“Did you—”
“No, I was lucky, I didn’t get it. But even after Dad got better, none of us fancied going to the lake. There wasn’t a whole lot else to do. New York was so hot we almost boiled alive. Everything indoors is air-conditioned. It’s like living in an ice-box. But when you’re on the sidewalk… Boy! You could fry an egg, sizzle-spit, in thirty seconds… Anyway, how are you? How’s the beautiful Chloe?”
“I’ve hardly seen her.” Daniel told Josh how Chloe no longer lived with Phil but merely perched there in the bungalow, on and off, for a few days at a time, her suitcase never properly unpacked, sometimes even without her beloved violin, dreading the sound of her mum’s car in the drive. How furious Phil was with Olivia. How he retreated into silence and a hectic work schedule to numb the pain.
But Daniel decided not to tell Josh about the stranger who’d been watching him. Next to Lyme disease and being boiled alive, he felt as if he were making a fuss about nothing.
After all, there was almost nothing to tell.
Except that whenever he remembered, he could feel that cold wind blowing.
It’s the Brewery
Two days before term began, Mum started spring-cleaning the room opposite Daniel’s bedroom.
The Riverside itself was an old house, but the whole of the ground floor and some of the first was taken up by being a pub and an office. Also on the first floor were their living room, their kitchen and bathroom, and Mum and Dad’s bedroom.
The second floor belonged to Daniel. Under the eaves crouched his small, snug bedroom and opposite on the landing the spare room, which he’d always used as his study, cramming it with his fishing equipment, river gear, school books and computer.
Now he was outraged to find his desk and computer squashed beneath the window in his bedroom. He stood open-mouthed.
“What the hell’s going on? Who moved my stuff?”
“Dad and I did while you were feeding the peacocks. Sorry, Danny, I meant to tell you last night. But the weather was so wonderful, we were rushed off our feet with three hundred suppers… ” Mum’s face dripped with perspiration. She stood tiptoe on a stool, hanging freshly-laundered curtains. “It’s the brewery—”
“It’s always the brewery.”
“They’ve asked us to have a guest… I hope you won’t mind. It’ll only be for a few weeks. He’s offered us a lot of money.”
“Why does he have to stay here? Why can’t he go to a proper hotel?”
“Because he’s the brewery’s special friend. I couldn’t really say no.”
“But these rooms are mine. My bedroom’s tiny. If the computer has to stay in it I’ll hardly have space to breathe, let alone work.”
“Look.” Mum slithered off the stool. “Most kids have to share their rooms. Most kids only have a small backyard to play in, not a whole island as their own special garden… The trouble with you, Daniel Williams, is you’re spoiled rotten. Now stop grumbling and help me change these sheets.”
“But Phil’s expecting me. We’ve got stuff to do before term starts.”
Mum mopped her face on her sleeve. “Well, today he’ll have to manage on his own. You’ve spent the entire summer working in that boatyard. You’re not a hired hand. Today you can help me for a change and do it with good grace.”
Daniel sulked. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Those grotty posters of yours. Take them down, and store them in your room. Give the walls a coat of white paint.”
“The posters aren’t grotty. Painting the walls will take me hours.”
“So the sooner you get started the better. There are two tins of paint in the woodshed, and some new brushes in the office.”
By six o’clock the room looked nothing like Daniel’s.
Mum had cleaned the carpet and spread a new patterned rug under the window. The wooden furniture had been polished and the bed linen replaced. New cushions sat plump and firm on a wooden rocking chair. A vase of purple asters glinted from the bedside table.
“I’m going to burn a couple of lavender incense sticks,” Mum said. “Just to fragrance the room… Those walls look wonderful. You’ve done a great job.”
Daniel’s back ached. Painting the walls had been OK but the ceiling had been murder. His hands and face were covered in paint. Sticky clumps of it sat in his hair, feeling like chewing-gum.
He said, “I’m starving. You forgot to give me lunch.”
“Come down for an early supper, then. There’s that beef casserole you like.” Mum twitched at the patchwork quilt. “That looks really pretty. It was a wedding present we never used. Oh, and one more thing. Is there a key for the door?”
Daniel hesitated. “There might be one in my desk.”
“Could you ferret it out and put it in the lock inside the door? Our guest may need a bit of privacy.”
Daniel crossed the landing. In stark contrast to what was now the guest room, his bedroom looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. Every corner was stuffed with the overflow of clothes and books, comics and sports gear.
He stood at his desk. Two keys to the door lay in a cubby-hole. He slipped one off its metal ring and pushed the second back where he’d found it. It gave him a bleak feeling of satisfaction knowing he could still get into ‘his’ room, even if their guest had locked the door.
“You can always come and stay with me and Auntie Ruth,” Joshua said.
They arrived at school for the first morning of term.
“Could I?” said Daniel. “Really?”
“We’d love to have you. We’ve got this huge attic. It’s full of old junk but we could easily clear it out. Ask your folks if you can come to ours.”
“I might just do that.” Daniel threw a pile of books into his locker. “I wasn’t even asked. I was just told. Move over. Like it or lump it. The brewery say ‘Jump’ and my parents twitch like puppets on a string.”
