by Julia Jones
“Confusion to our enemies!” said Xanthe, quoting.
“And Death to Captain Flint!” replied Maggi and Donny, quoting back.
“You’re so going to have to read Swallows and Amazons when Donny’s finished,” Maggi told Anna.
“Or Treasure Island,” said Xanthe. “Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum ...”
The two sisters turned and jogged back towards the dinghy park, chanting, “Drink and the devil had done for the rest / Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum...”
Donny and Anna, left alone with the Ribiero parents, felt suddenly shy.
CHAPTER NINE
Snow Goose
Saturday, September 16th, later
They were going down the River Orwell in style. Sailing. In the Ribieros’ classic yacht. They were heading downstream in the same direction as the shark-boat but this experience was so good – and the adults so astonishingly kind – that even Anna seemed to have forgotten Inspector Jake Flint.
Joshua and June Ribiero had decided that they didn’t want Donny and Anna out on the river alone with what Joshua called ‘that level of stupidity’ about. So they’d wheeled Lively Lady back to the dinghy park and ushered the children down the sloping lawn to the club’s private pontoons where their yacht, Snow Goose, was moored.
Snow Goose was completely beautiful. Creamy-white and elegant. Her wooden masts and spars were reddish-gold; she had a long tapering bowsprit, narrow decks and a slim stern rather like a canoe. Donny fell in love with her from the moment he stepped on board and felt the scarcely perceptible movement with which she accepted his weight. The Ribiero parents had evidently been using her cockpit as a peaceful place to drink coffee and read the newspapers but Snow Goose was tossing very slightly as if such inactivity made her restless.
As soon as Donny had recovered from his shyness, he bombarded Joshua Ribiero with questions and was soon following him round the deck as the girls’ father gave lucid explanations of the yacht’s yawl rig, her variety of sails, sheets and halyards. Anna, who had hardly spoken, stayed close to June and only her bright eyes and air of intentness revealed that she too found the boat and her functions fascinating.
Snow Goose was really old. She’d been built long before the Second World War from a design by a famous artist. “Out of the mind of God,” said Joshua Ribiero, as if he was joking.
Donny knew he wasn’t. He could see from the way the tall man touched and talked about the yacht that he was in love with her as well.
“So,” said Joshua, “Shall we let her take us down the river? We could show you Harwich Harbour – it’s exciting if you’ve not visited by boat before.”
“It’s exciting when you’ve been a hundred times!” said June. “Watching ships get ready for sea – ”
The wind had freshened a little and Snow Goose heeled lazily as she reached down river, her sails towering about them, bright against the clear sky.
They soon passed Pin Mill – a picturesque jumble of boats and cottages with a pub almost in the water. Beyond the pub was a line of houseboats: some freshly painted with washing lines and geraniums on pots; others looking ramshackle and slightly crazed. What a place to live, Donny thought. Skye could surely be happy in a place like that.
Then Joshua called him to come and harden in the sheets as the river changed direction. He was allowed to take the helm and warned that he needed to keep a sharp lookout for ships going up and down to Ipswich.
“Don’t only look ahead of you – keep checking behind as well. They’ll blast you with their hooter if they think you’re in their way.”
“Aren’t there rules about all that?” Anna asked. “When Maggi and I were in the dinghy she said that the man in the motorboat should give way to us. But he didn’t.”
“Plenty of rules – which some ignorant people don’t know and a few idiots decide to ignore ... Donny, she’s all yours!”
This was a big responsibility – but it was exhilarating too, feeling the weight and the surging movement of Snow Goose as she responded to the wind and the tide and to his hands on the tiller.
“Could Lively Lady sail right down the river like this?”
“Certainly she could. We had a talk at the club last year by a man who’d crossed the English Channel in a Mirror. Then he got into the European canal system and ended up somewhere in the Black Sea.”
“But you don’t have to go quite that far to have a good time,” said June. “You can have an adventure on any river. And there’s a lot to see. I’ll bring the binoculars up.”
