The Lion of Sole Bay (Strong Winds)

by Julia Jones

  “I’ll share it with Liam then?”

  “No engine,” Bill mouthed.

  Luke grinned. His younger brother was obsessed with engines. He and their dad seemed to get on so easily like that. Liam was always looking at the instruments and opening the engine room doors and asking what things did.

  “Now I know why Lottie booked me on that course. I thought she was just trying to keep me outer your way when you were working. Didn’t know it was a plot!”

  He’d been really hacked off at his step-mother for signing him up for a beginner kayak course at the swimming pool, an hour every morning Monday to Friday, right through the week. And making him bring that buoyancy aid and waterproofs. So maybe she and his dad did talk to each other sometimes.

  “Thanks Dad! And I’ll text Lottie thanks as well.”

  A kayak! He could come in and out Fynn Creek whatever the tide was doing. He could maybe pull the kayak over the flood wall and go right into them reed beds. He could go up the main river, past all the boats and the yards and under that bridge where boats with masts had to stop. Or he could go down the river towards the sea. He could explore!

  “Not on yer own.” His dad was panting for breath. “Not without I’m there. Or someone to keep an eye.”

  Miss Grace was staying quiet but Luke could see she was agreeing.

  “Trust me, Dad. You don’t have to worry.”

  By the time his dad was well again Luke would have done the course. He was really looking forward to it now.

  “So, did you ask your father?”

  She caught him near the shower block as if she’d been lying in wait.

  “Eh?”

  “At what time exactly the boat fell down on him.”

  Her pony-tail swung impatiently; her voice was urgent. He didn’t get why she was bothered. He wanted to ask why her mother was so angry but he couldn’t find the words.

  “No. I didn’t. I forgot. And my dad’s not well. He probably wasn’t exactly looking at his watch.”

  One of the doctors had come into his dad’s room when he and Miss Grace were still at the hospital. He looked important and there were three or four other people following him. They had stethoscopes and scannable name badges and a couple of them carried clipboards to write down everything the main man said.

  Luke thought they’d have to leave the room but Miss Grace merged into the background. Maybe she’d learned that skill from her leprechaun mother. Luke merged too.

  The doctor kept asking Bill if the feeling had come back into his legs yet. He was asking questions about bladders and bowels, which Luke wished he wasn’t hearing and Bill didn’t answer. One of the nurses looked at the notes and answered for him.

  The doctor didn’t let on whether the answers were right or wrong. Both Bill’s legs were in plaster so what was he meant to be feeling? The bit that looked bad to Luke was when the doctor stood at the end of his dad’s bed and asked him if he could wriggle his toes.

  Bill couldn’t. Even though you could see he was trying really hard.

  “Early days,” said the doctor. “Your body’s still in shock. There was no obvious indication of spinal damage. It’s just something we’re keeping an eye on. If there’s no change over the next forty-eight hours I’ll ask a neurologist to take a look. For now you’re best left as you are. Get all the sleep you can. Those ribs must hurt. Pain relief? Diamorphine?”

  He was asking the nurse.

  She checked Bill’s notes again.

  “Not today. The patient refused medication as he needed to stay awake for his visitors.”

  “Look here,” said the doctor to Bill. “You’ve had a serious accident. You could have died under that boat from the shock alone. I’ll go so far as to say that you were incredibly lucky that you hung on alive until the paramedics reached you. You must give your body its best chance to stabilise. And that means sleep. You can’t sleep if you’re in pain so that’s why I’m prescribing routine doses of morphine. You’re not going to become an addict. You’re simply going to sleep better and longer. I’m sure your family will understand how much it matters.”

  So the doctor had noticed they hadn’t left. He was saying this for them to listen.

  “Can I still visit?” Luke asked. “There’s only me and I won’t mind if he’s asleep.”

  The doctor looked at Miss Grace.

  “The rest of Mr Whiting’s family are away,” she said. “I’m a friend. He doesn’t want them called back unless it’s an emergency. Is it an emergency?”

  “No. If the movement’s not back in the next two days I’ll be asking for some further tests. That’s all. And you can come,” he was talking to Luke, “During visiting hours, if your dad promises not to wake up. And if you promise that you won’t wake him. Bring a book or a game to keep yourself quiet. Got one of those electronic things? Bring that!”

  “My dad could have died,” Luke told the girl.

  She went white again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Please. Discover for me the time and I will explain.”

  If her mother was truly dangerous she’d have to turn her in. Especially now this boy was here. Hendrike didn’t like him. What if she made a poppet of him and began another harming spell? Worked herself up communing with the dead and smashed his effigy with her runestone?

  She shouldn’t allow herself to think like this. Magic didn’t exist. Not in the seventeenth century and not now either. Hendrike hadn’t gone anywhere near the man on Friday night. Or the boatyard. She’d been acting up in the cabin and then they’d crossed the reed beds to continue filing away the fastenings on the trophy. Helen had been with her all the time.

  “I’m not allowed to talk to you,” she told Luke. “It’s best you don’t see my mother too much either.”

