by Julia Jones
“I know that. But what about the kids?”
He looked at her. It was as if he’d forgotten what was totally the most important thing. And it wasn’t her feud with Madrigal and it wasn’t his precious lightship either.
“I see…No, the children look like regulars to him. He despises all my guests. He thinks Jonjo’s some sort of security guard employed by me. He doesn’t know he’s Special Branch.”
“Which means Jonjo’s got to sit there and look stupid. Carry on pretending he’s your hired muscle. He’s not going to do or say anything that links him to those kids.”
Dominic was staring as if he couldn’t work that out. It was a good thing Xanthe had been checking back down the path.
“The police have arrived at the sail lofts. And I can see a Bomb Squad truck. You need to get along and take control or they might decide to blow up Godwyn just to make sure.”
That shifted him. He was off the observation deck and striding down the gangplank with a step that could have rattled every rivet in the hull. Xanthe almost felt guilty for scaring him. No one was going to blow up the lightship while his big boss father wanted her so badly. She must be learning mind-games.
The worst danger Xanthe could see was Godwyn being officially cordoned off and none of them allowed back for hours – or even days. So she found herself a less conspicuous route out. She climbed over the bulwarks on the Roffey Creek side and let herself gently onto the surviving ledge of mud from which she was determined to liberate Fritha. There was still a trickle of water. She could wallow and wade and haul her round to one of the jetties. She wasn’t sure exactly why she needed access to the dinghy – she was just definite that she did.
“We gotta put our deaf ears to that telescope again,” said Nelson.
“Just c-carry on,” agreed David.
“Otherwise we’re being wimps as well.”
As well as…who? Xanthe didn’t think Kieran intended to make her feel bad but he might have succeeded – if she hadn’t already made up her mind.
“Yeah,” she said. “We carry on exactly as we planned. We put in a morning’s work on Fritha, while we’re waiting for the tide, and then we sail right the way around Oveseye and come back to finish her this evening.
Martha disagreed. She wanted to fetch the minibus and take Xanthe and the children right out of the area. However as Jonjo wasn’t around, Dominic could only think about Godwyn and she couldn’t make contact with Gareth; her position was weak.
“Think about it,” Kelly-Jane told her. “You’ve got professional disposal experts working on the lightship plus sniffer dogs and their handlers checking the whole area. There are two teams of uniformed police questioning all the other boat owners on the saltings. How much more security do you want?”
“We only need a trailer to move Fritha to the sail lofts,” said Xanthe. “And I think K-J’s right about security.”
“Please,” said Siri. There was a wisp of word as well as the appeal from her eyes and a butterfly touch on Martha’s arm. Irresistible.
“Okay, okay.”
“But the totally first thing we need to sort is work out how we’re going to answer Him Over There.”
Martha looked at Xanthe in surprise.
“Surely that’s your decision?”
“I’ve decided all right. The only thing I haven’t quite got my head round is how to send my answer. Not what I’m going to say.”
“So is it yes or no?”
Xanthe couldn’t believe she’d ever had a moment’s hesitation. Yes, she admired the conscientious objectors of World War One and anyone who truly stood up for non-violent beliefs – like the peaceniks by the chapel, maybe – but something had clicked inside her head when she’d seen the mess that the Commander had tried to make of Godwyn.
This was his own son’s cherished boat. And it was a charity and – control-freak though Dominic might be (and obsessive and insensitive and irritating) – all he was trying to do was to run the lightship as a peaceful retreat for bird-watchers and offer a safe shelter to children in need.
Okay, maybe he had persuaded Jonjo to shoot out the cameras but they shouldn’t have been snooping in the first place.
“I’m going to the race, for sure. And it’s not to do with anything except for standing up and not being scared – and definitely not being pushed around.”
They were in the sail lofts eating sausage sandwiches for their breakfast.
