by Julia Jones
A paramedic in a fluorescent jacket tried to offer Skye a sedative. She let go the steering wheel and knocked it from his hand. She got out, looking wildly round for Donny. Quick as anything, as if they’d been waiting for the chance, they put some sort of jacket on her, strapped her to a stretcher and gave her an injection.
Then the stretcher was inside the ambulance and there was a policewoman standing next to Donny telling him not to worry and his mum would be all right now.
“Where are they taking her? I need to go with her.”
“Not in the ambulance, dear. You’re too young. They’re taking her to the hospital and she’ll have a nice sleep.”
“I’m thirteen. I need to be there. For when she wakes up.”
“No. Not just now. We’ll take you home and find someone to look after you. Where’s your dad today?”
“I don’t have a dad.” He’d never had a dad. He didn’t know anything about his dad at all. Dads didn’t feature. Skye hadn’t had one either.
The policewoman didn’t look especially surprised.
“Well, there must be somebody. Don’t you have any other relations? Friends? A neighbour maybe who can keep an eye on you? Where do you live? We’ll run you home and I’ll stay while you get in touch with someone.”
“No. We don’t live near here at all. We’ve come from Leeds. We’re planning to meet my Great Aunt Ellen. I really do need to be with Skye. She doesn’t like hospitals. They frighten her.”
“Skye?”
“My mum. It’s difficult for her to understand people because she’s deaf. I’ve learned signing. I can explain.”
“They’re used to deaf people in hospitals, dear. She’s in the best place. It’s you we’ve got to worry about. Where are you meeting Auntie? Can I give her a ring and tell her we’re bringing you round to her house? What’s Auntie’s number?”
“No!” Donny was feeling desperate. “She’s not here yet. We’re meeting her at a place called Shotley. We were going to wait for her. I need to be with Skye.”
“Never mind Mum. Let’s just think about Auntie. Shotley’s not too far away. I’m sure she won’t mind coming a little early if we let her know that Mum’s been taken ill. Does she have a mobile?”
“NO! She’s coming from China. In a ship … I think …”
The policewoman was looking disapproving now. Oh why did Great Aunt Ellen have to be so awkward? Why couldn’t she have been like Granny?
But it was no good thinking like that. He needed to sound confident, even if he wasn’t. He looked at the policewoman and tried to smile.
“We’ll be quite alright waiting in the van. Skye likes the van. We’ve had lots of holidays in it before.”
“With proper tax and insurance I hope. No, young man, if your mother’s ill and there’s no one else in the area to look after you, I’m afraid you’ve going to have to come back to the station with me. We need to have a little chat with the Child Protection Unit.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ambushed
Tuesday, September 12th
It was a good thing, thought Donny, that no one had asked to see the actual message they’d received from Great Aunt Ellen. He hadn’t even told Skye exactly what it said:
YOUR SIGNAL RECEIVED AND UNDERSTOOD. STRONG WINDS CRATED BUT NO BILL OF LADING YET. PLAN TO TRAVEL STEERAGE. EXPECT DESTINATION FELIXSTOWE. ETA LATE SEPTEMBER. RENDEZVOUS SHOTLEY. NO LANDLUBBERS. ELLEN.
It was all very well Great Aunt Ellen saying that she’d understood whatever Granny had written. But the only bits of her message that Donny had got his head round were that she was planning to arrive sometime late in September at some place called Felixstowe and would meet them at some other place called Shotley.
When he’d looked it up on the Great Britain road map, Shotley seemed like a pretty small town. It was down in the East of England across a river from Felixstowe, which was a port. So that part of the telegram was okay and that was what he’d read to his mother. The rest was not so obvious at all.
Once they’d started their long journey south, he had asked Skye, casually, whether she knew anything about this ‘Strong Winds’ but she’d shaken her head and hadn’t answered for a while.
