‘Maureen.’
It was Dad, shouting urgently from up in the passage.
‘Maureen, come on. Kevin and Fiona want to go on the walk now.’
Mum gave an anguished look. ‘Sorry, love,’ she said to Jake. ‘Anything to keep them happy. Quick as you can. You know where the clean sheets are.’
Jake nodded as Mum hurried up the cellar steps.
He stayed sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment, Mum’s words echoing in his head. ‘Anything to keep them happy.’
Then with a stab in his guts he remembered last night. Crusher and the magazine woman and her cheque book. The terrible thing Mum and Dad had done.
I shouldn’t be worrying about Dad, thought Jake bitterly. Or helping Mum. They obviously don’t want me or Crusher. I should be never speaking to them again. I should be rescuing Crusher and trying to get us both adopted by a family on the mainland who aren’t mean and cruel.
But he had been worried about Dad.
And he did want to help Mum.
Jake clutched at a wild hope.
Perhaps everything last night had just been a dream.
Then he felt something digging into his bottom. He reached under the sheet and pulled it out.
It was a cardboard and clothes-peg doll, smiling at him.
Jake switched off the four hairdryers and felt the mattress.
Almost dry.
Luckily the mattress protector had soaked up most of the liquid, which had covered a large area but strangely hadn’t soaked in very far.
In fact, thought Jake as he hooked a clean mattress protector over the corners of the mattress, there’s something weird about this whole thing.
He picked up the sheet and looked at the wet patch. It was half as big as a person. Whichever of the magazine people had done it must have a very large bladder. Even for someone who’d drunk eight litres of chocolate liqueur.
The strange thing was it didn’t look like wee. First rule of hotel management, said Jake to himself. Everyone’s wee is yellow. This hasn’t got any colour at all.
Jake lifted the sheet to his nose and gave it a sniff.
It didn’t smell like wee either. Or chocolate liqueur. Or lemon paddle-pop. It didn’t smell like anything.
Jake wondered if well-off magazine journalists could afford special herbal pills that make your wee go like fresh water.
Then he had another thought.
He stuck out his tongue and tasted the sheet.
Salty.
Of course.
The magazine people must have gone for a drunken swim in the sea with their clothes on and forgotten to take them off when they went to bed.
Mystery solved.
Jake quickly smoothed a clean sheet onto the bed and did hospital corners like Mum had taught him. He flung the quilt on, straightening it out as fast as he could. Then he glanced out the window.
Mum and Dad and the magazine people were strolling back up the path from the beach. The magazine woman was showing Mum and Dad a piece of paper. Jake realised it was probably his optometrist letter.
His heart barely gave a flutter. He had more important things to concentrate on. Much more important things.
Right, thought Jake, looking around the room. Where would I put a teddy bear I’d nearly paid three hundred dollars for?
There wasn’t a safe in the room. Or a bank vault.
Jake looked under the bed. Crusher wasn’t there.
Send me a message, Crusher, begged Jake silently. Let me know where you are.
Then Jake had a thought.
The wardrobe.
‘Thanks, Crusher,’ he said.
He pulled the wardrobe door open and his heart almost stopped.
Standing in the wardrobe, staring up at him, was a little girl.
Jake took a step back.
The little girl didn’t move. She didn’t take her gaze off him. Her face was serious, her eyes dark and troubled. Jake, gasping for breath, remembered where he’d seen eyes like that before.
Gwen.
Under her tatty yellow dress the little girl was thinner than Gwen, but her straggly hair was just as dark as Gwen’s and her eyes were exactly the same.
Was this the sister Gwen had talked about?
‘Hello,’ said Jake uncertainly.
The little girl’s face crumpled and big silent tears rolled down her face.
‘Alfonse,’ she said. ‘I want Alfonse.’
Jake felt panic rising inside him. He glanced out the window. Mum and Dad and the magazine people were only a short distance away from the house. If this poor little kid started bawling out loud, the magazine people would hear her in about three and a half minutes.
