Wave Riders

by Lauren St. John

  Jess had to stifle a giggle. Her brother looked as if he were basking in his own personal sun.

  ‘After everything you’ve endured, I want to spoil you a little,’ Marina was saying. ‘Even with my husband’s contacts, we’re unlikely to get you home for Christmas but, when you do arrive, we’d love to have one or two welcome gifts waiting in your rooms. Naturally, we’d like those to be gifts you’d choose yourselves, not random baubles chosen by me or Clifford’s PA. Would you mind giving us some pointers? Jess, what treat would bring a big smile to your face?’

  ‘I-I, thank you. You’re too kind. A home is the only gift we need.’

  Jude answered for her. ‘Jess really, really enjoys books, Mrs Blakeney. Adventures and mysteries.’

  Marina laughed. ‘How sweet! Adventures and mysteries, we can do. Clothes too. We don’t want to waste money on things you’d never wear. I’ve had Astrid bring along some fashion catalogues. Make a note of whatever your heart desires, and it’ll be waiting in your room when you get home.’

  Home. She said it so easily, as if it were written in the stars that, in their twelfth year, Jess and Jude Carter-Gray would find themselves living at Blakeney Park.

  Jess stared at Marina in wonder. A room of her own. Books. Clothes from a catalogue. If she was dreaming, she hoped she’d never wake up.

  ‘How about you, Jude?’ Marina said. ‘If you could have anything you wished for, what would it be?’

  ‘I’d wish for You Gotta Friend,’ Jude answered without thinking. Then, because she was regarding him in puzzlement: ‘She was our yacht.’

  Marina gave an incredulous laugh. ‘We have a bit of money, my husband and I, but I’m not sure we can stretch to a yacht. What are we talking about? Half a million bucks? A million?’

  Beneath his bandages, Jude was crimson with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t . . . I wasn’t . . . I just . . .’

  She was staring at him with interest. ‘You still want to sail? After your yacht nearly killed you? After you were shipwrecked?’

  ‘Yes, but that was my fault, not the boat’s,’ Jude admitted. He added hurriedly, ‘But not for a long time. Years and years. When I grow up, I mean.’

  ‘Interesting. Is there anything else you’d like? Something safer and –’ Marina laughed – ‘about half a million dollars cheaper. Any hobbies?’

  Jude had a splitting headache. His mind was a blank. He couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted or needed, apart from Jess and Sam.

  Jess replied on his behalf. ‘Jude’s always wanted a bike.’

  ‘A bike? Astrid, am I clairvoyant or what!’ Marina said with delight. ‘A bike you shall have, Jude, and it’ll be the best bike you’ve ever seen.’

  She didn’t quite click her fingers but not far from it. Astrid set down the video camera and summoned up a glossy sports-equipment catalogue, which she gave to Jude. On the cover, a grinning boy on a high-spec red-and-black mountain bike was hurtling down a rocky trail, a shining sea in the distance.

  Astrid put a fat pile of fashion brochures on the end of Jess’s bed, earning a frown of disapproval from Nurse Rolle. ‘Make a note of everything you’d like and I’ll have someone collect them later. Like Marina said, you’ll miss Christmas, but we’ll do everything we can to have at least a few of your choices waiting when you arrive at Blakeney Park.’

  She looked enquiringly at Marina. ‘It’s almost 11 a.m., Mrs Blakeney. We need to leave soon if we’re going to make our reservation.’

  Marina pressed her hands to her heart. ‘This has been such a joy, Jess and Jude. Unforgettable. I can’t bear to say goodbye, but it isn’t goodbye really. Just au revoir. We’ll meet again soon.’

  She turned to her assistant and the photographer. ‘Astrid and Adam, do you have everything you need, picture- and film-wise?’

  ‘I feel as if we’re missing drama in some of the shots,’ said Adam. ‘These kids have been to hell and back. It would be good if we can show that with, like, life-support machines and whatnot.’

  ‘You’re so right,’ said Marina. ‘I should have spotted that myself. Doctor Martinez, why aren’t the machines blinking?’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’ ‘In films, there are usually drips dripping and a monitor with a squiggly life-and-death line that invariably goes flat.’

  ‘A cardiac monitor?’

