They were safe, for the moment.
The ship with no name had vanished. The swell was calming, the squall that had driven that lame old brute to her doom was over. Rain hissed, but the breeze was lighter: stars glinted through breaks in the cloud. To their left, silhouetted against the platform’s warning lights, Heidi and Challon could see and hear a small crowd, shouting and crying. There was nobody closer to them. No sign of the lifeboats; or their friends.
But the man who said he was not a devil must have radioed for help. Soon, amazingly soon, the Coastguard’s helicopter came rattling out of the night. A white lifeboat, blazing with lights, came rushing up, creaming water under its bows.
‘ARE YOU OKAY?’ shouted a loudhailer voice, right on top of them.
‘All okay,’ Challon yelled. ‘Three of us here. Hope everyone else is—’
‘THERE ARE PEOPLE IN THE WATER! WE HAVE TO GET TO THEM FIRST! YOU’RE SAFE WHERE YOU ARE! HANG ON! WE’LL BE BACK!’
A bundle reared out of the dark, and landed by Challon.
‘WAIT!’ she screamed. ‘WE’VE GOT SOMEONE WHO NEEDS URGENT HELP!’
The boat was gone, out of reach. There were flares and whistles, lights on the black sea, a rescue operation in full swing; they only had to wait—
But Brook was not in a good way. She sat with her knees up, propped against the girders, clutching her left arm tight against her body. She couldn’t lie down, she’d have drowned. The platform rode about half a metre under water, and deeper every time a wave broke. I’m okay, she kept muttering. Just got cramps, I’ll be fine. Challon wrapped her in a silver insulation blanket from the bundle the lifeboat crew had thrown. She ripped an instant-heating sachet of energy drink and tried to get Brook to sip, but the miracle of the cop in the woods’ brew didn’t happen again. Brook couldn’t drink.
Heidi had lost her shoes and socks, and her jacket. She was covered in bruises and scrapes from clambering onto the platform, but she was okay: except terrified for Brook.
‘Chall? Is she going to be all right?
‘I think so. We just have to wait for the lifeboat to come back.’
‘The pirate ship went down very fast, didn’t it?’
‘Yeah. They must have done it themselves.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Opened the seacocks, so the ship filled up with water.’
‘I’m so tired,’ whispered Brook. ‘But I can’t get to sleep. Have we any spare blankets?’
They wrapped her in all three of the silver blankets, and tried again to get her to sip something, or eat a bit of energy bar, but she couldn’t.
‘I feel sick, and my arm hurts, and I’m so cold. Just don’t leave me alone.’
The same lifeboat swept by again, laden with survivors. Challon and Heidi waved their arms and shouted, but it sped on, gorging on its emergency services marine fuel. The helicopter rattled round and round; low, but never close enough.
‘Someone will come,’ said Challon. ‘That lifeboat paramedic knows where we are.’
‘I wish she knew about Brook.’
‘Me, too.’
They crouched in silence, rocked and drenched by the waves: Challon whose glorious future suddenly meant nothing in her fear for Brook. Brook doggedly hanging on in pain; and Heidi, with what the Rock Mouse had told her running uselessly around her brain. Time stood still. Heidi had to struggle to stay awake, despite the biting cold, and the water that kept slapping her in the face. She noticed after a while, minutes or hours, she couldn’t tell, that the lights and the noise had died down. They were alone in the dark. There was no sound but the slapping of the waves, no light but the reef’s beacons, and a powder of stars.
‘Heidi?’
‘Yeah?’ croaked Heidi, her voice breaking.
‘Change of plan. I’m going to swim for it, and take Brook with me.’
‘Swim for it?’
‘I’ve been thinking. Clancy was right. We didn’t head out to sea, we hugged the coast. And we didn’t get far. See those two green lights, close together, coming and going? That’s the May Channel buoys. You can be sure of them, because you can see lights on land beyond, that don’t come and go. Once I’m there, I’m home and dry. It’s less than a mile.’
‘A mile? Chall, that’s impossible. You can’t SWIM A MILE!’
