by Karen Cossey
“Maybe you could keep that one to yourself. Otherwise I’m sure my crew would adopt it as my nickname.”
Logan frowned. Who was Blackbeard’s crew? Maybe Blackbeard was a coastguard too, like Steve. Mind you, there was no way Steve would ever own a Ferrari.
“Are we here to race, or are we here to stand around jabbering?” Ma’am asked. “Blackbeard, how about you take the kids for a spin then we have a go?”
In no time at all, Logan and Happy were back in the Ferrari and Blackbeard had them out on the track, this time with helmets on. Happy was in the front, clutching the dashboard, while Logan sat in the back. Ma’am watched from the sidelines, chatting to Mr MacAdden.
“Let’s warm her up a bit, shall we?” Blackbeard said. Then they were off zooming around the track.
Logan held onto his seat. What a thrill! They raced full throttle towards a wall at the end of the track then at the last second slid around the corner! Logan yelled out—that was mouth-gapingly cool! They really were fizz-wham flight-whizzing!!
Happy was yelling, “Faster, faster!” but Blackbeard kept the speed to 150 miles per hour. He stopped and let Logan have a turn sitting in the front, which was even more spectacular. It was something else to see the track race past in a blur as they sped along! When they pulled over both he and Happy let out shouts of excitement.
“My turn now,” Ma’am said. “You guys stay over there, and watch me fly!” She jumped into the driver’s seat with Blackbeard beside her and sped off. After watching her race a few laps Logan wondered how fast she was going.
“There are three speeds: kid speed, mum speed and idiot speed,” said Happy. “Kid speed is 150, mum speed is 165 and idiot speed is 180 up. I can’t wait to do idiot speed,” she said.
“You are dangerous, Captain Happy,” Logan said. “No wonder your dad has to keep an eye on you all the time.” Happy beamed and jabbed him in the arm.
After Ma’am finished her turn Blackbeard headed out again by himself and rocketed around the track, taking the corners quicker and quicker with each lap. Finally he started to slow down and came in. He jumped out of the car, whooping in delight. They all cheered.
Logan looked around for the first time. No one was about—no customers that was—and only a few staff. He called out to Mr MacAdden and asked where everyone was. Mr MacAdden glanced over Logan’s shoulder, maybe at Blackbeard? He frowned, and then he looked away for a moment. When he spoke he didn’t look directly at Logan.
“Some big money’s coming with his mates. Asked if he could have the place to himself from lunchtime and paid a ridiculous amount. Then he called and said he wouldn’t be here till this evening so I let Ja … Blackbeard come in, but he’ll need to be gone by five.”
Looked like Mr MacAdden was hiding something. Usually the place was humming on a Saturday afternoon. There again, there were times when the rich guys came and booked the place out.
They would come from London, a group of them with their fast cars and support crew in trucks, race each other for a couple of hours, then spend the evening down at the local pub. Often they’d go over to France the next day and race there. What a life!
Mind you, there could be benefits for him and Happy too.
Logan jumped down from the railing. “I guess that means we’ve got the motocross track to ourselves. Shame to let it, you know, dry up because nobody’s flinging any dirt around.”
Mr MacAdden laughed, and nodded in agreement.
“Come on Happy, let’s have a go.” Logan started moving off towards the bike shed, but she stood still, her mother’s hand pressing down on her shoulder.
“My Mum says she wouldn’t trust me on a bike as far as she could throw me.” She looked at the ground, her shoulders slumped.
Ma’am looked stern as. She was going to need some convincing.
“Your mum’s right you know,” Logan said.
“What d’ya mean? I’d be throtta-lific!” Happy looked like she wanted to stomp her foot, the way she stood there with her hands on her hips. Exactly like Poet in a mood. Girls! Can’t handle the truth.
Logan shook his head. “You are a … a speedball hairtrigger—all fast, no smarts.”
Ma’am and Blackbeard chuckled and Ma’am relaxed a bit. Happy looked betrayed—her eyes slit like a snake, her face pouted.
“That’s not fair. I gotta bril-licious brain! You don’t even know me.”
