The Fourteenth Summer of Angus Jack

by Jen Storer

  Angus sighed. ‘Look, I think you’re missing the point. This is really serious, Martha. Deadly serious.’

  They reached the beach and Martha was silent as they dropped their bikes against a tree. Then she said, ‘I want to carry the snow dome.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Angus.

  ‘I just do, okay!’

  There was no point arguing. Angus lifted the case over his head and passed it to his sister.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, pointing to a picnic rotunda. ‘Let’s hide in there ... and try to figure things out.’

  The Donut Lady’s caravan was along to their right. Making certain no-one spotted them, they made their way down the hill to the rotunda.

  Martha thought quickly as they hurried along. She knew as well as Angus it would be pointless calling the police. They would never believe them. And besides, the Prof had been clear — no outside involvement.

  ‘So where will we wait?’ she asked. She leaned against the coin barbeque at the centre of the rotunda and chewed her nails pensively. ‘Till midnight, I mean. We can’t go home. The goblin girls are sure to come after us. That’s the first place they’ll look.’ She lowered her head, suddenly feeling conspicuous. ‘They’re probably heading there right now,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I suppose we’ll just have to hang around down here,’ said Angus. ‘On the boardwalk. There’s a market tonight. And the carnival. We can lose ourselves in the crowd.’

  ‘Great,’ said Martha flatly.

  Angus sat on the bench seat that ran around the edge of the rotunda. A few pigeons fluttered in the beams above. The barbeque was greasy, littered with charred scraps. An empty bread packet and a sauce bottle with a gooey lid sat on the tiled benchtop. It didn’t look at all appetising but Angus’s stomach rumbled.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he said, resting his head against the splintery wall.

  ‘Me too,’ said Martha, coming to sit beside him. ‘Have you got any money?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Martha groaned. She looked at her watch. ‘How will we last? It’s hours till midnight, and even after that we still might not be able to go home. Not with them waiting for us. I’m not scared of the goblin girls,’ she said quietly. ‘Not even that nasty Graini. She’s just a squinty-eyed bully with hair like Oscar the Grouch. But Lynch. He’s some kind of monster!’

  Angus shook his head wearily. ‘Ava said he uses Wild Magick. Did you hear that?’

  Martha nodded.

  ‘Wild Magick,’ said Angus again. ‘I wonder what that is ...’

  ‘Angus,’ said Martha, crossing her arms across her body and hugging herself tightly, ‘I hope he didn’t hurt them. I hope he didn’t ... kill the goblin girls.’

  There. It was said.

  This was exactly what Angus had been thinking. Exactly what he had been trying to deny. The goblin girls. Even though he was wary of them, even though they stood in the way of everything important to him, he still felt like a traitor. He remembered the way Ava had looked up at him back in the hat factory and he felt sick with remorse. She had been so sweet. And he had been a jerk.

  He shut his eyes.

  They were homeless, penniless, and their father was God knows where with a death threat hanging over him. How could this be true? How could this be happening?

  ‘Maybe the Donut Lady could help?’ suggested Martha suddenly.

  ‘Are you serious? We can’t involve her,’ said Angus.

  ‘At least she could give us some donuts,’ said Martha.

  ‘No.’ Angus was firm about this. ‘We have to do this alone. We can’t put anyone else at risk. We have to get smart, Martha, okay?’

  Martha nodded sadly. ‘Okay,’ she said in a small voice.

  Angus leaned back.

  Martha drew her legs up under her chin. ‘Angus,’ she said, ‘do you think ... Do you think Maxwell will be okay?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Angus.

  ‘I don’t hate him,’ said Martha. ‘Honestly. I don’t know why I said that. I’m so, so sorry ...’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Angus.

  ‘It’s just that, well, he’s never there, and even when he is there ... he’s not there. And it makes me furious, Angus. Furious.’

  Angus nodded. What could he say? There were no words for what they felt. No words to describe their loneliness, their anger, the way they felt ... betrayed.

  A familiar voice broke the silence. ‘What is this?’

  ‘Donut Lady!’ Martha slid the leather case behind her back.

  ‘This is an odd place for you to be,’ said the Donut Lady, stepping into the rotunda. ‘Do you have picnic? Do you sizzle sausages on your own?’

