by Amy McLean
A gull circled and squawked loudly overhead, snapping her attention back to her surroundings. She shot her head up toward the sky as she watched it fly directly above her and out to sea. She turned so that she could look in the direction from which it had come only to determine that the ship was not out at sea but actually anchored in a harbour.
Without giving it a second thought, she stepped onto the gangway. Her hands hovered to the sides automatically to maintain her balance as she walked down the plank, leaving the ship behind her. She tried not to remind herself that she was moving further and further away from the door that had brought her to this place. She didn't really know what to think any more, and she certainly wasn't sure what was she was doing here, but it was time for her to explore.
Once she reached the pier, she stood with the ship standing enormous behind her.
Wherever she was, it was very beautiful. The grass that stretched out in front of her was a rich green and blended into a strand that outlined the water. Grace watched for a moment as the bright waves flowed up the little beach before ebbing to join the sea again.
She decided it was time to continue walking. Not that there was any other option since it didn't seem she'd be able to get back home any time soon. The land grew into hills in front of her. It made sense to her that she should climb one of them.
She started up a path, taking caution with her steps as she walked. She took her time as a comforting wind helped her to travel up the slope of the hill. Once she reached the top she found that the land wasn't as empty as she had first thought. A small cluster of houses were situated in front of her. She wasn't close enough for anybody to notice her standing there, so she assumed that she could study them safely out of sight.
She counted the four houses. They were low to the ground, suggesting that they only had one floor, and were built from large blocks of some kind. Even from where she stood she could tell that the houses were weathered. Since they were situated right by the sea, however, it didn't help her to identify their age. Perhaps they had been worn much more quickly being subjected to the salty air.
Regardless, she was certain she wasn't in the twenty-first century any more. The thatched roofs definitely suggested otherwise. They had probably once been the product of fine craftsmanship, neat and tidy and in order, but now they looked weak and not enough to withstand a heavy downpour.
But where were the inhabitants? Either they were inside their homes, or this land was completely deserted. As she glanced around she spotted something on a nearby mound. Standing near the side of the ship, which remained not too far away behind her, the building was a similar grey to that of the houses, and looked as if it were carefully situated to guard the vessel. Thin and almost square in shape, it was somewhat taller than the houses.
It must have at least three floors, Grace thought to herself as she observed the building from a distance. For reasons she couldn't explain, she felt drawn to it.
"There you are!"
Grace jumped, startled. She had been preparing herself to make her way across the hill so she could observe the building up close when somebody had crept up behind her. She wasn't alone after all.
As the shock of the stranger approaching from behind her subsided, she turned to find a young girl standing nearby. She was a little shorter than Grace, and her hair was brown, shoulder length and curled at the sides of her cheeks. Her delicate features suggested that she couldn't be any older than sixteen.
The girl wore a dress that reached to her ankles, a white cloth decorated with a simple frill at the hem. Over her shoulders she had wrapped a woollen shawl. It was a warm day, but the thin material was enough to keep the wind away from her otherwise-bare arms.
It was only then that Grace noticed her own clothes. She had been so transfixed by the strangeness of her new surroundings that she hadn't realised that she was no longer wearing her pink pyjamas, nor had she physically felt anything strange that might have prompted her to pay attention to her own appearance.
She stood there now wearing an outfit she knew she had most certainly never seen before. A skirt the colour of copper flowed down to her ankles. A white chemise was tucked into the skirt, its long sleeves reaching her wrists; a tan bodice was laced over the chemise, the black string pulling the soft fabric together and leaving just enough room for Grace to breathe without feeling suffocated.
Still bemused by her sudden change of outfit, and equally confused about the fact that she'd only just now noticed it, she turned her attention to the girl, who was still smiling at her.
"Donal wishes to know what time you plan to leave."
Donal? What was she supposed to say to that? She had no idea who this girl was. She definitely didn't know who Donal was. She didn't even know how she could leave, never mind what time she planned on doing so.
"Donal?" She risked the question. She considered the girl's thick accent for a moment—it was definitely Irish, but with her mind already racing with a thousand thoughts she struggled to place it more specifically.
"Your brother, of course! I think you've been spending too much time in the sunlight." The girl's smile merged into a chuckle. She must have thought Grace was playing games. But how did she know who Grace was?
"He sent me up here to ask you," the girl continued. "He told me, 'If I know my sister, Miss O'Flynn, then I bet she'll be busy with the ship.' I just said to him, 'please, Donal! You must call me Cathleen!' But you know what your brother's like. He insisted on calling me Miss O'Flynn. I do not care for it much myself, but it is ever so sweet of him. He was right about you, though. He knew I'd find you up here!"
Grace was thankful that this girl seemed to be extremely talkative. It meant she didn't have the chance to explain that she had no idea what was going on.
"So what will I tell him then?"
Grace couldn't keep up with the conversation as she had begun to worry about how she was going to get home. She was even starting to consider the possibility that she might never see London again.