“I suppose it is the brewery’s place, after all.”
“That’s exactly the trouble… When I grow up, I’m never going to work for anybody. I’m going to be my own boss.”
“And live on the river.” Joshua grinned.
“Me, a narrowboat and the wonderful water. Perfect company… Who could ask for anything more?”
“Well,” Joshua said slowly. “Don’t forget your friends. You could always ask me and Chloe to come aboard.”
Daniel blushed.
“Call me Uncle Frank”
Daniel knew something odd had happened the minute he got home, parked his bike and pushed open the door.
All day at school he’d had a feeling of dread, finding it impossible to concentrate on anything. They were doing research on how mobile phones affected the brain. He felt as if he was incapable of rational thought, so the research was pointless. At lunch he pushed his sausage and mash around the plate and gave up.
The first thing he noticed was the scent of cigars swirling above the aromas of cheese and ham, beer and coffee that always lingered in the pub. Nobody was allowed to smoke at The Riverside. Wooden floors and furniture made it a potential firetrap. The three open fireplaces that graced the different rooms were zealously guarded when the time came in late autumn to light them for the winter. Dad made it his special chore at the end of every evening to put each fire out before he went to bed.
“Can’t sleep unless I’ve done it,” he’d say. “Simple as that.”
Nobody was allowed to smoke – and yet the sharp, wafting scent of a cigar came not from the pub, but from upstairs. He zoomed up the staircase and pushed against the living-room door.
His parents sat in a circle of chairs around the low tea table. Beside them on the sofa perched a man with long legs in an immaculate pale linen suit and a purple-and-cream-striped tie. He had glossy black hair slicked back from his forehea
d, and clasped a massive cigar in a plump sunburned hand.
“Ah, Danny, there you are,” Dad said. “May I introduce our guest, Mr Jasper. Mr Jasper, this is our Daniel. He’s doing really well at school. We’re very proud of him.”
Daniel flinched. He hated being praised as if he were a prize cucumber.
“Mr Jasper,” Mum said in a silly high voice, “will be doing us the honour of staying with us for a couple of weeks.” Two pink spots of colour burned in her cheeks.
The stranger stood up and grasped Daniel’s hand. Cigar smoke puffed into Daniel’s eyes, making them sting.
“Great to meet you, Danny-boy! Mr Jasper is a tad formal for my taste. Why don’t you call me Frank… How’s about Uncle Frank. How does that sound?”
Daniel stared down at the stranger’s legs: tall, lean, planted squarely apart. His voice came out as a strangled squeak. “Good afternoon, Mr Jasper.”
“Please… Uncle Frank will make me feel like I’m one of your enchanting family. Sit down and have some tea with us.” The stranger waved an arm at the teapot as if he owned it and the entire contents of the room. “Your charming mother has baked some remarkably succulent scones.”
“No, thanks, I’m not hungry.” Daniel’s stomach growled. He clung onto his school bag. “I promised Phil I’d go down to the boatyard—”
“Oh, that yard,” Mum sighed. She looked up at the stranger flirtatiously. “Danny has an absolute passion for the river.”
“Really?” said the stranger. “Well, now, isn’t that a coincidence. I love it too. The sea and all its rivers… Glorious stuff… ” He seemed to falter beneath Daniel’s drill-like stare and said lamely, “Heave ho, me hearties!”
“I scull.” Daniel tried to bring sanity to the conversation. “I’m very good at it. In fact, I’m thinking about training to be a cox.” He stared at the stranger’s shoes. They were polished to a brilliant shine. Those shoes had never seen Port Meadow, he was sure of that.
But he was also absolutely sure of something else.
The stranger having tea with Mum and Dad was the man in the white cap.
He clumped upstairs to his untidy room and flung his bag on his bed. Then he tiptoed across the landing. Frank Jasper had left the door to his room ajar. Daniel pushed it open.
Two expensive leather suitcases lay on the bed. A third smaller briefcase sat beneath the window. A navy coat swung from a hanger on the wardrobe door. He ran his fingers over it. It felt soft and smooth as silk. An opened box of Havana cigars crouched on the bedside table. Beside it sprawled a large bunch of keys.
From the window Daniel could see their small car park where, in the early morning, giant lorries unloaded food for the pub kitchen. Next to his dad’s dusty black Rover lounged an immaculate silver Mercedes, gleaming and graceful. Frank Jasper had obviously made quite a large fortune in organic spices and green tea.
Daniel hurtled out of the room. He could hear the sounds of the tea party coming from the living room: the stranger telling a joke and his mother’s breathless cries of laughter. He needed to find Phil, to tell him.
He wanted to say, “I know where he is. The white cap. He’s staying with us. He’s a friend of the brewery. He’s moved into the room opposite mine. There’s something horrible about him. He’s got black hair, all shiny, like he’s smeared it with boot polish, and a silver Mercedes. He’s loaded. He says his name’s Jasper but I’ve got to call him Uncle Frank.”
But when he reached the boatyard, there was no sign of Phil. He’d probably gone to collect Chloe. The boathouses were closed and locked. The sculls hung upside down in their hangars, clean and shining. In the late afternoon sun, the yard looked tranquil and tidy, ready for the new school year.