  ‘Exactly. The cardiac monitor starts beeping manically and a nurse screams for a crash cart. Then someone races in with paddles that look like boxing pads. What’s that thing that electrocutes people and starts their heart working again?’

  ‘A defibrillator. But, Mrs Blakeney, that tends to happen in ICU. Jude was critical and on fluids and a cardiac monitor when the search-and-rescue guys first brought him in, but the twins are in fine shape now. I’ll be taking Jude’s bandages off later today.’

  Marina was silent, but her disappointment was evident.

  ‘I have an idea,’ Dr Martinez said hurriedly. ‘Nurse Rolle can tape an IV tube to the top of Jude’s hand and get the cardiac monitor going again. Mr Buckley, if the background’s out of focus in the shot, you won’t be able to read the boy’s heart-rate and blood-oxygen levels, but you’ll still get that life-and-death effect.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Adam. ‘And, perhaps, Jude could be propped up on the pillows with his eyes closed, as if he’s in agony but bearing up with courage and fortitude. Jude, would you do that for me?’

  Jude looked at if he’d rather saw off his own leg with a rusty penknife. ‘I guess.’

  ‘You’re such a brave boy, Jude,’ Marina praised.

  She blew both the twins air kisses and beamed at the bodyguard as she and Astrid prepared to leave.

  ‘Until we meet again. I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘Ooh, you’re such a brave boy,’ mimicked Jess when they’d gone.

  Jude was mooning over a mountain bike in the catalogue. ‘Don’t say that. She was nice. Better than nice.’

  But he felt oddly empty, as if the hospital room had been the setting for some grand illusion and he’d missed it because he’d been charmed into looking the other way. He told himself off for being ridiculous. He and Jess were fortunate beyond their wildest wishes. Everybody kept telling them so.

  He wondered what the boy would be like. Caspian, Marina’s son. Would they be best buddies? Play cricket together? Build dens in the grounds?

  All Jess could think about was the room with a view that would be waiting for her at Blakeney Park. She was determined not to dwell on the ethics of her would-be foster mum bringing a news photographer into their hospital room.

  She was on her way to the bathroom when she heard Marina and Astrid chatting as they waited for the lift behind an extravagant tropical display. Their voices were remarkably similar. Jess had no intention of eavesdropping, but the corridor was as quiet as her slippers when one of them said, in a tone steeped in disdain:

  ‘Fancy the horse boy’s son thinking he could have a yacht. The cheek of it!’

  13

  STAR GUESTS

  ‘Ever imagine you’d be flying first class to the life of your dreams?’ asked Astrid, as she helped Jess transform her seat on British Airways’ exclusive Upper Deck into a crisp, comfortable bed.

  The hard knot had returned to Jess’s stomach. She wanted to burst out: ‘Which part of our guardian is dead and Jude and I are about to cross the Atlantic to live with strangers in a strange land do you not understand?’

  But she knew that Mrs Blakeney’s assistant was only trying to be kind.

  ‘We’re very lucky and extremely grateful,’ she said for the hundredth time.

  In the ‘lay-flat’ bed beside her, Jude was watching an action movie. He took off his headphones. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I said, “We’re very lucky and extremely grateful,”’ intoned Jess.

  Jude grinned. ‘Yes, we are. Thanks, Astrid.’

  Jess had never told him about the ‘horse boy’s son’ comment, partly because he’d been over the
moon about his new bike, and partly because she’d become convinced that she must have misheard.

  After all, Astrid was sweeter than Halloween candy, and the Blakeneys hadn’t put a foot wrong since Marina’s hospital visit nine days earlier.

  They’d passed every social services’ check with flying colours.

  They’d sent small, thoughtful Christmas gifts and cake to the twins and their nurses, and donated money to a local children’s cancer fund.

  They’d insisted on flying Jess and Jude first class to London on December 26th. Sam had gone on ahead.

  The twins had been braced for a row over their dog. ‘We’re not going to England without him,’ they’d told Detective Trenton. ‘He’s our family.’

  That had come as news to the Blakeneys. Yet, within hours, the Swiss Shepherd dilemma had been smoothed over too. The twins’ worries about their beautiful dog spending Christmas alone in an airport quarantine facility had been offset by their relief that the British family had opened their hearts to Sam too. He’d be joining the twins at Blakeney Park soon after their arrival.

