We Won an Island

by Charlotte Lo

  “I must say,” he continued, “your letter reminded me very much of my daughter, Cassy, especially the part about you liking donkeys. She was a great animal lover. Loved anything with a paw or hoof. Scales too, for that matter.”

  “It did?” I squeaked. “You really liked my letter?”

  Fabien leaned over the phone. “Did you like the slippers I knitted you?”

  “Oh, yes, I thought they were smashing. They’ll be just perfect for my holiday mansion in Sweden. Gets very cold there in winter,” he said. “It’s been years since anybody’s given me such a thoughtful present. I’ve been smiling down at them ever since. Very stylish and practical.”

  I glanced at Fabien and his ears glowed with bashfulness. Now I knew this had to be a joke. Nobody in their right mind would think Fabien’s slippers were stylish, let alone a billionaire. Then again, Mr Billionaire didn’t sound much like he was in his right mind.

  “Are your parents available? I’d very much like to speak with them,” continued Mr Billionaire.

  Margot shook her head and mimed strangling me. “They’re out,” she said.

  “Ah, that’s a shame,” said Mr Billionaire. “Perhaps I should call back later.”

  “No!” I exclaimed. “They’re not out, they’re—”

  “Away. On holiday. In China,” interrupted Margot.

  The bedroom door creaked open and Mum poked her head inside. “Who’s in China?”

  “You are,” said Fabien.

  “Am I?”

  Margot leapt up and pushed her back out through the door. “Mum, can you help me with my homework in the kitchen?”

  “Who’s on the phone?” she asked suspiciously.

  Mr Billionaire’s voice boomed out through the speaker. “My name is Mr Harding. Is that Mrs Butterworth?”

  “Yes!” I yelled, and threw the phone at Mum.

  Mum took the phone off speaker and pressed it to her ear. I watched her face turn white as she listened to Mr Billionaire, and then she made a strange sort of squeaking sound. Margot grabbed at the phone frantically, but Mum swatted her away and staggered out into the hallway.

  I jumped up and raced after her, but Mum slammed her bedroom door in my face. There was a clicking sound, like she’d turned the lock. I pressed down on the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. She’d shut herself and Dad inside.

  “Do you think it’s really him?” I asked Margot.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, voice shaky.

  “Do you think we’ve won?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she replied again.

  “I’ve never won anything before, apart from that window squeegee in the Christmas raffle,” I said.

  We sat outside the door for more than an hour. My fingers went numb from crossing them so tightly. Margot tapped her feet nervously until a hole appeared in her socks, and Fabien bounced up and down as if on an invisible trampoline. The seconds felt like minutes, and the minutes like eternity.

  Finally the bedroom door opened, and we rushed inside. Mum and Dad were sitting at the end of the bed, looking shaken. A map was stretched across the floor.

  “Was it really him?” I asked. “Have we won the island?”

  Mum nodded without a word.

  “We’ve won!” I sputtered. I took Fabien’s hand and twirled around in circles with him. “We’ve won, we’ve won, we’ve won!”

  “Luna,” whispered Dad, but I could barely hear him.

  “We’ve won an island!”

  “Luna,” said Dad again.

  “A real island of our very own!”

  “LUNA!” shouted Dad, and I stopped jumping. It was the loudest he’d spoken in months. “Luna, we’re not moving there.”

  My excitement vanished. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re not moving there,” said Dad.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “It’s just not sensible,” said Mum. “Mr Harding will have to give the island to somebody else.”

  “But we’re going to be homeless!” I said. “At least we’ll have a house to stay in on the island.”

  Margot glanced out of the window. “I don’t want to leave London. We’re directly under the New York flight path. I can plane-spot without having to leave my bedroom.”

  “I’m sure they have planes in Scotland,” I said.

  “What about school, and my friends?” she asked.

  “They could visit,” I said. “And Dad could home-school us.”

  “You mean there’d be no more school? Like, ever?” asked Margot.

  “No, and Mum would have loads of space for her stretchy thing,” I said.

