by Julia Jones
Anna didn’t say anything but she looked as if she was really listening. As if this was making some sense?
Luke and Liam were fighting on the sofa. So Donny went on. “And the reason they’d like her to be illegal is so they could properly put the squeezers on. Like if she’s actually Mrs Big in some Chinese smuggling ring – then she’ll have loads of money to pay him off.”
Anna almost giggled. “Why? Why would even a hog like Flint think that your great aunt’s a Mrs Big?”
‘Pirate?’ thought Donny. “Because he’s insane, obviously. Probably watches too much TV. Or plays 18+ video games. He’s got a message she sent to our old address in Leeds, a couple of weeks after Skye and I had left. I don’t get how he’s getting info from up there but he is.”
Donny paused. This was the good bit. This was where Flint had given away more than he meant. “He was on about Chinese Triads and dragons and tigers and stuff. And extreme penalties for anyone involved – even juveniles. It was after the bit where he’d threatened to drive away. So he was really angry that I hadn’t said anything – because I couldn’t. So he pulled out this piece of paper and sort of waved it about. I think it was meant to be his clinching proof to make me spill all.”
“Can you remember what it said?”
“Course I can! It was another of her crazy telegrams. It said ‘GONGS FOR GOLD DRAGON MONDAY SEPT 25th. KEEP SHARP LOOKOUT. ELLEN.’ ”
They looked at one another. The room had gone quiet. But not because of Great Aunt Ellen’s cryptic message.
Luke and Liam had spotted Rev. Wendy looking thunderous in the doorway. “There has been Deceit in this House,” she said. “Anna. I have something serious to discuss with you. Please come into my study.”
Anna, always pale, went white. She stood up and, as she did, Donny noticed her push a small plastic bag out of the sleeve of her tracksuit. She didn’t look at him but he moved anyway. He stretched across, still holding the AA guidebook, and hid Anna’s package underneath it.
Gerald was waiting behind Rev. Wendy in the hall. The two adults and Anna went into the study together, shutting the door behind them.
“She’s in trouble,” said Liam to Luke, unnecessarily.
“Dead meat!” agreed Luke.
The little boys gripped fists with one another and took themselves upstairs. Donny followed, pausing only to replace the guidebook on the shelf and push Anna’s contraband deep into his trouser pocket.
Once he was in his bedroom he took it out and looked at it, puzzled. There was nothing in the plastic bag except a very long piece of telephone cable with different sized jack-plugs at either end. Huh? The door of her room was open. Maybe the tools from the school DT department had been found?
Later he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and the dull nag-nagging of adult voices. Things were being moved around in Anna’s room and he wondered whether he ought to go and grab his share of the blame. He didn’t want to make matters worse if it wasn’t the tools.
Once the sounds had stopped Donny gave it a couple of minutes then opened his own door very quietly.
He could see across the corridor: Anna’s door was open, her room was empty, her mattress had been removed.
For a moment he felt pure, rudderless, panic. Then he heard Wendy and Gerald’s voices from downstairs. He’d confront them. Shout, if he had to. Couldn’t lose Anna.
Vicky began to cry. Then, unexpectedly, stopped. No one came up. The voices carried on.
Donny tiptoed to Vicky’s door. Sure enough Anna’s mattress had been moved in there and she was kneeling beside Vicky’s cot, reluctantly settling her little sister. She pointed to the baby and mimed sleep. Then she held out one hand, palm upwards and blew something towards him.
It wasn’t a kiss; it was a dream.
Donny knew what she wanted. He crept silently back to his room and fetched the dream-catcher that she’d made for Vicky and the one he’d made for her. He added a pencil and a piece of paper as well. She looked pleased.
Vicky didn’t cry any more that night – but even if she had, Donny would not have heard her. He had dreamed himself onto a Chinese junk, off an island in an unknown sea. He and Xanthe were in the bows and there were other children in the stern. It wasn’t clear to him who all of them were.
The situation was dangerous.