“Don’t they look like a herd of dinosaurs?” she smiled, as they caught their first glimpse of the Port of Felixstowe cranes.
As Snow Goose carried them closer, it became increasingly obvious that this was a large and hungry herd. There was constant clanging of metal and rumbling of engines on the quayside while, high above, rectangular containers slid backwards and forwards on gantries to supply the gigantic vessels moored below. The water space had widened out dramatically.
So this was Harwich Harbour. Donny couldn’t yet see the sea but he could guess where it was.
“Those ships are so big it’s hard to get them in perspective.” said June. “When you think that each one of those containers, being stacked up there like blocks of Lego, is a whole lorry- load ... They travel right across the world. Mainly to and from the Far East. Why don’t you go sit on the foredeck with the binoculars so you can both have a really good look? We’ll have to bring her round in a moment. You’ll be wanting some lunch.”
As they picked their way carefully forward along the narrow deck, Anna said quietly to Donny. “Do you realise that’s where ‘Strong Winds’ will arrive – in a container on one of those enormous ships.”
“I wish I knew what ‘Strong Winds’ is,” sighed Donny. “And why Great Aunt Ellen wants us to meet her at Shotley, when Shotley’s somewhere over there ... She’ll have to get it across the river.”
“That’s her problem,” said Anna. “She must know what she’s planning to do. Maybe there’s a ferry. But from your point of view Shotley’s good. It’s on the right side of the river for the vicarage. I’ve been looking. You can get there even if you have to walk.”
“Or sail,” said Donny.
“Yes,” agreed Anna. “You could sail.”
They took turns using the binoculars, both of them scanning the activity around the containers with the unspoken hope that they might discover some clue as to the identity of ‘Strong Winds’.
“We could be looking at it right now,” said Donny.
“Probably not,” said Anna, sensibly. “ETA means Estimated Time of Arrival and she said ETA late September. That’s still another fortnight.”
“But we don’t know how often these ships come and go or how long they take to unload or anything ... What is it? What’s the matter?”
For Anna, who had been using the binoculars, was gripping Donny’s arm so tightly that it hurt. With her other hand she was shoving the binoculars at him.
“Over there,” she whispered urgently. “Right at the very end of the quay. Where those steps go down.”
They were good binoculars. Once he had located the steps, he could see, very clearly, the gleaming black shark-boat moored at their base and, when he focussed on the area of quay at the top of the steps, there was the hulking figure of its owner. Flint was standing with two other men. One was small and dressed in blue overalls.
Was there something fleetingly familiar about him?
Nah, the impression was gone.
The small man was standing next to Flint as if they were
both talking to the third man. He was wearing a hardhat and big boots. A dock-worker of some kind?
Flint had his palm pad out, the small man was gesturing towards a pile of containers. As if they were explaining something maybe technical to the man in the hardhat.
Then they did something that Donny couldn’t quite believe.
What he saw first was a
bright blue bird.
The small man had it. Took it from his pocket? Donny thought it was maybe on a short leash because, although he could see it fluttering, it couldn’t get away.
“It’s a bird!” he whispered to Anna. “A budgie or something. They’re showing it to the other bloke. Now Flint’s got it. Oh my god! No. I can’t believe it. He’s ... pulled its ...”
“Let me have a look then,” she hissed, grabbing the binoculars back from him. “Oh yuck! Oh no! ... That is minging!!”
She let the binoculars drop: she looked as if she might be sick. “He stamped ...” she began, white-faced.
“Ready about, you two. Come aft please. Quickly!”
They’d almost reached the Shotley Spit buoy and Joshua Ribiero was preparing to bring Snow Goose into the wind, change tack and ease her sheets so they were heading up river again. It could have been managed with them still sitting on the foredeck but it was safer this way.
The heavy main boom swung across, its sheets running sweetly through a system of wooden blocks. The jib and foresail sheets had to be released one side then winched in on the other. Donny and Anna did what they could to help, dazedly attempting to obey Joshua’s instructions. By the time Donny looked round again, Snow Goose was already well on her way back up the river and there was no time to refocus the binoculars on the quayside. Even if he’d wanted to.
