The Girl Who Dreamt of Dolphins

by James Carmody

  ‘Goodbye Lucy!’ he said. And then she was gone.

  Spirit rested awhile and watched as the lifeboat approached and quickly pulled the man to safety and up onboard, before moving off, towing the Jet Ski on its side behind it. The lifeboat made noise as well, but the sound wasn’t as bad and Spirit quickly felt the great pain in his head lifting. He felt his mind grow clear and with it the energy came flooding back into his body. They’d done it! Between him and Lucy, they could achieve anything!

  Spirit felt the urge to swim, so great was his relief and exhilaration and he darted off through the water, leaping and turning this way and that. He dived and turned effortlessly now through a chicane of rocks at the base of the cliff. It felt so good again to be a dolphin exploring the world around him. The rocks seemed to curve around to his left and Spirit plunged into a forest of kelp, hanging suspended in the water, undulating gently in the waves.

  Suddenly, he felt a searing pain over his back and on his underside too. He thrashed instinctively to escape it, but that only made the pain worse. He had swum into a great tangle of thick steel wire that hung suspended from a discarded buoy, that was in turn lodged in the rocks at the base of the cliff. The steel cord had been completely hidden by the curtains of kelp, but now Spirit was ensnared in its coils. He struggled again, certain that one last thrash of his tail would set him free, but instead the steel noose tightened around him, cutting into his skin just above his tail. He was trapped!

  Chapter Fourteen:

  Lucy and the lady stood on the platform at Truro station, Lucy with her back pack slung up onto her shoulders and the lady with a small suitcase on wheels parked next to her. A voice echoed over their heads with some announcement or other and people walked along the platform towards the exit.

  ‘Can you see you aunt from here?’ asked the lady brightly, ‘or shall we walk up the platform to the exit?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure really’ said Lucy uncertainly. They advanced slowly up the platform and went through the ticket barrier.

  ‘Can you see her now?’ the lady asked again.

  ‘No, I’d better just go to the bus station and get a bus’ replied Lucy, hoping the lady would let her go.

  ‘But I thought that you said your aunt would be meeting you here at the train station?’

  ‘Or that I’d get the bus’ added Lucy defensively.

  ‘But what if your aunt gets here just after you’ve left?’

  ‘Oh she won’t mind’ said Lucy. This lady just asked too many questions and was catching her out. What was she going to do?

  ‘Maybe we should just wait here together until your Aunt arrives’ pondered the lady speculatively.

  ‘Oh I can just wait here alone.’ Lucy hoped that this might be her chance to escape the lady at last.

  ‘Stations are not safe places dear’ replied the lady firmly. I think I should just wait here with you, just to make sure. Lucy looked around. It was still only early afternoon and it looked perfectly safe to her. Everyone had left the train now and if anything it looked a little quiet to her. The lady seemed to read her mind.

  ‘You get odd types hanging around stations sometimes when it’s quiet.’ The lady cast her a quizzical glance. ‘Are you sure your Aunt was going to meet you here?’

  ‘No, I think actually she said I should get the bus.’ Lucy’s fibs were taking her around in circles.

  ‘Do you know where the bus station is?’ The lady was obviously getting increasingly sceptical about her story. Lucy desperately guessed which way she should go.

  ‘Err, it’s that way’ she said, gesturing down the street to the left.

  ‘And then where?’ asked the lady.

  ‘Just, err, down there, and, err, turn left’ mumbled Lucy. She looked up at the lady. She could tell she’d got the direction of the bus station completely wrong. ‘I can always ask anyway’ she added hopefully.

  ‘Listen dear’ said the lady with a concerned look on her face. ‘You do really have an Aunt do you?

  ‘Oh yes’ answered Lucy emphatically.

  ‘And you’re really on your way to Merwater to visit her?’ the lady added.

  ‘Yes of course.’ Lucy smiled. Telling the truth was much easier.

  ‘And she knows that you’re coming does she?’ the lady continued.

  ‘Err, well, no, not exactly.’ The lady pulled a face as if to say she thought as much.