At a loss, Daniel wandered down to the river’s edge. He looked towards The Riverside: at the cream-and-red umbrellas sheltering the tables, the moorhens paddling down river, his peacocks strutting tirelessly in the small garden, Jimmy patiently sweeping the path.
And at three people crossing the bridge. Walking towards his island.
Daniel flushed with anger.
One of the peacocks screamed.
His parents were taking Frank Jasper to see his private island. Without telling him, without asking him, without any warning.
And without him.
“This bit of lawn is where we have our regular barbecues,” Dad said in the posh marketing voice he used for customers.
Daniel had raced from the boatyard towards the pub, through the garden and across the bridge as if his clothes were on fire.
“The brewery like to keep in touch with all its managers. Every three months, we meet as a group, have lunch, discuss sales figures, general progress, any problems we may have. It’s good management practice. Keeps up morale. Makes us feel like a team… There’s another meeting coming up soon, and we’ll have it here if this Indian summer continues.”
“That’s right.” Mum spread her arms. “We leave some metal chairs stacked in the corner over there, along with the barbecue equipment. The trees look so ravishing this time of year. And of course it’s wonderfully private. All you can hear is the sound of the weir. Who could hope for a nicer spot?”
“Who indeed?” Frank Jasper smiled down at her with oily confidence, taking a long puff at his cigar. He looked sharply at Daniel as he panted across the bridge and raced towards them.
“What are you doing here?” Daniel could hardly get the words out.
“Ah, Danny… ” Dad looked annoyed at being interrupted. “We were just showing our guest the island. It’s so beautiful.”
“The brewery don’t want to do anything with it.” Mum looked up at Frank Jasper. Daniel noticed a look that passed between them, like a frisson of mutual admiration. “They want to keep it wild and free. The public aren’t allowed to use it or cross the bridge, so for the past two years Danny has considered it to be his private bit of land.”
“You are a lucky boy.” There was a hint of coldness in Frank Jasper’s voice. “Living by the river in such a beautiful old house and… ” he bowed courteously to Mum, “with such marvellous parents to boot.”
Mum blushed. “Why, thank you kindly, sir.”
Daniel watched them looking at each other. He had a sudden, unnerving feeling that they’d met before, even that they were old friends. But for whatever reason, Mum didn’t want Dad to know. And Dad would never notice, like he never noticed anything.
Frank Jasper watched two peacocks, Toby and Frederick, who’d followed Daniel across the bridge and now strutted towards him. “Such wonderfully elegant birds. And so tame. Although they do look a bit sad and mangy at the moment… Where’s that magnificent display, I wonder? That fountain of emerald feathers they should be spreading?”
“Peacocks moult in July,” Daniel said coldly. “They’re growing their feathers back at the moment, ready for the mating season in the spring.”
“Oh, I see.” Frank Jasper yelped with laughter. “You know what they say about them, don’t you?”
“No,” Daniel said defiantly. “What do they say?”
“That peacocks have the feathers of an angel, the voice of the devil and the feet of a thief.”
Daniel’s anger simmered. “I love them,” he said. “I feed them every morning before school. They’re extraordinary creatures. They live all year round in the tree closest to our house. After the rain, they stand on a wall and spread out their feathers to dry… I bet you couldn’t survive up a tree, Mr Jasper, especially in the winter.”
“No.” Frank Jasper looked down at him, open dislike flickering in his eyes. “I don’t suppose I could.”
Dad gestured towards the house. “Look, if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting back to the office. Phone calls and all that.”
They watched him trot away.
Daniel turned to fac
e the stranger. “So why are you here? On the island? My island. There’s nothing much to see.”
“On the contrary, there’s masses to see. You get a totally different perspective on the pub and the river from here… That bit of lawn, now.” Frank Jasper pointed with his cigar. “What’s that over there?”
Daniel bit his lip, furious that Jasper had spotted it. “An old air-raid shelter. It’s been brilliantly camouflaged. I discovered it two years ago. My best friend and I use it as a hideaway.”
“Do you now?” Frank Jasper’s eyes glittered at him, an odd pale grey in the late afternoon sun. “What a useful spot to have a secret den… Well, now, Danny-boy. Would you like to show me the rest of this extraordinary place? The really wild bit?”
“Not while you’re wearing those clothes,” Daniel said. “You’ll ruin your shoes.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose a little bit of mud will hurt.” Frank Jasper inspected the ground. “Anyway, it all looks perfectly dry to me… Shall I lead the way?”
He started to push through the trees.
“Go on, then.” Mum shoved Daniel. “I must get back to the kitchen… Show Mr Jasper round the island.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And keep a civil tongue in your head. Remember, this is the brewery’s land and Mr Jasper is their friend.”
Daniel wiped a hand across his mouth. “Well, he’s certainly not mine. First ‘Uncle Frank’ takes over my study. Now he wants to inspect my private garden.” He began to stomp across the lawn towards the trees. “What I want to know,” he hissed over his shoulder, “is why can’t he leave us alone?”
An Old Proverb
Where Peacocks Scream Page 3