‘Most mornings,’ said Challon, ‘I swim a mile before breakfast. It’s nothing. It’s been too long, Heidi. They forgot about us or they’re waiting for first light. I’ve swum around here all my life, I know where we are: I have a life jacket with a radio tag, and I think Brook’s having a heart attack. If we don’t get her to hospital soon she’ll be dead.’
It took some persuading, but Challon got Heidi to agree that she probably knew what she was doing. Chall was strong, fit and very sensible. If she said she could swim a mile, with Brook in tow, then she could do it. Their locker was still bobbing alongside. They snagged it, and transferred Brook to this buoyant raft, bundled in the silver blankets: her lifejacket fastened over them, and bungee cords hooked from side to side so she couldn’t slip off.
‘Are you okay, Brook? Say if you’re not.’
‘Yeah, I’m okay, just about.’
‘Heidi, now all you have to do is get in the water and cling onto the back rope.’
‘No,’ said Heidi. ‘I can’t. I’ll wait here. I’ll be fine.’
Chall’s face looked up, streaming wet and bleached black and white by the light from her jacket tag. ‘ Heidi? Are you even awake? Get in the water! I can’t leave you!’
‘I can hardly swim at all. I can’t swim and I’m too scared, I’d be no help. The lifeboat woman said we were safe here. You look after Brook.’
‘Okay. Let me think. I’m so worried about Brook.’
‘Brook can’t lie in the cold all night. Send a boat to fetch me.’
‘Okay, I’m going. I’ll send a boat, soon as I get there.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
At each corner of the platform bobbed a caged, red light. Away from these cages the low barrier of girders was invisible: there was nothing to be seen above the surface. Freed from the terror of watching over Brook, Heidi walked around. Somewhere under her feet power was being generated, but she didn’t know how, and all she could hear was the slap, slap of the waves. No rattling machinery, no windmill clattering. She was walking on water, with nothing to explain it, all alone in the middle of the sea. Challon was taking Brook to safety, and Challon was like a rock. Someone was always looking out for George and Sorrel. What about Clancy? He might be dead. Cyril, John, Andy and Jo might be dead. She saw their faces, friends who’d meant more to her, though she’d only known them a few months, than any friends she could remember. And they might be dead. The rain had stopped, there were more stars than clouds, but she kept losing sight of them: tiredness closed her eyes.
She opened her eyes with a start, sitting in the water, far away from the beacons, and very scared to find herself alone. She remembered that Challon was sending a boat. Someone would come for Heidi soon, but she had to stay alert. Frightened that she’d managed to fall asleep on her feet she headed, swaying and stumbling, for the closest light.
On the way she found, by accident, the remains of the lifeboat bundle. She carried it with her, drank a little water and ate a square of energy bar. Her lifejacket might stop her from drowning, but she was afraid of falling off the platform. She eased herself, bum first, into the beacon’s cage: once wedged in there, she felt safer. She had nothing to do but wait.
The light at her back gave off no heat, but she felt a little warmer.
Think about something else. What happened?
A garlic-flavoured picnic on the beach. Chall and Brook were nasty to me for no reason. And George plagued me, why does he do things like that, like he wants you to hate him? There was a ship, a pirate ship. Everyone was arguing, and I didn’t understand. Why did the Recruiters come after us? They had a cargo. Why would they do that, so risky, so near a village
: for a few extra bodies? Why hang around, close to the shore? What were they waiting for? And how did Sorrel know they didn’t know—?
Between each memory blackness rocked. Her thoughts came in chunks.
I need to talk to the Police Inspector. I’ve got good questions for him now. I wish I hadn’t thrown the Rock Mouse in the sea. But I know George was in my room. The day the suitcase turned up. I’m afraid he’ll say I’m confabulating. I need something he can’t say isn’t real.
Just don’t lie to them, Heidi. You’ll tie yourself in knots and they’ll wear you down. There’s only one good thing ter say to the police. Nothing.
I’d tell them the truth if I could, but I don’t know what the truth is.
That’s settled then. Stick to saying nothing. Nothing’s better.
Okay, so I don’t talk to the Inspector. What can I do?
Talk to someone else. Look around. Isn’t there someone on the exact same wavelength?
At first Heidi didn’t know who she was talking to. Gradually she realised it was Dad. She was talking to her dad: the way she used to talk to him when he was alive, about anything that worried her. He couldn’t usually help but he never stressed, and he was a good listener.