‘Alfonse,’ said the little girl.
‘There, there,’ said Jake, thinking desperately.
Who was Alfonse? Was that her nickname for Gwen? Or did they have a brother or uncle on the island as well?
Before Jake could think any further, his thoughts were shattered by a loud banging noise coming from downstairs.
Jake froze.
Mum, Dad and the magazine people were all outside.
So who was doing that?
He grabbed the wet bedding and the little girl’s hand and hurried down to find out.
The banging was coming from his bedroom.
There was a bit of screeching as well, like old nails complaining as they were being dragged out of wood.
Jake stood at the top of the cellar steps, trying not to tremble while he stuffed the wet bedding into the laundry. The little girl’s cool hand in his wasn’t trembling at all. Her tears had stopped too.
Don’t show her you’re scared, Jake told himself. You’ll only make her scared.
‘Alfonse,’ said the little girl sadly.
Jake felt a powerful urge to go somewhere else and look for Alfonse, but he knew he had about two minutes to put a stop to this racket.
He took a deep breath and led the little girl down the steps and pushed his door open.
The next few seconds he spent taking it all in.
His bed had been dragged to one side. Gwen was kneeling on the floor where the bed had been. She had one of Dad’s big hammers. And a crowbar. She was ripping up the floorboards.
Jake took a step forward. Helping yourself to food when you were hungry was one thing, but as far as he was concerned there was never any excuse for ripping up somebody else’s floorboards.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.
Gwen looked up. She saw the little girl and sighed.
‘Mabel,’ she said, ‘I told you to stay in the wardrobe.’
Jake saw little Mabel’s eyes fill with tears again.
‘That was my fault,’ he said to Gwen.
He stared at the jagged hole where Gwen had already removed several floorboards.
‘Sorry about your floor,’ said Gwen. ‘Soon as we find Alfonse, we’ll be out of your hair.’ She turned back to the floor, jammed the claw of the hammer under the next section of board and ripped it out.
Jake was about to wrestle the hammer away from her when he saw what was inside the hole. Stone steps, leading down into darkness. He’d often wondered why his cellar bedroom had floorboards instead of a stone floor. Dad had said it was a top layer for heat insulation, but now Jake knew the truth.
There was another cellar underneath.
Gwen put the tools down, stood up and took little Mabel’s hand.
‘Coming?’ she said to Jake.
The two girls squeezed through the hole and disappeared from sight.
Jake stared after them. What he urgently wanted to do was rescue Crusher. But the girls didn’t have a torch or anything. And Gwen still didn’t know she wasn’t meant to be seen by the magazine people.
Sometimes, thought Jake, you don’t do what you want to do, you do what you have to do. Crusher knew that. Jake had seen it in his eyes only recently, along with the detergent.
Jake grabbed his torch, slid his bed back over the
hole in case anyone came in, crawled under and wriggled his way down into the darkness.
13
The steps were damp and slippery.
Jake shone his torch ahead to give the two girls some light, but they were already out of sight. The darkness didn’t seem to bother them.
‘Alfonse,’ he heard Mabel murmur somewhere below him.
‘Don’t fret, sweetie,’ replied Gwen. ‘We’ll find him.’
Jake had a thought. Perhaps Alfonse was a dog or some other pet that had escaped from their tent. A bird perhaps. Though he couldn’t imagine why a budgie would want to hang out in a dark musty cellar like this.
He reached the bottom of the steps.
‘Gwen,’ he called softly. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Tops, thanks,’ she said from somewhere over to his right.
Good for you, thought Jake. I’ve got a spider’s web in my mouth and I haven’t got a clue who or what we’re looking for.
Perhaps Alfonse was a pet spider, but probably not.
Jake shone his torch over what looked like piles of old furniture, trying to locate Gwen so he could ask her whether they were looking for a person or an animal or an insect.
Suddenly there was a loud rattle and a scraping noise, and white light much brighter than Jake’s torch made him cover his eyes.
He ducked down behind a furniture pile and squinted into the glare.