  Mum’s eyes lit up. “I could run my own yoga retreats.”

  “See, it’s brilliant!” I said, and then turned to Dad. “Granny would have thought so too. She loved Scotland.”

  Dad stared at the photo of Granny on the bedside table, and his face turned all sad and tired. I missed Dad’s smile. If he just gave the island a chance, I was sure he’d find it again.

  “I could grow my own wool!” shouted Fabien, leaping into the air as if struck by lightning.

  “You don’t grow wool,” sighed Margot. “And I’m not moving to the island, even if it does mean no more school. Absolutely no way.”

  I folded my arms. “We’ll see about that.”

  “I can’t believe I agreed to this,” said Dad as our taxi sped along the endless Scottish countryside.

  “This is the worst idea ever,” said Margot. “And the plane journey here was too short.”

  Rain sloshed down the windscreen, and sheep huddled on the rolling hills. I tapped my feet with excitement, and kept my eyes on the road ahead. Soon I was going to see our island. It was the most brilliant day of my entire life.

  “Will I have to wear a kilt?” asked Fabien.

  “Of course not,” replied Margot.

  “Will I get a bagpipe?” he asked.

  “I hope not,” she said.

  “What about my own dinghy?”

  “Maybe on Thursdays,” said Margot.

  We turned off the main road as she said this, and I leaned forward. Outside the window was a row of wonky houses, with stone chimneys, and red bunting strung between the roofs. I opened the window and took a deep breath. The air smelled of salt and fish.

  “Looks like we’re here,” said Mum as we crested a hill.

  The land dropped away and the sea appeared. It stretched all the way to the grey horizon. Rusty fishing boats lined the harbour, and men hauled crates off them. Gulls circled the catch with begging beaks, as ice sloshed everywhere.

  I looked into the distance, and my heart thudded. Sandwiched in between the sea and sky was an island. It was so far away, I could barely see it. If I squinted, it looked a bit like an inky smudge beneath the sun.

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  “I think so,” replied Mum. “Mr Harding said it’s visible from land.”

  The car stopped, and I flung off my seatbelt and jumped out. An escaped crab dashed past my foot, claws clicking. A gust of wind ruffled my top, and filled my lungs with salty air. We definitely weren’t in London any more.

  Fabien danced around me. “This is brilliant! It’s just like being at the seaside.”

  “We are at the seaside,” said Margot.

  “Isn’t it great?” I asked.

  She shot daggers at me. “I’m in hell.”

  “Come on, let’s go!” I said.

  “Hold your horses,” replied Mum. “Mr Harding said we have to find a man called Doug. He’s the person who rents out the boats.”

  “Try the pub,” said our taxi driver.

  I picked up my suitcase and started to walk. Beyond the harbour was a row of stone buildings, with glass shopfronts. The last one had a wooden sign above it that said The Wig and Pen. The smell of old beer and pork scratchings wafted out of it.

  “That must be it,” I said, crossing the road.

  There was a menu in the window, which seemed to co
nsist entirely of different variations of battered fish. I pushed open the door, but instead of being greeted by the sight of a normal pub, I found a room lined with stacks of shelves. Each one was piled with things like bread, toilet rolls and tinned tomatoes. In the middle of the room were a dozen empty tables, their surfaces sticky with glass marks, and at the far end was a bar. A little post office was tagged on to the end of it.

  “Hello there,” called a woman from behind the till. “I’m Heidi. Can I get you a drink, or a loaf of bread?”

  “You’re a pub and a shop?” asked Margot.

  “Yes, but we don’t sell Cheddar,” shuddered Heidi.

  “Of course not…” replied Margot. “Do you have Wi-Fi?”

  “We have a computer in the corner,” she said, pointing to a clumpy old desktop. There was a sign on it that read 50p for three hours.

  “Is that it?” asked Margot.

  Heidi smiled. “You’re not from round here, are you?”

  “We’re from London!” said Fabien. “We’ve come to see our island.”

  Heidi’s eyes grew wide. “You’re the family who won Rook’s Island!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes!” I said, unable to contain my excitement.