  ‘Maybe we should call your Aunt to tell her you’re on your way’ the lady suggested, her face concerned. Normally Lucy would have been glad to oblige, but she’d lost Bethany’s address and telephone number on the train. She couldn’t agree even if she wanted to. She considered her options. Honesty was probably the best policy if she wanted to avoid getting into anymore trouble.

  ‘I’ve lost my piece of paper with the phone number on’ she admitted. ‘It must have fallen out when I pulled my money out to buy the ticket’ she added. ‘I’d call her if I could. Really I would.’

  ‘What’s her address then?’

  ‘Err, that was on the same piece of paper’ answered Lucy, a worried look upon her face.

  ‘Then how will you find her house?’

  ‘Oh err, you know, I’ll know once I get there.’ The lady looked disapproving.

  ‘Maybe I should just drive you there.’

  ‘Oh no, Dad told me never to take lifts from strangers!’ replied Lucy. The lady paused and smiled. It was obvious that Lucy was a sensible girl and although she hadn’t exactly been truthful with her, she seemed to have common sense, the lady thought. The girl was smartly dressed and who ever heard of anyone running away to Merwater. She decided to give Lucy the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘I tell you what we’re going to do’ she said firmly. You and I are going to walk to the bus depot. I’m going to put you on the bus to Merwater. You’re going to call me when you get there. If I don’t get a call from you and your Aunt within an hour of your getting there, I shall be calling the police. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes’ said Lucy simply. She had no idea really where the bus station was and it was a relief to have someone to help her. The lady seemed nice enough really, but Dad had always drummed into her that she should never take lifts from strangers, no matter how friendly they looked and it was much better for her to take the bus really. She’d figure out how to find Bethany once she got there. She knew that Merwater was a small place. Someone must know Bethany she reckoned.

  She and the lady turned right up Station Road and then Richmond Hill. It got confusing then, but after a while she noticed they were on Kenwyn Street and kept an eye on the way they were going in case she needed to retrace her steps later. The lady quizzed her as they walked companionably along, checking her Dad’s name and town, the name of Lucy’s school and finding out all about Bethany, her art and how long she’d lived there. Lucy had given up all attempts at lying by this time and answered the lady’s questions as truthfully as she could.

  They found the right bus stand for Merwater and checked the bus times. The bus didn’t arrive for another forty five minutes and so the lady insisted that Lucy join her in a nearby café for a soft drink and a sandwich. Lucy was feeling hungry by that point and gladly wolfed down the sandwich and drink. Lucy carefully wrote down the lady’s name and phone number; Agnes Trescothick. She saw Lucy onto the bus.

  ‘Thank you for helping me Mrs Trescothick’ said Lucy, turning to look back at the kindly lady, from the step of the bus.

  ‘You remember what I said’ replied Mrs Trescothick firmly. ‘If I don’t receive your call within an hour of arriving, you know who I shall call?’

  ‘Yes Mrs Trescothick’ replied Lucy obediently. She felt awkward enough already. She certainly didn’t want the police appearing from nowhere. Mrs Trescothick waited while she bought a ticket and sat down.

  ‘Bye!’ she called through the window.

  ‘Bye now dear’ called Mrs Trescothick. She watched as the bus pulled away and turned the corner. Then she looked in her handb
ag and fished out her mobile phone. She spent several minutes talking on the phone with an intent look on her face, before dropping her phone back into her bag and turning to walk back up the road, pulling her little suitcase on wheels behind.

  Lucy settled back into the seat on the bus. It wasn’t very comfortable, but she was glad to feel that she was drawing closer to her destination. She was still worried about finding Bethany once she got there, but there must be someone she could ask, she thought. It didn’t stop her feeling anxious though. She still wasn’t sure what Bethany might say when she arrived and she knew that Dad would absolutely hit the roof when he found out. He might just turn up and drag her back home that night. The bus bumped along the road. She saw Merwater on the road signs, as the bus slowed and turned right into a smaller road.

