Jane found a harnessy kind of underpants thing with buckles and padding.
“Look!” she said. “We can use this for the chair on the zipline.”
“A hernia truss?” said Aunt Fifi when they got home and showed her.
“What’s a hernia truss?” asked Jane.
Aunt Fifi held up the arrangement of straps, buckles and pads.
“It’s a support harness for someone with a hernia,” she said.
“What’s a hernia?” Becca asked.
“It’s when part of someone’s intestine bulges through a tear in the stomach muscles. The truss is like super-tight underpants. Holds it all in. And this one’s definitely designed for a man,” she added, inspecting it.
“Goodness,” said Gran. “Well, it might come in handy. I could use it to tie up the pea vines.”
They’d also found an extra book of Shakespeare, one that was huge and called The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.
“That looks awfully familiar,” Aunt Fifi said.
It was glorious. On the cover was a portrait of Shakespeare sucking his cheeks in — perhaps to distract from his triple-sized forehead and wispy soul-patch. The pages were heavy and smooth, creamy to the touch.
Aunt Fifi turned to the title page.
Becca saw handwriting there. Familiar handwriting.
“‘For Fiona on her sixteenth birthday,’” Becca read. “‘From your loving mum.’”
The date was Aunt Fifi’s birthday. The writing was Gran’s.
“But Gran hates Shakespeare,” said Becca.
“Maybe she didn’t always,” said Aunt Fifi. She turned the pages and smiled.
“What are you looking at?” asked Gran. “Merlin! What are you doing here?”
“Just double-checking that sewage alarm system,” Merlin said. “And what’s this I hear about a zipline? Fifi! What are you reading?”
“‘If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender —’”
“Fifi, what are you reading?” Gran demanded. “What are you reading to Merlin!”
“My sixteenth birthday present,” Aunt Fifi said. “Which you gave away. Very clever, Mum. But even you can’t stop the workings of destiny.”
“Becca, what’s that?” asked Gran.
“I found it at the free store,” Becca said.
“Beautiful,” said Merlin, reading the inscription. “Imagine you at sixteen! Fearsome!” He laughed and began turning pages, standing in his oil-stained cut-offs, his hands smudged with whatever he’d been doing over at Jane’s house.
“Love’s Labour’s Lost,” he said. “And here’s The Winter’s Tale, the one with the bear. Now that’s a creepy story.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Aunt Fifi agreed.
“Fifi!” Gran exclaimed.
She didn’t want Aunt Fifi and Merlin to argue. Nor, it seemed, did she want them to agree.
Suddenly, Becca got it. It wasn’t Shakespeare Gran hated, it was what Shakespeare might lead to. Would Aunt Fifi and Merlin argue? If they did, Merlin might stomp off and decide never to come near Gran’s house and plumbing again.
If they didn’t argue … what would that mean? A new uncle person for Becca? One who lived on the island? Or not?
“Come away,” she said to Gran. “It’s time for tea.”
And she took Gran indoors.
Then Becca and Jane stood over the kettle and looked out the window at Aunt Fifi and Merlin. Their heads were bent together over The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.
Before Becca’s eyes, Aunt Fifi’s hands reached up to Merlin’s face and pulled it towards her. With one hand Merlin set William Shakespeare gently on the deck, and with the other he drew Aunt Fifi to him with a kiss that made Becca’s hair prickle on her head.
It was like they wanted their faces to become one face.
And they certainly weren’t arguing.
“Whoa,” said Jane. “That’s nothing like sea anemones.”
* * *
After tea, Merlin helped them set up the zipline as if nothing different had happened.
“It’s good to have a few special effects,” he said. “Makes it more of a show.”
Jane wanted the zipline to zig and zag over the stage, but Merlin said that was too complicated.
“We don’t want the special effect to be someone braining herself,” he said.
Becca felt that with one thing and another, the play already had a lot of special effects.
* * *
“Come on, Becca,” Jane said. “It’s perfectly normal. You know they’re into each other.”
Of course Becca knew. But she hadn’t thought about the feelings in it, somehow.
Or the way Aunt Fifi and Merlin would melt into each other, almost.
Her heart was noisy just thinking about it.
“Let’s go climb on the cliffs,” said Jane. “Do something ordinary.”
But even the park was restless. The firs and cedars stirred in the breeze, and when Becca and Jane reached the edge of the forest, the leaves of the Garry oaks quivered and shivered like torn sails in a windy blast.
The breeze had been light in Gran’s bay, but now Becca looked into the heart of a brilliant, powerful wind. It was blowing the sea into mountains.
Below the bluffs, water foamed and roared, sucking out and pouring in as if it wanted to pull the island into the sea and drown it.
“It’s a Qualicum!” cried Jane.
Mac had told them about this local wind. It came from the Pacific Ocean far away on the other side of Vancouver Island, funneling through a valley and tearing like a train into the strait near Gran’s island.
It came up fast and fierce.
Now it blew into Becca’s head. It rushed in through her mouth and nose, and even through her eyeballs and ears.
