Ghosting Home (Strong Winds Trilogy)

by Julia Jones

  “We got your mum away from Pura-Lilly. She hasn’t had to go into hiding.”

  “Hoi Fung has. The chef from the Floating Lotus. Handed Ai Qin the money and then bunked. And don’t think that Mum isn’t keeping a lookout. That’s partly why she’s being such a pillar of the parish; helping Wendy collect for the Diocesan Mission, locking the car from the inside when she does the school run, staying in at night, not singing in pubs or anything. Wonders all the time whether she’ll be snatched.”

  “Oh.”

  “And if Bill comes out of prison and then disappears they’ll be watching her more closely than ever. That’s why she faked the row. I’ve never understood what she saw in him anyway but normally speaking they’d have given it a go. For Vicky’s sake.”

  “You and Vicky are paying for Bill’s lawyers.”

  “Not directly. It’s being done through some Justice Fund. Edward organised it: the Trust just donates. Keeps us at a distance. Mum and I are taking the line that we don’t mind Bill being let out but we’re much too grand to want to have anything to do with him. Ladies of the Manor, etc.”

  The two of them. Anna and her mother. Answers for everything. He was fed up with them both.

  “So doing what your mother just did to Luke and Liam was all part of the big sassy act? Do you think you might possibly have missed something? Like recognising that the kids do have feelings – even though they’re unlucky enough to have been born male?”

  “We got that wrong.” She wasn’t smiling at all. “We had no idea they would take it so badly. That was why Mum was trying to thank you. You were totally the right person. They’d never have said all that to her. She’s gone up to them now. She’s trying to make them feel better – without actually telling them anything different. They can’t keep secrets, you know.”

  “I think,” said Donny, “that you’re one hundred per cent wrong on that as well. I think they’ve been keeping a really serious secret for years. And you and your mum only just found out.”

  “Okay, so you’re one hundred and one per cent right but it doesn’t alter anything. Flint and Toxic and Tiger What’s-his-face are running some racket. It’s criminal and Bill knows about it. That’s why they got rid of him. They’re vicious. Don’t you remember them killing the blue bird? And that fight in the Oriental Xpress?”

  So it wasn’t only Bill and Lottie who were scared: Anna was scared too. But he wasn’t. Which was almost certainly wrong, as usual.

  Donny shrugged and sat down.

  “What do you and your mum think we should do?”

  “More of the same. Behave as if we’re too cushy to care. Take the kids’ minds off things. She wondered whether it might be a good idea to go on holiday? There’s half-term coming up.”

  “Sort of like where? Skye and I don’t have any spare cash. She’s giving all her weekly money to Gerald and Wendy for keeping us. I suppose we could clean out this van and go somewhere but it would be a squash. And not exactly in line with your new image.”

  “No-oh ...” She sounded thoughtful. Devious. “But I suppose there’s Vexilla. And Luke’s tent ... And I could always buy another one for me and Vicky. And some really top thermal sleeping bags. And a cooker.”

  “You mean you and your mum and Vicky might come camping?”

  “The boys would like it. And Gerald and Wendy could have their house to themselves for a few days. Be all touchy-feely in the evenings and keep checking the answers without worrying that I’ll notice. If we went to a proper campsite there’d be facilities for washing and ... everything.”

  “Whenever Mum and Granny and I stayed on what you’d call a proper campsite it wasn’t much fun. People were always staring at Mum. They didn’t seem to have anything else to do. Couldn’t we just go somewhere like Mrs Everson’s field? Then you could swim when you felt dirty and – well, you take a spade and dig a big hole and then you put a bit of earth back each time. You can have a sort of seat to put over it if you want.”

  “Yuck. It’d have to be somewhere amazingly special before I could stand doing that.”

  Donny thought about what she’d said. Somewhere amazingly special.

  “The Desolate Shores! We’ll go to Great Aunt Ellen’s Desolate Shores. Where she went with her brothers and sisters when they were children. Where she and Mum were prospecting before they got ambushed. I’ve got a chart and a book and I was going to read it then write her a letter. Come on, Anna, let’s have an adventure!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Desolate Shores

  Rotterdam, Saturday 26 May 2007

  “You’re saying that Tiger Zhang is dead?”