Later she reminded him of the four winds in their favourite poem. Granny had had a small collection of Everyman classics which she had read and signed to him and Skye during their long peaceful evenings together. The collection was small because Granny hated clutter: if there was a book they didn’t want to read again she got rid of it. If they liked it they read it again. Often. She used the library as well and Donny got books from school.
The book that had somehow slipped off Granny’s shelf and into all their lives had been Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s Hiawatha. And that had started with winds.
The West Wind, mighty Mudjekeewis, had been Hiawatha’s absent father. He was cunning and potentially treacherous as well as invincible, not the sort of dad who you’d want to take along to parents’ evening or spend a Sunday watching cricket. The South Wind was fat and lazy and the East Wind was basically okay. The wind that Granny had really hated, in life more than in the story, was the strong North Wind, fierce Kabibonokka. How she had locked the windows and drawn thick curtains when wild gales from the north came howling over the Leeds housetops. She’d be tense and somehow far away. You couldn’t talk to her then.
But you couldn’t put winds in a crate. ‘Strong Winds’ sounded more like a thing – or things? Maybe it was a piece of art. Something valuable that she didn’t want to leave behind. He’d find out eventually, he supposed. Strong Winds was (or were) the least of his worries. He didn’t know what a ‘bill of lading’ was or an ‘ETA’, and the bit about ‘no landlubbers’ was scary. Donny had a bad feeling that he and Skye were definitely landlubbers – whatever that meant. Yet Great Aunt Ellen was their only hope if they were going to escape the welfare people.
If …
Once the ambulance had gone, the policewoman took him to the Colchester HQ and called a duty social worker. Her first suggestion was that Donny should be sent straight back home to Yorkshire. By taxi if necessary.
It turned out, however, that he didn’t have a home in Yorkshire any more. Granny’s death and their summer’s travelling had put them behind with the rent. The landlord had repossessed the bungalow and had already let it to someone else.
“Great Aunt Ellen’ll be here soon,” said Donny. He needed to sound certain even if he wasn’t.
Then there was talk of finding temporary bed-and-breakfast accommodation for the two of them, if Skye was well enough.
“That’d be good,” Donny agreed, “except we haven’t got much money. There’s still plenty of food in the van. We’ll be quite alright if we can just park it somewhere near Shotley and wait.”
But the van had been seized – that was the technical term. It meant it had been taken off to some dump somewhere and they’d have to pay to get it back or it would be scrapped. And, as Skye’s money had pretty well run out even before they’d bought that book …
The social worker phoned the hospital administrator who put her through to a ward sister who said that Skye seemed muddled and unresponsive. She hadn’t properly come round from the sedation.
“I ought to be there,” said Donny. “She’s my mum. She needs me.”
But then, fatally, someone from Leeds phoned to say they had Concerns about Skye’s ability to care for Donny. They quoted their Assessments.
And Donny wasn’t going to be allowed to care for Skye because it wasn’t long before the hospital phoned again to say they’d had a Conference and decided to transfer Skye to a mental ward in a different town where she could have tests and be given more sedatives. Four times a day if necessary.
Donny felt like he was in a nightmare. How could he make them understand?
And it got worse.
No mum, no granny, no address or phone number for Great Aunt Ellen. That meant Donny was officially At Risk. The policewoman told him that they’d a
pplied for an emergency order so he could be Looked After. She seemed to think that she was doing something helpful.
“We need to know that you’re quite safe until Auntie comes. Then we’ll talk to her and find out what her plans are.”
“But she told us to meet her at Shotley!”
Great Aunt Ellen hadn’t sounded that enthusiastic about having them. Especially if they were landlubbers. If they weren’t waiting at Shotley when she arrived she’d probably turn round and go straight back to China. Wasn’t there anything he could say?
Two more people came into the room just then. They made everything feel squashed and smelly. The man was wearing a policeman’s cap which he didn’t take off: the woman had a hard face and a frilly blouse.
The policewoman and the social worker stood up and offered them their seats. No-one said why they were there. Or if they did, Donny didn’t get it. This man should be in the Guinness world records. He’d had to turn sideways to get through the door.
