30
FIREBIRD
Whenever Jess thought back to the planet-aligning miracles of that night, she saw it in numbers: One Ex-Race Horse, Two Grumpy Water Rats, Two Stars and a Firebird had helped the twins escape Two Rottweilers, Three Menacing Guards, One Apoplectic Enforcer, One Hapless Police Constable, and a Trio of Livid Blakeneys.
She wasn’t there to witness the grimacing and wailing of the Blakeney Park mob, obviously. Nor did she have a psychic hotline into the local police station. She had no clue how many constables were summoned to the house, or whether they were hapless or as sharp as Detective Jack Trenton.
It made no difference. Forever afterwards, that’s how Jess would picture them all, like amateur actors who’d forgotten their lines.
The first Star was Sirius.
Blake, the Ribcraft owner, drove the twins many nautical miles along the River Severn without complaint. But when it emerged that the ‘X’ on Sirius’s map marked an area where about a hundred boats were anchored in near darkness, he lost his rag.
‘What do you mean, you’ve no idea what his boat’s called?’
In the nick of time, Jess recalled Sirius telling them that the clue to the narrowboat’s name was his own.
Minutes later, they found his narrowboat, Brightest Star – Sirius being the brightest star in the night sky.
By now, it was 2 a.m. Their dreadlocked friend was remarkably sanguine about being woken from a dead sleep and asked to repay a fox-saving favour.
Once the twins had explained their dilemma, he set about preparing them a feast of veggie sausages, onions and ketchup on white bread.
It was Sirius who solved a puzzle that had defeated Jess’s art-sleuth teacher, Ms Gregory. Willa, his Jack Russell, lent a helping paw.
Meeting Willa reminded the twins that their own dog had been stolen from them. There were tears as they told Sirius about the heartless Blakeneys sending Sam to a shelter.
‘As soon as we’re settled somewhere, we’re going to track down his new owners and beg them to let us have him back,’ Jude said.
‘What a family of charmers those Blakeneys have turned out to be,’ Sirius had said, grimacing. ‘That makes me even more determined to help you. I’ll put the word out in case anyone hears of a recently adopted Swiss Shepherd. Do you have a photo of him?’
‘I have a painting.’ Jess pulled a padded folder out of her backpack. ‘My art teacher says that if you visualize your dreams in a picture, they might come true. She calls them “wish fulfilment” paintings. That’s what this is. I copied the oil painting our mom left us, which I left at school because I thought I’d be returning after the holidays. I’ve added in me and Jude on the beach with Sam, our dog.’
‘Who’s that at the window?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Jess, feeling a pang. ‘Maybe our godmother. We think we have one, but we’re not sure.’
‘You’re very gifted, you can be sure about that.’ Sirius took the painting and held it up to the lamp. ‘Hey – I know that cove.’
‘Everyone knows that cove,’ Jess said resignedly. ‘Don’t tell me. It’s the Isle of Arran. No, it’s Northumberland or Norway. Everyone thinks they’ve seen it before.’
‘Maybe so, but I’ve actually been there. I anchored in that bay many times when I was volunteering on a sea-bird project on that coastline. See that seal-shaped rock? I’ve dived off it. And there’s the viewing point where I watched a pod of dolphins jump at sunset. I remember the white cottage too. Its name stuck in my head: “Hope Flies”.’
‘Hope Flies?’ Jess gasped. ‘Did you say, “Hope Flies”? Oh, my gosh, Jude – is it really possible? It can’t be a coincidence, surely?’
Jude had already made the leap. ‘The reference on Gabe’s bank statement – HOPEFLI? Short for HOPE FLIES. But how? Why? I don’t understand.’
Sirius was studying Jess’s painting. ‘What’s this mark? A star?’
‘I copied it from the original,’ said Jess. ‘The star’s actually the artist’s signature. Her name’s Amelia Starr.’
Jude said impatiently, ‘Sorry to interrupt, guys. This is riveting and all, but I can’t wait a second longer. Where is this bay and how do we get there?’
Sirius laughed. ‘Apologies, Jude. I got carried away reminiscing. I’m ninety-nine per cent sure it’s Bluey’s Cove in West Cork . . . Ireland.’
‘No!’
