The boat rocked alarmingly as he caught hold of her suitcase and then proceeded to catch hold of her. ‘Steady, you’ll have us all over. I don’t know about you, but I always prefer to be in a swimming costume.’
‘Sorry,’ said Mum, lurching from side to side before regaining her balance and plonking herself down next to me. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine once we get going.’
‘So, which island’s it to be?’ said the ferryman. ‘You’ve come for the puffins, I suppose.’
‘No, no, it’s not that,’ said Mum. ‘We’re visiting a friend of mine. She lives on Sloth.’
It was the first time he’d looked remotely serious. ‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘She’s part of a community out there. You must have heard of them. They call themselves the Dawdlers?’
‘I’ve heard of them all right,’ said the ferryman. ‘I just didn’t have you lot down as . . . well, you know.’
‘How long will it take?’ said Mum. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m a bit of a land lubber.’
The ferryman made his way aft and started fiddling with the outboard motor. ‘It depends on the sea monsters, of course, but with a bit of luck we should be there in under an hour.’ And suddenly he was dead serious again. ‘Look, you are sure about this, aren’t you? Some of the other islands are quite spectacular.’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ said Mum. ‘Why shouldn’t I be? I mean, this thing is completely safe, isn’t it?’
‘Only three deaths and a missing-presumed-drowned since January,’ he said proudly. ‘No, honestly, you’ll be fine. I know it looks choppy out there, but this is nothing, believe me.’
‘Then why did you ask me if I was sure about it?’ said Mum.
‘Oh, you know,’ said the ferryman. ‘It’s just . . . Look, we really should get going. Otherwise the tides will change and we’ll have to wait here for hours.’
Mum munched hungrily on her bottom lip. ‘Then I suppose you’d better —’
The ferryman pulled the ripcord and the motor spluttered into life.
It would have been torture without Temple Run on my iPod – as boring as one of those award-winning nature documentaries, except in real time and without the background music or the commentary. Millie would normally have taken it upon herself to lecture us on the school of porpoises that trailed us for a while or the mating habits of the lesser spotted whatdoyoucallit, but she just sat there, like one of those human statues you pay to have your photo taken with outside French cathedrals.
But it was Mum I felt most sorry for. It was bad enough feeling seasick, but it must have been doubly nauseating when the ferryman starting telling her his life story.
‘ . . . it was one OFSTED inspection too many. That’s why I started tutoring. Unfortunately, a certain young gentleman proved particularly . . . challenging, so I came up here to recuperate. This job is only temporary. I’m actually a writer.’
‘Oh really,’ said Mum, like she’d heard it somewhere before. ‘And are you working on something at the moment?’
‘I am as it happens. It’s a children’s book called Inspectre Horse.’
Mum was better at lying than Dad, but she still didn’t sound very convincing. ‘How interesting.’
‘It’s about the ghost of a police horse who goes back in time to investigate cases of animal cruelty. These days, publishers prefer a strong concept they can pitch in a single sentence.’
‘Yes, well, good luck with it,’ said Mum.
I felt like adding ‘you’ll need it’, but as you’ve seen already, I’m far too polite.
‘So, tell me about the Dawdlers,’ said Mum. ‘You didn’t sound very enthusiastic when I mentioned them earlier. What do you know about them?’
‘Not a lot,’ said the ferryman. ‘It all sounds a bit “alternative” for my liking, and apparently their leader chappie’s something of a control freak. But to tell you the truth, the anti-technology thing seems eminently reasonable. Although by the look of those two . . .’ Millie was still storing up hearing problems for later in life and I’d moved on to Doodle Jump. ‘. . . they might find it a bit of a problem.’
‘So, nothing much to worry about, then?’ said Mum.
The ferryman pulled hard on the tiller. The little boat lurched to starboard. ‘Well, there was one thing. Did your friend tell you about the poor lad who died?’
It was news to me, but Mum seemed to know all about it. ‘He was the doctor’s son, wasn’t he? That’s why we’re here actually. I’m a doctor too, you see. They’ve asked me to help out for a bit.’
