by Lewis, Gill
‘Here’s Mr Andersen,’ says Dad.
I look up to see Mr Andersen walking along the pontoon followed by Mrs Andersen and Felix. I’m surprised they’ve come along to see him off. The wooden boards of the pontoon bounce with their footsteps and I see Felix stumble to his knees. His mother tries to help him up but he brushes her away.
‘All set?’ says Mr Andersen. He puts his bag beside the boat.
Dad nods. ‘It should be fun out there today.’
Mr Andersen glances back at Felix. ‘I hope it’s still OK with you, but Felix has changed his mind. He’d like to come along too. I’ve borrowed a life jacket for him.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ says Dad.
Felix glares at me and looks away.
I climb out on to the pontoon to take Mr Andersen’s bag.
Mrs Andersen’s scarf flaps across her face and she pulls it free. ‘I really don’t think this is a great idea, Matt,’ she says. ‘It’s too windy today.’
‘It’s fine,’ says Mr Andersen. ‘What d’you think, Jim?’
Dad looks up at the flag on the chandlery. It’s flying full out, rippling in the wind. The top branches in the tree beyond are swaying. ‘It’s a force five, I reckon,’ he says. ‘But I checked the weather report and it’s going to settle down later.’
I dig my hands into my pockets and take a sly glance at Felix. ‘Looks like a force six or seven to me,’ I say.
Mrs Andersen wraps her coat around her and folds her arms. ‘I don’t think you should go, Felix.’
Mr Andersen turns to her. ‘But, Sarah . . .’
She lowers her head next to his, but I can still hear them. The wind is blowing this way.
‘Anything could happen out there,’ she says. ‘What if you capsize, what then?’
Mr Andersen runs his hands through his hair. ‘Nothing’s going to happen, Sarah.’
‘Look, Matt, buy the damn boat if you must,’ she snaps. I glance at Dad and I know he can hear them too. ‘But don’t expect either of us to step foot in it.’
‘I want to go, Mum.’ Felix is grim faced, staring at the water. ‘I’ll be fine.’
I pull my life jacket on, zip it up and pull the Velcro cords tight. I can’t imagine Felix enjoying this trip.
Mrs Andersen glares at Felix. ‘What’s changed your mind?’
Felix doesn’t take his eyes off the water. ‘I want to go.’
Mrs Andersen spins round to her husband. ‘Have you got your mobile on you at least?’
‘Yes, Sarah,’ he says. He puts his arms out to hug her but she walks away. The thud of her footsteps on the wooden boards jars through the bare soles of my feet.
I watch Mr Andersen fasten Felix’s life jacket and help him into the boat. Felix struggles to swing his left leg over. One leg is stiff and locked straight out and his arm is bent and curled. Moana sways underneath him and his dad catches him as he tumbles forward.
‘You might find it easier to sit up at the front,’ says Dad. ‘There’s more space and there’s a handhold.’
Felix pulls himself up on the seat and grips the brass handle with his good hand. His knuckles turn white and I feel a twinge of guilt run through me. I hadn’t actually thought how hard this could be for him.
I untie the mooring rope and push Moana away from the pontoon. Dad sets her sails and we slide out between the harbour walls.
The first wave hits us side on and I see Felix lurch sideways. He stares down at the floor and presses himself against the side, bracing himself for the next wave. He doesn’t look up until we are far out in the bay. It’s less choppy, but an ocean swell rolls in from the Atlantic in grey green hills of waves. Mr Andersen is leaning back, smiling, the sun shining on his face. He holds the jib sheet in his hand, keen to help Dad sail Moana. But Felix is looking at his feet again.
And he’s a sickly shade of green.
I slide over beside him. ‘It helps if you look out of the boat,’ I say.
Felix looks up briefly and scowls at me. ‘I’m not interested in the view.’
I lean back and stare out to sea. ‘What I mean is, if you fix your eyes on the horizon, you won’t feel so sick.’
Felix nods and looks out beyond the boat.
‘We’ll check our lobster pots, if that’s OK by you, Mr Andersen,’ shouts Dad, ‘then we’ll go on to Gull Rock where we can stop for lunch.’
‘That’s fine by us,’ Mr Andersen shouts back. He lets the jib out a little as Dad turns away from the wind. ‘How many pots do you and your dad have, Kara?’