"What time have you decided to leave? He suggested leaving early in the evening, as it would mean you'd be able to rest during the night, but he said it was up to you. You are the captain, after all!"
I'm the what?!
"Although, may I suggest that you find some shoes, Miss Granuaile?" Cathleen giggled as she looked down at Grace's feet.
Miss who?!
Grace was growing increasingly confused by the minute. She looked down at her feet to find that they were still bare, just as the girl had indicated. She wiggled her toes and felt the grass beneath her feet for the first time. It was cold and slightly damp.
"Yes, I'll find some shoes." She considered explaining everything to Cathleen, but she wasn't even sure which century she was in, and explaining that she was almost certain that she'd arrived from the future, however it had happened, wasn't going to get her anywhere either. Her life might even be at risk. She needed to get away from this girl before she found out that Grace was not who she thought she was.
Her mind raced as she searched for a way out, then she remembered the boots. Hadn't there been a pair of boots beside the chest in the room on the ship through which she'd entered? Brown leather boots. If she put those on, then Cathleen would be less likely to get suspicious. At least that was her hope, and that might buy Grace some time to come up with a plan to get back home.
"I must have taken them off when I was on the ship. I'll fetch them now." She began to walk backwards as she spoke.
"I'll see you, Miss Gráinne!" Cathleen laughed as she waved, watching as Grace turned and made for the ship.
She stumbled down the hill, catching herself before she fell. Her heart was racing. She was just about to board the ship when she paused. She hadn't noticed it before, but there was something written on the side of it: The Pirate Queen.
Grace stared at the letters for a moment, wondering what the name meant. She'd never really considered the stories behind the names of vessels before, but something tol
d her to pay attention to this one. So many questions whirled in her mind. What was the significance of the Pirate Queen? Was it named after anybody? Why had she found herself inside a cabin on this ship, and why was it connected to her home in Hampstead? Things like this just don't happen!
She moved across the gangplank and jumped onto the deck. Speeding by the masts and manoeuvring around crates, she didn't stop until she'd reached the ladders leading to the cabin. She bolted through the door and entered the room. The candle was still burning at the centre; Grace was sure it had melted only a small amount despite the length of time she'd been away. It was still glowing as brightly now as it had been when she'd left it.
Her memory had served her well. In the corner of the room, almost hidden beside the chest, stood the pair of boots she had recalled. Grace reached for them, fearing time was running out, and pulled one toward her. She slid her hand inside the narrow neck of the boot to part it so that her foot could be inserted with ease, but as she did this her hand encountered something inside. Grace pulled her hand back and looked inside the boot, but it was too dark to see anything; whatever she'd touched was in the toe. She felt around for the mysterious object. She found it and pulled it out.
She clutched onto a piece of paper. It had been folded and was crumpled slightly where she had pushed it further inside the boot. She unfolded it, making sure she was careful not to tear it.
It looked like a note of some kind. Grace had to move closer to the candle to make out the scrawl; the handwriting was a peculiar script, old fashioned and difficult to read.
The moment she began to see it by candlelight, however, she dropped it onto the floor. It wasn't just a note, but a letter addressed to Miss Grace Byrne.
Her name now staring up at her from where it had fallen to the ground, Grace's fear grew within her as she found herself trapped in a world, and in a time, and in a life that was not her own.
Only then did she notice that the door in the corner of the room, the door through which she had originally entered, was now open slightly. This was her chance—maybe her only chance—she had to leave now.
Yet a peculiar sensation suggested to her that she might want to remain here despite her fear. She desperately longed for answers, and she was sure it would be easier to find them here, but if she let her curiosity rule her head, then she just might find herself stuck here forever. Grace knew that returning home was a case of now or never.
She leapt onto her feet and headed swiftly for the door. She grabbed onto the handle and pulled it fully open. As she bolted back through it, into the darkness, the door shut itself behind her, sealing off her only portal to the ship.
5
"This is a Piccadilly line service to Cockfosters."
If Harriet said it one more time, Grace was going to scream. A group of adolescent boys had sniggered at the announcement for the entire journey on the underground since changing at St Pancras, reminding Grace why she always avoided travelling across London during weekends.
"Who lives in Cockfosters, anyway?"
Grace glanced around her as they crossed over the road. Harriet hadn't exactly made the journey any easier—the two glasses of wine she'd downed before they'd left the house had made her giddy. Grace was just thankful they'd alighted at Wood Green; any longer and she would have cried.
"I don't know anybody who lives there. It's a fun word to say though, isn't it? Cockfosters. Cock," she paused for effect, "fosters. Hey, maybe tonight we'll get to foster some—"
"Stop it!"
"I was only playing. What's with you today, anyway? You haven't exactly been yourself."
"I'm fine," Grace lied. "I'm just not really in the mood to face Caroline's idea of entertainment."
"I know she can be a bit—"
"Loud? Chatty? In your face?"
"—excitable; but I don't think she's that bad. We don't need to stay too long if you don't want to. Just a couple of drinks and then we can go."
