CHAPTER FOUR
Professor Shire’s Legacy
With the sun still bearing down on the farmers’ market, Rachel told her mother she would go anywhere that would give her a respite from the relentless rays. Saying their goodbyes to everyone, they headed away from the smattering of stalls that were still doing a rip-roaring trade.
No trip to the park would be complete without some sort of picnic, so they stopped off at Anglo & Saxon’s newsagents and bought a bag of crisps, a couple of drinks, sandwiches and a bag of salty peanuts.
In no time at all, Rachel and Lorraine had reached the oldest part of town; they battled their way through the narrow undulating streets. The town’s Northern Quarter became bottlenecks for tourists who flocked into souvenir shops – buying all sorts of tacky, overpriced merchandise.
‘Excuse me… sorry about your foot… make way, coming through – coming through…’ Lorraine huffed and puffed, squeezing, pushing – and sometimes shoving – tourists who weren’t quick enough to get out of her way as they marvelled at the town’s medieval castle, taking in the ancient atmosphere and taking numerous pictures of the imposing keep.
Leaving the crowded castle behind, Rachel struggled to keep up with her mother’s impossible gait, and with the cloying stitch down her left side, she felt as if her lungs were on fire (and it hadn’t help matters that she had to dodge the mountainous molehills that plagued every street).
‘We’re nearly there, Rachel,’ Lorraine called over her shoulder. ‘We’ll take the shortcut down this street,’ she added briskly. ‘Now, watch your step with those cracked paving slabs and the rubbish in the gutter.’
Too hot and bothered to answer her mother, she just grunted that she understood. Disregarding the many DO NOT ENTER signs that blocked the entrance to the street, Lorraine pushed the plastic bollards aside and quickly beckoned her over. Reluctantly, Rachel followed her mother’s eager footsteps and meandered into the depressing tree-lined street.
Keeling over in a bunch of weeds, the mossy street sign WITS’ END appeared to be on its last legs; and a few doors down, a pile of masonry had dented the warning sign so badly it now said DANGR! LOOS MASNRY!
Rachel peered up and down the street that left a puzzled expression on her face: every house had suffered from some sort of unfathomable damage. Number thirty-five hadn’t a roof, and most of it had sunk into the earth. In the grounds next door, only a shattered greenhouse with a cracked porcelain toilet stood, while at number eleven, the front door stood alone because everything else lay smashed to smithereens.
On every scrap of land, an overabundance of molehills poked through unloved garden beds and overgrown lawns. The wind started to pick up and whipped the green leaves off the trees; however, they hadn’t blown away and remained glued to the ground. The leaves wobbled and wilted into a revolting brown sludge with a foul stench to match.
The wind veered and brought fresh air with it. Above the whistling wind that swept through the grotty red-bricked buildings, Rachel could still hear faint scuttling sounds – proof that at least some life had found refuge in this desolate place. Nevertheless, it had occurred to her that the rats and mice probably didn’t want to be here anymore than she did.
‘Mum – what happened to the street?’ she asked, the dismal street giving her the chills as the dull daylight drew ever drearier.
Lorraine’s brow furrowed. ‘Something to do with the foundations,’ she said hesitantly. ‘We’re standing over one of the old mines, but this one shut down years ago, so it begs the question why are they still here?’ she added thoughtfully, knelt down and put her ear to the ground.
Rachel watched her batty behaviour in sheer disbelief (and hoped she wouldn’t inherit her mother’s trait of going dotty at forty).
‘Now, that’s most peculiar – I can’t hear a thing. Hmmm… I wonder where they’ve gone,’ Lorraine mumbled and got to her feet. ‘I dare say Mr Burrows took them back home and locked them up. It looks like they’ve been up to their old tricks again. C’mon, Rachel – it’s getting a bit nippy without the sun on our backs – let’s get to the park.’
Begrudgingly, she followed her mother along the pavement, but the concrete soon petered out, as the ground underfoot gave way to squelchy grass. Feeling slightly envious, she wondered if her mother had webbed feet as she strode ahead and made long strides without slipping once.
Lorraine bounded over the lip of a hill and vanished. Rachel adjusted her bulging backpack and bounded after her.
‘Welcome to the park,’ said Lorraine gushingly with a growing smile. ‘One of the largest natural freshwater lakes in the country – or so I’m informed by the proprietor of this establishment,’ she added zestfully, patting the peeling – slightly buckled – billboard affectionately like a long lost friend. ‘So, Rachel, are you excited about our picnic in the park?’
Rachel stepped out of the billboard’s gloomy shadow and scowled as she groaned; however, her mother’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.
‘Cheer up, Rachel – we’ve come this far – let’s give the park a whirl,’ she urged, doing her utmost to win her over. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks.’
No – it looks a whole lot worse, thought Rachel, reading the drivel that someone had plastered over the billboard to tempt people into the park:
Welcome to Shire’s Waterpark
Come into our water wonderland and try out our many new attractions.