I couldn’t resist sticking my oar in. ‘What happened to him? How did he. . .? You know, this kid who. . .?’
‘It was an accident,’ said Mum. ‘Sue didn’t go into details. She was obviously devastated by the whole thing.’
Mum waited for the ferryman to elaborate. He’d bored us silly with the minute details of his ‘idyllic’ childhood in Brighton, but now that we’d got on to something interesting, his verbal diarrhoea seemed to have had dried up completely.
‘These things happen, I suppose,’ said Mum. ‘I see it all the time in my line of work.’
The ferryman stared into the gloom. It was at least ten minutes before he finally spoke. ‘So, you’re a doctor, eh? I don’t suppose you’d take a quick look at this rash, would you? Just to make sure it’s nothing sinister.’
We spent the rest of the voyage in ‘silent contemplation’; the ferryman dreaming up the next thrilling instalment of Sherlock Horse and Mum probably racking her brains for a polite way of avoiding his dermatological ailments. I was thinking about Dad. It wasn’t that we saw a lot of each other. He worked late so often that we were more like ships that passed in the night. But I always felt safe when I heard his key in the lock and that funny sound he made when he ran upstairs. Now he was miles away and I missed him more than ever.
As for Millie, whatever had upset her, she was a pale copy of the Golden One I had loved and been irritated by for most of my life. It was actually kind of disturbing. Her clear blue eyes had clouded over, and her once open face now wore a ‘don’t mess with me’ scowl. So it was strange that she was the one who broke the silence. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Over there!’
I’m not sure what came first: the scream of the seagulls or the distant smudge on the horizon. If I’d have known then what I know now, I would have begged the ferryman to take us back, but all I remember is a vague sense of foreboding as The Island of Sloth rose slowly out of the mist.
Part Two
Sloth Welcomes Careful Dawdlers
Mum’s face was slowly returning to its normal colour as we entered the shelter of the bay. ‘Thank God for that,’ she said. ‘I warned you I wasn’t much of a sailor.’
The beach looked deserted, apart from a small blue boat with an outboard motor.
‘Sorry, chaps, this is it I’m afraid,’ said the ferryman. ‘I’ll take you as close as I can, but unfortunately there’s no proper quay or anything.’
‘You mean we have to get our feet wet?’ I said. ‘What about health and safety?’ At least I’d picked something up from work experience.
The ferryman killed the engine. We drifted slowly towards the shore. ‘Weather permitting, I’m back here every fortnight, with a few extra provisions and the mail. If you want a ride to the mainland, that’s the best time to catch me.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ said Mum.
‘You could still turn back, you know,’ he said. ‘I’ll do you a special offer if you like.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ said Mum. ‘This is probably the best place for us right now.’
The ferryman raised a disgustingly bushy eyebrow. ‘You know what they say, don’t you? You’ll never be happy on an island if it’s somewhere you have to run away to.’
‘Do they?’ said Mum.
‘I normally give passengers my mobile number, but that won’t be much use to you. So if you do have any kind of emergency – not that I’m suggesting for
a minute that you will – I think they keep some flares in the fishing boat. You could always try calling me like that.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mum. ‘How much do we owe you?’
‘You can pay me on the return journey,’ said the ferryman. ‘Let’s face it, you’re not going anywhere.’
The water was freezing. Millie went first, stepping into the shallows without so much as a sharp intake of breath. I screamed louder than a Year Seven girl at a sleepover. Mum wasn’t exactly in her comfort zone (that would be a toss-up between a subtitled film about an unhappy art critic, and Marks & Spencer’s coffee shop), but with a few words of encouragement from the ferryman, she reluctantly abandoned ship, dragging her suitcase through the white foam with a hysterical smile on her face. ‘Thanks a lot,’ she called. ‘And keep writing.’
We stood and watched the ferry until it was a tiny blob shrouded in mist. It was only when it disappeared completely that I started to panic.
‘I can’t believe you’ve brought us here, Mum. I mean, what do we do now? For all we know, it could be completely deserted. Perhaps Sue made the whole thing up. Dad said she was a bit of a fantasist.’