  All things considered, there was no earthly reason for Jess’s sense of impending doom. Yet she couldn’t shake it.

  ‘Try to remember how many people are wishing you blessings and happiness in your new life,’ Nurse Rolle had counselled the twins. ‘Your friends at the diner. Me and Nurse Jones. Detective Jack Trenton. The readers of the Daily Gazette . . .’

  The nurse was careful not to look at the newspaper on Jess’s bedside table, with its banner headline: SAVED BY DOLPHINS . . . The Inside Story of the Twelve-Year-Olds Who Survived the World’s Deadliest Reef – Alone!

  The double-page spread was full of eye-catching quotes such as: ‘I knew there might be sharks, but all I could think about was saving Jude.’

  Jess couldn’t recall mentioning sharks in her phone interview with a Daily Gazette reporter, but she had said the bit about saving Jude, so she supposed it was possible.

  She wondered who at the diner had given the Daily Gazette childhood photos of the two of them. Jess suspected Tiffany, the waitress Anita had sacked years before.

  There were four pictures: one of the twins sharing birthday pancakes with Gabe; one of Jess surfing; one of her and Jude clinging to a couple of the naughty beach ponies; and one of a grinning Jude high in the crow’s nest of a visiting Dutch ship.

  This last was captioned: The boy who could sail before he could walk.

  ‘Jude reminds me of myself at that age,’ Ethan Lathe, Jude’s Australian sailing hero, had told the paper. ‘He has that raw passion for sailing, that fearlessness. Sea squalls can be deadly, no matter how experienced you are. Those guys just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I say, good luck to them. Keep sailing, keep dreaming.’

  Overall, it was a flattering story, but Jess supposed it had to be. Like Star News, the Daily Gazette was owned by Clifford Blakeney.

  ‘They call Clifford “the Godfather”,’ Barbara, the dog-walker, had informed her. ‘Don’t be alarmed. Not that kind of godfather – not a mafia boss. It’s only because he bears a close resemblance to Marlon Brando, the actor who starred in the Godfather films.’

  Jess had found it difficult not to think of Clifford as the Godfather ever since. She kept reminding herself that he must have a heart of gold to offer a home to the children of a long-forgotten groom he’d hardly known.

  In the overhead locker was Jess’s precious painting. It was odd to be returning it to the English estate where her mother had once lived. Odd, but comforting. Jess planned to hang it in her new room. If her mum’s picture was with her, she’d feel at home.

  ‘How are you doing, Jess?’ asked Astrid when the seatbelt sign went off. ‘There’s a ton of entertainment on your screen. I need to go speak to Ivan about something, but I’ll be back shortly.’

  Jess put on headphones and scrolled through the A to Z of movies and shows. The choice was overwhelming. She’s never heard of ninety-nine point nine per cent of them. Gabe hadn’t let the twins watch much TV.

  She was only on the B section when a title caught her eye: The Boy Who Scooped the World: How Robbie Blakeney went from Miner’s Son to Media Mogul.

  Jess pressed play and was soon absorbed in the story of ‘Little Robbie’, the sickly Welsh boy who’d started a village newsletter aged fourteen to give a voice to local miners – some younger than himself. Many miners suffered from black lung disease and were forced to slave for pennies in cramped, dangerous conditions.

  When Robbie was just sixteen, his hand-printed Daily Gazette exposed the villains behind a mining disaster that killed his father and twenty-one other men. He beat Britain’s biggest newspapers to the story and used the money to launch Daybreak Media. The same company now owned by his son, Clifford Blakeney, the twins’ new guardian.

  Jess flicked through the boring bits of the film. She was interested in the part about Blakeney Park, which Robbie had bought as a crumbling ruin. According to a friend, the main reason he’d purchased the stately home was to save the estate’s forest – home to rare owls and woodpeckers – from loggers and developers. He’d married soon afterwards and had a glamorous society wedding. A son, Clifford, had followed within a year.

  Jess fast-forwarded again and was catapulted seventeen years ahead. A teenage Clifford, handsome as a prince in Eton College top hat and tails, was now heir apparent to his father’s media empire.

