Then she clicked her fingers at Sterling and marched onto the platform, with her resigned, speechless, acquiescent family shuffling along behind her.
28
MORE MISS MOLPE
BUT THE CARNIVAL CREATURES WEREN’T ABOUT TO GIVE UP. ‘Please, Edison, don’t go!’ they cried. ‘Don’t leave us! We need you!’ With despairing expressions they clustered around the buggy, where Edison was squeezing into the front seat between his father and sister. ‘It won’t be any fun unless you’re here! You have to stay, please!’
Though Coco ignored them, Edison sounded deeply apologetic as he promised to pay another visit. ‘I love this place,’ he said. ‘Why wouldn’t I want to come back?’
‘Let’s go!’ snapped his mother, who had wedged herself in behind Newt, next to Marcus. She was addressing the buggy. ‘Come on! Get a move on!’
Nothing happened. The buggy just sat there.
‘I’ll play with you another time,’ Edison promised the nearest clown, which was clinging to one side of the buggy with its pasty white fingers.
‘No! You don’t understand! We’re miserable here without you!’ An inflatable alien pushed to the front of the crowd, wriggling between two giant teddy bears. Its voice was soft and sibilant, like air hissing from an open valve. ‘The hours are so long, and we’re not even paid . . .’
‘And we’ll get in trouble if you leave,’ the clown added – triggering an immediate response from Marcus. He leaned forward, anxious to press for more details.
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Is someone going to get mad at you?’
‘Edison! Will you tell this buggy to move, please? We’re waiting!’ Coco wasn’t interested in what the clown had to say. And Sterling felt obliged to back her up.
‘Come on, Ed,’ he murmured. ‘We’ve really got to go now.’
‘Yeah, but where are we going?’ Edison was obviously confused. ‘I mean, the door’s not this way, is it?’
‘There’s a lift,’ Marcus explained. And Newt moaned, ‘Can we go, please? I can hardly breathe, I’m so squashed!’
The buggy, however, wouldn’t stir. ‘She’ll get mad,’ it whimpered. ‘She’ll punish us if you leave . . .’
‘Who will?’ Marcus demanded.
‘Miss Molpe,’ said the buggy, triggering a breathy, frightened chorus. ‘Miss Molpe . . . Miss Molpe . . . Miss Molpe . . .’ the creatures all echoed. Holly and Marcus looked at each other.
‘Who’s Miss Molpe?’ Sterling wanted to know. But before Marcus could explain that she used to own the Bradshaws’ caravan, Newt barked, ‘She’s one of the Sirens, okay? Now can we get going?’
No one moved a muscle. Even the creatures stood rigid, staring at Newt in astonishment.
‘What do you mean?’ Marcus finally managed to squawk.
‘Molpe is one of the Sirens,’ Newt repeated. ‘You know – as in the band?’
‘No, Newt, we don’t know.’ Her stepmother’s tone was long-suffering. ‘What band are you talking about?’
‘It’s an all-girl band called the Sirens. They’re named after a bunch of ancient Greek monster-women who used to sing songs and kill people.’ Newt spoke impatiently, as if she couldn’t believe how much ignorance there was in the world. ‘The drummer calls herself Molpe, even though her real name’s Kym. The others are called Parthenope, Leucosia and Ligeia.’
‘Siren Song Travel,’ Marcus whispered. Though he wasn’t actually addressing his mother, she responded with a groan.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Oh my God, Marcus.’
‘Do you think . . . ? I mean, could this be . . . ?’ He trailed off, waiting for reassurance. But she had none to give.
‘The sirens were those creatures who used to lure travellers to certain doom,’ she quavered. ‘They were in that book of Greek mythology I used to read you, remember? No one could resist their songs. Sailors would drive their ships onto the rocks and drown, or just lie around and die because they couldn’t tear themselves away . . .’ She swallowed before adding hoarsely, ‘There are even stories that the sirens used to eat the people they trapped!’