She had thought of Mum, over and over. She had been with Mum, in her heart, every hour since the terrible thing. She’d hardly thought of Dad once. He’d been completely gone. The scene that kept replaying in her head, that wasn’t her dad. She’d never cried for him, not after the first shock, when she was just going crazy. Never mourned.
It wasn’t because he’d accidentally sold her into slavery. If he hadn’t died she’d have found out about the debt. She’d have been angry, and frustrated, and Immy would have helped them; and she’d have forgiven him long ago by now. It was because he abandoned her. He turned into a horrible, stringless puppet, all over blood; that crawled into her nightmares, and she knew it wasn’t his fault but she’d blamed him.
Now she heard the true living tone of his voice. She could see his cheeky, innocent grin and his bright eyes. She tried not to breathe, in case she blew him away. Not to stir a muscle, in case she broke the thread. Please stay, she whispered. I know you couldn’t help it, I truly totally forgive you for everything, I’ve missed you so much, stay with me—
I’ve never been away, said Dad. I’ll stay as long as you like. And the cold wasn’t cold, the dark wasn’t dark; the tossing black water seemed like a warm featherbed.
Dying is the one brave thing everyone has to do, Dad.
Yeah. Everybody has to do this. You’ll be okay.
Time went by, minutes like hours.
Heidi and her dad talked about life in the house with the cardboard walls, remembering funny things and sweet things. She told him about Tallis, and the stuffed cats. Brook and Challon were mean for no reason, Roger swam with frogs. The ruined Gardens, and the Steel Door. George, Clancy, the ship with no name. He was still listening, keeping her company, as she drifted into endless darkness.
Death is Heartwood
Death is heartwood
The dense centre of the soul
Where no laughing blood leaps
And no nerves thrill
The people we love are joined to it
One by one.
And fill its silence with joy remembered
And help us to grow tall. And keep us strong
21: Dr Gunn
Heidi woke in a cosy bed, feeling the slick wet waterproof arms that had lifted her into a boat. The roaring sea was still all around: until she woke properly and the roaring became rain beating at a window. She was in the Healeys’ spare room, in borrowed pyjamas. Brook was safe in hospital. Her friends were not drowned, but safe, and she had Dad back—
Bruises made her wince as she sat up. The spare room looked like a child’s room; a little girl’s room. The walls were papered in pale green with bunches of snowdrops; the curtains at the rainy window had the same pattern. Framed photographs, and a small vase of fresh flowers, stood on a pale green, painted chest of drawers near the bed. Heidi looked at the photos: and looked again, frowning—
‘Mrs Healey?’ she called. ‘Mrs Healey!’
Someone came thumping up the stairs. A plump woman she’d never seen before burst into the room. Her dark curls were tied in bunches, a tight belt cinched her short, flounced skirt, a large bosom strained to escape from her low-cut peasant blouse.
‘I am not Mrs Healey!’ announced this person. ‘I am Daffodil Dyson.’
‘Oh,’ said Heidi. ‘Sorry. What time is it?’
‘Two in the afternoon. You’ve had a good long sleep.’
‘Where is Mrs Healey? Is there news of Brook? Is she okay?’
‘More like at death’s door. She’s in the Intensive Care, at the hospital in Eastbourne. Mrs Healey and Tim are with her. I’m looking after you, leaving my poor old dad with nobody to look after him except Dave from the Garage Shop.’
‘Is your dad Eric Dyson?’ She remembered her last glimpse of the beach, the wheelchair falling over. ‘Who was with us? Is he all right?’
‘He’s had a terrible, devastating experience,’ said Daffodil, importantly. ‘But he’ll live. Corporal Harris is dead as a doornail. His heart just stopped, when he stopped that rubber bullet. Or plastic, or whatever they’re made of. There’ll be an inquest. Non-lethal my eye. The other victim, the young black lad, had two cracked ribs and a bruise like a great big purple plum, bulging out all down his side.’
‘Samedi.’ She’d forgotten about the Tower Builders. ‘Is he okay, though?’