‘Yes,’ insisted Sirius. ‘I can even show you the chart.’
Jude pulled a scrap of blue paper from his pocket. ‘After Marina burned our godmother’s letter, I found this on the rug. It only has one word on it, but I kept it in case it was a clue.’
He handed it to Jess. It was charred at the edges, but there was no mistaking the word in bold, clear print: ‘BLUEY’S’.
‘Be warned, it can get pretty hairy out there,’ Sirius said as he led the twins aboard Firebird, a thirty-seven-foot Moody yacht, shortly before dawn the next day.
‘Once you’ve negotiated the shipping lanes and tides of the Bristol Channel, you’ll be dealing with the Atlantic swell. On the Irish Sea, the South-Westerly feels gale force even when it isn’t. I’m praying that the Daily Gazette didn’t exaggerate your sailing skills. The ones you had prior to crashing your yacht, that is! I wouldn’t want to be responsible for two twelve-year-olds capsizing on the crossing like those tragic Fastnet Race sailors who got caught in a massive storm.’
‘We’re not going to capsize,’ said Jude, with more confidence than he felt. ‘But are you sure we’re not going to get you into trouble? Isn’t this technically stealing?’
Sirius laughed. ‘More like poetic justice. In Russian folk tales, the Firebird steals golden apples or pearls from the rich in order to help the poor. Think of it as a metaphor. I’ve been caretaking this Firebird for five years for a wealthy man who sails her once or twice a year with his wealthy friends. Last year, he didn’t visit her at all. To me, yachts are like wild horses. Every now and then, they need to run free on the prairie.’
He tossed a drypack on to the deck. ‘Salopettes, extra thermals, gloves, hats and enough supplies for three days. Weather permitting, that’s how long your voyage will take.’
‘Sirius, you’ve thought of everything,’ Jess said in amazement as she unpacked hot chocolate, frozen pizza, pasta, soup, cheese and ginger biscuits in the galley.
He shrugged. ‘You’ve had a rough time. I thought you might need a few treats. Now remember, it can get Siberian real fast out there. Keep warm and drink plenty of hot fluids. Rest when you can.’
‘Sirius, we’re going to owe you forever for what you’ve done for us,’ Jude told him, as the twins prepared to cast off.
‘Call it even. If you’re not back from Ireland in a week, I’ll send a friend to pick up Firebird. Hope things work out with your godmother. You’re good kids. You deserve a home like the one in Jess’s painting, with a dog waiting on the shore.’
The twins took to the ocean as if they’d never left it. As if the yacht and the sea were family. They felt as free as dolphins.
Jude took the helm. Jess raised the headsail and checked the lines. Once they were underway, she took up her favourite position at the starboard shroud, breathing in deep as the waves turned from pink to indigo, then dove-grey, steel-green and ultramarine. The salt spray stung her cheeks and brought out the roses in them.
Jude, guiding Firebird as if she were an extension of himself, felt whole again.
Much later, a storm blew in out of nowhere. Violent crosswinds and a turbulent sea pulled Firebird beam-on – sideways – to the waves. A mini tsunami sloshed across the deck.
There was one adrenalin-fuelled moment when the angle at which the boat could stay upright without capsizing – the Angle of Vanishing Stability – became vanishingly small. Firebird heeled but somehow righted herself.
Throughout, the twins worked as a seamless team.
‘Shall we run off or heave to?’ yelled Jess, battling to stay upright on the heaving
deck.
‘Your call,’ shouted Jude from the helm.
Jess decided. ‘Let’s heave to and ride out the weather.’
After she’d trimmed the main, Jude turned the bow of the boat through the wind to back the headsail. Quick as he could, he lashed the helm while Jess deployed the sea anchor. Then they ducked into the saloon for a much-needed rest.
Once they’d peeled off their wet salopettes, the twins curled up on a squashy seat, warming their bellies with hot chocolate and toasting their toes on the heater.
It was only then that Jess remembered the school letter in her pocket.
She tore it open, expecting to see her school report. Instead she found a note to Marina Blakeney, asking her to pass the enclosed letter to ‘Jess and Jude Gray’, and apologizing that it hadn’t been found sooner. It had been discovered beneath the bedside table in Jess’s boarding house room.
