by Julia Jones
Martha smiled. “You’ve guessed it, Dom. It’s the old watchtower beside Mum’s. We could all have slept in the farmhouse but we’re thinking this’ll be more fun. Plus the view’s amazing. We can look right down to St Peter’s and they’ll never know.”
“Spy on them like they spied on us.” Kelly-Jane got angry whenever she thought of the photos.
“What’s the difference between a dog and a flea? A dog can have fleas but a flea can’t have dogs.”
“What about you, Xanthe?” Dominic sounded resigned.
“I’m staying on Godwyn tonight – if that’s okay?”
“You don’t have to. There’ll be some volunteers to help me keep watch and the tower might be useful for your project.”
“It would, except I’m hoping for a good night’s sleep before tomorrow. And I’ve more I want to do on Fritha. I wish I could speak to Gareth but he’s not answering his phone.”
“Hey, who’s for a round of cards? Just to let the food go down.” Martha’s voice was uncharacteristically loud.
It wasn’t long before she and the kids were gone, all buzzy and excited, and Xanthe found herself walking back to Godwyn with Dominic.
“Do you think Gareth could be in danger?”
“More likely to be in the Plough and Sail.”
“Since yesterday evening? I don’t think so!” She hated the way Dominic talked down his cousin. “I’m sure he had something on his mind. Something to do with that pennant.”
“Pennant?”
She hadn’t realised no one had told him.
“When we were down at the oyster beds, all of us, Kieran found a long red flag, tangled into one of the racks. It couldn’t have been there that long – a tide or two, maybe. Gareth reckoned it had been left there by Eli and was meant for him. He said it was from the Igraine and Martha thought so too. She and Jonjo bagged it up as evidence but Gareth got quite emotional. He and Martha would have had a row if we hadn’t been there.”
“Farrans!”
“What is it with all of you and that boat? Iris has been accusing me of practising some sort of black magic ever since I happened to take some mirage photographs that happened to show Igraine crossing the estuary. That was the morning you dragged me back…”
She was glad he looked embarrassed.
“Was it because she’d caused trouble for your family?”
“It was a set-up.” He sounded as angry, as if the accusations of smuggling had been yesterday.
“But now the Igraine’s moored alongside the Mulberry pier. She’ll probably get her own page on Facebook.”
“He won’t ever stop,” Dominic muttered. He sounded more bitter than angry now and Xanthe guessed he was talking about his father.
“So what did the investigators discover about last night’s explosion? Was it an explosion?”
“It was a couple of pieces of old ordnance. They could have been there for years.”
“I suppose things like that do turn up sometimes. I mean, this was a World War Two defence area and that was almost like being a battle zone.”
“Except that I had the whole of this mud berth checked before I brought Godwyn here.” He spoke bitterly. “And all the extra material that I used to build that quay was professionally screened.”
“Is that, like, normal?”
He looked at her and didn’t answer. Was Dominic normal? Were any of them?
“I wish I could talk to Gareth.” She hadn’t necessarily meant to say that aloud.
“I know you’re trying to help, Xanthe, and I’m sincerely grateful for all you did this morning but I truly don’t care about the present whereabouts of Gareth Farran. Godwyn is my priority. She’s like a trust.”
“And you’re feeling seriously threatened by your father. Okay, I get it. So what would you like me to do?”
His answer shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But it did.
“Beat that girl he’s setting against you. Get Jonjo back if you can – but beat her anyway. For your own sake. Sail her into the ground.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll give it my best. I was really offering to take a watch for you.”
“There’s no need. I’ve asked a few of the Companions. Do your exercises. Get some sleep. Do whatever you need to be ready for tomorrow.”
“Any other advice?”
“Don’t trust my father. Not ever. He’s a liar, a bully and a snob. He’s worse than any Farran. And what he has he holds.”
“You don’t think he’ll give back Jonjo?”
“He wouldn’t give you the phlegm from his cough – except as a distraction while he siphons off your heart’s blood.”
But he’d given Iris a flatscreen TV and he’d previously given Dominic money for Godwyn. And now he was giving all those Dunkirk Little Ships donations just for being there. Did that mean he would be taking something really important in return?
She must have been staring. Dominic went a bit red.
“That’s been my experience of him, anyway.”
“Thanks. And I mean it. Thanks for the warning. We left the project dinghies in the Flete. If I should need to borrow one is that okay?”
He nodded. “And go out sailing on my own?” She knew she was rubbing it in.
Another nod and he walked rather awkwardly away.
Xanthe put herself through a half hour’s intense muscle-toning routine then she took her sleeping bag and some water. Plus a torch, a notebook, chart, tide table, compass and a block of Kendal mint cake. She was going to get a few hours bivvy down near the CND pillbox and she was going to look across the river and she was going to think.
She walked along the inland side of the river wall although she didn’t think that anyone would be watching her. She wanted to be private, to go off radar.
At least that was what she had thought she wanted.
She felt in her pocket. Yes she’d got her phone. Ought she to text Mags?
No, she ought to call her. It was the weekend now. They’d made an arrangement.
“Hi, sis.”
“In your own time, sis! I was gonna start dragging your creek.”