It was daylight.
A door had been opened in the far wall of the cellar.
It had been opened by an adult who now stood silhouetted in the doorway.
Hands trembling, Jake snapped his torch off. He peered around frantically for Gwen and Mabel. The cellar was huge. Shadowy heaps of furniture loomed in every direction. He couldn’t see the girls anywhere.
Then he realised with a jolt that Gwen was crouching next to him, little Mabel’s hand still in hers.
Jake looked at them both and put his finger to his lips in a way he hoped would encourage them to be dead silent without scaring Mabel.
He tried to see who the adult was. It looked like a man.
Dad?
The magazine man?
‘Listen,’ he whispered to Gwen. ‘It’s really important none of the adults see you two. I’ll explain later. If that’s not Alfonse, you’d better get out of here. I’ll cover you.’
‘It’s not Alfonse,’ whispered Gwen. She looked at Jake with a half frown, half grin. ‘You’re a real live one, aren’t you?’
‘Go,’ hissed Jake. ‘Scram.’
‘Is anyone there?’ called a man’s voice.
Jake stiffened.
Then he relaxed a bit as he recognized the voice.
It was Mr Goff.
Jake thought fast. Perhaps this wasn’t so bad. If Mr Goff had brought Gwen and Mabel and their family to the island on his boat, he’d already know they were here. But what if he hadn’t? What if Gwen and Mabel’s parents had a boat of their own. Moored offshore. Which would explain why Jake hadn’t been able to find their camp. If Mr Goff saw Gwen and Mabel now, he might dob them in to Mum and Dad.
Jake turned back to Gwen and Mabel to ask if their folks had a boat, but they’d already scrammed.
‘Who’s there?’ shouted Mr Goff.
‘Only me,’ Jake said, standing up.
Mr Goff took a step back into the doorway. Daylight hit his face and Jake could see that his mouth was hanging open.
‘Sorry if I scared you, Mr Goff,’ said Jake. ‘I’m looking for a pet spider.’
Mr Goff gave a doubtful growl. ‘You shouldn’t even be down here,’ he said. ‘Your parents don’t want you down here. You shouldn’t even know about down here.’
Why not, wondered Jake. What’s so special about down here?
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jake, taking a step towards Mr Goff. ‘I didn’t know.’
His foot brushed something that rattled. Jake glanced down. It was a length of rusty metal chain. Attached to an old wooden bed frame.
Jake saw that the bed frame was leaning against a pile of other old wooden bed frames. All with lengths of chain bolted to them. Some of the chains had padlocks on the end.
Jake stared, puzzled. Why would beds need chains and padlocks on them? For a fleeting moment he wondered if Mum and Dad had experienced problems with sleepwalking guests, but that couldn’t be it. There were about a hundred beds in this cellar. Mum and Dad had never had more than eight guests, not even at Christmas.
‘What is all this stuff?’ he asked Mr Goff.
Mr Goff didn’t say anything for about a minute. He rubbed his hand over his stubbly chin and sighed a few times.
Jake got sick of watching this and had a look at more of the cellar.
There were piles of wooden desks, much smaller than Mum and Dad’s in the office. And wooden benches. And some wooden frames about as tall as Jake with cracked old leather straps hanging off them. Jake didn’t have a clue what they were, but they made him shiver just to look at them.
‘This place,’ said Mr Goff suddenly, making Jake jump, ‘used to be a children’s home.’
Jake turned and stared at him.
‘Before your parents had it,’ said Mr Goff, ‘and before that artist bloke had it, this was a house of misery for kids.’
Jake moved back across the cellar towards Mr Goff, mind racing. What did he mean, house of misery?
‘For about a hundred years,’ continued Mr Goff, ‘Sunbeam House was a place where unwanted kids were sent. Kids with no parents. Kids whose parents couldn’t look after them. Kids whose parents didn’t want them.’
Jake shivered again.
‘Did Mum and Dad know that when they got this place?’ he asked.
