Wave Riders

by Lauren St. John

  ‘Count me in,’ said Monty as they reached the edge.

  Jude had to strain to hear them now.

  JJ gasped. ‘Whoa. How high is it?’

  Garrick laughed. ‘Twenty-five metres.’

  ‘Ace! I’ll practise my reverse four-and-a-half somersault in pike position and still have time for a nap and a curry,’ joshed Sebastian. ‘Who’s going first?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Garrick. ‘It was my idea.’

  He stripped down to his boxer shorts and stood like a sculpture on the flat rocks, poised to jump.

  Jude felt a panic attack coming on. His chest was tight, his breathing ragged. Every time he looked down at the still, silver lake, all he could think about was what could go wrong. He wanted to yell at the boys to stop. Tell them it wasn’t worth it. That jumping into icy water on an unseasonably hot day could bring on shock that could be fatal.

  But Jude’s limbs refused to obey him. He couldn’t move so much as a finger. And when he tried to shout, all he managed was a croak.

  Garrick and Monty were arguing about something. In the end, it was Monty who jumped first. He whooped and hollered as he surfaced in the silvery lake, shaking a triumphant fist. ‘It’s f-f-f-freezing, but what a rush,’ he yelled up at them. ‘That was the best feeling ever. I want to go again.’

  ‘Incoming,’ shouted Garrick. He took a running leap, hit the water at an angle and sank in a whirlpool of bubbles.

  ‘I’m next!’ shouted Sebastian.

  ‘Wait, you idiot.’ Thomas wrenched him back. ‘Let Garrick reappear. You don’t want to land on him while he’s underwater.’

  Sebastian snapped at him, but did as he was told. ‘Garrick’s such a joker,’ he said, beginning to shiver in his boxers. ‘He’s pranking us by holding his breath underwater.’

  JJ was leaning over the edge in a frenzy of anxiety. ‘Monty, you need to find him quickly!’ he called down. ‘He’s been under too long. Can you see anything? Bubbles? A shadow?’

  ‘Hey, Garrick, don’t fool around,’ shouted Monty, treading water. He ducked beneath the surface. The boys on the ledge watched him circle, shark-like.

  When Monty surfaced, his skin was yellow with fear. ‘I can’t find him,’ he yelled. ‘He’s gone. Garrick’s gone.’

  Thomas grabbed his shoes. ‘I’ll run down and help search.’

  ‘Coach always says, “Four minutes without oxygen and it’s all over.”’ Sebastian told him, a note of hysteria in his voice. ‘It’ll be quicker if we jump.’

  ‘Are you insane?’ cried Thomas. ‘What if Garrick hit his head on a rock, and we do the same? Fat lot of use we’ll be if we’re drowned too.’

  Behind the boulder, Jude found his voice. ‘I’ll do it!’ he shouted, stumbling from his hiding place on bleeding feet. ‘I’ve had lifesaving training.’

  ‘Stink Bomb!’ Sebastian said in astonishment. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Trying to help, which is more than you’re doing,’ JJ barked at him.

  Jude pulled off his shirt as he ran. ‘Call an air ambulance!’ he yelled. ‘Send up a flare! Garrick’s going to need all the help he can get. Watch out, Monty. I’m coming down.’

  The boys parted like a wave, mouths open. Jude leaped before he could think about it. Leaped before he was paralysed with terror. He armoured himself with the spirit of his dad, who’d given everything to rescue Robbie Blakeney – and Jess, who’d braved the sea squall to save her brother.

  As he hit its rippled silver surface, the lake closed over his head like a tomb. The water was shockingly, burningly cold. Jude was sure his heart would seize up if fright didn’t kill him first.

  He fought his way free of it, gasping for air. Getting his bearings, he dived again. He’d seen where Garrick had entered the water. He could visualize the exact spot.

  When he came up again, Garrick was in his arms. Between them, he and Monty dragged the unconscious boy to the shore.

  Thomas and JJ had rushed down to the shore with their rucksacks and were waiting with fleeces and thermals. The boys lifted Garrick on to an impromptu bed of heather and wrapped him in their clothes. Shivering in their boxers, the dry boys worked to keep Jude, Monty and Garrick warm as Jude performed CPR.