It was black night and they were caught in a powerful current that was sweeping the junk through a deep gorge. There were rocks to either side. Splashes of water leapt and dropped. They had no lights, no compass and there was a whirlpool ahead. They could see nothing but already they could hear the enormous swirling of the water.
He didn’t know who was steering but they were skilful and he was not afraid.
The ship had steadied and was answering her helm. She danced light and responsive through the narrows and past the jagged foam-fringed rocks and treacherous sucking eddies.
Then they hit the whirlpool.
“Lie down and hold fast!”
There was a crash that shook the ship as the mainsail gybed
across. Then another as it gybed back again. A thunderous flapping.
Donny felt the boat turn 180 degrees. Then again ... crash! She turned back on her original course. There was someone steely calm and silent at the tiller.
This ship knew her captain. They were going to come safely to the smooth wide channel beyond.
Wednesday, September 20th
“Anna has not been judged,” announced Gerald gravely as he served their macro-biotic breakfast and told Luke that he would not be offered any more eggs until it was clear that his bad behaviour yesterday wasn’t hyper-activity caused by an allergic reaction to diary products. “We are seeking an interview with her teacher to clarify the circumstances. She will remain behind this morning until an appointment has been made. If necessary we will take further advice from Educational Welfare. John, we rely on you to make the bus journey alone.”
Donny had found a piece of paper in one of his school shoes.
“IMPORTANT. Please get to Mr McMullen a.s.a.p. and ask him not to tell. He knows what but he won’t understand why. I think he’ll do it though. Thanks, Anna.”
The bus journey to school from Xanthe and Maggi’s stop seemed to be getting shorter every morning; there was so much to talk about. Donny sat well to the front, away from the older boys. He didn’t care if they thought he was a wuss. There were things he had to be careful not to say with other students listening. He especially didn’t want to answer any questions about his trip to the hospital or spell out that Anna might have been caught stealing. So he kept the conversation focussed on plans for the dinghy.
This wasn’t too tricky. Xanthe’d given him a set of tide tables and was explaining how to read them.
“And Dad’s photocopied you a few pages about knots and signals and the law of the sea from some really old book in the club library,” added Maggi. “He says that when you can tie at least five of the knots, and you’ve learned the basics of the collision regs, there’s something else he wants to tell you. He says it’s sort of special.”
“What’s the book called?”
“Sailing. It doesn’t look special. It’s a how-to-do it book. Out of the ark. Crazy language – even by our standards – and someone’s dunked it sometime.”
They were at the school already. Donny was first out of the bus and almost the first into registration.
“Can I have a word, sir?”
“With or without an audience today?”
“A private word please, sir – It won’t take long – but it’s sortof urgent ... It’s about Anna.”
“Anna Livesey? Then I’m sure she’d want us to be discreet. Not a young lady eager to take the world into her confidence.”
Mr McMullen was quite shrewd.
“Yeah, well, that’s sort of what she wanted me to say. She’s in trouble with our carers. I think it might be about some tools that she might’ve, er, borrowed from this department. If it is, then it ought
really to be me in trouble. But she’s asked me to ask you not to tell.”
Mr McMullen looked puzzled.
“Not to tell about tools?” he asked.
“Two pairs of scissors, two bodkins, a bradawl and a hand- drill. She said you might not understand why you shouldn’t tell but you would know what. We were honestly only borrowing them.”
“I wonder,” Mr McMullen looked doubtful. “If that is what it is that I shouldn’t tell. Anna Livesey knows she has permission to borrow from my department. She’s one of the most promising students I’ve ever taught. Highly developed logical abilities and a real flair for electronics. For a Year Eight to build her own computer! As she did last year. Then refuse to let anyone see what she had done, beg me not to award her the junior prize or even mention the achievement in her report ...” Mr McMullen shook his head at the recollection. “And then she switched to textiles! I didn’t understand – and I still don’t. I try to hope that she’s the best judge of her own situation. You’re rather keen on sailing, aren’t you?”
