The Lion of Sole Bay (Strong Winds)

by Julia Jones

  Bill might know about the lion from going to those shanty-nights. But Luke would be selfish if he started asking stuff like that. The doctor had said that his dad needed sleep. He had to give his mind a rest so his body could heal faster.

  Bill wasn’t properly awake: but he wasn’t restful either. He might have seen that it was Luke but he didn’t say hello. It was like he was talking in his sleep. His eyes were open but the things he was saying must have happened in a dream

  Luke had never heard his dad like this. He said he’d met an angel. Bill’s angel was like a warm glow when everything else was cold. He’d felt himself drifting helpless into banks of fog. Thick, wet, smothering fog. There wasn’t nothing he could do. He was lost and couldn’t move. Then his angel came and pulled him home.

  Bill smiled at the hospital ceiling. Then his face changed and went grim and he stared at Luke and started telling him urgently about the demons. There were dark shapes walking in the hour before dawn, Bill said. Dangerous spirits seeking revenge. Blood gelt for deaths that happened long ago.

  Luke couldn’t look away. He stared and he nodded and he tried to look as if he understood. His dad was talking in a whisper as if he couldn’t breathe for fear.

  Then Bill clicked back into himself again. His voice changed to normal-but-quiet and he told Luke about the generator he was hoping to install on Lowestoft Lass. He’d said it all before but that didn’t matter. Then he made Luke promise not to let Lottie worry and reminded him, for about the twentieth time, to tell Derek that he wouldn’t be able to get into work for a week or two.

  “But first you got to thank my little angel. You got to thank her and keep safe.”

  It was like some really confusing challenge where Luke didn’t have any of the key controls.

  “Yeah, okay Dad. That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll thank your angel and I’ll tell Lottie you’re okay and I’ll talk to Derek and I’ll have a go at tracking down those demons. I’m going to have tea with Miss Grace at the farm when I get back from here. It’s great having the dog at night but he doesn’t like next door’s cockerel.”

  Bill’s eyes had shut and his breathing went slow and steady. Maybe Luke could talk him to sleep.

  “I checked the main water tank like you said yesterday and I know where the hose is now so I’ll top it up when I need to. My kayaking course was good by the way. We learned getting in and out and water safety and forward paddling and backward paddling and stopping. I’m going again tomorrow. One of the girls from school was there but she fell in twice. The second time she went right under and her swimming cap came off. It was well funny.”

  Bill’s eyes flashed open. You could see the white all round them.

  “Drowning,” said Bill in a strange hoarse voice that wasn’t his at all, “Drowning is a terrible death. Fishermen drown and sailors too. Some are washed up along the shore: others drift with the tide, lower and lower until finally they sink. Then the scavengers come. I see them edging closer with their pincers and their busy teeth. There was blood on the foam.”

  Luke wished desperately for Lottie or Anna to be there.

  “You don’t have to talk like that, Dad. We ain’t at sea. We’re at the hospital in Ipswich and you’re going to be okay. You had an accident and the doctor says you’ve gotta rest.”

  Bill stopped almost as quickly as he’d started. Looked like he’d gone to sleep again.

  “Is my dad all right?” Luke asked a nurse.

  “Doing fine,” she said. She checked Bill’s blood pressure and looked at the notes on the chart. “Running on a bit, is he? It’ll be the morphine. They mostly sleep but everyone’s different. Some of them get a bit high: others try and tell you that they’re seeing pictures.”

  “Morphine…that’s okay then.”

  The nurse looked at him. “You’re a bit young. Haven’t you got an adult with you?”

  “I’m okay. I was only asking.”

  He was okay. His dad was seeing pictures. It was because he was on morphine.

  Bill let his head fall sideways on the pillow. It seemed like the only bit he could move. His mouth was open and his eyes were shut. Luke hoped that meant the pictures had switched off.

