Sunshine & Shadows-Book 1

by RD Le Coeur

  Chapter Two

  "Are we there yet?" asked Genevieve.

  "Don't wind your father up, Genevieve. You know how that winds him up.You'll know when we get there, as the car will stop and we will set up camp. Now read your book, or take in the lovely view of the countryside."

  Wind him up? thought Genevieve. What about her?

  She was fourteen and going on holidays with her parents. Her mates were going to Spain. Sea, sun, sand, hotels and excitement. Not her. They were going caravanning in West Wales. She had never been to West Wales and she had told her mates that the family was going touring in France. She had got some travel books from the library to 'swot up' on the region so she could appear to know all about it and relate her wonderful French holiday to her friends, when school restarted in September. She had missed the last day of term so her Dad could make sure that they were on their way well before the rush started. She hated that. She loved school. School was freedom from home and the harsh rules that she was made to live by.

  Who would christen a modern girl Genevieve? Her father that's who, after his favourite film, which as far as she was concerned was made in biblical times. She hated it.

  She usually introduced herself as Jenny, especially when her parents were not around. How much longer she wondered? Would West Wales look like France? Bet they don't eat frogs and snails! she thought. She looked around the car and thought it summed her father up completely. A fully working, lovingly restored 1968 Morris Oxford. Crinkly, leather seats, a fairly bumpy ride and an odd smell. It was a cross between musty and burning oil. You needed muscles like superman to wind the windows all the way down and the quarter lights leaked when the rain was blown hard against the pane. It had been Grandfather's car and dad had inherited it. Not much point in wasting a fine example of British engineering he always said. Typical of him that was. His career as a Health and Safety Officer for a local manufacturer of rubber seals had spilled over into the home. He had even asked her to do a risk assessment on her bedroom having found it in an untidy state as usual. What was he like? Rules, rules and more rules. In by 6.30pm, homework, one hour of telly and early to bed. No mobile phones, no makeup and no wearing of clothes with someone else's name emblazoned on them. School was great. She fitted in perfectly. The school uniform saved her from standing out in a crowd.

  "Would you like a boiled sweet dear?" asked her Mother offering her the open tin of powder covered confection. She took one and popped it into her mouth. It was vile, but better than nothing. They were the 'cars sweets,' kept locked in the drop down wooden faced glove box. Only to be consumed whilst on a long trip. Never permitted at any other time. They tasted like cough drops to her, but it was better to take part in the ceremonies of the car than not.

  Her Mother offered one to her father who did as he always did. He picked it up carefully between thumb and forefinger, gently tapped the lozenge on the side of the tin to dislodge any loose powder and popped it into his mouth.

  "Thank you dear," he said, "not far now. We turn left at the next junction, follow the coastal road down the winding hill, go through the small town and out again on the coast road north. We should find the camp site a few miles up that road on the left hand side."

  Genevieve knew her fathers 'not long now.' Country miles on the signposts should be banned she thought. It always seemed like ten miles for every one indicated. She silently guessed it would take another hour. She was not far away in her guesstimate.

  The whine of the car as they decelerated was a noticeable feature of this vehicle, as was the slow burning smell of the brakes after application.

  The camp site was immaculately kept. The open lawns well manicured and there were no rowdy children running about kicking balls. Father would be well pleased. He stopped at the main office and returned smiling with a plan of the site and directions of how to get to their pitch.

  "Looks nice dear," said her Mother. They drove at a snails pace strictly adhering to the site's speed limit and instructions regarding no 'u' turns. The designated spot was just what her father had requested when making the booking. As far away from the main complex as possible, with a sea view and also some woodland nearby.

  It was late afternoon and father would have to get a 'wriggle on' to complete his camp site procedures.

  First they would park up alongside the chosen site. Then he would get out and size up the pitch. Silence and solitude were required for this. He would take his compass out of his pocket and check his directions. He had to make sure that the caravan faced in the right direction. Having made all his usual checks he made Mother get out and 'see him in.' This was always fraught with danger for argument, as Mother as everyone knew, was a complete numbskull at directions and the finer points of vehicle manoeuvring.

  Joy of Joys she got it right and the holiday would not start with an argument. Mother had difficulties with 'left hand down a bit' and nearside and offside with regard to vehicle manoeuvres.

  Finally the caravan was deposited in the right position and Genevieve was permitted to leave the car.

  "Don't slam that door!" shouted her father.

  She did, just to annoy him. It was an old wreck as far as she was concerned and the only way of shutting the ancient door was to shut it as hard as possible.

  "No sense of value, that child," mumbled her father.

  "Mother, can I go exploring?" she asked pleading.

  "Better ask your father, dear."

  "Dad, can I go exploring? It's been a long trip and I need to stretch my legs. I can't help set up the caravan and I'll only get in the way."

  "I suppose it will be all right. You will get in the way and the next bit needs concentration to get the levels right. Be back for six thirty."