In a flash, Jess realized that this must be the secret document that had been taped to the back of her mum’s painting. It must have fallen out when the picture broke. Written on the yellowing envelope were five words the twins would never forget:
Letter to My Beloved Children
With shaking fingers, Jess took out three thin pieces of paper inside and began to read.
Dearest Jess and Jude,
If you’re reading this letter, I am no longer with you. It’s too much to hope that my passing brings you no pain. I know how lost and heartbroken I was and am without your father, and I wish I was there to wrap you in my arms. As your mom, I wish I could spare you all suffering always. But that’s not how life works. Perhaps that’s as it should be. Adversity teaches empathy, and with empathy comes compassion. When those qualities are absent in a person, it can lead to the sort of situation I’m about to outline in this letter.
I’m painfully aware that if your dad and I are gone, your lives will not be easy, but I have taken care to ensure that some of the best people I’ve ever known are watching over you. They will do everything in their power to protect you, guide you and equip you with the necessary skills and qualities you will need if you ever cross paths with the powerful forces I am about to describe. If all else fails, trust in your own moral compass. If you’re anything like your father, it will see you through.
I wish you could have known your dad. Jim was courageous, humble, and always laughing. Most of all, he was kind. I think that’s why our employer, Mr Robert Blakeney, was so fond of him. They shared the same values. Within months of us moving to Blakeney Park in Gloucestershire, England, where Jim was head groom and I was a personal assistant and, later, carer to Robbie, the men were best friends.
You need to know that the accident that took the lives of Robbie and your dad was just that – an accident. Robbie was driving, but it was not his fault. If anyone was to blame, it was the council for not repairing the bridge that collapsed. Jim jumped into the raging river and managed to save Robbie, losing his own life in the process. In truth, I think Robbie wished he hadn’t. He loved Jim like a son, and blamed himself for your dad’s death.
Robbie passed away a week after the accident. The doctors put it down to pneumonia. I believe he died of a broken heart.
It’s hard to explain how devastating it was to lose the two men I cared about most in the space of a week. Days later, as I reeled from these terrible blows, a nurse confirmed what I suspected: that I was pregnant. With twins! In the midst of such profound sorrow, the joy and hope of that news lifted me like nothing else. It felt miraculous.
The first person I rang was my own best friend – my cousin Amelia Starr. She lives by the sea in Ireland. I asked her to be your godmother. She has always been my safe harbour, and I knew that she’d be yours too.
The following day, I was tidying away some of Robbie’s effects in his study when I came across his Will and Testament. He had recently altered it, leaving Blakeney Park – every blade of grass, tree, horse and painting – to Jim. With my husband gone, the estate, house and everything in it was mine. Clifford would still inherit a small fortune, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough. To a man like Clifford, it was Blakeney Park – worth tens of millions if broken up and sold to developers – that was the real prize.
Before I could take in this stunning development, a floorboard creaked. Some instinct made me hide. It was lucky I did. Clifford and Mr Riker came into the room. Riker was Clifford’s right-hand man. A practitioner of the darkest arts of human imagining. All the staff were terrified of him. Not for nothing was he called the Enforcer. From behind the curtain, I heard the men discussing the will. Clifford was raging. He declared that Robbie was of unsound mind, that Jim and I had manipulated him, and that I should be got rid of. ‘Eliminated’ was the word he used. I felt in my bones that this was no idle threat. Fearing for the two of you, my unborn babies, I resolved to hand in my notice without delay, using the excuse that I was grieving too much to do a good job.
I’ll always regret leaving my hiding place too soon. As I stepped out from behind the curtain, Mr Riker returned to the room. He’d forgotten something. He realized immediately that I’d overheard everything. Sheer terror lent me wings. Somehow, I evaded him as he lunged at me. It wasn’t hard to lose him in the maze of corridors and staircases. I fled down to a seldom-used cellar and exited via a storm drain on the grounds.
From there, I risked a quick detour to my cottage to grab cash, your father’s lucky horseshoe, and Amelia’s painting, given to us on our wedding day. Then I ran for my life. I made it on to a train and away, with Riker hot on my heels.