Jane laughed.
“My brain is full of air!” she yelled.
Out in the strait, green swells splintered sunlight in their depths and crested into glittering, lacy billows.
Everything was white and silver and light and radiance and motion.
It was a glorious, sunny wind as long as you weren’t at sea.
“Look! Is that a boat?”
Becca stopped where she was in the wind-flattened grasses and shaded her eyes.
“They’re crazy!” shouted Jane. “Why are they out in this?”
It was a sleek little sloop, one of those boats made for flying. It had come sailing from behind the point as if nothing much was happening.
But before Becca’s eyes, the wind hit it a great, smacking blow.
The sloop bowed down. She heeled abruptly — or was she keeling over for good? She lay her sail to the sea as if she was giving up, as if saying, “Why bother fighting this slamming wind?”
“She’s capsizing!” cried Jane.
Was this going to be like the eagle and the fish? But worse?
Becca thought of being dumped by Gull, and of what it would be like to be tossed overboard into these rough seas.
She could see sailors scurrying on deck like tiny crabs.
“I hope they have life jackets,” said Jane.
“They must!” Becca said. Wouldn’t they?
The deck sloped as if it was trying to tip every last sailor into the sea, and rocked with sickening wallows. Becca didn’t see how the sloop could stay afloat, bowed down to the seas like that.
“I can’t watch,” Jane cried, covering her face.
But Becca watched. It was as if she had to.
Then, with startling suddenness, the sloop was no longer lying down and dying, but beating the surges under her. She rode their backs from crest to crest with long, racing leaps.
&nbs
p; It was true that Gull was slow, but Becca thought she might not want to be in a boat that was going as fast as this one. Why weren’t the sails tearing to bits? How could the rigging survive?
The sloop turned into the wind and slowed.
The sails flapped furiously, and for a moment, the only sign of her was the mast and the peak of her mainsail.
Then there she was again, rolling on the surge of the next swell. The sailors stuck to the deck like limpets.
The foresail dropped.
“What are they doing?” Jane asked. “Why don’t they just go?”
“They’re reefing,” said Becca.
The sloop dove again and again in the cliff-like seas. Bit by bit, the sail got smaller and smaller.
What would it be like to be on that boat? Climbing and crashing, sun on sea, blasting wind.
Excitement. Deeper and darker excitement.
Danger.
Much more than Gull with a broken oarlock in the shallow water of Gran’s bay.
Thank goodness, Becca could see that it wasn’t going to be like the eagle and the fish — not this time. But it could be, in a little boat or if you didn’t know what you were doing.
The sailors crept aft at last, clinging again to the side rail.
“They’re beating across the wind now,” said Becca.
“They’re going to be okay,” said Jane. “I think.”
The wind raged. Becca and Jane turned and started to walk the trail over the grassy bluffs and along the cliffs, pushing against the blast. The sloop toiled across galloping swells, came about and crept on once more.
At last its shortened sail no longer caught the light, but vanished from their sight.
“They’ll get out of the Qualicum soon,” said Jane.
It was a very local wind. You were either in it, or you weren’t — it was that simple.
But if you were in it, it wasn’t simple at all.
13. Nature Calls
It had been a long day.
To Becca, it felt like it had been two days.
First, Gran got them to do an errand.
“How about you and Jane go for a nice bike ride and do the shopping for me?” she said.
So they set off for the store, Jane on Mac’s rattletrap and Becca on Speed Queen, Gran’s heritage three-speed.
But Jane didn’t really believe in nice bike rides.
“Let’s ride as far and fast as we can with our eyes closed,” she said. “Last one to open her eyes wins.”
So they rode down the long hill with their eyes closed, and Jane’s bike fell apart, and Becca didn’t open her eyes until she landed in a ditch full of stinging nettles and wild roses.
But that was all right. Just a lot of scratches and stinging.
All that felt like one kind of day. Fun, but hazardous.
Then suddenly, after they’d done the shopping, it became a totally different kind of day.
“Oh, look!” said Jane. “There’s Merlin. Maybe we can put our bikes in his van and get a ride home.”
Because now they had the box of groceries, as well as Jane’s bike that was in more pieces than a healthy bike should be.
And there was Merlin. Or was it?
All at once, Becca wasn’t sure.
He had his arms around a woman Becca had never seen before — someone tall, strong and spiky-haired. He kissed her. He hugged her. The two of them smiled at each other and laughed their heads off.
The unknown woman had her arm around Merlin’s shoulders and she looked at him as if she was thrilled to see him, right down to the soles of her elegant biker boots and right out to the tips of her purple hair.
Merlin was waving his arms and talking like it was the most exciting day of his life.
Was this the Merlin who had been kissing Aunt Fifi only the day before? A kiss that had made Becca’s hair prickle on her head?
The sad, dropping feeling in her stomach took her by surprise.
“Maybe it’s his sister,” said Jane.
“He only has one sister,” said Becca. “That’s not her.”