‘Calm down, Jessica,’ said Mum. ‘You heard what that boring ferry guy said. He’d heard all about them. Look, the whole island’s only a few miles long. All we have to do is find their settlement. Isn’t that right, Millie?’
Millie was throwing stones at an inquisitive seagull. Mum yanked angrily on her earphones. ‘I said, isn’t that right, Millie?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care. So just leave me alone, OK? I’m trying to listen.’
Mum put her hand on Millie’s shoulder. She wriggled free. ‘Look, please, Amelia, I’m begging you. We need to stick together here. Refusing to talk is really not helping.’
‘I thought you didn’t want me to talk,’ said Millie.
‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’
‘Well, maybe you’d like me to talk now, then,’ said Millie. ‘How about I tell—’
It seemed to come from out of nowhere – a familiar voice that brought their ‘quiet chat’ to a premature conclusion. It was like that on Sloth. What with the mist and the constant moan of the sea, it was very easy for someone to creep up on you.
‘You look lost. Can I help you?’
‘It’s us,’ said Mum, rather pathetically.
The voice sounded even more familiar when it went into over-the-top mode. ‘OH . . . MY . . . GOD! I didn’t recognise you with your hair like that, Mags. This is so great! I never thought you’d actually come. But you look like drowned rats, you poor darlings. We’d better get you back to the pods.’
Sue looked older than last time; all seven signs of ageing were now competing for control of her ruddy complexion. And although she still wore the same clothes (jeans, trainers, skiing jacket and a beanie) there was something different about her, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
‘I’ve been collecting driftwood,’ she said, waving a bunch of scabby sticks. ‘It’s for a special art installation. You know what I said a few years back, about finding my true voice, artistically? Well, I think it’s really happening for me.’
Mum was shaking seawater out of her favourite boots. ‘I’m so pleased for you.’
‘Anyway, enough about me,’ said Sue. ‘What the hell are you doing here? I know I lose all track of time these days, but the school holidays haven’t started yet, have they? And where’s David? Working, I suppose?’
Mum squeezed into her soggy boot, like a desperate ugly sister. ‘I think, perhaps, before we go anywhere, Sue and I should have a quiet chat.’
‘Sounds intriguing,’ said Sue, winking at me and Millie before following Mum a little further up the beach.
And while they whispered and hugged, and hugged and whispered, I tried to get a few words out of my sister. ‘Are you OK?’
‘No, not really.’
‘It sucks, I know. But it won’t last forever. And Mum seems to think it’s for the best. I just wish we knew what Dad thought. You’re missing him too, aren’t you?’
‘No,’ said Millie, so forcefully I knew she was just putting on a brave face. ‘It’s not that. I just —’
‘OK, you two,’ said Sue, bounding over with the fixed grin of a ballroom dancer. ‘Let’s get this show on the road. Don’t worry, girls, it’s not too far.’
It was the furthest I’d walked since that sponsored thing round the school field in aid of stand-up comedians, and the narrow muddy path that slalomed up the side of the hill was even more hazardous for Mum’s suitcase than the beach.
‘Is the weather always like this?’ she said.
Sue smiled. ‘They say it only rains twice a year: from June to September, and October to May.’
The view from the top of the hill looked a lot better on YouTube.
‘Welcome to Sloth,’ said Sue, waving her bundle of sticks at the valley below. ‘I’m sure you guys are going to love it here.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Mum, almost sounding as if she meant it. ‘So much greener than it looked on the video.’
‘It might take some getting used to,’ said Sue. ‘Everyone finds the pace of life a bit of a shock to start with.’
‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘I suppose with all those animals to look after, and what with growing your own vegetables and stuff, it can get a bit frantic.’
‘No, Mags, that’s not what I —’
‘And you live in those funny orangey things, don’t you?’ I said. ‘That is so sweet.’
I counted fifteen of them; giant igloos with connecting tubes, like the water slides at the swimming pool, leading to a family of baby igloos.
‘We call them the pods,’ said Sue. ‘They’re fully sustainable living spaces, perfectly in tune with the environment.’