For a brief, tense moment their gazes locked. Then Marcus said, ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’
‘Oh, we’re getting out of here, all right.’ Coco had been impatiently drumming her lacquered fingernails on the door of the buggy; now she wagged one of them in the clown’s face and warned, ‘There’s nothing I hate more than bad service – especially in a tourist destination like this one. Bad service really makes me mad. And if you think Miss Molpe’s scary, you should see what I’m like when some lazy, whining, incompetent loser tries to make excuses for unacceptable standards.’ As the clown shrank back, she raised her voice so that it cracked like a whip. ‘Unless you want to find yourself wishing that Miss Molpe was here to protect you, I suggest that you mind your own business, do your job and facilitate our departure!’
Even Newt seemed impressed by this tirade. As for the ducks and the plush toys, most of them scurried away to hide, squeaking piteously. Several of the clowns began to sob.
Edison’s forehead crumpled beneath the rim of his pith helmet.
‘Poor things,’ he said. ‘Can’t we do something to help?’
‘Yes. We can,’ Marcus volunteered quickly, before Coco had the chance to explode. ‘What if we go straight to Miss Molpe from here,’ he suggested to the creatures, ‘and tell her that you guys weren’t to blame? What if we tell her there was nothing you could do, because Edison had made up his mind to leave? She couldn’t punish you then. She’d have to see that it wasn’t your fault.’
The creatures considered his proposal. There were two or three watery smiles. Then the biggest alien wheezed, ‘Do you promise?’
‘We promise,’ Marcus said. ‘Don’t we, Edison?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Edison nodded vigorously. ‘We sure do.’
Marcus glanced at Newt, afraid that she might make some caustic remark that would undermine all his efforts, like ‘How can we talk to this freak if we don’t even know where she is?’ But Newt had the sense to keep her big mouth shut – and next thing he knew, the buggy was rolling forward.
‘Goodbye, Edison! We’ll miss you so much!’ the creatures cried, waving and blowing kisses while the tears ran down their shiny plastic or furry nylon cheeks. ‘Please come back! Come back soon!’
‘I will!’ Edison assured them, waving so energetically that he nearly knocked his own hat off. Marcus and Sterling waved too. Then the buggy went crashing through a pair of swing doors and all the bright, sunlit colours were swallowed up by darkness.
‘Thank God for that,’ Coco muttered.
On their way to the lift, they had to endure a crypt, a dungeon, and a haunted ballroom full of very clingy ghosts. At last, however, the buggy reached its destination – where Prot was still patiently holding open the door.
‘Oh, wow,’ Edison remarked. ‘This is cool. This is better than the stairs, eh?’
‘Not really,’ said Marcus. Holly, meanwhile, was shooing everyone out of the buggy, which had a mournful expression on its goblin face.
‘Did Miss Molpe say you could use her lift?’ it asked. No one paid much attention except Marcus, who turned to look at the buggy.
‘She uses this lift?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ the buggy replied.
‘How often does she use it?’
‘Whenever she needs to.’
‘Yeah, but how often does she come here?’ Talking to the buggy was a little like talking to Prot, Marcus thought. He had to spell things out. ‘How often do you actually see her?’
‘I’ve never seen her,’ said the buggy.
‘What?’ Marcus was flabbergasted. ‘But how do you know what she’ll do if you’ve never even seen her?’
The buggy looked confused.
‘I just know,’ it explained. ‘Miss Molpe is in charge. We have to do what she says.’
‘Marcus!’ Coco beckoned from inside the lift. ‘Hurry, will you?’
/> ‘Yeah, I’m coming.’
Marcus ended up beside Holly, who was reading aloud from the brochure in her hand. ‘Eight-eight-two-two . . .’ she quoted, as Prot tapped each digit into the control panel.
‘Hey Mum,’ he asked her, ‘what do sirens look like?’
Holly didn’t reply; she was too busy reciting code numbers. It was Newt who answered his question.
‘They’re supposed to be half-woman, half-bird,’ she explained. ‘They’re not real, though. I told you – they’re ancient Greek legends.’
Marcus wasn’t so sure about that. ‘Mum?’ he said, hoping to extract more information. Then his gaze snagged on the familiar brochure she was holding. ‘Diamond Beach Paradise?’ he read. ‘Are we going there? But that’s not the real Diamond Beach. That’s just a fake.’
‘I thought we were going home?’ Newt grumbled. Marcus was about to point out that they didn’t yet know how to get home when Holly said, ‘I just want to make a quick stop.’