“If you look to port now,” said Joshua. “That means look over her left-hand side – away from Felixstowe – you can just see the entrance to Shotley Marina. See the line of national flags and the tops of the masts behind those breakwaters?”
Donny and Anna looked.
It had been such a blissful Saturday sail ... Donny thought he’d better try and say something. He didn’t think Anna could.
“So, er, how do the boats get into the marina?” he asked.
“Through a lock. It’s a short distance up the River Stour. Look between that three-masted schooner and the green slope with the tall white flagpole at the top. Use the binoculars. Can you see two pillars in the river a little way off from the shore? Yes? Well that’s the beginning of the entrance. Those pillars, and an indicator on the marina wall, are part of a system to help boats find the channel and keep straight as they enter the lock – even in the dark. Twenty-four hour access.”
“Oh!” Donny was startled into real interest. “Like leading lights?”
Joshua Ribiero looked surprised too. Then he smiled. “Yes. I forgot – you’re reading Swallows and Amazons aren’t you? We have the full set at home. Do ask my daughters if there are further volumes that you’d like to borrow; you’ll pick up all sorts of pieces of knowledge that way. Though, from what I saw earlier, your sailing skill’s instinctive. Quite remarkable, actually.”
For a moment Donny felt warmed by this praise: then the image of what he and Anna had just witnessed flashed back into his head. The little bird ... terrified. Flint’s big hand ... twisting its neck. The sudden pull ... He clamped his hand over his mouth. He couldn’t be sick here: not in front of Mr Ribiero, not on Snow Goose’s scrubbed teak deck.
“Never mind,” said Xanthe’s father kindly, “Even Nelson suffered seasickness.”
Donny couldn’t answer him. Beautiful Snow Goose was creaming back up the river now. Wind and tide were with her and they were leaving the cranes and containers far behind. It seemed utterly disloyal to the graceful yacht to suggest her movement was anything other than exhilarating but ... he couldn’t even try to explain. He must have seen wrong.
“Time you took a turn, Anna, isn’t it?” said June Ribiero, who’d noticed how adeptly Anna shrank into the background, particularly when Joshua was talking. “Come and stand with me and we’ll see if we can cut a few corners. There won’t be any food left at the club if we’re very much longer.”
Flint’s powerboat sped past before they reached Pin Mill. By the time they’d moored Snow Goose and were walking up to the Royal Orwell & Ancient Yacht Club, the fat man was ensconced at a table for one with a large lobster salad, a bottle of white wine, a deep bowl of mayonnaise and an entire loaf of garlic bread.
Anna took herself off instantly to the other side of the room where Xanthe and Maggi were sharing sandwiches and a plate of chips. Donny was tempted to go with her but when Joshua and June walked across to speak to the policeman he followed them. He wasn’t going to show that he was scared.
Joshua wasted little time introducing himself. “I was on board my yacht this morning when you almost ran down my daughter and her friend – I wondered whether it was an accident or whether you have something to learn about nautical rules of the road?”
Flint wiped his mouth. “Nothing that I care to be taught by someone of your ... type,” he answered after a pause.
Joshua showed no reaction. “Of course not. I’m a flag officer of this club. I don’t take lower level competency classes. If you give your name to the training secretary he can enrol you on some suitable course. They’re open to non-members.”
An angry flush crept up from where Flint’s neck would have been if his jowls didn’t sag straight into the collar of his shirt.
“My membership application has been in front of the committee for a month,” he snarled. “The chief constable’s my proposer. I’ve no expectation of being ... black-balled.” He glowered towards the table where the girls had gathered. “Your daughters and their charity playmates have a very distinctive dinghy. I’ll keep a special lookout for it in the future.”
Then he tore a front pincer off his lobster and crushed it between his fleshy fingers.