  Genevieve breathed a huge sigh of relief. She would have done anything to avoid being seen here with her Dad, spirit level in hand adjusting feet, placing slabs etc to get the perfect level for the stupid old caravan.

  She waved her hand at her parents and set off for the beach.

  It was a gently sloping path down to the beach. The gravel was damp as if there had been rain but the late afternoon sun was now on her as she made her way easily. The path ended abruptly and the sand dunes began. They always seemed to sap the strength from your legs, sand dunes. Why was that? She wondered absent-mindedly.

  The beach was not busy. In fact looking around, it looked deserted. The sea was calm and the alien sound of seagulls calling in flight reminded her that she was a long way from her inland home.

  She walked through the sand dunes and down to the seashore. She was careful not to get her feet wet and kept her eyes on the movement of the waves.

  She walked aimlessly along the seashore in a world of her own and walked slap bang into a tubby looking lad wearing stupid looking shorts that were too small for him.

  "That's mine," he shouted at full volume into her face, whilst making a grab for her feet.

  "What's yours?" she said recovering from the shock encounter.

  "That bottle there in the sand. I collect them and I've been scouring the beach for them."

  "Whoopee doo! You can have your stupid bottle. What about, I'm sorry, I bumped into you as I was not looking where I was going?"

  "It wasn't my fault. You weren't looking where you were going."

  "Now hang on a minute, mate," she said, feeling her hackles rise.

  "I'm not your mate and I was looking where I was going, grockle."

  "What's a grockle?"

  "Holidaymaker."

  "Sounds like an insult to me."

  "No, just the locals name for holidaymakers. Think it comes from the West Country."

  A large wave whooshed ashore and soaked the pair of them.

  "Look what you've done now!" she said.

  "I suppose you think that I planned to get soaked for the second time in two days, did you?"

  "My parents will go ballistic. I've only been gone two minutes and already I'm soaked."

  "I haven't got any mo
re dry clothes so I am in for a long night of pyjamas."

  "Why haven't you got any more dry clothes? Are you on a weekend break?"

  "Nope. I live here and I don't own any more clothes that are dry and fit me."

  "You don't sound very Welsh. Well, from the accents I've seen on the telly anyways."

  "Well I was born here, in a field over there. But my parents are English and I suppose as they brought me up, I got my accent from them."

  "Got a name?" she enquired.

  "Yeah, but it's a stupid name."

  "Can't be as bad as mine."

  "What's yours?"

  "Genevieve, she said smirking. Go on have a laugh, everyone does."

  "Mine's, Sunshine."

  "Oh my god! You're right. I'm so sorry, yours is worse than mine. Forgive me it's such a shock to fine that some one has a stupider name than me."

  "Oi watch out! There's another wave coming."

  They both ran for the drier sand. The sun was out in full now, and it was a lot warmer than it had been all day. They both decided to lie on the beach and dry out a bit. It would save them a lot of hassle back home.

  Sunshine had not yet had chance to examine his bottle. He did so now. He stared hard at it, and it piqued Genevieve's interest.

  "My friends call me, Jenny, " she said.

  "I don't have any friends, but if I did, they would call me, Sunny."

  "That's fixed then, we can call ourselves by our preferred names."

  "Why don't you have any friends?"

  “ 'cos my parents are weirdoes."

  "Know what you mean. Mine came from hell. What serious parent would not let their child have a mobile phone?"

  "Mine."

  "What serious parent would not let her teenage daughter wear make up?"

  "You got me on that one. Although I think my parents would think it cool if I came home wearing girl's makeup."

  "You ARE joking?"

  "Nope. Told you they were weirdoes."

  It was the longest conversation he had had with a person of his own age for a long time he realised. He looked at her properly for the first time. She was the complete opposite of him. She was skinny as a rake, whiter than white paint and had close-cropped black hair. He was double the size of her and he embarrassingly noticed, he had bigger breasts than she did.

  "What's so important about the bottle?" she asked.

  "I collect them. Sometimes there are messages in them, sometimes they are just very old and you can get a few quid for them at the boot sale. It's a hobby of mine."

  "Can I have a look?"

  "In a minute I want to check something myself first."

  He held the bottle up to the light. It was glass and it looked ancient. There was something inside.

  "My turn!" she said and snatched the bottle from his hand.

  "Oi," he shouted, "mind the glass. I don't want to break it."

  Jenny looked at the bottle. It looked very old and weathered to her. She shook it and noticed the message inside. "Can I open it? Go on let me be the one to open it." she pleaded.

  "Sure, go ahead." replied Sunny, confident that without his help, and the old book she would never open it.

  She tried as hard as she could, and eventually the lid popped off and made a slight hiss as new air entered or old air escaped. Sunny was amazed. Why was the first bottle so difficult? He wondered.

  Jenny tipped the bottle upside down and shook. A carefully curled piece of paper fell out. She examined it methodically. It was extremely thick paper, it was a bit like what she thought old parchment would look like. Sunny was still confident that she would need his expert advice.

  "What's it say?"