  “Because I’m a boy?”

  “Maybe. We are secret people. But please believe I do not wish harm to anyone. All I want is to finish our task and go home. I am not truly living here.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Red Lion

  Monday 3 November, third of the waning moon

  Luke, Angel

  Ants Vandervelde was on the kayaking course. He didn’t recognise her straight away because he wasn’t expecting to see her and also she had a swimming hat over that crazy mane of hair.

  The first thing they had to do when they got to the pool was jump in and prove that they could swim fifty metres with clothes on. Anyone who couldn’t would have been chucked off the course. But everybody could so they were told to get changed into their swimming things and come and sit on their towels while the instructor introduced some basic concepts.

  Luke noticed her then because she couldn’t keep still. She was standing up at random moments and twitching her body and looking round in all the wrong directions. Just as she did at school.

  Then everyone had to say their name and their motivation for coming on the course. She had to be asked twice because, as usual, she hadn’t been paying attention.

  “I’m Angela Vandervelde and I’m here because my mum always signs me up for something when it’s holidays because I annoy her in the house and she keeps hoping I’ll find something I like and make friends. I never do though.”

  The instructor said something about kayaking being a team sport for individuals and a big part of the course would be learning how to assist each other in situations like a capsize or if a paddler became over-tired.

  “If conditions are suitable we may get you all out on the river by the end of the week and then you’ll see how important it is to use supportive techniques such as rafting and rescue.”

  “I ain’t going near that river.”

  “No-one’s going to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with. Next please.”

  “I’m Luke Whiting and my dad’s bought me a kayak and I’m here because I want to
learn to use it properly.”

  There was a lot more he could have said – along the lines of his dad not being able to help him with his kayak because a boat had fallen on him and he’d nearly died and no-one had been able to explain what had happened but that SOMEONE had left her NAMED school blazer behind and the police were going to be asking her questions and it wasn’t surprising that that person didn’t have any friends because she always caused trouble wherever she went.

  But Luke had learned early at primary school never to say anything more than he had to. Not in public.

  He planned to stalk Ants and catch her when she was on her own. Then he’d ask her about the blazer and how it had got to be underneath his dad when there was a boat on top of him and no-one around to see he was okay. And how come that someone had made a call but that no-one had waited to tell the paramedics what had happened? Or get in touch with the owner of the boat or the other people at the yard? He was going ask her how she was going to feel if his dad couldn’t ever walk again.

  And then he was probably going to tell her how he felt about it. And how Liam was going to feel about it. And Vicky and Anna. And even Lottie. He was going to make her sorry. Sorry for everything.

  He smiled back politely when the instructor smiled at him and hoped, privately, that there wouldn’t be too much more talking before they were allowed to get the kayaks out.

  Ants couldn’t wait that long. She got up while the instructor was still talking and went across to the row of kayaks that had been put out ready and started messing about with the sets of paddles. The instructor asked her to come back and sit down but she didn’t, so he got the whole group to start choosing paddles while he tried to regain Ants’s attention by using her as his model to show everyone else how long the paddles should be and the difference between right- and left-handed pairs.

  She started waving to people and jiggling up and down. Hawkins the canary could have shown more self-control Luke thought, disgustedly.

  The instructor ignored her while he explained to everyone about getting into their kayaks on land to check that the seats and footrests were positioned correctly. Then he got his revenge by telling Ants she could be the first to get in when the kayaks were lifted into the water. He didn’t tell her how she should do this. He must have guessed she’d be too quick.

  As soon as she began scrambling in, excited and careless, the boat shot away from under her, tipping her headfirst into the pool.

  Everyone laughed.

  The kayak had filled with water but the instructor didn’t say anything about emptying it out. So when Ants tried getting in again, it sank completely and everyone laughed some more.

  “Who wants to learn how to get in their kayak properly?” asked the instructor, smiling at Luke.

  It was tricky, even when you were used to dinghies. All the same every member of the group (except Ants) managed it first time with the instructor kneeling beside them, explaining step by step and helping them keep the kayaks steady. Then he talked them through the correct procedure for getting out again.

  Ants had pulled her waterlogged kayak away from the rest of the class and was struggling to get it up onto the side of the pool so she could empty it. She wasn’t having much success.

  “Heavy?” asked the instructor, once he’d got the rest of the group sitting safely on the edge holding their kayaks and watching.

  Ants nodded without answering. She was a small girl for her age and looked smaller in her pink swimming cap and plain black primary school costume.

  The kayak was as stubborn and as slippery as a dead seal. She had hold of the bow end with both hands and was staggering around as she tried to drag it out. She gave an extra heave when she realised everyone was staring. The kayak rose a few inches then lurched round and sank again, almost pulling her in with it.

  “Anyone want to show her?”

  Nobody did. They knew they didn’t know how because they hadn’t been taught. They weren’t going to make fools of themselves trying.

  “Anyone want to try and help her?”

  Nobody moved.

  Luke felt bad for a moment. Then he remembered that she’d probably left his dad lying injured and alone in the dark.