‘About twenty.’
‘Do you catch much?’
‘Enough,’ I say. I turn my back on him, fold my arms on Moana’s side and look out to sea. I want to see the dolphins again. I want to see them leaping through our bow waves. Moana’s wake runs in lace ribbons out behind us. The sunlight sparkles in the sea like stars. Soon we won’t have this. We won’t have any of this, any more.
We round the headland and pass along the rugged coastline of rocky inlets and deep shelving coves. Bright orange buoys of crab and lobster pots bob on the water marking the lobster pots beneath. A man in his boat waves to us. I see the initials TL on his buoys. It’s Ted from the Merry Mermaid checking his pots. I remember painting Dad’s initials on our buoys. I painted flowers on them too, big white ones. Dad said he never heard the last of it down the pub. They called him the flower pot man for months. They teased him too, because Mum made him use traditional withy pots made from willow, not the modern metal and mesh nylon ones.
Dad spills some wind from the sails and we slow down towards the mouth of the rocky inlet where we keep our lobster pots. Two ravens croak from the clifftop. Waves slap against the rocks and gulls wheel and scream in a tight circle above the cove. I crane my neck to look, because there must be something there to pull the gulls and ravens in. A buoy with painted flowers bobs loose on the water like a small child’s lost balloon. It trails a blue rope in a long line out behind it.
Suddenly I feel sick deep inside, because something here feels so wrong.
A roar of engines cuts through the air, and a puff of black smoke drifts up into the sky. An orange ribbed inflatable bursts from our cove. It rears over a wave and smacks down into the water sending up spumes of flying spray.
It passes close and slews in a tight arc around us. Moana rocks in its wake, and I have to put my arm out not to fall. I see Dougie Evans at the wheel, a grim smile on his face. Jake holds up his hand, his finger and thumb out in a loser sign.
But my heart is thumping in my chest because Jake’s words repeat over and over again in my head.
‘Soon, you and your dad will have nothing left.’
CHAPTER 13
The small inlet is empty of our buoys, almost.
Two more orange buoys float against the rocks, trailing cut ropes across the water. I see our initials on them, and the flowers. There’s one buoy floating in the water near us. Dad hauls it in and pulls up the rope. But I can see it’s coming up too quickly. Dad pulls on the rope, hand over hand, not coiling it but spilling it in a tangled mess inside the boat. The lobster pot comes up over the side, a wreck of smashed-up wicker. The door has been wrenched off, and the curved funnel of the trap has been cut apart. It’s useless now.
Dad just stares at the mangled mess in his hands. ‘That’s all of them gone, Kara,’ he says.
I stare out to the orange rib inflatable disappearing into the distance, spumes of white spray flying in its wake.
Mr Andersen is sitting forward, his face a tight frown. ‘What happened here?’
‘Let’s call the police, Dad,’ I say.
Dad shakes his head. ‘No point. There’s no proof is there? It’s his word against mine.’
‘But, Dad . . .’
Dad shoves the remains of the pot on the seat next to me. He forces a smile to his face and turns to Mr Andersen. ‘Let’s go for lunch, shall we?’
He pushes the tiller over hard, the boom swings out and the sail snaps ti
ght. Moana lurches forward.
I sit back and watch the cove recede into the jumble of boulders along the coastline. An empty Coke can bobs in a slick of engine oil. I hate Jake Evans. I hate him for everything he is. My eyes burn hot with tears, and this time I can’t stop them fall.
I glance at Dad, but his eyes are focused out to sea, a deep frown line on his face. He’s sailing Moana roughly through the water. She jars against the waves, each one slamming into us as we roll and pitch.
Felix is staring at his feet, his face a deeper shade of green. Each wave thumps the boat against his back. I try and warn Dad, but it’s too late. Felix lurches forward, vomits, and whacks his head against the deck.
‘Felix!’ yells Mr Andersen.
Dad turns Moana into the wind and lets her sails flap loose.
‘Take the tiller, Kara,’ orders Dad. ‘Keep up into the wind.’
I sit at the stern and watch Mr Andersen wipe Felix’s face with a towel. Dad empties the bait bucket, fills it with seawater and helps clean up Felix too. Felix is a deathly shade of white. His whole body shakes and he looks like he’ll be sick again. Mr Andersen props him up and pulls a water bottle from his bag. Dad fetches the first aid kit from the locker and kneels down to clean a cut on Felix’s face.
