a big bee,” I replied.
“No, it sounds mechanical. Like a car…” said Mum.
I laughed loudly to disguise the noise of the engine. “That’s silly. There aren’t any cars on the island.”
“But it definitely sounds like one,” she said, trying to turn around yet again.
I spotted a plane high above us and pointed. “Look! It must be that.”
The van disappeared down a hill, and the sound was muffled. Mum shook her head, and then started back towards the house to make breakfast. I waited until she was out of sight, and then sneaked off to find the van. The boiling heap had made it to the edge of the north beach, where it shot out steam like an overheated whale.
Fabien offered me an armful of seaweed, and we draped it over the van as camouflage. It sizzled on the bonnet, and filled the air with salt. I stepped back to look at the van. It stuck out like a sore thumb.
“We’ll have to think of something to keep the yoga guests away,” I said.
“And the goats,” muttered Margot.
“I really hope the windscreen wiper doesn’t give them tummy ache,” said Fabien.
I checked that the remaining one was still attached and, as I did, I noticed a scrap of paper pinned under it. The corner had been nibbled, but the rest was still OK. I read the message scrawled on the front. It was for me.
Luna, meet me tomorrow lunchtime at The Wig and Pen. Kai.
“Is Kai here?” I
asked Heidi the next day, as Mum settled down to check her emails.
“Yes, he’s out the back,” said Kai’s mum.
I walked around to the back of The Wig and Pen, and slipped through the gate into a little yard. There was no sign of Kai, so I went to find the seagull. It squawked at me and pecked the bars of the cage, as if asking for food. I noticed it was standing on both feet, and wasn’t a bit wobbly any more. It stretched out both its wings and flexed them.
A door opened, and I looked up as Kai stepped into the yard.
“He’s well enough to release now,” said Kai.
“Is that why you asked me here?” I replied.
Kai didn’t say anything. Instead, he drew back the bolts on the cage, and opened the door. I stepped back, as the gull perched on the edge of the bars and stretched its wings again. It looked unsure, like it didn’t know whether to leave or not.
“You’ll be OK,” I told him.
The seagull squawked and then took off into the sky. I watched it soar above the roof of The Wig and Pen, and disappear behind the chimney stack. Part of me wished we could have kept him as a pet, but I knew setting him free was the right thing to do.
“So, are you serious about opening a donkey sanctuary?” he asked me eventually.
I nodded. “Of course.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to get a dog?” he asked.
I took a deep breath, and explained to Kai how donkeys had been Granny’s favourite animal, and how they reminded me of her, and how I wanted to help donkeys just like they did at the sanctuary that I’d been to back in England. My eyes got all blurry as I thought about Granny, and how much I missed her. She’d have known how to make Dad feel better. Everything had been so much better when she’d been around.
“I know where you can get a stage,” said Kai.
“You do?” I replied, looking up at him.
Kai nodded, and walked over to the gate. “Follow me.”
“Do we need the bikes?” I asked.
“No, it’s not that far,” replied Kai.
I followed Kai out of the yard and on to the high street. We passed the butcher’s, the fishmonger’s and the charity shop, before we reached a large building with boarded-up windows, and a padlock on the door.
Kai took a key out of his pocket and turned it in the lock. I hung back as the door creaked open and dust swirled up at us. A sign above the entrance said Wishnook Community Theatre.
“My dad used to own this place,” explained Kai. “He ran an amateur dramatics club in the evening, and the village used to put on plays throughout the year. Nobody wanted to do it after he died. Mum can’t bring herself to sell it, so the place has been empty for the last three years.”
“That’s so sad,” I replied.
Kai nodded. “Sometimes I forget my dad’s voice, but then I come in here and I remember it again.”
For a moment I wasn’t sure what to say. Kai’s eyes glazed over, like he was lost in a memory. I wished I could make him feel better. He looked lonely all of a sudden.
Kai shook his memory away and turned to me. “What about your dad? Why does he never come to the mainland?”
“He’s been really sad since Granny died, so he doesn’t like talking any more. Sometimes it feels like he’s disappeared, even though I can see him. I’m worried that one day I might forget him too, or at least what he used to be like,” I said.
“Maybe the festival will help bring him back,” said Kai.
He stepped through the door and disappeared into darkness. I took a deep breath and followed. It was so dark that Kai was already halfway across the room by the time I could see properly again. I bumped into rows of dusty chairs as I crept down the aisle towards a curtain at the far end. It hung from the ceiling and rippled in the breeze from the door. Kai yanked on a cord and pulled the curtain open.
A small stage appeared in front of me. It had metal legs, and a black wooden top that came up to my knees. I bent down and touched it. The stage seemed to fit together like the pieces of a jigsaw. It even had little wheels on the bottom.
“It’s lightweight but strong, and easy to move,” said Kai. “I can get Doug to bring it to the island for you.”
I looked at him, mouth open. “You mean we can borrow it?”
“It’s just gathering dust here,” said Kai. “If you’re having a proper festival, then you need a proper stage. I don’t want to fall through anything when I’m singing.”