Donny nodded, wondering why the change of subject and, anyway, how did he know?
“There’s a famous message,” the teacher carried on. “‘Better drowned than duffers: if not duffers won’t drown.’ Not exactly the flavour of modern childcare but ... I quite like it.”
Donny had too many answers to be able to choose which one so he just sort of shrugged. Mr McMullen rubbed his beard and chuckled. “Oh don’t mind me, I’m getting too old for all this. But Anna Livesey’s certainly no duffer. So, if I can work out what it is she doesn’t want me to tell – I’ll do my best not to tell it.”
Donny was almost as confused as his tutor.
“Thanks sir. I’ll, er, tell her.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Low Water
Wednesday, September 20th
Donny didn’t see Anna in school at all that day and failed to meet up again with Maggi or Xanthe. At lunchtime he checked the Port of Felixstowe website. No less than four of the twelve container ships scheduled to arrive on Monday 25th could have called at Shanghai. Or so it seemed. He didn’t have Anna’s confidence in cross-checking his searches. Maybe other routes linked in?
This wasn’t good. Great Aunt Ellen – or Gold Dragon as he now preferred to think of her – could arrive at almost any time of that day or night. He didn’t know how soon she’d be able to leave the ship. Would she wait for a crane to lift off Strong Winds? And would that take hours or days?
He found a list of the ships’ departure dates. Some were going to stay in Felixstowe for the best part of a week, others only twenty-four hours or less. Maybe he should compile some sort of table?
Stop there.
Maybe this wasn’t his problem. The point of her message was to ask them to be waiting for her on that Monday – presumably at Shotley which was where she’d said in the first place. There was a foot ferry from Felixstowe that ran three times a day via Harwich to Shotley, connecting the two sides of the harbour. She could come across on that. In her own time.
“Keep sharp lookout.”
That was his problem. Because now there was only him, not Skye, he was going to have to bunk off school again. Maybe for the whole twenty-four hours. Nobody was going to give him permission to spend the day in Shotley because nobody, except his friends – and possibly his enemies – believed Gold Dragon was going to come. He should have wrestled Flint for that scrap of paper.
The vision made him laugh.
Seriously, what was he going to do? It wasn’t only that he needed Great Aunt Ellen: she might need him. If Flint really believed that she was involved in some smuggling operation or Chinese Triad or something, he’d be the person waiting. Probably in his bloated Range Rover or foul shark-boat. Gold Dragon was old. Being bullied by the fat policeman might make her have a stroke or something – like Granny had.
“Keep sharp lookout.”
He must get there first and warn her.
None of the Allies were around after school and there was only Vicky and Gerald in the vicarage. Gerald was in the living room trying to do paper work while Vicky was pulling herself up around the furniture. There was an atmosphere of suppressed irritation.
Donny played with Vicky for a while. He let her grab his fingers with her strong little hands and encouraged her to lean on him and take toddly steps. It was quite fun but Gerald kept sighing at the noise. Donny needed to get out.
“Could I maybe take her for a walk? In a pushchair or something?”
He wasn’t sure he could manage Gerald’s hearty backpack but he’d seen plenty of people pushing kids around in buggies. Gerald looked surprised; then he glanced down at his papers.
“Where would you go?”
“That place we went on Sunday? Pin Mill? It’s not far. I could push along the side of the road. I’d be very careful.”
Gerald looked at his papers again. “Oh all right,” he said grudgingly. “But you’ll have to wrap her up warmly and I don’t want you to be out for long.” Then he relaxed slightly. “You’d better take a bottle of sterilised water. Keep the teat covered when not in use.”
“Could I have a biscuit or something?”
“No, no, they’re a choking hazard ... You mean for yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t make crumbs or spoil your appetite for supper. Take a banana instead. Be thoughtful about disposing of the skin.”
Donny felt like running when he and Vicky were finally allowed to go. He controlled himself until they were out of sight then broke into a jog. When they reached the narrow lane leading down to Pin Mill, he ran. He swerved and whooped: Vicky screeched with delight.