‘I think we should head back,’ says Dad.
Mr Andersen rinses the towel in the sea and wrings it out. ‘You’re right.’ He hangs the towel across the seat beside him. ‘Sorry, Felix, Mum was right on this one. I shouldn’t have let you come today.’
Felix leans back against the seat and glares at me. ‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘Let’s go on.’
Mr Andersen crouches next to him. ‘You don’t look great. I think it’s best if we go back.’
Felix takes a swig of water from his bottle. ‘I said I’m fine.’
Mr Andersen looks at Dad and shrugs his shoulders.
‘If you’re sure,’ says Dad. ‘We can stop off at Gull Rock and head back after that.’
Felix nods and fixes his eyes out to sea.
I watch a dark patch of wind-ruffled water sweep towards us. Moana’s sails flap in the passing gust.
‘The wind’s not so strong now,’ says Dad. ‘We’ll let Moana have full sails.’
I lean forward, in line with Felix, as Dad and Mr Andersen take the reefs out of the sails. ‘You don’t have to go on, you know. You’ve proved your point.’
Felix takes another swig from the water bottle and doesn’t even look at me.
Dad slides around to the back of Moana and gives me a gentle shove. ‘Go up the front, Kara. I thought Felix could have a go at sailing. Would you like that, Felix? It’ll take your mind off seasickness if you can concentrate on something else.’
Felix nods. He looks slightly better, a paler shade of green now.
I sit up at the front of the boat with Mr Andersen, but can’t help looking back at Dad and Felix. A pang of jealousy runs through me and I try to push it away. Dad taught me to sail like this, sitting with him by the tiller, allowing me to test the wind and feel it in the sails. Felix can’t control the mainsail and the tiller with only one good arm. It takes two hands for that. But I watch Dad show him how to adjust the mainsail, when to pull it in and how to spill air if we heel over too far.
Moana slices through the water on a course set for Gull Rock. We’re running fast and smooth. Mr Andersen and I have to lean right out to balance her. I run my hands in the bow waves that furl along Moana’s sides. Her sails above us are curved and taut like birds’ wings. We’re racing through the water. It feels as if we’re flying, almost.
I look back again to see Dad and Felix, big grins stuck on both their faces. That pang of jealousy hasn’t gone away. It’s not because of Dad, this time. It’s because of Felix. For someone who’s never sailed before, he’s good at sailing.
He’s far too good.
I don’t want to admit it, but Felix Andersen is a born natural.
Dad takes over near Gull Rock and guides Moana into the crescent-shaped cove that faces the mainland shore. It’s sheltered here. The waves that heave against the seaward cliffs of Gull Rock swirl round here in foam-topped eddies. Mr Andersen drops the anchor and Dad lets down the sails.
Felix’s eyes are shining and the colour is back in his face. ‘That was so cool.’
Dad sits back and grins. ‘That was some sailing, Felix. Don’t you think so, Kara?’
I shrug my shoulders. ‘It was OK.’
Mr Andersen can’t take the smile off his face. He punches Felix on the shoulder. ‘I told you you’d like it.’
Dad pulls the picnic bag out from the locker. ‘You could enter the regatta race with sailing like that.’
Felix just sits there with a massive grin.
‘What race is that?’ asks Mr Andersen.
‘It’s the one held every summer on the last day of August,’ says Dad. ‘Any sailing boat can enter. It’s a race from the harbour around Gull Rock and back.’
I pull my knees up to my chest. I don’t want Dad to be telling them any of this. It’s our boat, our race. I look out at the shelving pebble bay and the sheer cliffs of Gull Rock and feel an ache deep in my chest. This is our special place. It could be the last time we ever come out here.
‘Pasty, anyone?’ says Dad.
The smell of cooked meat and onions drifts across the boat.
He holds one of the squashed pasties out to Felix. ‘Are you up to this?’
Felix nods. ‘I’m starving.’
Dad pours out lemonade into plastic cups, balancing them on the wooden seats.
Mr Andersen takes a mouthful of pasty and leans back with his feet up on the seats. He pulls his hat over his eyes and smiles. ‘I have to say, this has to be the best meal I’ve had in years.’