“So how should I tell them?” she asked her crew. “It seemed to me they splashed my refusal over Facebook almost before they could have got it. I’m certain they never expected me to come. But we can’t ask Jonjo because he’s still not back. Dominic thinks they might be holding him.”
“Like a hostage,” said Kieran. It was a statement not a question. These children understood too fast.
“Will you ring Arthur Gold?” asked Martha. “Do you need a number?”
“He gave me a card with his contacts but I made out that I couldn’t be bothered to pick it up.”
“I’ll send your message from my phone,” said Martha. “Or Dominic can.”
“Could you…” said Xanthe. They’d think this was stupid.
“Could you maybe send it in Morse?”
Not many people her age were good at Morse. She was. So if the Commander needed to go check it up, then she’d have one small moment of advantage.
Martha was looking worried. “Only if you do the encoding. I got sent on a two-day amateur radio course but I didn’t carry on practising. I’d have to look up virtually every letter. But yes, I could type it in, if that’s what you want.”
“I’ll speak it. We could speak it all together if we practise. Send the recording. Show him that we’re solid.”
They did it like a band with speaking and stamping and clashing rowlocks and twanging metal shrouds:
Need . Godwyn . Safety . Officer . Then . Okay . For . Your . Match . XR
Dash-dot, dot, dot, dash-dot-dot (pause)
dash-dash-dot, dash-dash-dash, dash-dot-dot, dot-dash-dash, dash-dot-dash-dash, dash-dot (pause)
dot-dot-dot, dot-dash, dot-dot-dash-dot, dot, dash, dash-dot-dash-dash (pause)
dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dash-dot, dot-dot-dash-dot, dot-dot, dash-dot-dash-dot, dot, dot-dash-dot (pause)
dash, dot-dot-dot-dot, dot, dash-dot (pause)
dash-dash-dash, dash-dot-dash (pause)
dot-dot-dash-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot-dash-dot (pause)
dash-dot-dash-dash, dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dash, dot-dash-dot (pause)
dash-dash, dot-dash, dash, dash-dot-dash-dot, dot-dot-dot-dot (pause)
dash-dot-dot-dash, dot-dash-dot (ENDS)
“I don’t see how anyone learns that stuff,” grumbled Kelly-Jane.
“What do spy chiefs call sausages-in-batter? Morse toad in the hole.”
“I hope it g-gives him b-brain-ache.”
But Martha’s phone rang back immediately. She put it on speaker and the Commander’s rich voice boomed out into the morning. “Capitulation not before time, Miss Ribiero. Be here before noon on Monday and we’ll organise a race to the beaches. I’m considering the position of the so-called safety officer – or should I say saboteur?”
And when Martha instantly tried to call back and demand an explanation and more news of Jonjo, there was no reply and no messaging facility.
“I didn’t, like, get that – the saboteur bit?”
When Kelly-Jane didn’t understand something, she didn’t like it. And she definitely wasn’t going to like this when she did understand.
“I’m sorry, K-J, they had cameras pointing over here to spy on us. That’s how they got the Facebook photos and everything. But it was still about me, not you. Jonjo shot the cameras out last night. Unfortunately he got caught.”
“It sounded like that man was threatening him.”
“Yeah, well, I mean, it could be that I have to win the race to get him back but this could all go public – which means they can’t hurt him or anything. And I’m telling you that there’s nothing I want more in the world than to out-sail Madrigal Shryke, this one time that I’m officially allowed. My Spray is completely equal to her dinghy any day. Also Jonjo’s a professional. He’s tough and he’s cool. I just know he’ll be okay.”
Fritha was clean and dry and varnished and gleaming rich gold and amber. Xanthe and the kids were gathering buoyancy aids and scattered pieces of sailing gear and Kelly-Jane had finished packing a picnic lunch, not helped by Nelson.
“Why won’t we get hungry on the beach? Because of the sand which is there – sandwiches, geddit? And what’s the best thing to put into a pie? Your teeth.”