  ‘We’ve been on a bike ride,’ said Angus quickly. ‘We were just having a break. Before we go for a swim ...’

  The Donut Lady squished herself in between the two kids. She smelt of fried batter and coconut oil.

  ‘Are you swimming in your clothes today?’ She looked them up and down.

  The kids smiled dumbly.

  ‘You bring binoculars?’ The Donut Lady craned to see behind Martha’s back.

  Martha placed a protective hand on the case.

  ‘They’re just cheap old field glasses our dad used to take on holidays,’ said Angus. ‘They’re pretty lame.’

  ‘I was going to look for dolphins,’ said Martha.

  ‘So. Show me.’ The Donut Lady extended a hand.

  Martha looked to Angus for an answer. He shrugged helplessly.

  Slowly Martha brought the case around to her front. But before she could unbuckle the raven-shaped clasps, the Donut Lady gasped.

  ‘What have you got? I feel its cold presence even through the leather. Oh, you are in trouble,’ she cried. ‘Such trouble. You foolish children!’

  Angus and Martha jumped.

  ‘Come,’ said the Donut Lady, slapping her knees and rising. ‘I will feed you and in return you will tell me many things.’

  Angus stayed seated. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Maybe tomorrow?’

  The Donut Lady rounded on Angus. ‘You will come with me and you will tell me the truth,’ she said, poking her finger into his chest. ‘Now!’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ said Angus angrily, and he flicked her hand away. ‘We’ve got more important things to worry about. We haven’t got time for your stupid questions!’

  The Donut Lady raised her hands to the heavens. Then she bent down and glared at Angus. ‘I know what is in that case,’ she said, ‘for I have seen much more of the world, the hidden world, than you two put together. I know the kind of danger that circles you now. Do you, young man, do you know?’

  Martha looked at Angus, her eyes ringed with fear and fatigue. ‘Please, Angus,’ she begged, ‘we need help. We can’t do this on our own.’

  Angus tried to think. If they just held out. If they were patient, maybe they could hold on to the original plan — hide out there, keep low until midnight, then somehow get this thing, this cursed snow dome, to the carnival. But then again, their chances of staying hidden were less than slim. And Martha looked shook up and exhausted. And the Donut Lady, who was she really? What was her real story? She was a know-it-all, that was for sure. Well, maybe that was what they needed right now — a mysterious know-it-all with useful advice ... and delicious hot food.

  Angus sighed. They were tired and hungry and the longer they sat there arguing, the greater the risk of being found by Lynch or the goblin girls.

  He got up. ‘Lead the way,’ he said gruffly. ‘But remember, we don’t have all day.’

  Glancing from the pine trees to the rubbish bins, from the shower blocks to the billboards, they left the rotunda and followed the Donut Lady back up the hill.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ____________________________________________

  Logically speaking

  The Donut Lady held open the caravan’s annexe door. Angus and Martha hesitated. They felt as if they were entering a forbidden temple. Or some place w
orse — like a teacher’s bedroom.

  ‘You go first,’ said Angus, giving Martha a nudge. ‘You’re a girl.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense!’ cried Martha.

  ‘Hurry, now,’ said the Donut Lady, jostling them. ‘You are wasting time.’

  The kids squeezed through the door together. Martha stopped short. ‘It’s so cute!’ she cried.

  Angus looked about. Perhaps he wouldn’t have described the inside of the annexe as ‘cute’ but it definitely wasn’t what he had expected.

  It was full of overstuffed armchairs and colourful cushions. China geese flew across one wall. There were sepia photographs: large family groupings, earnest and gloomy. Even the toddlers looked formidable.

  There was a sideboard cluttered with china, bookcases stuffed with novels. Against one wall stood a battered guitar case. It was hard to imagine the Donut Lady playing guitar — but then again, she was full of surprises.

  There was a small television and an old video player adorned with a doily. A selection of videos filled a timber bookcase. Angus ran his eye along the titles. They were all action films.

  A ladder led up into a curtained loft.

  Angus checked around the room again.

  ‘You are looking for swords,’ said the Donut Lady slyly.

  ‘Pardon?’ said Angus.

  ‘My sword collection. It is a useful rumour for a defenceless old woman.’

  Angus pretended not to hear.

  ‘Sit,’ said the Donut Lady.