  The air ambulance flew in six minutes later. Mr Vesper came roaring across the moors on a quad bike just as they were lifting Garrick onto a stretcher. He brought blankets, jackets, and flasks of soup and hot cocoa.

  Garrick spent two nights in hospital but made a full recovery. He was almost more upset about being suspended from the swim team than he was about his near-death experience. In many ways, he was the same Garrick, but a little more humble, and a lot less arrogant.

  For Jude, the most noticeable difference was that he was suddenly and completely left alone – not only by Garrick’s gang, but every other mean-spirited prefect, brat or prankster. He got the feeling that Garrick had put the word out. Harm Jude and you’ll have me to deal with.

  And when term ended with a surprisingly moving prize-giving ceremony, it was Garrick who presented Jude with the Dragon Ridge Medal of Courage Award and told the story of the day Jude had saved his life.

  ‘It was a team effort,’ Jude told Ms Flowers afterwards. ‘I couldn’t have rescued Garrick without the help of Monty and the other boys. I especially couldn’t have done it if it I wasn’t armoured by my dad, Gabe and Jess. And by Markus and his wolf – I wouldn’t have even known about Markus if you hadn’t believed in me and got me reading.’

  ‘Oh, I think you have your sister to thank for that particular spark,’ the librarian observed with a smile. ‘I simply added some kindling. Wherever life takes them, you’ve taught Garrick and Co. a lesson they’ll carry with them always: don’t judge a book by its cover.’

  27

  STORM TACTICS

  Never in her wildest dreams had Jess imagined that she might one day compete in a Transatlantic yacht race, and yet here she was, bracing herself as the north-north-easterly gusted to thirty-five knots. Ahead was a Himalayan mountain range of waves, each steeper and more violent than the last.

  Decision time loomed, but Jess was torn between storm tactics.

  She could ‘heave to’ on a close reach with the jib jammed to windward. That way, the boat could be ‘parked’ on a safe-ish line while she retreated below deck. Or she could ‘run off’ before the storm winds, under bare masts, keeping the stern towards the overtaking waves.

  Jess made the wrong call. She chose running-off downwind. As the yacht tipped over the next peak and raced down the other side at high speed, she lost control of the steering.

  The boat went over, flinging Jess into the ocean.

  Had she clipped on her safety line? Yes, she had – but she’d forgotten to use a storm drogue. The special sea anchor would have slowed the boat and prevented the hull from turning side-on to the waves.

  A reproachful message scrolled across her screen: ‘Oh no! You did not succeed. Let’s try again.’

  Jess groaned. She hit the play button on the sailing simulator. Ms Gregory had installed it on her iPad after Jess confided that a) she was pining for the ocean, and b) she wished that Geraldine Rose offered sailing courses.

  ‘Everyone always blames Jude for what happened to our yacht,’ she’d told the teacher, ‘but it was my fault that we wrecked You Gotta Friend. He left the helm to help me. If I’d been a better sailor, it might never have happened.’

  ‘My dear girl, how can you say such a thing?’ cried Ms Gregory. ‘You were two grieving children alone at sea in a deadly storm. You’re heroes for coping as well as you did. Now, if it’s brushing up your sailing technique you’re after, I can help. Sailing simulators are the best. You can design your own boat and work your way through the Royal Yachting Association syllabus. It’s as if you’re sailing for real, only warmer and drier.’

  On Jess’s bedside table, mysteries had been replaced by a new book: Sailing a Serious Ocean. Jess liked to read random pages. Its author, John Kretsch
mer, had a knack for pithy quotes such as, ‘Fatigue is a stealthy enemy at sea.’

  As Jess prepared once again to tackle the Atlantic on her iPad, she tried to keep a flexible attitude, as advised by John Kretschmer. If she capsized, pitchpoled or fell overboard, she got up and did it again. If she learned one new thing a week, that was progress.

  ‘You’re obsessed with that game,’ remarked Letitia, who sat across from Jess, cross-legged on her bed, reading a tennis biography. ‘It seems fun, but why do you play it as if your life depends on it?’

  ‘I want to be ready,’ said Jess.

  ‘Ready for what?’

  ‘Just ready.’

  ‘What exactly am I preparing for?’ was a question Jess asked herself night after night as she tossed and turned in the darkness.