  He sat beside his dad’s bed on the plastic hospital chair. Didn’t dare move in case he woke him. There was a TV in the corner but he wouldn’t risk turning it on. Instead he began to doodle in the notebook that was meant for writing instructions. Angels and lions mostly. Then waves along a shore and a warship with rows of cannon. Puffs of smoke and cracks of flame. Kept adding to the waves. Drew bulging clouds, bigger and darker as his pencil wore down. Began imagining a sea monster attacking through the storm.

  Tore the whole page out and threw it away.

  There was a fur coat hanging inside the farmhouse door. Great shaggy thing, not fluffy or sleek like something you’d want to stroke. Inside it looked like old raw skin and it smelled Bad.

  Luke got away from it as quickly as he could and made for the other side of the big table. Ben was jumping up and wagging his tail and squirming. Luke squatted down to make a fuss of him in return. He sneaked a look at his fellow-guest as he did so. He still felt a bit shaky and he wasn’t too sure about eating with werewolves.

  Old Peter was a small man with very long grey hair, right over his shoulders, and a long beard. He looked as if he might have tried to brush them before sitting down to tea. His hands were gnarled like tree roots but they were clean and his nails were cut neat and short. Somehow Luke had thought he would have nails like scaly yellow claws.

  “You can wash your hands in the cloakroom,” Miss Grace ordered him. “Get all that hospital dirt off. I don’t have germs in my kitchen or near my cows.”

  The werewolf’s jersey had once been navy blue, like a seaman’s, but it had been darned with so many different wools that Luke couldn’t confidently have guessed which patch had come first. His eyes were also blue, though faded.

  Miss Grace introduced Luke as “Bill Whiting’s boy from the fishing boat.”

  Luke said ‘Hi’ and did his best to smile. Old Peter stared without speaking, as if the connection was too hard for him. One of his eyes was watering all the time but the old man didn’t seem to notice. There was no expression on his face. Not even puzzled.

  Ben sat next to the werewolf’s chair. Peter rubbed the dog’s wrinkled forehead and nodded very slowly. Then he looked at the food on his plate as if he wasn’t certain what it was. Miss Grace put a knife and fork in his hands and suddenly he smiled.

  “You’re a goot girl, Maroosia.”

  His voice was unexpectedly clear. Then he began eating as if he might forget what to do if he stopped.

  Tea was sausage and mashed potato and red cabbage and apples and big slices of sponge cake. Mugs of tea of course. More of everything when they wanted it.

  “Father doing all right?” Miss Grace asked Luke.

  “A’rright, thanks.”

  Old Peter got up from the table and wandered round, searching. He found it in his coat. One pocket had a book: the other contained a bag full of those spiny balls that had been dropping from the trees on Luke’s first night in the wood.

  “For you, Maroosia.”

  “Chestnuts,” she said, thanking him and tipping them into a bowl. “Beggars to open if you don’t know how.”

  Luke didn’t mention that he’d thought they were attack missiles in a forest war. He watched as she stripped out the plump brown nuts that were shaped like tiny treasure bags. Then he tried to do it himself and was soon sucking his fingertips. Those spines were well sharp. He hadn’t been that far off when he’d thought porcupines.

  “Vanya?” asked old Peter.

  “No. Sorry,” he said, removing his finger from his mouth. “I’m Bill Whiting’s Luke and I’m living on my dad’s boat. Just for this week.”

  Miss Grace cooked the c
hestnuts on a metal sheet in her Aga and they were soon struggling to eat the creamy kernels without burning. You had to toss them between your hands. Peter wasn’t nearly quick enough so Luke passed some peeled nuts across to him.

  “Ah, Vanya,” sighed the old man. “It’s goot that you’re here. Soon you will be asking for a story.”

  “We’re all one or the other,” said Miss Grace. “Vanyas or Maroosias. He doesn’t do names any more. Still likes to spin a yarn if he finds someone to listen.”