  He had a sulky, discontented air, which Jess put down to his mother running off with a cement tycoon when he was just nine. His father was now in a wheelchair, after suffering a printing press accident.

  The narrator said: ‘It was when Robbie Blakeney broke his promise to buy Clifford a Rolls Royce for his eighteenth birthday that the trouble—’

  The volume died. The headphone cord was plucked from its socket.

  ‘Jess, what are you doing?’ Astrid bristled with disappointment. ‘I thought you’d watch something fun, like your brother, not a dull documentary packed with lies. I really think that you and Jude should get some sleep now. You have a big day tomorrow.’

  Jude pressed his face to the window of the helicopter. He wanted to be the first to spot Blakeney Park. He’d studied the aerial photo Detective Trenton had given them. He was sure he’d recognize it.

  Since daybreak, their eagle eye view of the United Kingdom had been uninspiring.

  Even before Astrid had surprised the twins with the chopper flight from London to Gloucestershire, Jude had been certain he’d see a few iconic landmarks from the plane. The English Channel! The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben! The Tower of London! Even Buckingham Palace!

  But, for hour upon hour, his view had been nothing but unending dirty cloud without a chink of light in sight. Fog too. They’d been delayed for ages at Heathrow.

  While they’d waited for the helicopter, Astrid had insisted they freshen up and change into their new clothes. ‘Marina’s having a small gathering to greet you. She’ll want you to look smart.’

  Jude, who’d worn nothing but board shorts and surf T-shirts for years, was taken aback to discover that Marina’s version of smart was a dark blue suit and pale blue shirt. And Jess, who’d refused to wear a dress since she was six, looked equally uncomfortable in a matching blue dress, plus black tights and boots. She was biting her nails and looked a little green.

  She’d put her detective hat away until they were settled.

  ‘We’ll probably never know the truth about how Gabe died, but I’m hoping that the Blakeneys will lend us smartphones or laptops. Soon as we have access to Google, I’ll start investigating our other mysteries. If we can discover who sent Gabe that email, we’ll know who’s been putting money into his account. Then all we need to do is figure out who’s hunting us and why.’

  As Jude gazed out at the smothering clouds, the words of the email kept running through his head:

  A long time ago, you promised that you’d go to the ends of the earth to keep them safe. Circumstanc
es have changed, and I’m afraid that is now necessary . . .

  Jude wondered if a change in identity would help them evade whoever was hunting them. The twins were no longer Jess and Jude Carter, wards of Gabriel Carter, and American citizens of no fixed address. They were Jess and Jude Gray, British citizens, and wards of Clifford and Marina Blakeney. New address: Blakeney Park, Gloucestershire, United Kingdom.

  Was Blakeney Park the ends of the earth? Would they be safe there?

  ‘Jude, look!’ Jess tugged at his coat sleeve. A tear in the grey universe had revealed a snowy forest on the edge of a misty river.

  The helicopter swooped lower.

  The clouds rolled back; the sun blazed through.

  A sparkling wonderland of white unfurled below them. A Christmas card scene of snow-covered stone walls and fields dotted with sheep, Highland cattle and horses passed beneath them as they raced towards a regal house in honey-coloured Cotswold stone.

  On the top tier of a terraced garden was a candy-striped marquee. As the helicopter approached, people began streaming out into the snow, squinting up at the patch of peacock sky.

  ‘A circus!’ marvelled Jude.

  Astrid, who was in the seat beside the pilot, spoke into her headset: ‘Not exactly. That’s your welcoming committee.’

  ‘But we don’t know anyone in the UK,’ said Jess.

  Astrid laughed. ‘No, but thanks to the Daily Gazette, a few million folk know you. You’re the star guests.’

  The twins exchanged anxious looks. Madly waving hands and smiling faces sharpened into focus below.

  Jude’s chest clamped tight at the thought of being among them. He tried to will the helicopter to keep flying until it reached some desert island or mountain wilderness where he and Jess could live in peace with their dog – just the three of them.

  At the same time, he was taking in the high stone walls, razor wire, CCTV cameras and run of Rottweilers. The dogs barked soundlessly, hackles raised. He couldn’t hear them above the machine-gun rattle of the helicopter, but they appeared ready to tear any intruder (or twin) limb from limb.