  “Goodness! Sit down and I’ll fetch you some tea. You must be exhausted after such a long journey,” she said.

  “Thank you, but we need to find somebody called Doug. Apparently, he can rent us a boat so we can reach the island before nightfall,” said Mum.

  “Doug’s my brother, but he’s not been in today,” replied Heidi.

  “Oh…” I said, deflating like a popped balloon.

  “He’s probably at the boat shack. I’ll ask my son, Kai, to take you there,” she replied.

  Heidi called up the stairs behind her, and a few moments later a boy came down them. He looked about my age, with dark, messy hair, and what appeared to be sawdust on his knees.

  “Follow me,” huffed Kai.

  We had to jog to keep up with him as he led us around the harbour. Scraps of sawdust flaked from his jeans, and I wondered what he’d been doing.

  “Do you have a pet?” I asked him, panting.

  “I rescue rabbits,” he said, not turning to me.

  “Really? From where?” I asked.

  Kai continued to march on without looking at me. “From all over the place. I rehome them.”

  “Like an animal shelter?” I asked.

  “Suppose so,” he replied.

  I thought about Kai’s rabbit shelter, and an idea struck me. I could open my very own donkey sanctuary, just like the one I’d visited on my birthday, and Kai could tell me all about how to do it. After all, rescuing rabbits couldn’t be all that different to rescuing donkeys. Meeting him was clearly a sign.

  Before I could ask him any more questions, Kai came to a stop outside a shack near the water. It was surrounded by rickety boats, and I listened to them creak as Kai knocked on the door. The whole building wobbled as if it was about to topple over. Mum and Dad looked a bit pale.

  “All right, Uncle Doug?” asked Kai. “I’ve bought customers.”

  Doug poked his head out of the shack and looked us over. He had the same dark, shaggy hair as Kai. A patchy beard covered his chin, and I noticed there was a squashed pea stuck in the wispy bit.

  “Customers?” he asked. “Blimey. I haven’t had a customer in eight months.”

  He lumbered outside, and the scent of instant noodles followed him. It wasn’t hard to see why he hadn’t had any customers. Most of his boats were held together with gaffer tape and wine corks.

  “This is Lady Agatha, my finest boat,” said Doug.

  Tied up to the harbour wall was a hunk of metal that swayed in the water. A scribble of faded paint spelled out her name on the side. I touched it, and a scab of rust flaked on to my fingertips.

  Margot folded her arms. “That’s not a boat – it’s a tuna tin.”

  “Do you have any others?” asked Mum.

  “None so buoyant,” replied Doug.

  “I want to drive it!” said Fabien, and he jumped on to the deck, startling a seagull that was perched on the steering wheel.

  I whispered to Kai, “Is it safe?”

  “Probably. It’s been a while since she last sank,” he replied, and with that he turned and left us.

  “What do you mean ‘sank’?” I called after him, but he didn’t answer.

  I took a deep breath, climbed down into the boat and grabbed a lifejacket. My trainers squeaked on the deck, and I noticed there was a hole in the boat, plugged with chewing gum. The whole deck tilted to one side.

  There was a key in the ignition, ready for us to turn. I stood at the wheel and looked at the horizon, at our island. It was so close I could probably swim there, although it would take a while.

  “Look, I’m a fish!” said Fabien, who had wrapped a net around his legs.

  “You look more like a mermaid,” I said, trying to pull him free. “Hold still, would you?”

  “But I like it,” he said.

  Margot shimmied on board, and marched towards us with her hands on her hips. Mum was thumbing through a health and safety manual that Doug had given her, and Dad was staring out to sea with a worried look on his face.

  “Stop messing around, you two – it’s dangerous,” said Margot.

  “I’m trying to help him!” I protested.

  “I don’t need help,” said Fabien.

  He kicked his legs, and more of the net snaked around him.

  Margot yanked Fabien free in one movement. “This is going to be an absolute disaster.”