“I might not know your name, but I got your number, Captain Happy. Let me see: climbing a rock face at high speed without any safety gear, in direct contravention of the rules,” he mimicked Blackbeard’s voice, and then continued in his own when he saw a glimmer of a smile. “Racing up a cliffside, with safety gear on this time, but at maximum speed, not caring if you fell and banged yourself hard against the rock.” The smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth, so he took a risk and kept going. Maybe Happy could handle the truth after all.
“Screaming ‘faster, faster’ to your dad when you’re already going 150 miles an hour, oblivious to the fact that you could, well, die a fiery torturous death if you crash and burn. All this in less than one day when you’re on a nice holiday weekend, supposedly enjoying the peace and quiet. It’s obvious you define speedball hairtrigger.”
Better keep going before she stopped smiling and launched a counter-attack.
“Luckily for you though, according to Mr MacAdden, I am the best instructor he has ever had for speed monsters such as yourself. Isn’t that right?”
Mr MacAdden nodded. “Yep.”
“I suggest we start on the minis, after you have had a safety lesson and passed the safety test, of course.” Logan looked at Ma’am and Blackbeard. Would they agree? Come on, live a little!
He had Blackbeard on his side, no problem. Ma’am was another matter, but after a minute or two of Blackbeard’s persuasion, she let Happy go with him.
As they walked away, Happy whispered,“How did you swing that? I’ve been begging all year.”
“Simple, knucklehead. To get your way with any adult, first make sure they believe you agree with them. Then go in for the kill.” He gave her his, ‘I know everything about life’ look. She giggled and started skipping around him as they walked, asking him all about the minis.
When they got to the shed, Alex the mechanic, an overall-clad man in his early twenties, seemed to recognise Happy. He didn’t look too pleased to see her.
“I thought no one was coming to Hideaway Lodge this weekend,” he said. He paused, then changed his tone, as if he had realised his rudeness. “Janet was going to do a spring clean. She asked me to help tomorrow. She hasn’t let me know she doesn’t need me.”
“We decided to come late Thursday night. Mum got some time off. We’ll be staying until next Thursday. How do you know Janet?” Happy asked.
“I’m her younger brother, Alex.” He gave her a forced-looking smile, holding out his hand to shake. Now he sounded friendly—almost. “I help her out when I’m not working here as mechanic. What can I do for you and Logan?”
In no time at all Logan was teaching Happy how to ride the minibike Alex had given her. Once she got the hang of it, she had a blast racing around the juniors track. Logan left her to it and had a turn on the seniors track with the motocross bike he usually rode. It was great having the track to himself. He throttled the bike, thrashing all the jumps. Happy would say it was spine-tingling exhib-err-bering.
He pulled a few tricks, starting with a nac nac then a superman, and finishing with a whip. A noise from the side of the track caught his attention. Everyone was cheering, giving him the thumbs up. Embarrassing! Thankfully no one could see his red face because of his helmet. He rode over to them.
Blackbeard thumped him on the back. “You’re the next Louis Vaccaro,” he said.
Logan couldn’t have smiled any wider—Louis Vaccaro was his motocross hero!
Happy was grinning and asked when she was going to get a lesson on a real dirt bike.
Ma’am looked lik
e a mother bear who’d lost her cub.
Mr MacAdden rescued them all by looking at his watch. “Is that the time? Sorry, but you guys better head out before the next lot arrive.”
It didn’t seem to take long to get the bikes and gear away. They were all back in the car and did a couple of final laps of the track together, then headed back to Hideaway Lodge. What a wicked day!
Logan slumped back into the seat of the Ferrari and closed his eyes. He would have to go to his foster family’s house soon, back to real life. Hopefully he could keep Happy and her family as friends, not just as a nice memory. They seemed to care for him. If it turned out he would never see them again, he was going to miss them.
*****
Alex put through a call on the work phone. “We got a problem, Boss. The rich guys staying at the lodge are here until Thursday. Somehow we’ve got to make sure they’re out of the way on Monday.”