“You can drop that story,” said the man to Donny. “Port of Felixstowe’s where your alleged great aunt claims that she’s arriving. Shotley’s a blind. There’s no legal passenger traffic from Shanghai to Shotley – and very little to Port of Felixstowe. I’ve a Special Role in Port of Felixstowe – checking for il-legals. We’ll be on the lookout for your alleged great aunt. There’s no chance she’ll slip past us.”
Huh? Even though they’d been treating him like he was totally pathetic, the policewoman and the social worker had obviously been trying to sound nice. This man was rude and angry straightaway.
“My Great Aunt Ellen’s not illegal,” he said. “And she’s not alleged either. Her name’s Miss Ellen Walker. She’s my granny’s sister and the only reason I’ve never met her is that she’s been living in Shanghai and we’ve been living in Leeds.”
“That’s quite enough from you.” The policeman jabbed at the table with his pudgy forefinger. Donny couldn’t help staring. What was his problem? “The duty officer ran a computer check on your alleged great aunt as soon as you came in. We don’t spend public money having kids looked after if there’s family available. He found no trace of your Miss Ellen Walker – as you call her …”
“That’s because it’s her name.”
The policeman stood up again and moved very close. He smelled sweaty.
“Mind your manners, young man. We’ve done the checks. She hasn’t shown up. Port of Felixstowe’s for container traffic only – as I’m quite sure you know – and none of the shipping companies have any Miss Ellen Walker being registered to travel. Passenger or crew member.” He leaned even closer blocking out the rest of the room. “She’s got no UK passport, no tax records, no medical card. There’s been no visa application and you’ve given us no contact details. Your next of kin are Miss Edith Walker, deceased and Ms Skye Walker … incapable. There’s no father prepared to put his name to your birth certificate and, as far as I’m concerned, at this moment in time, your great aunt doesn’t exist. Not legally.”
He sat down again, buttocks ballooning over the edges of his chair. He planted both legs wide apart, put his hands on his massive thighs and leaned forward. He was watching Donny all the time out of piggy-sharp colourless eyes.
“I’m on your case as per procedure. Until we meet Miss Ellen Walker, and she satisfies us of her identity and her right of entry into this country, I’d like to formally advise you that I’ll be keeping a very close watch indeed. On you.”
No Great Aunt Ellen on a list? Perhaps she wasn’t coming…
Donny took a deep breath and gulped down his panic. Great Aunt Ellen’s message had been definite about that if nothing else. Rendezvous Shotley, she’d said.
Should he pull the paper out and show it to them? That would do it.
No. Not to this man. No way! Great Aunt Ellen was Granny’s sister. There would be some good reason.
Then Skye’s word ‘pirate’ popped into his mind.
“… and Aim going to make quaite sure you attend school while you’re with us.”
This was frilly blouse. Was she even weirder than the fat man? She was wearing a short leather skirt and the pointiest pair of shoes that Donny’d ever seen in his life. They were sort of snakeskin sandals with criss-cross thongs that went right up to her knees. After that there was so much bare leg that Donny had to look away.
The social worker had fetched her a cup of special herbal tea. No one else got one.
“Aim Denise Tune. Aim the Education Welfare Officer. Aim developing my role in a multi-authority context under the next government initiative.”
Her waves of perfume came rolling in over the fat man’s b.o. Donny started to feel a bit giddy. He wondered if he could ask someone to open a window. Probably not.
The way she said ‘I’m’ was amazing. It had a sort of special emphasis and came out as ‘aim’. He guessed he was her target for today, getting riddled with government initiatives: Aim… FIRE!
“Aim talking to Suffolk even as we speak,” she continued, drawing attention to her own remarkable powers. “Shotley’s in Suffolk. We’re in Essex. Health’s going to keep the mother. But Aim sending him on as an example of co-operation. It shares the costs as well.” She grinned toothily at the other adults. Then she turned to Donny and tried to look caring.