“Thank you,” I told him.
He nodded, and started to unclip the pieces from each other. I bent down and helped him. The legs folded up underneath the top of the stage, like a collapsible table. It was perfect for the festival.
“You can look in the prop room too, if you want,” said Kai.
The prop room was behind the stage, and was so full that I could barely open the door. There were rails of clothes, hats, masks, furniture and hand-painted scenery. A fake tree stood next to a real motorbike, which had a vase of plastic flowers on top. Behind them all was a Ferris wheel. It was the same size as me, and made of little Lego bricks. There was a switch on the side, which seemed to have rusted into the “off” position. I wiggled it about until it clunked on.
A motor whizzed and the Ferris wheel started to turn. I stood back and looked at it. The little carriages that swung back and forth were perfectly to scale. There was a teddy bear in one, and a handful of chocolates in another.
Kai poked his head inside the room, and smiled when he saw the wheel. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“Did your dad make it?” I asked.
“Yeah, it was for a play he directed,” explained Kai. “He always wanted to make a life-size one, but never had the time.”
“It’s lovely,” I said. I remembered how Dad used to take us to see the Lego sculptures in Hamleys. We hardly ever had enough money to buy new toys, but we didn’t care. We just loved seeing them all with Dad. I bet he’d have found the Ferris wheel really interesting, if only he’d come to the mainland one day.
“We could put it on the stage for the festival,” said Kai.
“Do you think it would survive a boat ride?” I asked.
“Should do, if we move it on a calm day. I’ll just take the carriages off,” said Kai.
I jumped up and down. Now we had a stage and a Ferris wheel. Dad was going to be so happy!
We locked up the theatre, and made our way back to The Wig and Pen. Standing outside it was a group of confused-looking people. Seven cases were balanced at their feet.
“I don’t suppose you know a Julie Butterworth, do you?” asked one of the ladies.
“Yes, that’s my mum,” I replied.
“Ah, wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Our booking email says to meet her at the harbour, but we couldn’t find her.”
I froze. The yoga guests were here, and they were early.
I set a tray down on our living-room coffee table, and the yoga guests swarmed to it like moths around a light bulb. There were seven of them, all dressed in colourful, overly stretchy lycra. The oldest looked like Granny, only she had purple hair and a unicorn tattoo on her foot.
The unicorn lady sniffed the tea I’d made. “Is it camomile?”
“Camel-what?” I asked.
“I can’t drink normal tea,” she replied. “Messes with my energy.”
Mum fiddled with her hands nervously. “Luna, please make Beatrix a cup of camomile tea.”
I had no idea what camel-whatsit tea was, but Margot found a packet of it in Mum’s handbag, and helped me make a fresh pot on the camping stove. It smelled of stale perfume and was the colour of cat wee. Unicorn Lady gulped it down happily.
After finishing the vile concoction, the yoga guests headed down to the main beach with Mum, while Margot, Fabien and I hid behind a tree to watch. We needed to make sure they stayed away from the north beach, so they wouldn’t find the ice-cream van and ask questions. Maybe we could train Fabien’s goats to herd them.
“They look sill
y,” whispered Fabien.
I watched Mum sit down on a mat, and wrap her legs around her head. She reminded me of a pretzel. The seven guests sat down and tried to copy her, and a bald man wobbled into the lady next to him. She fell into a pile of seaweed, and flung it off, but it landed on the man’s head. He screamed and shook his head wildly. The green wig slid down his face and flopped into his lap.
Mum untangled herself quickly, and lay down on the sand.
“Let’s try meditating instead,” she shrilled.
The guests copied her again, their shoulders tense.
“Imagine you’re on a cloud, floating above the world,” said Mum.
A woman with a seashell necklace sat up. “Clouds don’t float above the world.”
“OK. Imagine you’re a seed, floating on the breeze,” said Mum.
“What sort of seed? Are we talking small, like a poppy seed, or big, like a coconut?” said the woman.
“Are coconuts seeds?” asked one of the other guests.
“It doesn’t matter! Just imagine you’re any type of small seed,” snapped Mum through gritted teeth. She took a deep breath and continued. “You are weightless. You are free. Everything is still and quiet.”
A crab scuttled over Seashell Lady’s hand and she screamed.
The next afternoon, Mum took the yoga guests for a dip in the sea. I waited as they waded out till the water was up to their knees, spluttering at the cold, and then sneaked off to the ice-cream van. Margot and Fabien were already there, with a big vat of custard between them. I dipped my finger into it and took a lick. It tasted of sugary vanilla.
“I hope this works,” I said, as Margot poured the custard into the ice-cream maker and pressed the “on” switch.
The first batch came out lumpy, with big ice crystals dotted through it. Margot added more cream to the mixture, but this second batch was thin and sloppy. We poured more of the custard into the machine and tried again. The third lot looked nice, so I dipped my finger in it, but then choked. It tasted of mouldy cheese.
“This is harder than it looks,” said Margot, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead.
The fourth batch churned away, and I gave the ice-cream maker a sniff. So far this one didn’t smell too poisonous.