  Yu Wan, ship’s cook on the bulk oil carrier that had brought Min to Rotterdam, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He bought his informant another beer and one for himself and Min as well. Min didn’t like beer. He left it untouched beside him. Yu Wan would drink it quick enough. He needed to listen and understand what they were saying.

  It was crowded and noisy in this bar. People were drinking and gambling. It was the sort of place where deals would be done. The sort of place where he’d rather not be. So lonely. So far from home.

  “That’ll be good news for Hoi Fung, if it hasn’t come too late. The Tiger had a contract on him. How did it happen? Fight?”

  “Accident at sea is the official line. Then he went into hospital in England and died from an infection. Shockingly low standards over there.”

  “And what do the wise men say? Unofficially.” Yu Wan took Min’s beer and pushed it towards the other man.

  “They say,” the man lowered his voice and looked from side to side, “that the attacker was Jin Lóng and that she has moved into his territory on the other side.”

  “That can’t be good for the she-tou.”

  “Tiger Zhang was only a manager,” said the informant, hurriedly. “His boss lady’s been over here since. She’s a gweilao. It’s business as usual their end and no concessions. She wants the throughput stepping up. They’ll be using agency carriers to clear the backlog.”

  It was people they were talking about, Min realised. Human cargo. Like him.

  Walton Backwaters, Essex, Saturday 26 May 2007

  The five children and Skye had been walking and playing and paddling on this strip of wet sand for almost two hours. It wasn’t sunny and there was a brisk on-shore breeze, which took their breath and slapped their faces as they leaned into it. It must have been some time between six and seven o’clock in the evening. Tea was hours ago but no-one had suggested that it was time to begin thinking about supper. This sand felt like a sort of miracle, which you needed to enjoy while you could, because you knew it wouldn’t last.

  It hadn’t been here when they arrived. Or, Donny amended mentally, it hadn’t been on show. The sandbank had been underwater, waiting for the ebb. Probably it had existed for centuries guarding the entrance to these creeks.

  In some places the sand was rippled by the prevailing tide and in others it might give a little as you trod on it. Mainly it was smooth and hard. If a ship grounded on this sand with a high wind blowing and a falling tide she would be pounded to pieces as surely as if she’d struck any of the other shoals that had built up along the coastlines of the Southern North Sea.

  Donny thought of the Long Sand where Strong Winds had waited for Snow Goose, or those ragged underwater banks off the coast of Belgium where the Pride of Macao had caught them. At least a crew stranded here would be able to escape. This sandbank ran all the way to the shore in a thin peninsula. Even with grey skies piling overhead it didn’t feel dangerous at all: it felt exciting, shivery, magical.

  It helped him forget what he’d seen.

  Snow Goose had sailed from Pin Mill late that morning to deliver the campers and their equipment. This was the place Great Aunt Ellen and her brothers and sisters had explored as children and had nicknamed the Desolate Shores. It was Flint Island in her book but it wasn’t an island, it was another peninsula, almost, but not quite, cu
t off from the mainland by marshes and a muddy dyke. On the map it was called Stone Point.

  There were no roads here. A boat was the only way to arrive – though June did tell them that it was possible to walk right along the beach until you reached the Naze. She gestured towards low cliffs and a distant tower. The children didn’t take much notice: they were busy taking possession of their new world.

  And trying to forget that the Tiger was back.

  His ship was, anyway. They’d seen the Hispaniola on her Shotley mooring as they’d come surging joyously down the Orwell.

  Snow Goose was revelling in the fresh breeze and making light of Vexilla’s weight as she towed the day-boat astern, ready-loaded with camping equipment. They’d reached the first of the Felixstowe quays: those steps down to the river where the sharkboat liked to lurk. No worries there. They’d known that the black-and-white monstrosity was secured to the RO&A pontoon and there was no sign of its outsized owner. Not even in the bar. Maggi and Xanthe had stayed behind, cheerfully packing up their dinghies for their trip to Weymouth.