Amelia saved my life. She organized a fake passport and money. I flew to New York City, took the first Greyhound leaving the Port Authority bus station, and travelled as far south as I could go. I knew those men would never rest until they’d hunted me down and destroyed me or finished me off.
They didn’t want any chance of Jim’s wife contesting their right to Blakeney Park, which was worth tens of millions if sold to greedy developers. The one saving grace is that the Blakeneys never found out that I was expecting not just one but two babies. That is the secret I am so desperate to keep. I know that if they discover the truth, they will do anything to prevent the two of you growing up to claim Blakeney Park. Your lives will always be in danger.
That’s the real reason I fled Blakeney Park – to make sure Clifford and Mr Riker never find out about you. To keep you safe.
I’ll always believe that some guiding star led me to meet Gabe and the good people of the Castaway Diner that night. Only time will tell if I made the right choice entrusting you to their care. Whatever happens, I know that Amelia will watch over you from afar.
As for Robbie’s will, I managed to take a photo of it on my phone right before Mr Riker returned to the room. A copy is held in the office of a respected London solicitor. Amelia has the details. Blakeney Park is yours if you want it: I’m bequeathing the estate to you, just as Robbie left it to your father.
With the guidance of your godmother, my will’s executor, I have the utmost faith that you’ll make the decision that’s best for you and the estate. I have faith, too, that you’ll find this letter – and Amelia – when you most need them.
Know this, darling Jess and Jude, wherever life takes you and however life shapes you, your dad and I will always be proud of you. We will love you to the stars and back until the end of time.
Your Mom xxx
31
HOMECOMING
Amelia Starr was waiting on the beach at Bluey’s Cove. Even from a distance, they were certain it was her. A dog was at her side, his creamy-white fur rippling in the breeze.
The moment the twins had anchored the yacht and hopped into the dinghy to row to the shore, Sam was in the sea, swimming towards them.
‘Tell me I’m not dreaming, Jude?’ cried Jess in wonder, reaching down to haul their beloved friend aboard, and getting drenched in the process.
Delirious with joy, Sam washed their faces and scrambled all over them, nearly upending the littl
e rubber boat.
As they stepped on to the pale lilac beach, the sandy, wet dog leaped out of the dinghy and raced back and forth between the twins and Amelia Starr, barking wildly.
‘You did this,’ Jude said to Jess, laughing. ‘You wished upon a painting, and Sam and our godmother came true.’
‘We did this,’ Jess told him, slinging an arm around her brother’s shoulders as they walked up the beach. ‘You spotted the Water Rats’ kayak from the helicopter and deciphered the symbols on Sirius’s map. You skippered us here.’
‘And you crewed the yacht and made the right call about heaving-to,’ said Jude. ‘Without that, we’d probably have capsized. We sailed through the storm together. And, thanks to Sirius, our godmother knew we were on our way.’
Amelia Starr was smiling when they reached her. ‘So you made it across the Irish Sea, Jess and Jude? That’s no mean feat, but it doesn’t surprise me in the least. Nice yacht. Good name too, Firebird. Appropriate, under the circumstances.’
‘We thought so,’ Jess answered with a giggle. ‘A Water Rat lent it to us because we helped him save some foxes.’ She grinned. ‘Long story.’
‘Well, of course you saved some foxes! I wouldn’t expect anything less.’
Amelia clasped their hands. ‘Oh, my beautiful godchildren. I’ve waited for this moment, dreamed of it, for almost your whole lives. And you look so like your wonderful parents!’
‘Are we allowed to hug you?’ Jess asked shyly.
Amelia put out her arms and the twins stepped into the circle of them. She was soft and warm and felt like home. In a way, she was. The moment they saw her up close, they realized that they’d known her for as long as they could remember.
Once a year, every year, from the day they were born, she’d found a way to be near them. She was the woman who’d lingered over pancakes in the Castaway diner, reading a novel. The artist they’d seen painting fishermen hauling in nets on a trip to Key West. The tourist who’d left a box of adventure stories for Jess on the porch of Gabe’s cabin one birthday, on the exact same day that Jude found a sailing T-shirt and fishing rod on a near-deserted beach. Looking back, he recalled passing her as he and Gabe strolled on to the sand.
Wave Riders Page 21
