The Fourteenth Summer of Angus Jack

by Jen Storer

  ‘Perfect anchor bend,’ he muttered, peering at the knot. Easy enough to undo if you knew your stuff.

  He gave the iron ring a tug. It was firmly embedded in the rock and probably had been for centuries.

  ‘This vessel’s not goin’ far,’ he said loudly. ‘Not tonight, anyway.’

  ‘Good,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘Then you should come down now, Barney, and we shall have discussions. There are things I do not like.’

  Barney spread his arms and leaped from the rocks, landing with a SPLOSH in front of the Donut Lady.

  ‘Barney!’ she scolded. ‘You are not so young as to be doing this jumping.’

  Barney grinned. He felt like a schoolboy when he was around the Donut Lady.

  The Donut Lady ushered her boyfriend out of the cave and he followed her along the beach and away. With one last backward glance, they disappeared over the rocks.

  Alone in its dark hiding place, the boat could sense the enchantment was lifting. Soon it would be visible to more than just a couple of fringe dwellers. As it bobbed up and down with the tide, a shudder of dread ran through its joinery. The serpent figurehead closed its eyes and bowed its weary head — and the little boat waited. It had no choice.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ____________________________________________

  Family friction

  The next morning Jarly still hadn’t returned and Martha was gloomy. Angus pointed out that the cat’s Fishy Bickies had all been scoffed during the night but Martha would not be reassured. She was so glum, Angus almost felt sorry for her. Then again Jarly was a lousy cat — twitchy and as moody as sin. Angus was secretly glad to see the back of him. He made himself a milkshake. The milkshake-maker sputtered and frothed as he loaded it with ice-cream.

  ‘Angus,’ said Martha, over the noise, ‘did you smell anything strange last night?’

  Angus flicked off the machine, added chocolate topping, then flicked it on again. ‘It’s that creeper on the side fence,’ he said. ‘It’s gross.’

  There was a pause while he struggled to disconnect the stainless-steel cup.

  ‘No, it wasn’t the night jasmine,’ said Martha. ‘It was something else.’

  ‘Car fumes? Seaweed? Troll poo?’ said Angus, wiping his hands on his shorts.

  ‘Ha ha,’ said Martha. ‘Actually, I thought I could smell hot donuts. In the middle of the night. It was really weird.’

  Angus craned his neck to see if there was any movement at number thirteen. A pair of speckled pigeons cooed on the windowsill.

  He turned from the window. ‘You must have stuffed yourself too much yesterday,’ he said, ‘and —’ He froze.

  ‘What?’ Martha pulled up a chair. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I smelt them too,’ said Angus, taking a gulp of his milkshake. ‘I remember now. I woke up in the middle of the night and I thought I heard someone singing. Sort of opera singing. Only worse. And that same awful piano music I heard the other night. Then the curtains kind of fluttered and I could have sworn I smelt hot donuts. I’d forgotten all about it till now.’

  Martha stared at him. ‘Angus, you don’t think that old woman next door had anything to do with the robbery, do you?’

  Their father walked in. He was wearing his good shirt. And a tie. And his hair was combed. He placed his laptop on the table.

  ‘Angus. Martha-bug. What a nice surprise.’

  Martha screwed up her nose at the mention of her nickname. Angus wondered why it was surprising to find your kids at the breakfast table.

  The Prof put the kettle on and looked about for the instant coffee. Angus watched him from the corner of his eye. Their father looked awkward, like a stranger in his own kitchen. Serves him right, thought Angus. He acts like a stranger, let him feel like one too. I’m not helping him.

  ‘All set for tonight?’ asked the Prof eventually.

  Martha and Angus looked at him blankly.

  ‘You do remember?’ he said. ‘I’ll be home late.’

  The kids shrugged. So what if he’d be home late? Again.

  The Prof popped the lid on the coffee jar. ‘I mentioned this before, didn’t I?’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Angus.

  ‘Oh,’ said the Prof. ‘Well, never mind ... Martha,’ he added, ‘eat your crusts. They’re supposed to be good for kids. I think ...’

  Martha pulled a face beneath her long, curly fringe.

  ‘You see,’ said the Prof, ‘I posted some of my, how would you say, less conservative ideas on the internet. You know, my thoughts about Norse mythology and so on. And what do you know I struck up a friendship with an archaeologist from Norway. She’s fascinated by my thoughts.’