‘He did us a good turn, that lad. Joe Florence, who ought to be sent to penal servitude, not the Call-Up, had given orders to light a bonfire on False Head, whatever that was supposed to achieve. Young Bryan, the numpkin, actually did run off there. The boy that got shot lay taken for dead, and when the coast was clear he ran for it to raise the alarm.’
‘That’s great, and great that he’s okay. Where is he now?’
‘Gone home. His mum and dad came and took him home, ’course they did. The police officer wasn’t too pleased about that, but who were we to ask questions?’
‘What about the pirates?’
‘Gone,’ said Daffodil, with daft satisfaction. ‘Got clean away. Sank their ship and made off in an open boat, who knows where. And good riddance!’
‘The coastguards didn’t go after them?’
‘They couldn’t, could they? They haven’t got the fuel, and they were too busy picking up survivors: our lot, and you, and all those poor unwanted kiddies. The whole village was up all night taking them in, laying them out in the Learning Centre and feeding them. And we’ll probably still have the horror of finding dead bodies on the beach, all summer.’
‘What about the police? What are they doing?’
Daffodil drew herself up in disgust, making the bosoms jiggle. ‘Them? They’re here. They’re interrogating the poor cast-offs this morning: who don’t know a thing. We all know what the police are good for. Nothing. It’s none of your business, anyway. Now, since you’re awake, I’ll bring you some soup.’
Heidi was starving.
‘Yes please.’
The soup was very good, so was the crusty fresh roll that came with it. Heidi cleaned her bowl, and fought to stay awake until Daffodil came back for the tray, with a cup of tea.
‘What about Tallis and Roger, I mean, the Maylocks. Who’s looking after them?’
‘Mrs Knowells is taking care of it. You’re to stay in bed and recover. Now don’t ask me any more questions. I’m busy.’
‘Thanks for the tea.’
Heidi drank her tea and resolved to get up and find her clothes, but instead lay thinking about a new poem, Dad’s return warm in her heart; until sleep swallowed her again.
The second time she woke was far more confusing. The bone-deep drowsiness that had made everything okay was gone. Everything she knew or guessed rushed in on her: with all the questions she dared not ask. Rain was still pelting at the win
dow, but she had a feeling she’d nearly slept the clock around. The Rock Mouse was at the bottom of the sea, and the pirates had taken her phone. She wondered how she was going to survive without them. Hearing voices downstairs she realised she’d been woken by the sound of a car arriving, and listened intently: hoping for news of Brook. But it wasn’t Mrs Healey’s voice.
Who else had a car? Maybe it was Melinda the Lone Ranger—
Or Portia Knowells. Suddenly she was sure it was Portia. George’s mum with her cockroach-killing stare, capable of anything. She was here with a couple of bent social workers, to take Heidi to a more suitable placement, and Daffodil Dyson wouldn’t stop her. She didn’t even have her clothes. What could she do, where could she hide? More thumping up the stairs: Daffodil’s head appeared around the door.
‘It’s Doctor Gunn. She wants to have a word. She says I have to ask, do you mind?’
‘Er, no, er, that’s fine. What about Brook? Is she okay?’
‘You’re driving me mad with your questions. I’ll send her up.’
Heidi lay back. She knew no harm of Dr Gunn: Dr Gunn was all right. She lived alone; she had a guide dog. Her father had once been the vicar. The Exempt Teens said she was old school, but in a good way. And George had stolen something from her: which was sort of reassuring. Anyone George disrespects is a friend of mine, thought Heidi. I wonder what she wants. I wonder if I dare tell her anything? Try a few hints, see how she reacts—
And her heart started beating on her ribs like a trapped bird.
Daffodil flung open the door. A tall old lady entered, a pale-coated Labrador in a harness at her side. Dr Gunn wore thick-lensed glasses that hid her eyes, and a worn but very smart brown skirt-suit. A brooch with a green stone sparkled in lace at her throat. The dog’s claws clattered on the polished wood floor: Daffodil brought a chair. Dr Gunn rested her free hand on the back of it.
‘Thank you Daffodil. That’s all we need for the moment.’
Daffodil closed the door behind her. Dr Gunn waited, smiling a little, not saying a word: until the buxom Ms Dyson could finally be heard thumping down the stairs.
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