"I think that's all I can bear! Anyway, there won't be any guys there so you wouldn't be able to foster anything." She forced a smile to keep Harriet happy. She thought it would be best to not bring up the subject of Harriet's on-off relationship with Daniel, and instead assumed Harriet's comment was meant to imply that they were currently very much off.
As they turned a corner, Caroline's house came into view at the end of the road. A woman was getting out of her car carrying what appeared to be a Tupperware box.
"Look at how big her—"
"Shh!" Grace nudged Harriet. She had noticed the size of the woman's breasts—how could she miss them? - but had made the wise decision not to mention them. She hoped Harriet was going to behave herself tonight; it was never a guarantee when she'd been drinking.
"But they're huge! I bet there are planets smaller than those things!"
Grace swallowed a splutter of laughter, trying to ignore the comment. She tried to change the subject as they neared the house. "Did you remember to pick up the bottle for Caroline?"
She patted her oversized shoulder bag. "Hugging it for safety, you know?"
"Good."
As they turned into the driveway, Caroline's front door flung open. "Gracey, darling!"
"Hi, Caroline." She tried to remember to breathe as Caroline squeezed a hug out of her.
"And Harriet, how lovely to see you again!" It was difficult to tell whether or not she was being sincere. They'd not been in the same room together for several years, not since Caroline's birthday and the incident with the cute bartender from Manchester. Grace was glad she'd left early that night; the stories she'd heard were painful enough to imagine. She could only be thankful that she hadn't actually witnessed them.
"Take a seat," Caroline said as they headed into the living room. The woman carrying the Tupperware box was sitting in the corner, already nursing a large glass of something fruity and alcoholic. A gaggle of women were clustered around the sofa and sitting on plastic chairs. One blonde woman Grace was sure she'd never met before was slouched in a large beanbag. The air was filled with shrieks of laughter.
"Look what Julie brought!" Caroline pulled the lid off the Tupperware. She thrust it toward Grace and Harriet, who were still standing in the doorway and trying to work out which of the few empty seats they should occupy. Caroline held the Tupperware under their faces to offer them something to nibble on.
"Chocolate penis?"
Grace closed her eyes to wish away her headache. It already seemed like a long night, and they'd only been there just over an hour.
"Carol, where're your cocktail sticks?" a voice called through from the kitchen.
"How do you know I've got any, Nicola?"
"Your kitchen's always loaded!"
Caroline sighed. "Top drawer beneath the knife block," she called. She turned to face the rest of the room. "Right, who's up for a game of Twister?" She pulled out the box from behind her as Julie squealed, "ME!"
"Good heavens!" Grace remarked as she pulled her hand to her ear and leaned toward Harriet to escape the piercing noise.
"I think somebody might have had a bit too much to drink!" Harriet said. And she was right. Grace was sure that Julie had not had too many drinks, but apparently the few that she'd had were enough to tip her already overly-excitable personality into a state of drunkenness.
As Caroline unfolded the game, even she couldn't deny that perhaps Julie should skip the drinking part of the game as she watched her slump deeper upon the chair on which she was sitting, barely awake.
"So whenever we make a move, we have to drink out of that straw?" asked Laura for confirmation, nodding toward a giant bowl of liquid. It definitely seemed like her idea of a good time.
"Exactly! And whoever is the last one standing on the mat will receive my special prize!" Caroline stroked an unmarked package beside her.
"What's in it?"
"Ah now, that would be telling! But let's just say it's very long...and manly...and very realistic!" she teased.
Laura
, who was pretty sure she knew what it was, clapped her hands enthusiastically. Grace tilted her head back and drained the last of the wine out of her glass.
"Hey, hey, look what I've found!" Nicola was now standing in the doorway of the living room, having returned from the kitchen holding a cocktail sausage in one hand and a packet of balloons in the other.
"Did you enjoy rummaging through my drawers?" asked Caroline, knowing Nicola wouldn't take her remark too seriously.
"Oh, come off it; you love your drawers being rummaged!"
The women on the floor laughed and whistled at Caroline.
"Doesn't she just! How many men has it been now?" asked Megan, who had decided to strap one of the plunge bras from the lingerie box over her t-shirt.
"You be quiet!" Caroline scolded playfully, unable to hide the grin on her face. "And what exactly do you plan on doing with the leftover balloons from my cousin's party?"
"Ooh, ooh, can we blow them up?" pleaded Laura.
Nicola popped the sausage into her mouth and slid into the room, dropping the cocktail stick onto a paper plate on the floor. She took her time opening the packet as she swayed her hips from side to side, offering some unusual balloon-inspired mock strip tease to the rest of the room. She reached into the bag, wiggled her fingers around, and thrust something pink toward the ceiling.
"Do you know what this is?"
"A balloon?" Laura responded, giddily.
"No, my innocent friend, this is not just a balloon!" Nicola drew the opening to her lips and pulled it apart slightly. She began to blow into it, and continued to blow until the limp object had grown into something much longer. Once it was full enough, she tied a knot at the end and balanced it in the palm of her hand.
"Now can you see what it is?"