  ‘She?’ said Martha. ‘What do you mean she?’

  The Prof smiled vaguely. ‘She’s in town and we’re going out. Tonight. For dinner. Are you sure I didn’t mention this?’

  ‘You mean to say you’re dumping us because some woman on the internet likes your ideas?’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Martha. She’s fascinating. We have a lot in common. Work-wise, of course,’ he added hurriedly.

  ‘What could you have in common?’ cried Martha. ‘You teach the history of economics, Maxwell. You are not an archaeologist. You should stick to what you know.’

  Martha took up a butter knife and scraped so hard she tore a hole in her toast.

  But the Prof was not to be put off. ‘How about this?’ he said. ‘Some of her colleagues found a longboat last summer. They think it’s the genuine article. A real Viking vessel.’

  ‘Is that right?’ said Angus curtly, and both kids glared at their father. Viking history had been their mother’s speciality — and her passion.

  ‘Yes.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘They’ve got it quarantined somewhere in Norway. Near Verdens Ende, to be precise.’

  ‘Verdens Ende?’ said Angus. ‘World’s End. Mum’s favourite place on earth.’

  ‘Probably because of her Viking blood,’ said the Prof cheerily.

  ‘Yeah right,’ Angus scoffed. ‘As if Mum was really descended from Vikings.’

  The Prof looked aghast. ‘Don’t be so cynical, Angus. Your mother had plenty of compelling evidence about her ancestry. She had a number of hunches too, powerful inklings neither of us could ignore.’

  ‘Inklings?’ said Angus. ‘Great. We could build a convincing family tree based around inklings. Not.’

  The Prof sat down. He leaned across to Martha. ‘They say goblins first left France and crossed the English Channel on Viking ships, Martha. Fancy that, hey? Seafaring goblins. Heading off to see the world. Eager eyes all set on Britain!’

  ‘Get real, Maxwell,’ snapped Martha. ‘I’m not a little kid anymore. I don’t believe that kind of rubbish. Goblins, trolls, gnomes, witches, harpies. All those stories are a load of old crud.’

  ‘Oh?’ said the Prof, taken aback. ‘Sure. Yes. Of course. How silly of me.’ By now he was used to Martha calling him ‘Maxwell’. Obviously it was some sort of rebellion and he’d chosen to let it be. She’d grow out of it. But her open hostility, her determination to leave childhood behind, it never ceased to knock him off centre. Especially since the older he became, the more he discovered about the world’s oddities, and the more inclined he was to believe the outlandish. At least in part.

  ‘So, who’s looking after us this time?’ Martha shot him a cold look. ‘It better not be Gerda. She’s a fruit bat. And she smells like Glen 20.’

  ‘A young woman’s coming from the university,’ said the Prof.

  Angus groaned. ‘What, some airhead student?’

  ‘She has a master’s degree in mathematics,’ said the Prof.

  Martha rolled her eyes. ‘She’ll know all about kids then, won’t she?’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Look, Dad,’ said Angus, ‘I’m fourteen. Don’t you think I’m old enough to take care of us?’

  ‘Fourteen,’ said the Prof. ‘Fourteen?’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Angus.
‘You forgot I had another birthday.’

  ‘So this is your fourteenth summer,’ said the Prof quietly.

  The kids glanced at one another. They knew what was coming next. Angus wished he’d kept his big mouth shut.

  ‘Well, technically, you’re right, I suppose.’ He spoke cheerily, trying to jolly his father and lead him off track. ‘But it should be my fifteenth summer.’

  The Prof did not respond. It was hard to distract him when he got stuck on this story.

  ‘I’ve never been happy about losing a summer,’ said Angus. ‘When we left the UK and —’

  The Prof cut him off. ‘Do you know what happened during my fourteenth summer?’ His voice was heavy with nostalgia.

  Angus and Martha nodded reluctantly.

  ‘I met your mother,’ said the Prof. ‘I met Helen and my life was never the same again ...’

  There, it was said. For a moment the little group sat in silence. Angus practically slumped under the weight of his father’s melancholy. Martha bit her lip and wriggled uncomfortably in her chair. She hated this soppy stuff more than anything. Hated how it made her feel weak and hopeless ... and really angry.