  The kids sat.

  ‘Wait,’ said the Donut Lady.

  The kids waited. Angus checked the time as the Donut Lady disappeared into the Caravan of Delight.

  In a matter of minutes she returned.

  ‘Eat,’ she said, handing them fresh white buns stuffed with hotdogs and smothered in tomato sauce and grated cheese. There were cans of lemonade and hot donuts as well. ‘You are both too skinny.’ The Donut Lady sniffed.

  The kids took the food gratefully. ‘Thanks,’ they muttered between mouthfuls.

  The Donut Lady eyed them closely as she sipped on a bottle of iced tea.

  When the kids had finished the hotdogs and started on the donuts, she pointed to the leather case beside Martha. ‘Where did you get this?’ she asked.

  Martha wiped the cinnamon from her chin. ‘We stole it,’ she said softly.

  The Donut Lady gasped.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ said Angus. ‘We didn’t really steal it. Well, actually, we did. But we had no choice. It’s for our father. He’s in serious trouble.’

  ‘Ahh.’ The Donut Lady shook her head. ‘This is what I suspected. Your father, he has spent too much time with Reafen.’

  ‘It’s not Reafen’s fault,’ said Martha. ‘It’s the Prof’s fault. He went and got himself kidnapped.’ She scrunched her serviette angrily.

  ‘Kidnapped?’ The Donut Lady raised her eyebrows.

  Angus tried to explain but it was tricky, as he didn’t understand half of what had happened himself.

  ‘We didn’t steal the snow dome from Reafen,’ he said finally. ‘We took it from Ava and Graini.’

  ‘Ava and Graini?’ The Donut Lady frowned.

  ‘Goblin girls,’ said Angus.

  The Donut Lady’s jaw dropped. ‘So,’ she said, ‘at last they have come. Now I think I understand.’

  ‘What do you understand?’ Angus wriggled forward in the armchair. ‘We’d love to know.’

  Martha nodded eagerly.

  ‘It was the boat,’ said the Donut Lady, and Angus felt his pulse flutter. ‘The boat with the serpent. The boat I showed to my Barney.’

  ‘What boat?’ Martha could barely disguise her excitement.

  ‘A magickal boat. I was sure it came from the Old Realm,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘It was hidden in a cove not far from here. I showed it to my Barney and then, not much later, my Barney disappeared.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ breathed Martha.

  ‘I do not know,’ said the Donut Lady glumly. ‘He is an idiot. But I miss him.’

  Martha had some idea of how that felt.

  ‘First my cat, now my boyfriend,’ sighed the Donut Lady.

  Angus shifted uncomfortably.

  Martha picked up the leather case. ‘Did you want to look at the snow dome?’ she said kindly. She did not like to see the Donut Lady sad.

  ‘What? Oh. Yes,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘I would very much like that. Thank you, dear,’ she added gently.

  The Donut Lady looked on eagerly as Martha clicked open the clasps.

  ‘It has been many years since I have held a narrare,’ said the Donut Lady in hushed tones.

  ‘Narrare?’ said Angus. ‘That’s what the goblin girls called it.’

  The lights in the annexe flickered as Martha eased the snow dome out of its case. Suddenly the television sprang to life. Psychedelic static crackled across the screen. An afternoon soap opera boomed out. The Donut Lady hurled a TV guide at the screen but the TV kept yelling. She got up and tipped it flat on its face. That worked.

  ‘Saints pickle us,’ said the Donut Lady with her hand on her heart.

  ‘You mean, saints preserve us,’ said Martha, and Angus elbowed her.

  Martha passed the snow dome. The Donut Lady held it carefully and raised it to eye level.

  ‘This is like no other I have seen,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘It is ... remarkable.’ She turned the snow dome this way and that. The amber glass was almost opaque in the dull light of the annexe. ‘And you say Reafen had this in her shop?’

  ‘In a display cabinet,’ said Martha.

  ‘Then Reafen is even madder than I thought,’ said the Donut Lady.

  ‘Finally,’ said Angus. ‘Someone’s making sense.’

  ‘Do I dare to shake it?’ said the Donut Lady.

  ‘Reafen asked me to,’ said Martha. ‘She told me, “Snow domes is meant to be shaked.”’