  When Lucy was younger and they drove to the seaside, she would expect to see the sea sparkling on the other side of every hill they went over and she would imagine the smell of salt spray in her nostrils tens of miles before they got there. She imagined that now as she sat on the bus. As the bus turned, her sense of expectation heightened and she craned her neck to see over the hedgerow in the hope of seeing the sea. She could just about make something out through the thicket of green and then the hedge dipped and yes, oh yes, there was the sea, glittering below them. A moment later she had lost sight of it again, but it filled her heart with excitement to glimpse the sea down there, full of promise. She felt as though somehow she were coming home.

  The bus began to make its slow descent down towards Merwater. Fields gave way to houses and then the bus turned down the steep road into the centre of the small town, past the terraced cottages, fashionable cafes and tourist shops. The bus pulled up, its brakes squealing and Lucy stood up, stiff from sitting and joined the five or so other people disembarking from the bus. She stood by the bus stop, looking around, trying to acclimatise herself and to get her bearings. There was the harbour in front of her, the fishing boats and pleasure boats vying for position and beyond it, the sea! The sun had just come out and Lucy wished she could run and dive into the salty waters there and then, although it was still too early in the year to be warm enough to do so. A gull sat on a bollard and regarded her disdainfully. Lucy glanced behind her. There was a small car park and she saw a sign for a tourist information office. The other people on the bus walked off into the town and she wondered whether she should follow them. She glanced at her watch. It was ten past two. She had made good time. She looked around her again, half expecting Bethany to appear out of nowhere in front of her.

  As Lucy watched, she spotted the figure of a middle aged, comfortably built lady who appeared to be coming towards her. The lady took quick steps, as though she were late for something and clasped her cardigan around her in an effort to keep out the breeze from the sea. The woman got closer.

  ‘Is your name Lucy?’ she called. Lucy was amazed.

  ‘Err, yes it is. Who are you?’ she replied cautiously.

  ‘My name’s Thelma Merryweather dear’ replied the lady, evidently out of breath. ‘A friend of yours asked me to come and meet you, but I got stuck on the phone and was worried you’d be gone by the time I got here.’

  ‘What, who?’ was all Lucy could say, still confused.

  ‘Agnes Trescothick dear.’ Thelma looked at the young girl in her smart school uniform, rucksack on her back. She hadn’t been hard to spot. None of the local schools had that kind of uniform. ‘Agnes gave me a call after she put you on the bus. Don’t look so surprised, everyone knows everyone else round here!’ She smiled at the young girl reassuringly. ‘She wasn’t just going to let you gallivant off all on your own now was she? It was either call me or call the police you know.’ Lucy opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. She thought for a moment.

  ‘Do you know my Aunt, Bethany Ames?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Oh goodness me yes, I know Bethany!’ replied Thelma. ‘Why she was in my kitchen just the other day.’

  ‘Do you know where she lives then’ asked Lucy excitedly.

  ‘Well, sort of, but not exactly’ replied Thelma. ‘But we can find out easily enough though’ she added. Thelma turned and pointed to a shop-front a hundred or so metres away. ‘You see that shop window over there? That’s one of them fancy galleries run by some man down from London. They’ve got a couple of your Aunt’s pictures in the window. They’ll know your Aunt Bethany’s address, I’m sure of it.’

  They walked across to the small gallery.

  ‘Just you wait here a minute’ said Thelma, ‘I’ll be back in a jiffy!’ She disappeared into the shop, the bell on the door tinging as she went in. Lucy was glad really. She wanted to stay outside, after having been sat in a stuffy train and then a bus all day and she lingered by the window, looking at the pictures on display. Although she knew that Bethany was an artist, she had never actually seen any of Bethany’s work. Now, staring at the pictures in the window, she realised that two of them were on prominent display. A small sign was next to each of them, ‘Bethany Ames. Award winning local artist.’ She looked with a mixture of pride and curiosity at the two pictures.