  Finally Angus piped up. ‘So, about this babysitter. We’re home alone all day as it is. What difference does a few more hours make? Leave off with the babysitter. Seriously, how late will you be? A few lousy hours?’

  Martha jumped in. ‘Angus is right,’ she said. ‘How long can a dinner date last? It’s not as if you’ll be gone all night — will you, Maxwell?’

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ said their father, blushing. He actually blushed! Martha could hardly believe her eyes.

  ‘All right, you win,’ said the Prof. ‘I’ll cancel the babysitter.’

  Angus gave his sister a subtle wink.

  ‘Right then,’ said the Prof, getting up. ‘Have a good day. There’s money in the tea caddy and frozen pies in the freezer. Get out there and explore, won’t you? Really get to know the new neighbourhood. Make some friends. Hang loose ...’

  ‘Hang loose?’ said Martha. ‘Are you for real, Maxwell?’

  A car tooted its horn outside.

  ‘That’ll be my ride,’ said their father, grabbing his laptop and knocking his coffee cup. ‘Car pooling today,’ he added, steadying the cup.

  The Prof tapped his son’s shoulder. ‘You know where to find the fire extinguisher, don’t you? The first-aid kit? Emergency numbers? My number?’

  Angus gave a shallow nod.

  ‘Look after your sister,’ said his father quietly.

  Angus sighed impatiently.

  ‘Goodbye, Martha-bug,’ said the Prof as he patted the top of Martha’s head.

  ‘I’m not your stupid bug,’ said Martha through gritted teeth.

  The front door slammed and the kids gave each other a high-five — although deep down the day ahead suddenly seemed long. Both of them feared that this new woman, this fascinating colleague, might be the one. The one who would move in and totally mess up their already messed-up lives.

  Martha jumped up. ‘Let’s go check out number thirteen.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Angus.

  ‘The shop might be open,’ said Martha. ‘And you promised ...’

  ‘When?’ said Angus. ‘Why would I promise to visit that dump?’

  ‘Oh, suit yourself,’ said Martha crossly, and she threw her bag over her shoulder and left.

  Angus grabbed a bowl of Frosty Loops and headed to his room. But on his way down the hallway he glanced back. Yep, the fire extinguisher was there. His father must have unpacked it and leaned it against the wall. Strange though it seemed, Angus had always been fond of fire extinguishers. They were handy inventions. Kind of reassuring.

  He ate his cereal at his desk while he fiddled with his latest drawing (he’d given up on sea eagles and gone back to drawing a skyscraper) and listened to music on his iPod. But when half an hour had gone by he began to wonder — shouldn’t Martha be back by now? She’s probably sulking on the front steps, he thought, or pouring out her heart to Gurdy. She loved that gnome — probably because it had belonged to their mother.

  Then he had another thought. Maybe, just maybe, that creepy shop next door was actually open for business.

  Angus pulled out his earbuds and abandoned his drawing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ____________________________________________

  Favourite desirables

  It smelt like rose petals and vinegar in Frozen in Time. The air was close and sticky, without so much as a pedestal fan to cool things down. The lighting was dingy too. Shops were usually so brightly lit, they left Angus bedazzled. But not this one. There was the occasional creepy bedside lamp with a silk shade and beaded trim but aside from that the only light came from the front window. This meant the further you ventured into Frozen in Time, the more shadowy and unpredictable your surroundings became.

  The main counter was down the back. Angus could just make out the old woman as she moved to and fro, humming loudly and trilling to herself, periodically ‘dinging’ the register bell as if it were some quaint toy.

  A vintage gramophone played the same morbid piano pieces he’d heard a few nights earlier, when their neighbour had started her renovations. Now that he heard her at close range, he realised it was she who had been singing too. Yeuk.

  Angus felt he should plan his exploration. But the shop was so ramshackle, it was more a case of threading your way through the junk and examining what you stumbled across. In fact, there was so much junk you actually had to step over things to make any progress.