  It was a question without an answer. She only knew that as the end of term drew nearer, the prospect of returning to Blakeney Park filled her with dread.

  ‘Don’t make us regret taking you in . . .’

  Jess’s hopes of using her hour of internet access a day to investigate the Blakeneys had ended just ten days after she’d started at the Geraldine Rose School for Girls. By then, she’d learned two key things:

  1) The Blakeneys did a lot for charity. So they must be kind, Jess had thought, scrolling through glossy shots of Marina and Clifford attending endless balls and gallery openings in aid of refugees, guide-dog training, and local causes.

  2) Oddly, their big hearts weren’t large enough to include their own employees. Clifford was being sued by several who claimed they’d been fired after disagreeing with him or falling ill. Overnight, each had found their work sabotaged. Vital documents went missing from their computers. Briefcases, phones or business credit cards disappeared from their desks or homes, and they were sometimes accused of stealing them. Eventually, each individual was fired for slacking on the job or incompetence.

  ‘Blakeney’s the kind of man who probably blamed his own father for being in a wheelchair,’ snarked one sacked manager, who’d lost his job after breaking both arms falling off his bicycle.

  When the Daily Gazette ran a story poking fun at these disgruntled employees, arguing that their claims were hardly likely to be true when everyone knew that the Blakeneys gave millions to worthy causes, an anonymous fired staff member told a rival paper that Clifford specialized in ‘never getting his hands dirty. He has an enforcer who does his dirty work for him.’

  A spokesman for Daybreak Media dismissed the comments as the rantings of an employee ‘caught red-handed’ fiddling her expenses.

  The day after Jess discovered the ‘enforcer’ story, Marina had shown up at her school looking impossibly glamorous. She presented Jess with a new tennis racket, and Mrs Atkins with enough cupcakes for Jess’s entire year group.

  ‘I was passing and couldn’t resist popping in to see my best girl,’ she’d cooed at Jess in the head teacher’s office.

  She lost no time in getting to the real reason for her presence. ‘Darling, Mrs Atkins rang me to ask if everything was OK at home. Apparently, you’ve been doing internet searches on our family. I confess to finding that a teensy bit worrying. Is there anything you’d like to ask me, Jess? Anything on your mind?’

  Jess knew that Mrs Atkins had only acted out of concern, but it was difficult not to feel betrayed. In future, she’d have to be more careful to cover her tracks. She wondered how Marina would have responded if she’d asked: Is it true that your husband uses an enforcer to do his dirty work?

  ‘I hope you know that Clifford and I only wish the very best for you,’ Marina had purred. ‘That’s why we enrolled you here at the finest school in London.’

  That, at least, Jess could be honest about.

  ‘Oh, I love it here!’ she’d responded without hesitation. ‘The teachers and girls are so lovely. I was only curious about Daybreak Media because I’m considering becoming a journalist when I leave school. While I was reading up on your amazing company, I learned that you and Mr Blakeney are even more generous than I thought. You help so many people.’

  ‘It’s kind of you to say so, dear Jess,’ Marina had said, preening. ‘We do what little we can. How marvellous that you’re interested in becoming a reporter. Clifford can certainly advise you. But this episode has been a lesson to me. Too much computer time can be unhealthy for a young mind. I’ve asked Mrs Atkins to restrict your internet privileges for the time being. I want you to settle in and concentrate on your school work free from any distractions.’

  With her Wi-Fi access cancelled, Jess’s detective efforts had been put on ice for the entire term. Now, just days before the holidays, she still had no idea who had sent money to Gabe, or why the Blakeneys had fostered the children of a groom they barely knew.

  She’d begun to wonder if she and Jude had been mistaken in believing that the email in Gabe’s cabin was about them. In the four months since their guardian’s death, the only hint that anyone might be ‘hunting’ them was the dodgy man in mirror glasses who Jude claimed had been trying to photograph him that day at the ATM in Leverick Bay.

  Even Detective Jack Trenton had believed that their guardian’s death was an accident, pure and simple. After the twins had told him they suspected foul play, he’d had a toxicology report done on Gabe’s remains. That, like the autopsy, had been inconclusive.

  As March slipped by, Jess began to fear that she and Jude had learned as much about their past as they were ever likely to.