Sailing in a Qualicum would be nothing compared to whatever was going on here. And there was no question of getting a lift from someone as wrapped up with his Friend as Merlin was. Ms. Spiky-hair!
* * *
That night, Becca and Jane crawled into their sleeping bags on Gran’s deck long before dark.
It had taken them ages to walk home pushing the bikes. And the milk sprang a leak and seeped out of the backpack and through Jane’s shorts and underpants and all the way down her legs into her socks. The raspberries squashed and got all mixed up with the organic fertilizer, and Jane got blisters, and Becca scraped her shins.
But that wasn’t what bothered Becca as she stared up through the pine branches at the darkening sky.
“Did he kiss her on the cheek?”
“I didn’t see,” said Jane.
“What am I going to say to Aunt Fifi?”
Gran would be happy, Becca thought. It would be the end of arguments about Shakespeare.
She couldn’t sleep. She tried staring up into the stars, but they only reminded her of Aunt Fifi and Merlin. A star to every wandering bark.
And of the little ship she and Jane had seen, almost drowning in all the storminess and sea spray.
Would the play ever come together? Would they ever get a good sailboat? Would Auntie Meg like The Tempest? Would Auntie Clare and Uncle Clarence? Would Mum and Dad and Pin?
Would more bad things happen?
Then her head would fill with Merlin and Ms. Spiky-hair again, and with the look in Aunt Fifi’s eyes as she’d drawn Merlin’s face towards her.
Who was Merlin’s Friend? Not someone he could argue with as well as he did with Aunt Fifi. That wasn’t possible.
Then nature called.
Even indoors, out of the starshine, it wasn’t wholly dark. Are these my night eyes? Becca wondered, feeling the smooth floor underfoot, and then the cool tiles of the bathroom. The whole space seemed strange after waking up outside. She didn’t want to turn on the light and ruin the dimness.
But someone was moving around.
No, some thing was moving.
Becca’s heart pattered in her chest with a scared, scampering thrum of its own.
“Gran?” she whispered. “Is that you?”
The isle was full of noises, just like Shakespeare said, but she didn’t expect to hear them in the bathroom.
It couldn’t be otters, surely. Anyway, now she knew what otter language sounded like, and this wasn’t it.
There was a murmuring, and a scampering, scrabbling noise. A furniture-moving noise, even.
She didn’t flush, so it must have been the sound of her putting the lid down that bothered whatever was so nearby, scrabbling and shuffling. Oh, why hadn’t she just gone to the biffy in the safe, comfortable rustling of the forest?
But now whatever it was became noisy and bad-tempered — squabbling and squealing, scraping and crying.
It was awful, like hearing people fight. Every one of Becca’s hairs stood on end, even the hairs inside her ears.
Then the noise quieted and went back to murmurings.
Becca put her hands over her heart and escaped back to the deck.
“Where have you been?” murmured Jane.
“There’s something funny in the bathroom,” Becca whispered.
“What kind of funny?” asked Jane.
“Animal funny,” Becca said.
“Otters?” asked Jane.
“No,” said Becca.
“Does it smell?” asked Jane.
“No,” said Becca, and Jane lay down abruptly and began to snore a little, as if a night without otters or odors was all she needed for a good night’s rest.
&nbs
p; But Becca lay awake looking up at the slowly vanishing stars, and the tops of the pine trees, and the growing light.
* * *
In the morning, she told Gran.
“Something funny in the bathroom?” Gran echoed. “Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?”
“Definitely peculiar,” said Becca.
“What are you talking about?” asked Auntie Meg.
“Animals in the bathroom,” Becca said.
“Merlin will have to come,” said Aunt Fifi.
Oh! Becca hadn’t thought of that. Would he want to, now that Ms. Spiky-hair was on the scene?
“Not again!” said Gran. “And Clare and Clarence arriving soon! Fifi, why do these things happen when you’re around?”
“Me!” Aunt Fifi protested.
“We’ll eat breakfast at my house,” Jane said, pulling Becca away.
“Don’t you want a morning swim?” asked Aunt Fifi. “Maybe Merlin will stay for breakfast.”
“My mum and dad invited her,” Jane said. “We’re off.”
She threw her sleeping bag over Becca’s head and led her up the beach.
“Thanks,” Becca said, muffled.
“You looked like a small animal about to be crushed by a boot,” Jane said.
“I don’t know what I’m going to say to Aunt Fifi,” said Becca.
* * *
When Becca got back, Gran was crawling around under the house.
“Merlin said the problem wasn’t plumbing,” Aunt Fifi told Becca. “He so often says that around here! And Jane’s mum called so he had to tootle off. And everyone else has gone to do whatever it is that they’re doing — including me.”
She took her keys and disappeared.
“What’s under there?” Becca asked.
“I have no idea,” said Gran.
Her voice was muffled and hollow and emerged from under the house in short bursts.
Frank butted Becca’s leg.
“Frank’s very interested,” Becca said.
“Well he might be,” Gran replied, and there was a great ripping, squeaking sound. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not tearing the house apart. Well, only sort of.”
Becca Fair and Foul Page 9