‘And what about the gigantic blue one in the middle?’ said Mum.
‘That’s the Symposium – our arts and community centre. Where we eat together, meditate together, tell each other stories and make music together.’
‘What a load of bollocks,’ said Millie.
It was normally my job to embarrass Mum in public. ‘Look, I warned you, Amelia. Any more rudeness and you’ll be —’
‘It’s all right,’ said Sue. ‘A lot of our young people react like that when they first arrive. It soon wears off, believe me.’
‘And what are they?’ I said, pointing at the circle of stones, like a kind of mini Stonehenge but more pointy, on the other side of the valley.
‘No one’s really sure,’ said Sue. ‘All we know is they’re at least four thousand years old.’
‘That’s incredible,’ said Mum.
‘Yeah, incredible,’ said Millie. ‘If I’d wanted a crap history lesson I’d have asked Mr Catchpole.’
Sue pretended not to hear her. ‘They might have been a place of worship, or even human sacrifice. But they’re obviously aligned with the sun and the stars, so Earl thinks they’re probably some sort of Neolithic weather station.’
‘Who’s Earl?’ said Mum. ‘Is he your leader?’
Sue flashed Mum a condescending smile. ‘We don’t have a leader, Mags. The Dawdlers are a fully autonomous collective. Earl’s more like our spokesperson, the voice of our unconscious.’
‘I see,’ said Mum, who obviously didn’t.
‘Earl’s probably the most talented person you’ll ever meet. Everyone loves him. It was his idea to create a memorial in the middle of the stones.’
‘Memorial? What memorial?’ I said.
‘For Kevin, the young lad who . . .’ Sue swallowed hard. ‘. . . passed away. There’s a little wooden cross up there already, but Earl thought it would be fitting if I created something more permanent.’ Sue ran a hand through her disgustingly lacklustre hair. ‘Anyway, let’s get you guys through customs, shall we?’
‘Customs?’ said Mum. ‘This is still part of the British Isles, isn’t it? I didn’t think we’d need our passports.’
�
��It’s just one of Earl’s little jokes,’ said Sue. ‘No one’s allowed up to the pods until one of us has explained our little ways and customs. We don’t call them rules; Earl doesn’t believe in them.’
‘Do we have to do it right now?’ said Mum. ‘I think we could all do with a couple of hours’ sleep. It’s been one hell of a journey.’
Sue nodded apologetically. ‘It’s OK, Mags. I’ll take you through myself, if you like. Don’t worry, it’s quite painless.’ Millie was doing an angry, dancey type thing in time to the voice in her head. ‘Well, for most people anyway.’
Goodbye to All That
The customs house was a ramshackle wooden hut on the edge of the settlement. We waited outside while Sue went to fetch the master key from Earl.
Mum huddled up against the wall in a vain attempt to shelter from the wind. ‘Now please, Millie, when she comes back, for God’s sake try not to embarrass me.’
‘Is that all you’re worried about?’ said Millie. ‘I would have thought it was the last thing on your mind.’
‘Just pull yourself together, all right? Jessica’s been very sensible about the whole thing, so why can’t you?’
‘Yes, but she doesn’t —’
‘Let’s get on with this, shall we?’ said Sue, starting to unfasten the first of several padlocks that secured the door. ‘I don’t know why Earl’s so security conscious. There isn’t a Dawdler among us who’d be tempted to go back to our old ways.’
There was the tiniest of windows at the far end. I could just make out the contents of the shelves lining the walls: in one corner was a whole stack of Xboxes and PlayStations. (What sort of person took their Xbox to a remote island? Most of the boys at St Thomas’s for a start.) Another shelf was entirely devoted to mobiles, with everything from the massive bricks that a few old people still insisted on lugging round as a badge of honour, to the latest smartphone. The colony of iPods and iPads was bad enough, but the real horror movie moment was when I spotted the bucket full of hair straighteners.
‘So, how much do you actually know about the Dawdlers?’ said Sue, taking her place behind the wooden counter.
Firewallers Page 5