  The younger boys were gazing at the row of cranes, comparing them to dinosaurs, watching the containers sliding outwards and down onto the waiting ships. Or being lifted up and away if they’d reached the end of their long sea voyages.

  Donny had glanced casually to starboard. Saw those three telegraph-pole masts; that flat hull re-painted garish white and crimson; the aggressive bow, re-camouflaged by a jutting sprit and bobstay. Exactly as he’d climbed it.

  June and Skye were staring too. All three of them had seen her, slate-grey and mast-free, driving at them out of the twilight. Intent on ramming, sinking, drowning everyone on board Strong Winds.

  All three had watched Gold Dragon fight off the Tiger. Had been appalled by the price she paid. They remembered their attacker sheering away into the darkness and had allowed themselves to hope that they’d never set eyes on her again.

  “We won’t go any closer,” said June, although no-one had suggested it. “But I begin to understand how they manage the disguise. I think,” she said to Joshua, “that there are more questions we can ask ...”

  “Not now,” Joshua had answered without looking at her. “Not while we’re here with the children. We’ll do whatever’s to be done after the weekend. For now, is it possible we might simply be allowed to take a holiday?”

  There was something hard and wrong in the way he spoke. June had disappeared into the cabin as if she couldn’t trust herself to answer. The Desolate Shores were part of a nature reserve. There wasn’t anything remotely resembling what Anna considered a proper campsite. No facilities and not even any obvious clear space to pitch the tents. Instead there was an amazing mixture of sand dune and sloping beach, mud and marsh, saltings and seawalls.

  They’d all explored for a while before settling into a smallish sandy hollow surrounded by low dunes. There was an alternative site where other people had built barbecues but their place felt more private. From inside the hollow it was easy to forget that there was anyone else in the world. Or that there was a world at all. When you were sitting or lying down, all you could see above the sand dunes was the sky. If you peeped over the rim you might see the top of a boat mast entering or leaving the channel but the people on board definitely wouldn’t see you.

  The only problem was that the sand was so dry and fine it was impossible to get the tent pegs to stay in. It probably didn’t matter because both the tents had integral frames and ground sheets. They could put them up then weigh them down from inside with their bags and all the tins and water bottles they’d brought with them. But it was quite windy and it seemed amateur not to try to lash the tents down with ropes and pegs as well. In the end Donny suggested they tie each rope to a heavy stone – or bricks or rocks, if they could find them, which wasn’t easy. Then they should dig holes and bury the stones as deeply as possible, heaping loads of other stones on top. It seemed to work okay.

  Snow Goose had left in the middle of the afternoon. The campers had food and water for three days. If, after that, they wanted to stay longer they would have to take Vexilla up to the town of Walton and re-stock.

  Anna and the adults had agreed easily to Donny’s idea.

  Far too easily, he thought later.

  First Lottie had made a big thing about clearing the camper van and taking it off to be serviced and MOT-ed. She re-did its insurance as well. He couldn’t really see why. She already had a new Toyota hybrid and Donny kept telling her that he couldn’t see anywhere in the area that they could take the van, unless they went to one of the big caravan sites in Walton. Skye wouldn’t be happy and he didn’t think it was the right choice for Luke and Liam either.

  “I thought we were trying to maybe give them something different to think about. What good’s a caravan site? That’s not an adventure.”

  Lottie had agreed as soon as he made her look at the map but she didn’t seem a bit bothered that she’d spent all that money on the van for nothing.

  “Oh well,” she’d said. “It needed doing. Maybe you and Skye might want to be hitting the road again one day.”

  We might, might we? When you and your family have moved off to your grand new home, maybe? He still wasn’t sure about Lottie.

  A few days before they were due to leave she said she’d changed her mind. She wouldn’t be coming with them after all. She didn’t exactly say why. He’d asked Anna straight out what she was up to but he’d had to believe her when she’d said that she didn’t know.

  “My mum is telling me most things now and I think she trusts me. But she might not be telling me everything.”