‘Why? So you can see Jake?’ Marcus hazarded.
‘Maybe. If he’s still there.’
Then the door closed.
29
OLD DIAMOND BEACH
‘ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT JAKE BORAZIO?’ COCO BUTTED in. ‘That boy we used to know when we were all kids together?’
Holly nodded. She passed the Diamond Beach brochure to Coco, who gasped.
‘Oh my God! It’s him!’ Coco yelped. ‘It’s Jake! Look! Can you believe that?’
She shoved the picture under Sterling’s nose. Marcus, meanwhile, had been struck by a disturbing thought. With a grimace he addressed his mother.
‘If Jake’s still down here somewhere,’ he said, ‘will that mean he hasn’t grown up?’
Holly looked startled.
‘Oh, I-I’m sure he has,’ she replied.
‘But what if he hasn’t? What if he’s stayed the same age?’ Marcus’s voice dropped to a spooked whisper. ‘What if we’re stuck in a time warp?’
Holly opened her mouth. Before she could reply, however, Coco said, ‘Holly, what’s going on? Where did you get this?’ She was referring to the brochure, which her husband was still holding. ‘Did you find it in your caravan?’
‘No.’
‘You mean you’ve had it all this time?’ Coco sounded amazed. ‘Since we were kids?’
‘Uh – no . . .’
‘It was in the office,’ Sterling supplied helpfully. And when Coco gave him a blank stare, Holly mumbled, ‘It’s complicated.’
Then the lift stopped.
‘Oh boy,’ said Marcus. ‘This is going to be weird.’
He was right. It was weird. As the door rolled back like a curtain, they all found themselves staring at the inside of a public restroom. The walls were made of brick; the floor was a slab of polished concrete. There was the usual array of basins, taps and paper-towel dispensers, yet everything was sparkling clean. Marcus couldn’t spot a single puddle, rust stain, cobweb or graffiti tag.
The whole place smelled of flowers.
‘Oh!’ Holly exclaimed. And Coco said, ‘Is this . . . ?’ before trailing off.
‘Nice,’ drawled Newt, her voice weighted with sarcasm. ‘Just where I’d want to take my next holiday.’
Holly ignored her, calmly stating, ‘It’s the Diamond Beach toilet block.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Edison protested.
‘Yes, it is.’ Holly spoke kindly. ‘It’s the old one, not the new one. You’ve never been here before.’
‘But was the old one ever this clean?’ Coco asked in a hushed tone. ‘It’s so clean.’
‘I know. It is.’ Holly peered around. ‘I don’t think I ever minded coming in here – did you? So it must have been fairly clean, back in our day.’
‘It’s beautiful. Really beautiful,’ growled Newt, without conviction. ‘It’s the most beautiful grungy old restroom I’ve ever seen. I still don’t want to stay here, though.’
For once, Marcus agreed with Newt. ‘Let’s get out before someone comes in,’ he begged.
So after instructing Prot to hold the lift door, they ventured out of the restroom into the open. It was a beautiful day outside. The sky was cloudless. The temperature was perfect. The air was fresh and balmy and scented with seaside aromas: salt, fish, coconut oil, barbecued meat. Marcus was astonished at the landscape confronting him; it was familiar, yet at the same time utterly foreign. He recognised the curving sweep of white sand, the strip of navy-blue ocean, the silhouette of a rocky headland, the dark smudge of a distant lagoon. But the lagoon was wrapped in a thick cloak of trees. The headland had no houses on it. The white beach was deserted.
Only the ocean looked the same.
‘Oh. My. God,’ said Newt. ‘It’s Diamond Beach. It really is.’
They all gazed in wonder at the modest parking lot, with its small collection of vintage cars. These cars were parked beside a kiosk that Marcus remembered from the brochure in Sterling’s hand; beneath the big, faded ‘Snack Bar’ sign were other signs advertising ice-cream, hot dogs, fish and chips. And beyond the kiosk lay a cluster of tents and caravans.
Holly let out a strangled squawk.
‘That’s – that’s . . .’ she stammered, pointing. Coco had to finish the sentence for her.
‘That’s our caravan!’ Coco squealed. ‘And that’s your tent, Holly! Oh my God!’
‘That’s not our caravan,’ Newt objected. Sensing her alarm, Marcus decided to clarify things.