“You’ll be available in Suffolk for your … Aunt to maike any appropriate application. You’ll be kept very … Saife.”
Donny could see that her smile was as phoney as the rest of her. “I think I should stay near my mum,” he repeated.
“Your … mum’s not well. You can have Contact when she’s better. You’re fortunate Ai’ve been able to find you a placement at such short notice. We don’t have Yorkshire’s budget!” Another smirk to the audience. “This is Sandra. She’s your social worker. Ai’ll be monitoring.”
Wednesday, September 13th
That was probably Tuesday. Which meant that the next day was Wednesday and Donny was sitting on a school bus in Suffolk.
He’d been left in the room once the meeting was over, then put into a police car and driven to a tall, grey vicarage somewhere between Ipswich and Shotley. The vicar was called Wendy and she was his Primary Carer together with her husband who was called Gerald. They’d asked him whether he had any allergies or eating disorders and when he’d last been to the dentist. Then they’d given him some cold supper and shown him to his room.
To be fair it had been pretty late.
The room had been cold and empty. Donny hadn’t brought anything with him. Except the book. He still had it – the ugly paperback that had caused all this trouble. He’d been holding it when they’d got stuck in the car park and unbelievably it had stuck with him all this time. Without him even noticing. He didn’t feel that encouraged by it.
He’d helped Gerald to make up the narrow bed and Wendy had given him a pair of pyjamas that looked like they’d been left over from the parish jumble sale and some clean underwear for tomorrow. A glass of water and a toothbrush. The pjs were crumpled from being in a bin bag but the toothbrush was new: Gerald put its packet in a container marked ‘plastics – misc’.
Then they’d said good night and left him on his own.
Donny was tired. Really tired. This had been the worst day of his life but he knew that there was no way he was going to manage to get to sleep. When he lay in the dark, even if he shut his eyes, he couldn’t stop himself thinking of Skye. Would it be dark in the mental ward as well or were there dim lights and unfamiliar shadows and the huddled shapes of strangers?
He got out of bed and switched the light back on. Skye had said that this was Granny’s book and it would explain. So far all it had done was get them in this mess. Some sort of secret? It sounded as if Granny had told Skye that she wanted him to have it. It must have been before she died. Why hadn’t she got a copy of her own? That was pretty strange.
Swallows and Amazons? Skye loved swallows. She called them ‘shaw-shaws’. She used to stand and watch them
when they started gathering on the telephone lines before their long flight south. He needed to make sure she didn’t miss them this year… So maybe he needed to give this book a try?
It wasn’t at all what he’d expected. But then what had he expected? How could a book which was obviously about kids a long time ago help him cope with this nightmare now? It was good though because the kids in the book had the same surname as him. They were called Walker too.
The kids in the book were on holiday. They had a father away in the navy somewhere and a mother who was so posh that she even had a nurse to look after her baby! The kids wanted to go sailing on a lake and camp on an island and the first chapters were all about them packing up to set off. Someone had lent them a boat. As if anyone would just lend a load of kids a boat!
The boat was called Swallow. Not a bird; a fourteen foot dinghy with a brown sail.
Donny caught his breath and shivered in the empty room. Not cold any more, tingly. Not lonely either. He could see that dinghy – Swallow. Even before he got to the picture. He ran his hand round her varnished gunwale. Smooth glossy wood and such a beautiful shape: generous and reassuring and yearning to set out on adventure.
He pummelled the thin pillow to make it a bit softer and snuggled down in the bed to read more. He felt an excitement he couldn’t understand.
The older of the two boys in the book had his own name – John, John Walker – the name he’d been given when he was born. No one who knew Donny ever called him John. It had been ‘Johnny’ when he was a baby then, apparently, when he’d started talking, he couldn’t say Js properly so he’d called himself ‘Donny’ and it had stuck. It was one of the words his mum could almost say, “Doh … doh.”
Anyway … this John wasn’t a bit like him. This John took things seriously. He was a real leader. His mum and dad trusted him to look after all the other children and their boat and everything.