Chapter Six
Logan wished he could stay in the Ferrari, even though they were parked in the garage, going nowhere.
“Come on inside, let’s have something to eat. I texted Janet from the track, so afternoon tea should be waiting for us,” Ma’am said.
Food might not be as fun as the Ferrari, but Logan’s stomach seemed keen on the idea.
Inside there were enough treats for it to be like a party. Logan dug in, then started a food fight with Happy. He flicked some pistachios in Ma’am’s hair and that was the end of the food fight. Rats.
Afterwards they sat on the couches in the lounge overlooking the beach, feeling sleepy. Well, Logan sat. Happy hung upside down from the beam that ran across the room.
“Steve texted, he should be here soon. He’s going to pick up Abby from the train station then come straight over,” Logan said as he put his phone back in his pocket.
“How many are in your foster family, Cliffhanger?” Happy asked.
“Six, counting me and my foster parents,” Logan said.
“Six, wow. You’d have to tie two of them to the roof of the Ferrari,” Happy said. “So tell us who they are and what they’re like and what colour toothbrushes they have. Details, please.
Logan smiled at Happy. “You’re just like Poet, only sillier.”
Ma’am lay on the couch, resting her head in Blackbeard’s lap, who was fingering her long hair. “Who’s Poet?” she asked.
“She’s my foster sister. She’s eleven, like Happy. Her real name is Lauren, but everyone calls her Poet.”
“Why’s that?” The question came from above the beam now as Happy had swung over and was doing the splits on top of it.
“It’s a bit of a story. You have to tell me your name first. Fair’s fair. You know I’m called Logan, after all.”
Happy sighed and her mouth drooped. “I guess so. My boring name is Dominica, but I get called Meeka,” she said as she swung upside down again. “I prefer almost anything else though. I like making up names.”
Whoa, Dominica! He hadn’t heard that name for years. It was like being stabbed in the heart and kicked in the guts, both at the same time! Thankfully she went by Meeka. He could live with that. Logan noticed Blackbeard staring at him, a question in his eyes. Logan forced his face to relax into a smile.
“It’s a great name. I like it,” Ma’am said. “Let’s switch back to calling you Meeka instead of Happy. We’ll switch Cliffhanger back to Logan as well.”
Meeka’s mouth drooped even lower. “I guess so, if you have to. I wish I’d been called Poet. That’s ace-ingly superb. Your turn. Tell us the story about why she’s called Poet.”
“All right,” he said. “Lauren, or Poet as we call her, and her brother Cole came from York. Their mother died at Poet’s birth, when Cole was nearly five. She used to lecture English Literature. So their dad used to have poetry nights to help them remember her. By the time she was five she had already learned a million poems.” Shaking his head he added, “Poor kid.”
“No way, I think that’s awesome!” Ma’am said. “Poor kid to lose her Mum, though. What happened to her dad? And how come they’re living with you guys down here in the south of England. Cawsand’s a long way from York.”
Logan shut his eyes and leaned back. How much should he tell them? Their stories weren’t something any of his foster family shared in a hurry. They often made people feel sorry for them, which was something none of them wanted. They didn’t need pity; they needed friendship. What if he never saw these guys again?
If he never saw them again it wouldn’t matter how much he told them. Let them hear it all. He opened his eyes.
“On Poet’s seventh birthday, they all went for a walk in the park after her party, and their dad was knifed by some man and died right there in front of them.”
All three of them gasped, but he kept on before they could say anything.
“They had no other family and after a week or two it became clear to Cole that the Social Services were going to split him and Poet up. He was only about twelve, but he had been helping to look after her since she was born, seeing as they had no mother. He was pretty fatherly about her. Still is.”
Logan paused for a moment. Wouldn’t it have been great to have a big brother like Cole looking after him after his mother died?
Oh. Everyone was staring at him. He sighed and carried on.
“Cole didn’t want to be separated from Poet, so they ran away, caught a train south and ended up living in a container at the Plymouth dockyards. He was getting desperate about what to do next when my foster dad, Steve, found them and brought them home for the weekend.”