“Are Mum and Dad bothered? That I haven’t rung sooner?”
“Trying not to be. They keep telling each other that you’re grown up and perfectly able to cope on your own.”
“To be fair, that was the deal.”
“Except the way they say it, it’s like news. And they sort of take turns as if it’s the other one who needs convincing. It didn’t exactly help when they were watching ‘Down on the Marshes’ on TV East and saw something about your lightship getting blown up.”
“Since when did they watch that stuff? And anyway why weren’t you at the Club? It’s Sunday. You could have been racing.”
“Duh. It’s called revision – which Anna and I take more seriously than you ever did. And they’ve been watching TV East ever since you left. There’s some guy across the river seems to have the local PR machine totally whirring his way. Anna said he was the one who installed the surveillance cameras. His group sponsors Madrigal.”
“Yeah well. I need to get on now. Good luck tomorrow. In your exams, I mean.”
“You on Planet Zog? It’s maths tomorrow.”
“Best make sure you’re sitting next to Anna then. Ouch! Did I say something? Sorry, can’t hear that. You’re breaking up. I must be going out of signal. Say goodnight to Mum and Dad and tell them that I’m doing that challenge. Sorry, can’t hear you. By-eee.”
She found the same space that Siri had used, and she settled down in her sleeping bag to think about all that had happened over the previous week and what might be yet to come.
It was getting dark and it wasn’t especially warm. There were lights on the other side of the river and distant sound too. Not clanging and sirens but snatches of music. Fair
y lights along the newly assembled pier; deck lights and light spilling out from cabins and portholes. Xanthe guessed there would be hospitality, food and drink, maybe a band.
If this was the nose drips, whose was the heart’s blood?
Her sleeping bag was in a tough outer sack. She was glad of that as she snuggled down at the base of the river wall and breathed in the slightly salty, vaguely fishy, potentially rotting smell of the tideline at the saltings edge. She looked upwards and wondered how long it would be before she would spot the first of the stars.
Then she found herself trying to remember that Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson joke to tell Nelson. This wasn’t what she should be doing. She’d come here to think. She needed to ask herself what the Commander was after and specifically what traps Madrigal would be springing on her tomorrow. Yet all her brain was offering was the struggle to polish a punch line.
The stars are out, Holmes, and the moon is rising in the northern quarter. I see Orion’s Sword, Ursa Major and Sirius the Dog Star. What do you deduce from that?
Watson, my old friend, it strongly suggests that someone has stolen our tent.
Xanthe giggled weakly and shifted into a more comfortable position. She wished she’d brought something to go under her head. Her buoyancy aid…ah, that was good.
Behind her, as darkness closed over the saltings and the marsh and the flood tide came welling up the creek, Dominic turned Godwyn’s light onto full strength and it shone out like a beacon across the black waters.
She found herself thinking sleepily about the chapel of St Cedd-on-the-Wall. She’d been near there a couple of days ago when she’d been sailing with the kids to the mouth of the river. So small and plain against such an enormous sky.
There hadn’t been time for the kids to land. She might have noticed an inner channel that would reduce the need to go far out to sea but there was a complex system of anti-erosion defences that she wanted to check out at low tide first. She’d heard the Companions talking about the guided walks they took along the far side of the river so that people could experience that extraordinary sense of space and travelling out of time. She wondered whether that was what had happened to her in that black night with Fritha when the Igraine had come ramping home?
The Saxon Shore Development was a huge scheme. Where had all that money come from?
Little Miss Oy-ris – our own personal crock of Gold. Remember that, Eli, me boy.”
But Eli didn’t have enough money to buy himself a pint of beer. And Iris needed to take lodgers.
And who’s the richest fish in the river? That un’s the GOLD fish.
Y’r fancy man.
No, your brother.
She’d never understand the intertwining of the Farrans and the Golds. It was like a Monkey’s Fist knot: complex and tight and almost all of it invisible from the outside. Xanthe sighed. Maybe she’d should walk back to Godwyn and spend the rest of the night in her cabin.
It was after midnight. She could hear a boat coming up the channel inside the Spit: it wasn’t heavy enough to be a tug, nor purry like Miranda, but it did sound familiar. A fairly standard outboard on some fairly standard workboat? Xanthe stood up and gathered her things.
There was a small figure hurrying along the wall, heading in the direction of Flinthammock. It almost collided with Xanthe and let out a tiny, inarticulate cry.
“Siri! Whatever are you…? Does Martha…?”
Xanthe hoped Martha didn’t know that the youngest and most vulnerable of her crew was out alone in the night. If she did, she would be frantic. Something must have gone badly wrong for Siri at the tower.
Xanthe took the child’s hand. She made herself stand completely still.
“It’s okay now Siri. I’m Xanthe. I’m here too. You’re safe with me.”
Were they safe? Xanthe was texting Martha as they stepped quietly along the marsh wall. Then they heard the workboat engine stop. There was splashing. Someone was coming ashore at Fisherman’s Hard. The light from Godwyn came swinging round and caught him in its beam.
“Jonjo?”
“Xanthe! Siri! Whatever…?”