  The werewolf slept quiet in the woods that night but Ben growled in the graveyard hour. Luke woke and shushed him and hooked his fingers into the dog’s collar while stroking him urgently with his other hand and whispering reassurance. The dog was fully alert and trembling as if he was caught in an electric current.

  Luke didn’t have enough free hands to check his watch, but there was no hint of light in the sky beyond the cabin roof and no sound from the cockerel next door. Lowestoft Lass shifted as if she too was wakeful. Was this demons?

  He heard footsteps crossing to Drie Vrouwen. Human footsteps. Confident. Striding.

  “Settle down, fellow.” Luke sighed with relief. “Next door’s needed a visit to the toilet block.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Doorways

  Tuesday 4 November, fourth of the waning moon

  Luke, Helen

  Luke hadn’t thought Ants would turn up to the kayak course again but she did. Her mother came too. She looked like Ants, except more tired and pale, and her hair was mouse brown not red henna. She talked to the instructor for a while then went to sit in the spectator area.

  Ants didn’t speak to anyone. Once she’d changed into her swimsuit she stood with her towel clutched round her flat chest looking down at her own white feet as if she didn’t trust herself to move. She still wasn’t listening. When the instructor had told everyone to go to the store for their kayaks and paddles, Ants stayed stationary.

  “Hello, Angela. We’re all going to fetch our equipment now. I can give you all the help you need.” The instructor was using that specially slow and careful voice that people use to idiots.

  Luke felt a flash of anger towards this stupid girl.

  “Oh, by the way, An-gela,” he said, plonking his kayak and paddles down beside where she was still standing as if she was in a trance. “Did you get your blazer back okay? The one with your name in that you left at the boatyard. On the night my dad had his accident and nearly died?”

  He said it quite loudly. Most people were busy lining up beside the pool but some of them heard.

  She didn’t react for a moment. Then she chucked her towel down and was pressed against him, her cold skinny body pushing at his bare skin, her fingernails digging into his upper arms.

  “Is that man your dad? Is he okay? I’ve been wanting to see him every moment. I can’t think of nothing else. I don’t care about the trouble.”

  Luke pushed her away and she tripped backwards over someone’s kayak. Hit her backside and elbows hard against the concrete. Then she was up at him and fighting. Crying while she did so. Hysterical sobs. Head-butting and kicking. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she was wild.

  Luke was first shocked that he’d pushed her over and then he was slow knowing what to do. Hadn’t ever fought a girl before though he’d seen Ants in action at school. People used to set her going when there wasn’t much else to do. Took bets how long she’d last before some teacher put her into isolation or sent her home.

  She bit his chest. That hurt. Luke forgot she was a girl and started fighting back as if she was Liam. They kicked and pushed among the litter of kayaks and paddles and people getting out of the way.

  He’d shove her in the pool if he could. That’d cool her off. She was a pincher too.

  “Angela! Stop it!”

  The mother shouted out. Then the instructor blew his whistle right up against them both. Luke was too angry to stop but Ants’s mum got in there and started pulling her daughter away. So then he had to let go.

  “That’s it.” The instructor was possibly the angriest of all. “You’re both off this course. Get yourselves dressed and don’t come back. I’ll inform the management and you’re banned from the pool as well.”

  Ants’s mother might have been trying to apologise but the instructor wasn’t going to listen.

  “You’ve already told me about your daughter’s Special Needs. I’d say what she specially needs is old-fashioned discipline. Thank you very much.”

  Luke was shocked and shaky. He couldn’t see where he’d put his towel. The instructor picked up a paddle and looked ready to chase him through the exit.

  “And if your parents come and see me, I’ll say exactly the same to them. Disgraceful behaviour. Now does anyone else think they’ve joined the karate club or shall we carry on kayaking?”

  He didn’t know whether to be quick or slow in the showers but when he came out they were waiting for him.

  “I saw you push my daughter,” said Mrs Vandervelde. “That wasn’t very nice was it?”

  Huh?

  “And did you see her attacking me? I’ve got tooth marks on my chest. I hope I ain’t getting rabies.”