June almost had the last word. She turned to Joshua. “It’s no good, darling. The RYA ...” She looked down at Flint. “That’s the R-o-y-a-l Y-a-c-h-t-i-n-g A-s-s-o-c-i-a-t-i-o-n to you,” she said, apparently kindly, “could probably teach him some rules of the road and basic boat-handling but not the simple concept of politeness. The idea of ‘sorry’ for instance – it’s going to be beyond him. Let’s not ask them to waste their time.”
It would have been such a dignified exit line – if Donny hadn’t happened to glance downwards at that moment and noticed something ... feathery ... sticking to the policeman’s heavy boot.
CHAPTER TEN
Family Activity
Saturday, September 16th, later still
The grey stone walls of Erewhon Parva vicarage looked dusty and unwelcoming when the Ribieros dropped Donny and Anna back later that afternoon. There’d been some talk of swimming after lunch but they’d mainly mooched about, helping Maggi and Xanthe take down the masts of their Lasers and pack for their trip to Weymouth the following day. They hadn’t wanted to talk about Flint and the small man and the dead bird on the quayside.
“We didn’t get anything, did we?” said Anna, when they had thanked all the family for the final time and were going reluctantly into the bleak house.
“Whatever do you mean?” Donny was astonished.
“For the dream-catchers. You said we were going to collect grasses and feathers and make one for each other and one for your mum. But we didn’t get anything at all.” She spoke in her old flat, expressionless voice.
For a moment Donny felt annoyed that she should be bothering about what they hadn’t done when so much else had happened. Then, as the loveless atmosphere of the foster- home closed over them like a stagnant pond, he realised she was right: thistledown and beads, dried grass and supple twigs were exactly what they needed to block the nightmares out.
But not feathers. Definitely not small, downy feathers.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’ll do it tomorrow. I promise. You forgot too, didn’t you?”
“You shouldn’t do promises,” she said. “You promised before.”
“I did promise. I know I did. But I didn’t say definitely when. Now I’m saying that it’s going to be tomorrow. Okay? Look, it’s almost been a great day. Don’t spoil it. Please?”
It had evidently not been a great day at the vicarage
. Wendy was out and Vicky was crying in her playpen while Gerald tried to get something together for supper. Liam, the younger boy, had already been sent up to his bedroom where he was bouncing a football hard on the floor directly over Gerald’s head. His brother, Luke, was sitting sullenly on the living- room sofa refusing to take any interest in the pile of old books and puzzle pads that had been placed next to him. The TV was turned off.
Anna vanished as effectively as usual but Donny hesitated a moment between kitchen and living room. He felt tired but full of fresh air and friendliness – even towards Gerald.
“Er, can I help?” he asked.
Gerald looked as if he was almost too distracted to answer. There was a Radio Four programme failing to compete with Vicky’s yells and he was trying to follow a recommended recipe for gluten-free bread mix. He looked at Donny as if his arrival was the last straw and turned the radio off with a sigh.
“There’s Luke,” he said. “You could spend quality time with Luke.”
Donny looked back into the sitting room. Luke finger- swore. Whether at him or at Gerald wasn’t entirely clear.
“Okay,” said Donny, wishing that he hadn’t offered. The football thudded above them: Vicky’s yells got even louder. It seemed extraordinary that so much noise could come from someone so small. Without really thinking, Donny went over to her pen. Maybe she was plugged into an amplifier...?
As he looked down he saw that her little face was scarlet and slubbered. Her toys had been hurled out and bits of half chewed carrot stick lay strewn angrily around the wipe-able mat. Her eyes were squeezed shut with the effort of her bellowing and he didn’t know whether she’d noticed him or not. She was sort of drowning in her own rage.
“Shall I pick the baby up? I’ll wash my hands,” he added hastily.
Gerald must have been near the end of his tether. Otherwise there’d have been some spiel about Vicky’s tantrum being part of her developmental process blah-blah. As it was, he nodded mutely and pointed to the anti-bacterial hand cleanser beside the sink.