I don’t touch my pasty. I can’t imagine watching someone else sail Moana in the regatta race. I want to forget about Felix and his dad. I want to forget about Jake Evans too. All I want is to escape.
‘Can I have a quick swim, Dad?’ I say.
Dad nods, and I reach into the locker for my mask and snorkel. I peel my shorts and T-shirt off to my swimming costume underneath.
Mr Andersen looks at Felix. ‘Why don’t you go too? You could do with cleaning yourself off a bit.’
Felix’s shorts are patterned with crusted sea salt and flecks of dried vomit. He looks down at them and shrugs his shoulders. ‘OK.’
I stare down at my feet. I want to swim by myself, not have Felix tagging along.
‘Is that OK, Kara?’ says Mr Andersen.
‘There can be strong currents out there,’ I say.
‘You’re only swimming to the rocks,’ says Dad.
‘Felix is a good swimmer,’ says Mr Andersen.
‘And it’s cold too,’ I say.
Dad finds a spare face-mask. ‘Here, Felix. You should see a lot today, the water’s crystal clear.’
I curl my toes over Moana’s side and look down. My reflection is rippled like the water. When I was small, I used to think it was a magic mirror, a secret entrance to another world below.
I take a deep breath of air.
And dive.
Cold water rushes through my hair and across my skin. I twist and look up to the surface, a dolphin’s eye view of Moana’s shadowed hull. Shafts of sunlight filter through the water, reaching into deep, deep blue. I swim towards the rocks that lie submerged beneath the cliffs. Purple jewel anemones line the narrow crevices. Small silver sand eels flit between the rippling strands of seaweed. I spread my arms and soar above this world, above a landscape of mountains, valleys and vast grasslands of green kelp.
When I come up for air, Felix is right behind me. I didn’t think he’d be able to swim so fast. I hadn’t really thought he could swim at all. I push my hair from my eyes and tread water beside him.
Felix lifts the corner of his face-mask to drain some water that’s leaked inside. ‘Can’t see a thing,’ he says.
His mask is steamed up and blurry. �
�Spit in it,’ I say.
Felix frowns at me. ‘What?’
‘Spit in it. It stops the mask from steaming up.’
Felix pulls his mask off and spits inside, rubbing the saliva with his thumb. He struggles to pull the strap over his head again. I almost help him, but see Dad and Mr Andersen watching, so I swim away, towards a submerged shelf of rock lined with fine white sand.
Felix joins me and we drift side by side, arms outstretched, our fingertips almost touching. I stare down, hypnotized. Nothing is still. The sea floor is a changing pattern of swaying seaweed and shifting sand. A silver river of tiny fish thread through the kelp, each fish no longer than my thumb. But there is something else moving through the water too, a creature I’ve heard about but never seen before.
It’s here now, right now.
I catch a fleeting glimpse of zebra stripe between the kelp and then it’s gone.
I nudge Felix in the side and point.
He bursts up to the surface and I take a gasp of breath too.
I shake the water from my hair. ‘Did you see it?’ I say.
Felix pushes his mask up from his face. ‘See what?’
‘Down there in the kelp, you must’ve seen it.’
‘What, Kara?’
‘Stealth Killers,’ I say and can’t help grinning. ‘Level ten.’
CHAPTER 14
I float beside him, looking down. I see it again, this time a flash of dark against the pale sand, but it’s changing all the time.
Felix bursts up again from the water and I lift my head up too.
‘I still can’t see anything down there,’ he says.
I sweep my wet hair from my face and look at Felix. ‘That’s because you aren’t looking right,’ I say. ‘I’ll point. Just keep looking at the sand.’
I dive under to skim the pale sand floor. Scraps of seaweed and a crab shell-case rock back and forth. I can’t see the animal I’m looking for at first. Its camouflage is far too good. But then I see it watching me from the sand below me. Only the horseshoe-shaped black pupils of its eyes give it away. The speckled pattern of its body perfectly matches the sand beneath. I reach out to touch it, but it rises upwards, away from me, and stops mid-water, changing colour in an instant to bright red. It looks like a small deflated beach ball with long tentacles at one end. Its body is fringed by a rim of fins that ripple along each side. The tentacles stick straight out in front of it, like a sword.