A shed. That was where Anna said they’d left Lively Lady.
Pin Mill seemed to be almost as full of sheds today as it was of boats. When he eventually found the right one, a man was already locking up. He said that the paint wasn’t dry and he hadn’t expected anyone. It was obvious that he didn’t want a boy and a baby hanging around. No public right of way, he said and went off taking the key with him.
Donny turned the pushchair away and headed towards the Hard. It was quiet there. The boatyards had closed and the pub hadn’t opened. Even the river seemed to have left for the day. Donny stared in bewilderment at the expanse of grey mud. Flat and featureless. Like acres of playing field where no play could happen any more – after some natural disaster maybe.
He parked the pushchair near the spot where Margery had been floating so temptingly only two days before. Then he lifted Vicky out and went padding carefully along the stretch of Hard.
He could see why it was called that. There was mud either side and more mud beyond. Soft mud. The moment he tried putting a foot onto it his leg went slipping down and down. His trainer and sock were completely black.
Donny stared in dismay. How was he going to get his dinghy onto the water if the tide was as far out as this? The launching trolley wouldn’t be much use.
It was cold and a squally breeze was beginning to get up. As he paced thoughtfully back along the Hard, he looked far to his left beyond the line of houseboats, along the thin strip of beach, to the point where the wood ended and the seawall began. He hadn’t noticed there was a cottage there, tucked snugly beside the last of the trees. Perhaps that was where Margery’s owner lived? Another place to avoid.
“Pee-doh! Pee-doh You’re a girl! Pee-doh!”
There was an ugly yelling at the top of the Hard and, before Donny realised it was directed at him, something flew past his ear. Suddenly he and Vicky were in a soggy shower as two of the boys from the bus stood there laughing and shouting and throwing gloopy handfuls of mud at them. They’d chucked the pushchair in already.
Donny had never felt more purely, blazingly angry. His shouting at the reservoir, his yelling at Flint, was nothing to the rage he felt now.
How could they do this to Vicky?
Shielding her as best he could and talking to her in a loving babble of slightly breathless
nonsense – mainly from Hiawatha, he realised afterwards – he ran straight past the boys and towards the pub wall. He’d spotted Margery there, moored close in, fore and aft. She was a safe haven.
“Ewa-yea, my little owlet,” he said to Vicky, as he sat her deep inside the big dinghy. “Who is this that lights the wigwam?”
“I hope you won’t mind me borrowing this,” he said, to no one in particular. And picking up one of Margery’s heavy wooden oars he charged at the two bigger boys, flailing it from side to side in wide, irresistible sweeps.
He must have looked completely berserk. Or perhaps they were gob-smacked that he’d come back at them at all.
They ran.
Even faster than he and Luke had scarpered on the Sunday.
“I’ll have the law on you,” called one of them, as he fled, across the green picnic area and away somewhere to the back 0f the builders’ sheds and yards.
Donny lowered the oar and watched them go. Then he walked back to Vicky. She had used Margery’s centre thwart to pull herself up and was beaming as if she’d found herself on the best of all playpens. She wasn’t even that muddy.
Donny, however, was plastered with gunk. And there was the question of the pushchair. It was a good fifteen metres out, half sunk in the ooze.
A pair of swans came flying in.
Donny was jumpy. The noise of their wide wings startled him and he shifted protectively close to Vicky as they stuck their strong short legs ahead of them and slid across the surface of the mud, curving their wings on either side to act as brakes. They toppled slightly as they did so, virtually tobogganing to a halt. Then they picked themselves up composedly and tucked their wings back in as they waddled across the softness on wide webbed feet. Their snowy fronts were streaked with black but, once they were up and walking, they scarcely sank in at all.
“That’s what we need, papoose,” said Donny to Vicky. “Feet like theirs.”
“You could borrow my daughter’s floorboards,” said a voice behind them.