Logan leaned forward and smiled, “Actually, it was Nate who found them. He stumbled across Poet reading a crocodile poem out loud and they ended up having a fist fight. They’re always doing that. She wouldn’t tell Steve her name, so he called her Poet.”
Ma’am frowned. “Who’s Nate?”
“Nathaniel Kelly. Nate. He’s Steve’s son from his first marriage. He’s my best friend, too. Oh yeah, and he’s my other foster brother, besides Cole.”
“Steve’s first marriage?” asked Ma’am.
“That’s right. Steve’s first wife, Nate’s mother, died of cancer when Nate was only two. A couple of years later Steve met Abby and they got married. Then Cole and Poet came to stay for the weekend, but it ended up that Steve and Abby wanted to keep them both. They helped them figure out who’d murdered their dad, which is another story, but in the end they caught the bad guy and he got put in prison, and Poet and Cole came to live happily ever after with Abby and Steve.”
“Wow, that’s quite a saga,” Blackbeard said, shaking his head.
“Is it true?” asked Meeka, dropping off the beam and coming over to stand in front of Logan. She put her hands on his shoulders and stared into his eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Logan. I want to know if it’s really true.”
“Yes it is, every bit of it,” he said.
She put her face real close, searching his eyes, then stood up straight and gave her verdict. “Yep, it’s true; I can’t see any bluffing in there. And I know all about bluffing.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Blackbeard said.
“So, how old are you all?” Ma’am asked.
“Nate and Poet are both born in June, but he’s one year older than her. So, Poet is eleven like Meeka, but she’ll be twelve in a month. Nate is twelve now, almost thirteen, and Cole’s sixteen, almost seventeen. His birthday’s in August,” said Logan.
“And you’re twelve, too?” Ma’am asked.
“I turned thirteen last month, at the end of April. Nate won’t be thirteen for another month, so I’m a couple of months older than him.”
“I see,” Blackbeard said, “a few months makes a big difference. I bet you’re a lot more mature.”
Was he joking? Of course not. A few months does make a big difference.
“So when did you come to stay with Abby and Steve?” asked Meeka, who was now squeezed on the couch, lying in front of her Mum.
“A year and
a half ago.”
Ma’am nudged Meeka then they both sat up. She smiled at Logan and leaned forward. “What about your mother? Is she still alive?”
“Nope, she died, too. Eaten by a tiger,” Logan said. That was one topic he didn’t need to talk about today.
“That’s not funny Logan. Tell us the truth,” Meeka said. Logan stared at her. Why was she asking? Couldn’t she see he didn’t want to go into it?
“I don’t think he wants to talk about it,” Ma’am said. Thank goodness Ma’am was clued up! He did not want to cry again. Not now. Not here.
He leaned back into the couch. He felt like hugging his legs and hiding his face in his knees. Maybe he was ready to go home.
Funny, he had never called his foster family’s house ‘home’ before.
“Let’s drop it—we have enough to think about anyway. Imagine that, Meeka. All those kids in one family,” Ma’am said.
“And all those parents dying,” Meeka said. “Your family makes me feel like I’m normal for a change.”
“What d’ya mean, Meeka? Why would you not feel normal?” Logan asked, leaning forward again. It was definitely time to talk about Meeka, rather than himself. All these different emotions were making him anxious, like a worm in a bait box.
“Phew, saved by the bell,” Meeka said as the doorbell rang. She turned to Ma’am and begged her, “Please, can you go into the other room, please?”
Ma’am frowned but got up, “Not for long, Meeka. Five minutes max. You’ve just got to deal with it.” She walked down the hallway, away from the front door.
What the heck! Meeka had asked her mother to leave the room, and she had done it!
“That’s not nice, Dominica!” Blackbeard said, leaning over her, hands on her shoulders. Better to ask about Meeka and her Mum later. Anyway, right now all he wanted was to see his foster parents.
Blackbeard went to the door and let them in.
Abby came straight over to Logan and hugged him. “It’s so good to see you. I sure missed you while I was in London.”