‘Probably,’ said Mr Goff. ‘But not about this cellar. They only found it last year when they were clearing brambles off the side of the house. They asked me to get all this stuff over to the mainland and dump it. Without anyone seeing. Didn’t want to upset the guests.’
Jake went to the doorway. He realised where he was. The side garden he went through to get to his beach. He’d always thought this old metal door was part of the boiler room.
Why hadn’t Mum and Dad told him?
Jake went back into the cellar and over to the nearest bed.
‘What’s this?’ he asked Mr Goff, holding up the rusty chain.
Mr Goff didn’t answer for another minute or so. It was hard to tell in the gloom, but Jake was pretty sure that Mr Goff’s eyes were filling with tears. Mr Goff rummaged in the pocket of his jacket. Jake felt relieved. He’d been wishing he had a hanky to offer Mr Goff. But Mr Goff didn’t pull out a hanky. He pulled out a boiled lolly, unwrapped it and put it in his mouth.
‘The people who ran the home weren’t very nice,’ said Mr Goff, sucking the lolly. ‘They talked about God a lot but they didn’t like children very much. They specially didn’t like children who needed to go to the toilet in the middle of the night.’
Jake dropped the chain, suddenly feeling not good. He hoped Mr Goff was exaggerating. Boat skippers were known for their exaggeration. Mr Goff had once told Jake he’d caught a lobster as big as a lawnmower.
People wouldn’t chain kids to beds.
Would they?
Jake went over to one of the wooden frames with the leather straps.
‘What’s this?’ he asked. He realised his voice had gone a bit wobbly.
Mr Goff didn’t say anything for a bit. He looked to Jake like he’d rather be out in the middle of a raging storm battling giant lobsters.
‘The people here,’ said Mr Goff at last, ‘used to punish the kids. Beat them.’
Jake stared at the leather straps. Awful images filled his mind. He tried to make them go away. Suddenly he felt angry at Mr Goff for making up stories like this.
‘How do you know?’ demanded Jake.
Mr Goff sat down on a desk and put his hand back into his jacket pocket. This time he did pull out a hanky. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose.
He turned to face Jake
.
‘I lived here,’ he said. ‘From when I was two to when I was fifteen.’
Then he put the hanky over his eyes and held it there.
Jake went over and put his hand on Mr Goff’s shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jake. ‘I thought you were making it up.’
‘I wish I was,’ said Mr Goff, blowing his nose again. He unwrapped another lolly and put it in his mouth. Then he unwrapped another one and offered it to Jake.
‘Thanks,’ said Jake, taking it.
There was something Jake didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure if he should say it. He decided to anyway.
‘Mr Goff,’ he said. ‘Why do you hang around here? If that had happened to me, I wouldn’t want to keep coming back here. I’d sail off somewhere else and start a new life and have a family and never think about this place again. That’s what I’d do. That’s what I’m going to do.’
Jake felt himself shaking all over.
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ said Mr Goff. ‘I don’t know why I keep coming back. ’Cause I’m an idiot probably. And it’s my job. But one thing I do know. When you’ve seen kids suffer like I have, you don’t want to have a family yourself. No way would I bring kids into a world that can treat them like this.’
He snatched up a bed chain and tried to tear it off the bed. It was too strong for him. Angrily he flung it back down.
Jake put Mr Goff’s lolly in his mouth and sucked hard and thought even harder.
Was this why Mum and Dad didn’t want me? Because they had really unhappy childhoods too? Because they didn’t want me to suffer in a cruel world?
Jake tried to remember either of them ever saying anything about an unhappy childhood. All he could think of was Mum’s story about how once on a family picnic when she was six she’d sat on a bull ants’ nest. And Dad mentioning a couple of times that his mum used to like making oyster milkshakes.
It didn’t seem much.
If there was more, why hadn’t they said anything?
Jake wished Crusher was there. Crusher would think of an explanation. Crusher was really good at thinking up things, even things that didn’t involve dynamite and wire hangers.
Adults Only Page 8