‘She doesn’t mean your caravan,’ he said. ‘She means her caravan. From when she was a kid.’
Holly and Coco were clutching each other, as if they needed support. Holly looked as if she were about to faint.
‘Can you – can you see my mum and dad?’ she whimpered.
Coco shook her head. Her lips were trembling.
‘I can’t see anyone,’ Edison complained. ‘There’s nobody here.’
‘They’re probably all inside,’ said Newt. But she seemed doubtful. And from the way she was eyeing the accommodation on offer, it was clear that she wouldn’t have wanted to spend much time in it herself.
It was pretty shabby.
‘Maybe there are no people.’ Holly was hoarse with emotion. ‘Maybe Jake’s dream holiday was Diamond Beach without the people.’
‘Oh, yeah!’ Edison’s whole face lit up. ‘Wouldn’t that be great!’
‘There has to be an explanation,’ Sterling muttered. He was looking more and more perplexed. ‘I know there has to be a key to this somewhere. I just have to figure out what it is.’
Marcus had been studying the caravans. One of them was big and yellow. One of them had stars and song lyrics painted all over it. One of them might have been homemade; it was constructed out of wood, canvas and plastic sheeting, like a slightly updated covered wagon.
But one caravan was small and beautifully kept, with flowered curtains and a blue stripe.
‘Is that Miss Molpe’s caravan?’ he asked.
Then Holly screamed.
30
FAMILIAR CHILDREN
ALITTLE GIRL HAD APPEARED IN THE DISTANCE, STEPPING out from behind one of the tents. Though her face was just a blur, Marcus could see that she was short and plump, with curly black hair. She was about eight years old.
Coco slapped her hands over her mouth.
‘Dear God,’ Holly croaked, gaping like a fish. ‘Is that you, Coco?’
The little girl suddenly swerved in their direction. As she trotted towards them across the parking lot, Marcus began to feel scared. What would happen when the little Coco and the big Coco came face to face? Would one of them vanish in a puff of quantum physics? Would they merge? Would they both go mad?
Big Coco was certainly shaken to the core. Gasping and reeling, she looked like someone about to have a heart attack. Little Coco, in contrast, was blithe and happy. She was also as cute as a button in her purple-hippo swimsuit, with her painted toenails and missing teeth.
‘Hey!’ she chirruped.
‘Why are you here?’
She was talking to Edison – probably because they were both around the same age. It was Marcus, however, who replied.
‘We’re here to play,’ he said quickly. ‘Is there anyone here we can play with?’
Little Coco dimpled. ‘Sure!’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s me!’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Um . . .’ Glancing over her shoulder, she wrinkled her brow in thought. ‘There’s my big sister. And there’s Abigail. And Holly . . .’
Marcus heard his mother squeak.
‘Are there any boys?’ he asked Little Coco, who answered him cheerfully.
‘There’s Ryan,’ she offered. ‘And there’s Jake. Only Jake doesn’t play with us anymore, since he got so big.’
Holly staggered. Her knees looked as if they were about to give way, but there was nowhere for her to sit down. So she slumped against the nearest rubbish bin (which didn’t have any rubbish in it).
‘Is that Miss Molpe’s caravan?’ was Marcus’s next question. When Little Coco nodded, he said, ‘Is she in there?’
‘No. I haven’t seen her for a long time.’ Little Coco cocked her head at him. ‘Why? Do you want to listen to her gramophone?’
‘We want to talk to Jake Borazio,’ Holly bleated, before Marcus could stop her. He knew that even mentioning Jake would ring alarm bells among those whose job it was to keep Jake well guarded.
Sure enough, Little Coco’s expression became wary. ‘Jake’s no fun,’ she said. ‘He won’t play with you. Why do you want him?’
‘We don’t,’ Marcus assured her. Though he wasn’t scared of Little Coco and her friends, he knew that there might be adults to contend with. ‘Are your mum and dad around?’
‘My mum and dad?’ Coco sounded vague, as if parents were a concept she’d hardly encountered before. ‘I dunno. I don’t think so . . .’
‘Is your name Coco?’ Edison piped up. He was obviously fascinated. Little Coco dimpled at him.
The Paradise Trap Page 10