  “You don’t think it’s strange that she’s still letting Vicky come? When Great Aunt Ellen was that small, her mother always kept her behind. She only went with the big ones about once.”

  “Maybe Mum’s not like that. She knows Vicky’ll be okay with me. And there’s your mum. And even if Maggi and Xanthe join in they won’t be bringing that crazy dog. They’ve finally decided to re-home it with Mrs Everson’s daughter. She lives on a farm.”

  “S’pose that leaves them freer to emigrate,” said Donny sourly.

  There were six of them, that evening, walking on the sand that seemed to come lifting out of the water. It made Donny think of all those old stories about islands that turned out to be largebacked whales.

  He glanced back warily the way they’d come. He couldn’t see their camp and he couldn’t see Vexilla. She was loaded with their spare equipment and had a waterproof cover rigged over her boom so she too looked like a tent. She’d been anchored close inshore in the lee of a little bay and he knew she’d be safe there. All the same, the tide would soon turn and it was his responsibility to look out for risks: his job to keep everyone safe and happy.

  Liam was practising one of his endless ball routines and Skye was drawing pictures for Vicky on the blank wet surface. Luke had brought a spade and was digging for cockles.

  “We could live on these,” he said. “If we’d been marooned for endless long years.”

  “You couldn’t,” said Anna. “You’d go mad – or madder – and all your nails would go black. You’d have to look for special grasses on the dunes with vitamins to stop you getting scurvy.”

  She’d been standing some way away from them, staring out to sea with her hair tangled in the breeze. He’d wondered what she’d been thinking. Not about Defoe and Gold Dragon in Rotterdam, eighty miles due east, she was more northerly than that. She wasn’t looking back to Harwich and the Hispaniola either. She was more – Donny took a surreptitious fix with the waterproof combined barometer, watch and compass, which she’d given him as a very late birthday-and-Christmas present – more north-easterly.

  It must be Bawdsey. Anna was probably imagining the curve of the coastline towards her new grand home with its pines and minarets. He was glad it was getting dark. She wouldn’t be able to see it any longer.

  “Come on, Luke. I’ll race you back. Liam too. Anna can have the spade.
She can dig our lonely graves when we’ve all died from unhealthy eating.”

  “Ben Gunn didn’t die,” said Luke seriously. “Nor did Crusoe.”

  “But they smelled so bad that even the wild goats ran away,” said Anna. “And what did they do with disposable nappies that aren’t disposable at all?”

  She couldn’t have been standing there thinking about – hygiene?

  “That’s the reason they made out they were always digging for treasure because they were too embarrassed to say what they were really burying. Leave it out, Anna. Mum took Vicky’s nappies off ages ago. She’s potty training without the potty. Tide’s definitely coming in. Race all of you. First one back cooks supper!”

  “And the last one washes up,” she yelled, not waiting to be loaded down with spade or football.

  What a cheat! Gerald had made a huge bean and sausage stew, and Lottie had gone out early to buy freshly baked baguettes, which they could dunk in their bowls and use to scoop the hot food straight into their hungry mouths. Supper only needed heating, not cooking. But there would still be washing-up. There was always washing-up.

  Walton Backwaters, Sunday 27 May 2007

  It took ages to get everyone moving next day. Donny was determined that they should unload all the rest of the supplies from Vexilla so that they could go for a really good sail. He had Gold Dragon’s book and the map, which was part of the story, and he told them as much of the old Secret Water adventure as he could remember. Tried to show them where the island was and the crossing of the Red Sea.

  As soon as they returned to their camp Luke and Liam found the stickiest stretch of mud and rolled in it.

  “We’re Eels,” they shouted, “we eat ship’s babies for tea!”

  Maybe he was getting middle-aged before his time. Donny and Anna drew mud stripes on each other’s faces and coated Vicky’s legs with a sophisticated sand/mud mix. Then they plaited headdresses while Skye tidied the camp. After supper they invaded the barbecue site and built a brief fire from driftwood and dry plant stalks and danced around it with fierce energy.