  “You can hurt yourself lifting a waterlogged kayak without help,” the instructor told Ants, as if that wasn’t obvious. She’d got hold of the cockpit rim and was struggling to tip instead of pull. “But, like most things, there’s a knack to it.” He manoeuvred her out of the way and made the emptying look easy, though he still didn’t explain how she should do it. “Let’s try again and see who can remember the technique of getting into the boat and not into the water. Then we’ll learn some basic strokes.”

  This time Ants folded herself quickly and neatly into her damp kayak and waited for at least a minute before she started fidgeting.

  The instructor was in his own kayak and was facing the class, explaining optimum grip positions and correct posture while Ants had one paddle blade down in the water stroking gently to and fro, experimenting.

  Her boat started to slip sideways towards the sculling draw. She slid the paddle further forward still rotating it rhythmically in a sort of arc. The kayak began turning in response. She reversed the blade: the kayak changed direction.

  She was in her own space at the far side of the class, completely absorbed and concentrating, her body weight shifting with the different angles and her kayak answering every request. Her confidence increased: her sculling grew more dynamic, the water churned, a wave splashed against the side of the gyrating boat.

  It was like one of those whirling Russian dances, Luke thought, where the music gets faster and faster and you hold your breath for the dancer as their legs begin to blur and their centre of gravity sinks down until you know that one false move must cause disaster. He watched her, mesmerised.

  The instructor blew his whistle, piercingly. You could see Ants jolt with shock. She dug her paddle far too deep and plunged face forward into the pool with her kayak flipping on top of her.

  “Cue for another rescue demonstration,” quipped the instructor and most people tittered.

  He surged forward as Ants broke surface. He dragged her kayak across the front of his and rocked it to and fro to empty it of water. He didn’t say anything until he’d finished and her boat was floating alongside his own. Then he put the paddles across both decks and told her to hook her legs over them keeping an equal amount of weight on each boat.

  “I’m not as keen as you are on unscheduled dips.”

  He held the kayaks together as she wriggled up onto the front deck and then back into her own boat.

  “Can you understand now why we work as a team in this sport?” he said, smirking.

  She didn’t answer and she didn’t seem to want to try any more. She didn’t bother to take her paddle when he held it out. Simply let her kayak drift back towards the side of the pool then used one hand and her weight to guide it the last few feet to the edge. She leaned her arm onto the concrete and hid her face on the crook of her elbow. She’d lost her cap and the back of her head looked small and unfamiliar with her ginger mane soaked through. Her skinny shoulders stuck out like dislocated chicken wings.

  When Luke glanced over a while later she’d pulled her kayak out of the water and left.

  He’d told Miss Grace that he’d take himself to the hospital. She’d agreed without comment and asked if he had any money and if he knew the bus times from opposite the Red Lion pub. She also invited him to tea.

  “It’s one of the days I feed Peter so I make a proper meal. It won’t be any trouble to cook an extra helping. You can take the dog back afterwards.”

  He walked the long way using the road. There must be a path along the edge of the wood or through the reed beds and across the field but he wasn’t sure and he couldn’t afford to miss the bus if he wanted to arrive at the beginning of visiting
time.

  Even the long way made him early. Luke stopped at the main road junction and looked across at the pub sign. It was a sort of emblem bolted onto the wall, underneath an overhanging gable and next to a peculiar old window. He crossed the road and got as close underneath as he could.

  It was red all right, crimson as spilled blood. It looked more like a Chinese dragon that a lion. Its mane was painted purple, so deep you’d think it was black. Wasn’t like any lion’s mane that Luke had ever seen. It was more like a king’s wig, the sort they wore in history.

  Thick dark curls clustered round the lion’s eyes. Though you couldn’t hardly see its eyes from on the ground. You saw flaring nostrils and a gaping mouth; a pointed tongue and sharp incisor teeth. Then you noticed claws clutching at a purple shield and more waves of wooden hair that looked as if they’d been arranged by some top celebrity stylist.

  The lion’s heavy torso bulged from the pub wall. It was like it was coming for him. Wanted to attack him, ride him down. It would have pulled the whole pub with it, if it could.

  Luke saw it was a war sprite. He hoped the fastenings were firm.

  Below the jaws and chest it sort of tapered, like the top half of a seahorse. There was something missing from this monster. It was like a captive genie struggling to escape.

  The more Luke stared, the more he felt the carving’s hidden power. He could have battled it on his Nintendo and that would have been well exciting but standing on the pavement on his own, he felt unsettled and defenceless. There were heavy guns in the smoke behind the lion, a flash of steel and a crack of flame. People screamed and died. It would crush him if he didn’t get away.

  Luke held his breath as he stepped sideways out of the path of the monster. Then, as soon as he could, he turned back across the road and hid in the brick bus shelter beside the flat stone bridge.

  If Liam had been here they’d have dared each other to scramble up onto those solid parapets. Run across and drop a twig or a stone into the hurrying stream. Luke sat still and waited for the bus. He felt sick. It was like he’d had some sort of vision and he’d got to clear it right away before he saw his dad.