Iris Farran arrived when they were ready to head off across the saltings. Xanthe’s heart sank. Iris was in a wheelchair, being pushed by a carer in a crisp lilac overall. She had a pink fleecy rug tucked carefully around her and was wearing a white sun hat, a flowery blouse and an immaculately clean, cream cardigan with small pearl buttons.
She came straight for Xanthe. Didn’t bother saying hello to Martha. Ignored all the children. “He shouldn’t have invited you. I know it’s a mistake. You’re not to go.”
She had the invitation envelope on her lap. The one with Commander of the Saxon Shore and all the fancy seaxes. Xanthe must have dropped it when she was packing to leave.
Xanthe saw that the old lady’s eyes were wet. She remembered how she’d heard the Commander telling her she could watch it all on her new flatscreen TV. Xanthe could see that Iris was hurt.
“I’m not a guest, Mrs Farran. I’ve only been asked for the sailing. It’s some sort of entertainment.”
“They could have asked an English girl.”
“They have. They’ve asked two of us at least.”
Martha stepped forward quickly and put her hand on Iris’s sleeve. “Xanthe’s been in training for the British team, Auntie. Uncle Arthur’s asked her and one of the other girls to show people how talented they are. I think it’s very modern of him.”
No, it wasn’t modern. It was more like a mediaeval jousting match; she and Madrigal going head to head with the Commander chucking down the gauntlet.
“They didn’t have her sort at Dunkirk.”
“And fishermen wouldn’t have females on their boats and women in the WRNS couldn’t go to sea. Lots of things have changed since then, Auntie, and I think they’ve changed for the better,” said Martha. “Xanthe is as British as we are.”
“But she’s a…”
“Just don’t say that word!” Xanthe exploded. “If being white British means living all your life in one muddy little village, getting mean and moany because you’re too scared to try anything new, then I’m happy to renounce it. My father is from Ghana; my mother’s from Sierra Leone. They both work here and I’m proud of them. My sister and I were born in this country and we are official British citizens but we’ve also lived in France and in Canada. So, when I’m an adult, I’m going to take a global view.”
There were red spots in Martha’s cheeks and her dark
eyes burned. She might have had to take a couple of deep breaths but her voice stayed calm and controlled. It was a nice voice. A bit Essex but without her brother Gareth’s strong accent.
“I’m sorry, Xanthe, if that’s how you see us, here in Flinthammock. We don’t all necessarily have a completely free choice about where we’re able to live.”
Xanthe felt sick. How could she have spoken like that in front of these pushed-around kids, made homeless in their own country? How many times had Maggi tried to shut her up?
“I’m…sorry,” she began, “I didn’t mean…”
But Martha wasn’t going to stop. “I’ll speak for myself and then we’ll move on. I live here – in this ‘muddy little village’ – because this is where I belong. There was a moment – after my dad died – when my mother and my brother and I thought seriously about leaving Essex and starting somewhere new, but we chose not to. And it wasn’t because we were scared. At that time it felt that we needed more courage to stay. But it was the right thing to do and I’m proud that we did it.”
“I’m truly sorry and I didn’t mean it about you and your brother. I think you’re brave and kind and I’m glad that I’ve met you. And my sister would totally kill me if she’d heard what I just said to your aunt.”
“Then we’ll have to leave it that we’re different,” said Martha. “And I think your sister might agree that you’ve had some provocation.”
The atmosphere was better. Martha was smiling at her. The kids were moving about again. It had been like a sudden summer storm, breaking out of nowhere.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” said Iris to Martha. “Where were her parents in the war, I’d like to know?”
“Not born, I should think.” Martha’s smile widened. She was looking at Xanthe, offering to fight this battle for her.
“Her grandparents then?” The old lady wouldn’t be stopped.
“Do you actually want to know?” Xanthe asked her.
“Only if you feel like telling us,” said Martha.