  The first was a picture of a storm at sea. There was a great swirl of blue, black, grey and green, all in different hues. The wind picked up the sea and had thrown angry waves this way and that. The clouds were low and the way Bethany had painted the picture, it was hard to tell where the sea ended and the waves began. The waves and clouds all seemed to swirl around in the middle and there was a distant glimmer of light which seemed to illuminate the windswept scene below. As Lucy looked, she suddenly realised that there was a tiny figure in the water, almost lost amidst the drama of the scene; a small figure of a child, clinging to drift wood, slung this way and that by the violence of the storm. Lucy peered at the figure and realised that it was a young girl, of a similar age to herself. The thought gave her a shiver down her spine. She imagined herself in the eye of the storm and wondered how she would feel. Would she be scared for her life, or would her friend Spirit come and save her? She searched intently for the outline of a dolphin approaching the girl, battling through the waves to get to her. She half thought that she could see one, but was not quite sure. Maybe her eyes were deceiving her.

  Then she looked at the other picture by Bethany in the window. It was much smaller than the first. This too was of a girl, looking solemnly out of the picture into the distance, as though the girl were looking far, far away. For a moment Lucy thought that it was a picture of her, then with a shock she realised it was a painting of her mother Megan, Bethany’s sister. Lucy felt weak and slumped against the window of the shop to support herself, she thought she would faint. The girl, her mother, looked pale, almost like a ghost. Tears pricked in Lucy’s eyes and a lump caught painfully in her throat.

  Just then Thelma bustled out of the door of the gallery again, the bell of the door clanging behind her. Lucy stood up again and quickly wiped the corner of each eye.

  ‘Well I’ve got it’ she announced, holding a piece of paper in her hand. Do you want to give your Bethany a call?’ Thelma produced an elderly looking mobile phone from her pocket and tapped in the number before handing it to Lucy. Lucy held it to her ear but all she heard was a flat tone. She pulled a face.

  ‘There’s terrible reception up there behind the town’ she said, ‘and I don’t think Bethany has a landline. It’s the luck of the draw whether you get through at all sometimes’ she continued. ‘There’s only one thing for it, we’d better take a drive up there and see if she’s in.’

  ‘I’m not supposed to get in cars with strangers’ said Lucy uncertainly.

  ‘Well I can’t very well post you there can I and we’ve got to do something with you haven’t we?’ replied Thelma with an understanding smile.

  ‘I suppose I could leave a message in the gallery.’ Dad always told her she should make sure at least someone knew where she was. She couldn’t imagine someone like Thelma doing anything strange and she had to get to Bethany’s somehow.
She knew her aunt lived out of town and she didn’t have enough money left to get a taxi. Lucy went into the gallery and left a message. The gallery owner was very understanding and Lucy quickly scribbled a note, just in case. She soon emerged, feeling happier. They walked back over the road to the small car park by the harbour.

  ‘I’ve got my Nate’s old pick-up today’ said Thelma conversationally, as they crossed the road. ‘He’s a fisherman you know and the bloomin’ thing stinks of fish!’ She unlocked the battered car and Thelma cleared papers off the passenger seat so that Lucy could sit down. Thelma was right; it certainly did smell of fish. Lucy wrinkled her nose in distaste, but fortunately Thelma wound down the window and the breeze blew away the worst of the smell. ‘Right, let’s get going then.’

  The car engine growled into life and they set off back up the hill Lucy had come down forty minutes before on the bus. Before she knew it, they were in the countryside again, but this time on a narrow country lane, with banks steeped up on either side of them. Eventually they turned through a farm gate and into an open farm yard.

  ‘There it is’ said Thelma nodding her head towards an old farm building tucked away in the corner. ‘That’s where your Bethany lives.’ They got out of the car. Lucy felt a mixture of anxiety and anticipation as she stepped out onto the mud of the farm yard, slinging her bag up on her back. A cow mooed from a corrugated shed on one side of the yard and the rich smell of well-rotted manure wafted over in the breeze from the fields down the hill.

  ‘Go on then’ said Thelma smiling. ‘Go and knock on the door.’ The weather-worn door was not on the latch and so when Lucy knocked it, it swung back. She pushed it open and looked inside.

  ‘Bethany?’ she called. Lucy heard a noise from the interior and then Bethany appeared, paintbrush in hand, wearing old torn jeans and a sweater with splodges of paint on it.