  She gingerly unravelled it and held it flat in front of her. "Looks quite old," she said, "the writing is in old copperplate script, like you see in museums."

  "Yes but what does it say?" pressed Sunny, still confident.

  "Give us a Mo'. It's a riddle."

  "What? How can you tell?" he asked in complete surprise.

  "I can read, you dope!"

  She read it once to herself, and then handed it to the eagerly awaiting Sunny.

  my first is in Grape

  but nOt in pear

  my Second is in pine

  but not in Oat

  my third is in Under

  but not in Tree

  my fourth is in Home

  but not in Crib

  my fifth is in Angel

  but not in Vein

  my sixth is in Eel

  but not in fire

  He read it carefully once. It was different from the other one. Easier he thought.

  "I thought it would say Trapped on an island in the Caribbean longitude 20 latitude 30 fetch help, or something like that. Not a stupid riddle. Got any ideas?"

  "Not yet,” he lied. “I need to work on it. You here for long?"

  "Two weeks," she said with a sigh. "Let me make a copy and we can meet up later and see what we've come up with. Got a pen?"

  "What in these tight shorts? You've got to be kidding, Jen."

  For a moment Jenny wished she had the dreadful handbag that Mum and Dad had bought her. That had a pen in it, along with a small first aid kit, a sewing kit and all other such things that her father thought she should have for emergencies. There was a price for it, however useful it was. She would not normally be seen dead with it. It was suitable for old Grannies and the embarrassment she would feel if one of her mates had seen the contents would have been too much to bear. She looked around the beach and saw a middle aged couple walking hand in hand down the sea shore. The woman was carrying a large shoulder bag.

  "Just a minute, Sun," she said, "I'll get a pen from them." She hurtled down the beach and approached them. They appeared startled as they had just been kissing. They should know better at their age, thought Jen. They were either having an affair or second marriage, to be seen in public, showing affection. She knew, she watched the soaps and she watched her parents.

  "Excuse me, but could I borrow a pen, and a piece of paper?"

  "Let me have a look in my bag young lady, and I'll see what I can do."

  The lady put her bag on the dry sand and rummaged. Jenny was impressed, this was a proper handbag. It was crammed with all sorts of things. Make up, perfumes, tissues, mobile phone, loads of keys, business cards, odd earrings, eyebrow pencil shavings, the list was almost endless. Finally in a puff of mixed perfume aromas she produced a pen and a piece of scrumpled 'post it' note. "Will this do?" she enquired in a delighted sort of voice.

  "Perfect. Can I use the bag to rest on?"

  "She doesn't want much does she?" said the man who seemed eager to be on his way.

  Jen carefully made an exact copy of the message. "Aw, love note for your boyfriend up the beach is it?" she said with a knowing smile. "Holiday romances are such a wonderful thing, until they end." she said with a wistful smile and sigh.

  "Certainly not!" said Jen in her poshest accent. They are directions to a new beach, a local lad has told me about."

  The woman seemed disappointed, but perked up when her man winked at her.

  Those two should get a room, she thought as she checked once more to ensure that she had made a faithful reproduction. She graciously handed the pen back and said, "Thank you, you have been most kind." She had heard someone say that once on the telly, and it sounded real posh.

  "Glad to be of help young lady," said the lady who had already wrapped herself around the man.

  Jen set off up the beach towards Sunny. She just caught the sound of the lady saying, "Delightful manners," as she walked away.

  Sunny seemed glad to see her, judging by the broad beaming smile. She handed the original back to him and he placed it back inside the bottle. The paper seemed to know automatically that it should remain in a rolled position.

  "See you later then," said Jen.

  Sunny looked a little disappointed. He had only known her for half an hour, but they shared a lot of things
in common and she hadn't called him fat once or made any reference to his size or ginger hair.

  "What time?" he asked. Expecting some fob off as usual.

  "Dunno', she said, "depends on the parents from Hell. It won't be after dark and I've got ten minutes to get back for tea, so I suppose it will have to be in the morning. What about here at 9ish?"

  Sunny brightened visibly. "Deal,” he said. "Bring your answers to the clues here and we'll go from there. I'll work on mine tonight and we'll see what it says tomorrow," he lied.

  "Great. Seeya." she said and walked slowly up the beach back towards the dreaded caravan.

  Well it hadn't been a bad first day she thought. Made a friend, got a puzzle to keep my brain occupied and who knows what adventures she could expect to unfold over the next two weeks? A nagging suspicion that absolutely no adventures whatsoever, was pushed firmly to the back of her mind and suppressed. It was odd though, a chance meeting with some other human being that had to endure weird parents and had a stupid name. He was very nice though, if a little on the big side, but she felt comfortable and safe in his company.

  Sunny ambled back towards Home Meadow, bottle safely in his keeping. He too thought that Jen was a nice girl and they had got on really well. He felt guilty about his lies though. The message was a simple one to decode and he had done it almost at first reading. Still, he would see what she was made of tomorrow, if she actually did show up. More pressing was cracking the first code in that odd clay bottle.

  Chapter Three