“Yeah, sure, I’d be delighted. My mother’s father was living in Freetown, which was a big British navy base, and he was liaising with the British officers to keep their ships provided with fresh food and everything. It was a necessary job and he made a lot of friends who then looked after my mother when she came to study here. My father’s father was in the army – the Gold Coast regiment – and they went to fight in Burma. He was in the jungle for seven years and when he eventually came home he was mentally damaged. I think that’s why my dad worked so hard to be a doctor.”
“Oh,” said Martha. “That’s really something. What do you think, kids?”
They nodded, most of them, but they were obviously fed up, standing around listening while their sailing time ebbed away.
“What about you, Auntie? Did you understand what Xanthe was saying? Did you hear her answer to your question?”
Iris was looking down at the invitation envelope. She hadn’t understood anything. She was still hurt and miserable and suspicious.
“You must to be careful of her,” she warned her niece solemnly. “She has dark powers. Have you seen that she has raised the Igraine?”
“Dark powers! Yeah – that sounds like me. And do you know what else I’ve raised? I’ve raised your ebony walking stick!”
She asked David to fetch it from the sail loft and, remembering that Martha was a policewoman as well as a Farran and a local, she described exactly when they’d found it – and where.
“And how did you know that the stick was hers?” asked Martha.
“Because I’d seen it in Rebow Cottage. When she and Mr Farran were watching TV on the evening before he died. When I think that someone hit someone with it. I’m just not sure who.”
Tears were trickling from Iris Farran’s eyes and Siri had moved up close and was holding her hand. The carer looked approving.
“Don’t cry, Nana.”
Now, at last, the rainbow effect. Iris looked at Siri and smiled – and Siri smiled back at Iris.
“She ain’t your Granny,” said Kieran angrily but Kelly-Jane shook her head at him. Her eyes were bright with amazement.
The carer, who didn’t know that there had been a miracle, wondered whether the girls would come to tea one day.
“Would you like that, Auntie?” asked Martha. “Would you go home now and make them your special scones?”
“But not me!” said Xanthe quickly.
“No,” said Martha, kindly, “Definitely NOT you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Vigil
Sunday June 2, lw 0822 hw 1436 lw 2036 hw 0256
“You can say what you like,
” Martha told him, “The children are not sleeping on Godwyn tonight. I know you’re going to be there and I know there’ll be a security presence and I know that the lawyer Xanthe told you about has got all approaches ringed around with injunctions like electronic tripwires, but in the absence of Jonjo – which is your fault – I’m responsible for their safety and I’ve contacted county HQ and they’re agreeing with me. End of.”
The Bomb Squad and the sniffer dogs had gone; the police had taken names, addresses, wads of statements and they’d left too. In the time it had taken for Xanthe, Martha and the kids to have a totally brilliant sail all the way round Oveseye, with some significant exploring near Flinthammock Pier, Godwyn had been meticulously searched from stem to stern and the entire area around her had been checked and pronounced 100 percent safe. There was no official objection to them going back and carrying on as normal but Martha wouldn’t have it.
“So where are you going to sleep?”
Dominic was doing his best to keep his voice casual. Xanthe’d been sent to the Happy Haddock – she was getting like a regular there – and they were all in the sail lofts eating hungrily out of polystyrene containers with small wooden chip forks. There would be no washing up today.
“Undisclosed.” Then Martha relented, “Shall we tell him, crew?”
“It’s a t-tower,” said David.
Xanthe loved the way he said it with a shiver of excitement in his voice.
“It’s in the m-middle of a f-field and it looks right down the r-river.”
“And when it was wartime the Navy built it so they could keep a look-out against invaders,” added Kieran. “Then p-zow they’d press the button and the whole river would go up. They’d laid mines.”
No-one was noticing Siri. Not even Kelly-Jane.
“It’s mainly used for storage now,” Kieran carried on. “But there’s a room on the top floor where we’re all going to sleep together like we were in a tent or something. But when we want to wash – or whatever – we’re going across to a farmhouse.”