“Never mind about us for a moment, we’re on our way back to Godwyn. You’ve got away! That’s so fantastic! But whose boat did you use?”
He shrugged and sounded surprised. “I didn’t exactly ask permission. I took it because it had an engine thet I thought I could work.”
“It couldn’t be Gareth’s workboat, could it?”
“Gareth’s? Why…?”
“Because he’s been out of contact for two days and the last thing he told me was that he was going across that side of the river to pick oysters. It was after the evening when we found the pennant.”
“Hell, I don’t know. I was just glad to get away.”
Martha called back at that moment. She hadn’t known Siri was gone. “That child walks through walls. Kelly-Jane would have been devastated.”
“I’ve got good news too, we’ve just met up with Jonjo.”
She could hear the relief in Martha’s voice. “Oh thank heavens! Could you pass me across for a moment? I need to tell him why I’ve moved the kids up here.”
Xanthe passed Jonjo the mobile. She was still holding Siri’s hand. They could hear Martha’s kindly, anxious voice bringing Jonjo up to date with the explosion at the lightship.
“You’re in charge,” Xanthe said to Jonjo when the call was over. “You’re the pro and it’s such a big responsibility. Martha’s been completely terrified of getting it wrong. I couldn’t say anything to start her worrying about her brother now.”
“We don’t know anything anyway. Look Xanthe, where is this watchtower? I need to get there. I’ll take Siri back with me.”
Siri, pulling away and shaking her head. Letting go of Xanthe. Poised to run.
“What is it, sweetie? What’s upsetting you so much?”
Xanthe put her arms round the child. Tried to pour a feeling of safety into her.
“Dead. Fish.”
Huh?
“Sounds gross. Poor little Siz.”
Xanthe still didn’t get it.
“Their. Home.”
“What is this watchtower?” Jonjo asked.
“I don’t think it’s anything now. Maybe storage? It was built in the war as a lookout point. They could detonate a minefield if there was an invasion.”
“Then I think I can guess what’s troubling young Siri. It’s the collateral damage again. If you detonate a mine at sea, you’ll be killing all the nearby fish as well. More innocent passers-by caught up in someone else’s war.”
“Oh yuck.”
Maybe Siri would be better just staying locked away from the pain of life.
“Were you going back to Godwyn to keep safe?”
Siri nodded.
“That’s good – that’s what Godwyn’s for. And me too. Except I ought to check that the boat isn’t Gareth’s.”
But it was.
“Where exactly did you find it?” she asked Jonjo again.
“Tied under thet pier thing. I can’t go back. My job is with these children.”
“For sure – but you must see that you’ve probably left Gareth in danger.”
“Only if he’s doing something illegal.”
That was a bit rich coming from someone who’d been shooting out other people’s cameras but Xanthe let it pass.
“I’ve no idea what he’s doing,” she said – which wasn’t totally true. “Look Jonjo, there’s been a lot happening over here. Obviously Siri needs you to take her to Godwyn first off and Dominic can fill you in on everything else. I’ve got permission to borrow one of the Picos. So I’ll take that with me, return Gareth’s workboat and be back later.”
“Thet’ll be seriously late. Okay. I can’t see any alternative. You’ll need to take a lie-in
tomorrow.”
Lie-in? Tomorrow! He didn’t know what was happening tomorrow – and she wasn’t telling him. It was today, now, anyway.
“Sure.”
Siri gripped her hand. Shook her head.
“Siri, please, can’t you trust him?”
No words. A tighter grip.
“Has Jonjo done anything wrong? Has he ever done anything to make you afraid of him? Don’t look at him, sweetheart, look at me.”
Siri looked at Xanthe, a long impenetrable look. Xanthe didn’t dare move or hardly breathe. She remembered Min, the Chinese boy, his abuse by the fat policeman. She prayed to something somewhere that she was doing right.
Slowly Siri’s eyes filled up with tears. She took a long shuddering breath.
“No,” she said, definitely.
“Okay, my love. You’re afraid because he’s a man. But I believe that he’s a good man and it’s his job to keep you safe.”
What if she was wrong?
Siri was looking at Jonjo who was also standing completely still. Then she transferred her hand to his. It was a tiny gesture but it was also huge.
“Thanks, Siz. I’m texting Dominic to say that you’re both on your way. Look at Godwyn’s light. It’s beaming out for you. You’ll be back in your cabin before I’m halfway down the Flete.”
“Immobiliser cable?” she called after Jonjo as the two of them set off.
“It’s in the boat. And I found it on the downriver side. Third section along. Hidden beside some old wooden one.”
The Dunkirk Little Ships were there. They’d almost all be old and wood.
“A boat with a mast?”
“Thet’s correct. And one of those things thet stick out from the front.”
Monday June 3, lw 0900 hw 1508 lw 2108 hw 0330
There were clouds crossing the moon and a wind was beginning to get up. The music had stopped. The edges of the pier were still illuminated, but only a sprinkling of anchor lights indicated the sleeping Little Ships. Gareth’s workboat was a dull olive green and she and her clothes were dark. She’d cut the engine and drifted onto the pier. If anyone had happened to look at her directly she would have been seen, but it was two in the morning now.