  I listened to Doug explain how the boat worked to Mum, and then finally we set off. We went slowly at first as she got used to the controls, and then faster and faster. The sea ahead was clear, like an empty road. Water sprayed my face in an icy mist, and the wind blew my ponytail out.

  The harbour shrank behind us. With every wave we crested, the island grew bigger and bigger. The trees became greener, and the beach more golden. My heart beat faster.

  Soon the island was all I could see.

  My trainers sank into the sand.

  “We’re here!” I yelled. “We’re really here!”

  “Wait for us,” said Mum as she struggled to untie her three lifejackets. Dad didn’t move.

  I ran across the beach, which unfolded like a golden ribbon. It was covered with shells and pebbles and washed-up seaweed. The sand spilled into my socks. Small red birds swooped across the sky and butterflies fluttered through the pine trees ahead.

  “Look, Luna!” said Fabien.

  He was crouched beside a set of animal tracks. I squinted through the fading light, and knelt down to examine them. The tracks wove across the beach in pairs. They had two toes, like a deer’s hoof.

  “Is it a sheep?” asked Fabien.

  I tried to think of what a sheep’s foot looked like, but couldn’t. One thing was certain, these prints didn’t belong to a donkey.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “It’s definitely some kind of animal though.”

  “Cool!” replied Fabien.

  Margot knelt beside us, and picked up a handful of sand. She let it trickle through her fingers, catching the delicate shells. They reminded me of the soap in Granny’s bathroom, which was always shaped like clams.

  “This might make a good runway,” said Margot. “I’ve always wanted to try a beach take-off.”

  “That’s silly,” said Fabien.

  “You’d sink,” I said.

  Margot tutted at us. “You don’t know anything about planes.”

  I grabbed my suitcase and tugged it across the beach. In front of us was a wall of trees, thick and tall. I craned my neck to the canopy, but couldn’t see the top.

  “I’m going to build my own beach hut,” said Fabien, skidding over to me. “A big blue one with a green roof.”

  “Never mind a beach hut – just think of the stables I could have!” I said.

  “What about the house?” asked M
argot.

  “There’s already a house here. We don’t need to build one of those,” I said.

  “I know that,” replied Margot. “But where is it?”

  Mum clambered off the boat, and pulled Dad behind her. “Does anyone have the map Mr Harding sent?”

  “No, you had it last. How are we going to find the house without the map? We can’t stay out here – we’ll be eaten by wolves,” said Margot.

  “Well, I know it’s somewhere in the middle of the island,” replied Mum, gesturing vaguely with her hand.

  “I’ll use my compass,” said Fabien, and he got out a little plastic one.

  “Where did you get that?” asked Margot.

  “Last year’s Christmas cracker,” he replied. “But it really works!”

  We followed Fabien and his compass through the trees, and the sandy floor changed to cracked mud under my feet. Branches scratched my arms, and leaves dangled down on my head. It was cold in their shade, and scarily dark.

  I grabbed hold of the tree trunks, and pulled myself up the hill. It was steep, and my trainers slipped on the fallen leaves. A set of animal tracks wove across our path – the same ones that were on the beach.

  “These trees will have to go,” grumbled Dad, tripping over a root. A bird swooped down on him, as if in protest.

  “No, we have to keep them!” said Fabien. “I can sledge around them when it snows, like an obstacle course.”

  “Trees are very good for balancing your zen,” added Mum.

  “I think something’s been eating them,” said Margot, and she pointed to a gnawed trunk.

  I sucked in a sharp breath. “Donkeys eat tree bark.”

  Maybe there were already donkeys on the island, wild ones with nobody to care for them. I could build them a home and look after them. They could be the first residents of my sanctuary.

  The trees thinned, and we emerged on to a field. Knee-high grass tickled my feet, and a bee buzzed past my ear. I saw the outline of a house in the distance. It was huge, almost the size of a mansion. Vines climbed up the brickwork, twisted around the windows and swallowed the front door. It must have been empty for ages.

  I heard something rustle in the grass ahead, and a small tail swished through the green blades. My breath caught. Was it a donkey foal?