  There were books — hardbacks, paperbacks, linen bound and leather bound, many of them stacked on the floor. There were old cardboard suitcases with rusted clasps and curls of string dangling from their bakelite handles, boxes of vinyl records in peeling covers, broken chairs, battered hatboxes plastered with travel stickers. After only a few minutes Angus had already entered several aisles only to encounter a dead end. At one point he found himself in a cul-de-sac surrounded by long, musty overcoats that mocked him like ghosts from a Victorian fairytale. There was furniture too. Red-and-white vinyl couches and armchairs with horsehair stuffing; a row of aged dressing tables, all with their mirrors missing. Faded oil paintings leaned against bookcases jammed with dusty pottery, floral crockery and china knick-knacks: dancing poodles, little mules wearing sombreros, brightly coloured ceramic piggy banks. The entire ugly mess made Angus feel kind of squeamish. He moved like Jungle Jim through several racks of crocheted rugs, only to be confronted by a skeleton in a pith helmet. Angus jumped. The skeleton grinned. Angus gave it an impatient shove.

  ‘Martha, where the heck are you?’ he hissed, squeezing between two haughty mannequins, each wearing a sun frock and a pillbox hat. ‘Martha?’

  ‘Looking to see someone, dear?’ creaked a thin voice.

  Angus spun around.

  The old woman was right behind him.

  Once again she was dressed in evening clothes. Only this time she’d chosen a swirly green number with downy purple feathers at the throat and cuffs. She barely came up to Angus’s chest. He looked down on her and felt superior and gawky all at the same time.

  ‘Your sister-sibling is down there.’ She raised a hand cluttered with gold rings and diamonds.

  ‘Yeah. Good. Thanks,’ sputtered Angus as he hopped over a Gladstone bag, stumbled on a set of building blocks and tripped his way to Martha.

  She was down the back, near the counter.

  ‘Come on,’ he said when he reached her. ‘It’s boiling in here ... And it stinks.’

  ‘But you’ve only just dropped anchor!’ cried the old woman.

  Angus jumped. She was right behind him again.

  Martha smiled at the woman and moved toward a long glass display cabinet to the right of the cash register.

  ‘These are so pretty,’ sighed Martha, squatting down and peering into the cabinet.

  ‘Oh yes,’ creaked the old woman, sidling up beside Martha. ‘T
hey are my favourites. They’re the only pretties in this shop that are not for sold.’

  ‘I can see why,’ breathed Martha.

  Not for sold? What was this idiot conversation? Angus knelt beside Martha and peered into the cabinet. It was full of snow domes. Big, small, glass, plastic, ornate and plain.

  ‘Since when do you like snow domes?’ he said, but Martha simply stared into the cabinet.

  ‘I’d pay anything for one of these,’ she sighed.

  Behind them, the old woman chuckled. ‘Would you like to hold one between your hands?’ She drew out a golden key. It was on a long chain around her neck.

  ‘Oh yes, please,’ said Martha in a twee, girlie sort of way.

  The old woman shuffled to the other side of the cabinet and looked through the glass at Angus and Martha as if they were selecting a special cake or pastry. Her head looked slightly pear-shaped at this angle. Her green eye shadow was creased and smudged, her false eyelashes as spiky as nylon bristles. Her eyes were deep-set and close together — Angus smirked. She looked like the old Cabbage Patch Doll Martha once bought at a jumble sale back in England.

  The woman pointed to several snow domes lined up on a glass shelf. The cabinet had its own strip-lighting recessed in the counter top. ‘This one? That one?’

  Martha shook her head. ‘They’re all beautiful. But the one I’d love to hold is the big yellowy one with the silver base.’

  ‘Ah,’ breathed the old woman, and she reached in and took out the chosen snow dome. She placed it lovingly on the counter.

  ‘This is also my favourite desirable,’ she said, winking at Martha. ‘I like to keep it nearly to me.’

  Martha examined the snow dome.

  From what Angus could see, its only unique features were its size (it was nearly as big as a football) and the silver serpent coiled up at its base. He would’ve gone for the one with the Colosseum inside. Or better still, the Tower of London — it even had ravens in it.

  This one was boring. The glass was practically opaque and strangely enough, it was amber, the colour of an old beer bottle. But the weirdest thing was that there was nothing in it. No cityscape, no statues, no plastic palm trees. As far as snow domes went, Angus thought it was pathetic — although maybe it was worth a bit. He could see that it was weighty, and the serpent, which was biting its own tail, looked to be made of solid silver. There was no plaque to identify the snow dome, no label nor inscription.