  The Donut Lady gave a snort of derision. ‘Reafen, she is an old devil.’ She turned to Martha. ‘Did you shake it?’

  Martha nodded. ‘Yes. Just gently. It made me feel sad,’ she whispered. ‘And I saw my mother. Not for real. But in my mind. As clearly as if I had only just left her. Like we’d only been talking a few minutes earlier.’

  What? thought Angus. Martha hadn’t told him this. All she had said was that holding the snow dome almost gave her frostbite. And that she thought it was — what were the words? Beautiful but sad. Yeah. That was it. He stared at his sister.

  ‘I was on a boat,’ she continued. ‘On the River Thames. It was a pretty little houseboat that sold second-hand books. Mum and I were having scones with jam and cream. I was four years old. I wore a green corduroy coat and carried an umbrella with mouse ears. Mum and I were laughing. Mum sat me on her knee and said, “Are you having a happy childhood, my darling?”’ Martha looked sadly at the snow dome. ‘And that’s where the memory ended,’ she whispered.

  Sadness welled up inside Angus. That was just the kind of kooky thing his mother often used to say. She had always been full of nonsense, full of mischief. They had forgotten that side of her ... Why had they forgotten? Why had they let these details slide?

  The Donut Lady stroked Martha’s hand tenderly. ‘So beautiful,’ she said, her eyes glistening.

  ‘I didn’t make it up,’ said Martha to her brother.

  ‘I know,’ said Angus.

  ‘The narrare,’ said the Donut Lady, ‘it holds many memories.’

  ‘You mean like a keepsake?’ said Angus. ‘Or a souvenir?’

  ‘Hey, yeah,’ said Martha. ‘Like the teaspoon I got from our trip to that lighthouse. Remember that trip, Angus? Every time I look at that spoon I remember those disgusting cupcakes we ate in the cafe. They tasted like glitter glue.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said the Donut Lady, back to her old self. ‘The narrare is not a teaspoon. It does not speak of holidays and cupcakes and silliness.’

  Martha pulled a face.

 
The Donut Lady held the narrare to the light again. ‘Shake this,’ she said, ‘and it will bring forward your most heartfelt memories, your deepest, most bittersweet memories. It lures them forward. As a magnet attracts metal, so the narrare attracts memories ...’

  All three stared into the amber dome.

  ‘It’s swirling,’ breathed Martha.

  ‘These are dark swirlings,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘The narrare senses a shift. Perhaps a shift in all our fortunes.’

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ said Angus. ‘If it’s not a souvenir and it’s not some old lady’s ornament, why do you say it holds memories?’

  The Donut Lady placed the narrare on the coffee table. ‘It holds the memories of the goblins,’ she said. ‘Each tiny snowflake stores memories of their customs, their music, their stories, their comings and goings. Their knowledge of the earth — its mountains, its land, its subterranean treasures. To own the narrare is to own the power. In the Old Realm they are guarded with great reverence.’

  Angus bit his lip thoughtfully. Suddenly things were becoming clearer.

  ‘So if you used the narrare, you would have access to all these memories and then, if you were wicked enough, you could exploit that knowledge,’ he said. ‘You could use the knowledge for personal gain and wealth, to make you rich and powerful.’

  The Donut Lady nodded. ‘Not just rich and powerful in the Old Realm but beyond and into this world as well. We are, after all, one world, Angus Jack.’

  ‘But how does it work?’ Martha was still staring into the dome. ‘If it stores memories, how do you get to see them? Do you just shake it like I did?’

  ‘No,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘There is more to it than that. What you experienced, Martha, was simply one aspect, one side-effect, of its power — its magnetic power to lure memories forward, to connect with the mind of whoever shakes it.’

  ‘So how do you see the memories it actually stores?’ asked Angus. ‘How do you see the memories of the goblins?’

  ‘There are few who know this,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘This is specialised knowledge. Privileged knowledge.’

  Angus scoffed. ‘Well, that’s helpful.’

  ‘Very helpful,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘For isn’t it clear that in the bad hands, the corrupt and greedy hands, in human hands, a narrare would bring us all terrible trouble? Drawing on the knowledge of the narrares, the earth would be cracked open and looted like a treasure chest. Dreadful happenings would follow. Abuse, tyranny, even war!’