  The Mystery of Us, as Jess thought of it, would remain a mystery.

  ‘You must be over the moon about going home to Blakeney Park,’ said Flo, using a wire broom to sweep out the greenhouse in the school vegetable garden. ‘In photos, it looks impossibly grand.’

  ‘I’ll be over the moon to see my brother and our dog,’ Jess replied truthfully. She was preparing plant pots for spring seedlings. Gardening duty was compulsory for every girl at Geraldine Rose, and she’d grown to love it. ‘Sam will go berserk with happiness when he sees us.’

  ‘How about the Blakeneys?’ asked Flo. ‘Will you be happy to see them too?’

  Jess was saved from replying when Ned ‘Gruff’ Griffiths, the gardener, stuck his head around the door. ‘Apologies for interruptin’, Miss Gray. Any chance I could have a minute of your time?’

  Jess was surprised. He’d never previously uttered a word to her. ‘Uh, sure.’

  Flo propped the broom against the glass door. ‘Jess, I’m done, but I can wait for you if you like.’

  ‘Thanks, Flo – but don’t worry. You go on ahead.’

  After her friend had gone, Jess smiled at the gardener. ‘How can I help you, Gruff?’ she asked, rinsing her hands under the garden tap.

  ‘No, miss, it’s t’other way round. I think I can help you.’

  Jess straightened. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘Miss, forgive me, I’ve never been one for social media.’

  ‘Okayyy?’

  ‘All that tweeting and retweeting when you could have actual tweeting from real birds. All that “liking” or blocking. Who cares? As for the Kashardians – I wouldn’t know one if I fell over ’em.’

  ‘I think it’s the Kardashians,’ said Jess.

  ‘Still wouldn’t know ’em.’

  ‘I’m the wrong person to ask about social media.’ Jess took a firm step towards a group creating a tomato bed with their teacher, in case things got any weirder. ‘I’ve never used it.’

  ‘I’m just trying to explain why I didn’t make the connection. I’m the sort who’d rather dead-head roses than watch some lying, blustering politician on the news. Also, you were introduced by your first name.’

  Jess was getting nervous. In mysteries, seemingly innocuous gardeners often turned out to be serial killers who’d been burying bodies beneath the dahlias for years.

  ‘Gruff, I need to go. I have a meeting with my art teacher.’

  ‘I knew your mum and dad,’ he blurted out.

  The ground swayed
beneath Jess’s feet. She had to sit down on a rickety garden chair before she fainted. ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘I assure you it’s not,’ he said gently. ‘I apologize if this comes as a shock. I only found out who you were just yesterday when someone brought me seeds in an old newspaper. I recognized your photo on an article about your rags-to-riches story. It mentioned your parents were Jim and Joanna Gray, Robbie Blakeney’s groom and carer.’

  ‘What of it?’ Jess said defensively.

  ‘Miss, in case it’s any comfort, I wanted to tell you that, although I only worked with Jim and Joanna for a few months—’

  ‘You worked with them?’

  ‘Yes, I was head gardener at Blakeney Park back in the day. Miss, they were two of the finest people I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting.’

  Jess’s eyes filled with tears. Since leaving Blakeney Park, she’d been haunted by Caspian’s cruel taunts about her mum being a thief and her father a killer driver. To hear someone who’d worked alongside her parents speak about them in the highest terms was overwhelming.

  ‘What were they like? Oh, please, if there’s anything you can remember, the smallest detail, I’d love to hear it. Start with my mom. Tell me about her.’

  He smiled. ‘A steel magnolia, is how I thought of her. Beautiful and nice with it, but fiercely strong too. She needed to be to stand up to Clifford.’

  ‘Clifford? Why? He said he hardly knew my parents.’

  ‘To put it bluntly, that’s a lie. He knew them well. Unlike Marina, who rarely left London. Looking back, Clifford probably feels guilty. Joanna was his father’s nurse in his later years and, back then, Clifford cared about nothing but money. Your mum was always trying to persuade him to spend more time with his dad and be more patient with him. Fell on deaf ears. He was more interested in buying the latest flashy car or gadget.

  ‘He and your own father were opposites. Jim was a hard worker, down to earth, animal-mad, and always laughing. “Irrepressible,” your mum called him.’