  The bites were well painful. Livid red semi-circles. He’d looked at them in the changing room mirror. You could almost see the puncture holes.

  “She’s a little blood-sucker. I hope you keep her window locked at night.”

  “Now, now, no need for that. I think a nice apology would make all of us feel better and then we can go home.”

  “Mum,” said Angel, “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “I was watching, Angela. I know what I saw.”

  “You don’t know nothing, Mum.”

  It was funny how she seemed to be able to shrink, to stop being all hair and teeth, get even smaller and paler and go really quiet.

  Her mum turned round and stared at her. “What is it, Angela? What don’t I know? Is there something that you haven’t told us?”

  “I’d say there’s quite a lot you haven’t told her, isn’t there, An-gela?”

  Luke heard his own voice, nasty and sneery and bitter. That was how he felt.

  Ants looked at the floor and nodded. But then she stared up at Luke again, stepped forward so fast – and pulled herself back out of touching distance. As if she knew there’d be a re-run.

  “All I was askin’ you was if he’s okay? I never meant for it to happen. You gotta believe that.”

  “No, he ain’t okay. He nearly died out there when you left him to it and now he might not never walk again. I don’t give tuppence what you meant.”

  Ants sort of collapsed with shock, arms over her head and moaning. Mrs Vandervelde looked desperate. She pulled out a mobile and pressed speed-dial.

  “Mike,” she said. “I need to you come home. Yes, I know you’re at work. I think Angela’s in real trouble. Yes, I know you came home when I asked you last week. And the week before. You’ll just have to explain to them. Again.”

  Then she knelt down and put her arms round her daughter, trying to persuade her to stand up and lean against her and start walking. Then they could all go home and Angela could tell them whatever it was when she was feeling better. And her father would be there and they wouldn’t be cross. She promised they’d do their best to help her sort it out – as they always did.

  “And what about your mother?” she asked Luke. “Is this something she should know? Do I need to ring her too?”

  Luke felt a little bit sorry for this wispy woman. He didn’t say anything about his mum. Just shook his head.

  The Vanderveldes lived on the far side of town, near Fitzgerald School. It took a long time to get there and they didn’t speak on the way. Ants soon shook off her mother’s arm and walked with a big gap between them, head down and shoulders hunched.

  Luke followed at a carefu
l distance. He wanted to know what she was going to say. He wasn’t going to let her get out of anything. Then her parents could deal with her.

  A small house in a cul-de-sac with a sunrise on its gate. A double line of ornaments along the path and a weathervane like a square-rigged ship.

  Luke sat on an upright chair closest to the door in the Vanderveldes’ front room. He accepted a cup of sugary tea and fixed Ants with a stare.

  “It were Halloween. I didn’t stay late at school and I didn’t go round a friend’s. That was all lies. I ain’t got no friends, you know that. I went to the skate-park and I hung out. There were lads there. I don’t know any names. They let me do stunts for a bit and then they got bored. So they took some little bikes into the boatyard and we were going under the boats real fast. But there was somebody there and I went under first and the one behind me didn’t make it and he hit the legs and the bloke was running towards the boat and it come down on him.”

  She stopped.

  That wasn’t nearly enough for Luke.

  “Yeah? Then what? Who called the ambulance? Who tried to get the boat off? Who went to find help? Who looked after my dad? Who stuck around to explain what had happened? Who CARED for him?”

  She was sitting on the sofa and she’d gone sort of rigid.

  “C’mon,” he said. “I need to know.”

  “You’ll have to be patient for a moment.” Mr and Mrs Vandervelde were sitting on either side of their daughter. The mother was holding her again. “She’s having a seizure. It’s stress-related. It’ll soon wear off. Please tell us, how is your father?”

  “His legs are broken and they had to operate to lift two of his ribs off his lungs. An’ at the moment he can’t move his toes so they don’t know whether he’s damaged his back and whether he won’t never walk again. The doctor said he could have died.”