The sultry sun terrace; the tantalising toddlers’ paddling pool and the positively palatial playpen; the bountiful bouncy castle; the resplendent refreshment kiosk and, of course, not forgetting the main reason that brought you here in the first place, paddling a boat in one of the largest natural freshwater lakes in the country.
Rachel let out a deflated sigh. Alone in the dark, the sun terrace had a black tarpaulin draped across its veranda. Ankle deep in black sludge, the toddlers’ paddling pool wasn’t fit for purpose – unless you really wanted to catch some horrible disease. Unloved and forgotten, the rotten wooden climbing frame lay trapped in humongous sand dunes, and just a stone’s throw away, a listing buoy and chain held a partly deflated bouncy castle prisoner as shrieking seagulls perched on its wobbly turrets. Nestled between two gargantuan rocks, countless spiders’ webs mummified the dilapidated refreshment kiosk that looked as appealing as a bout of flu.
‘Now, Rachel, would you take a gander at that,’ Lorraine beamed, her unwavering gaze peering down into a rocky cove. ‘Time to meet an old friend,’ she added brightly, almost running as she took off at speed.
Rachel dragged her legs past the hairy kiosk and followed her mother down the snaking path towards the jetty, where a log cabin stood on wooden stilts. Right beside it, a bedraggled flag fluttered lethargically atop a weather-beaten pole. Discoloured bunting intertwined with the cabin’s guttering and directly below it, a couple of paddleboats bobbed up and down, but the rest of them had sunk to the bottom of the lake.
Rachel sidled up to her mother.
‘It hasn’t changed a bit,’ Lorraine smiled, casting her eyes over at the log cabin that stood at the end of a limp rope bridge.
Rachel chewed her lower lip: she felt she had been here before, but she couldn’t have because she would have remembered it. The log cabin looked a trifle unsteady as it swayed uncomfortably on its bamboo stilts, which reminded her of a creeping centipede.
The elongated plastic PAY AT DESK sign had come loose and flapped annoyingly against the black-tarred roof. The CLOSED FOR LUNCH sign swung gently back and forth behind the sliding window.
‘Closed for lunch,’ Lorraine snapped. ‘We’ll soon see about that,’ she added bombastically and strutted across the rope bridge.
Rachel stepped onto the wooden slats and pretended she didn’t hear the creaking and cracking noises as she made her way across. As she stepped off the rope bridge, she heard her mother shout, ‘SHOP!’
Lorraine pounded the sliding glass window repeatedly.
‘Perhaps nobody’s at home,’ Rachel began, but she soon heard the irritating snoring noise coming from within the confines of the log cabin. With a few short strides, she reached the weathered wooden front door and rattled the loose doorknob. ‘The door’s locked, Mum.’
Lorraine gave up on the window and joined her. ‘Looks like we’re in luck – now, let me see…’ she mused, pursing her lips as she grabbed hold of the doorknob. ‘Let me see if I can remember the exact sequence correctly… it was left – then right – then left again – then down – then up – then counterclockwise – then clockwise – and then up and down four times and pull…’
CLICK.
‘You’re not the only one with a good memory, Rachel,’ she added with a cheeky grin and released the doorknob.
The door swung open with surprising force and vigour. Thoroughly amazed by her mother’s unusual house breaking skill, she followed her inside and gave the drooping doorknob a furtive glance: eleven etched bees encircled the brass keyhole.
The snoring intensified as they crossed the cabin’s threshold.
Rachel went to shut the door behind her, but the spring-loaded mechanism took control, and with a sudden whizzing sound, the heavy door slammed shut with so much force the bamboo flooring shuddered.
They turned and peered at the culprit who was making the deafening noise. Lying prostrate in a blue and green striped deckchair, the short wiry-framed man hadn’t moved a muscle as the door had slammed shut. Seemingly unaware of their presence, he smacked his dry lips, flipped onto his back and snored like a whale with a stuffy cold.
‘Mr Lido – Mr Lido wake up,’ Lorraine demanded.
Mr Lido’s snoring stopped, but he just rolled onto his side, fidgeted for a moment or two, pulled his flat tweed cap even further over his eyes and mumbled crossly, ‘We’re closed for lunch – can’t you see the sign.’
Lorraine fumed. ‘Larrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry!’ she thundered.
China teacups and saucers rattled on the makeshift bamboo table.
‘I’m awake – I’m awake, dearest,’ cried Larry as the rickety deckchair collapsed beneath him. His flat cap, however, had flown in the opposite direction and tumbled unceremoniously into a bowl of cold curdled soup.
With his legs still trapped in his deckchair, he rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Well, you’re not the misses,’ he said with a puzzled look, staring up at Lorraine’s inscrutable face.
Rachel waited for her mother’s wrath to be unleashed, but nothing happened. Lorraine wasted no time, bent down and freed Larry from his predicament. Back on his feet, she shook his hand so hard his black Wellington boots squeaked.
‘It’s such a pleasure to meet you again, Larry,’ she said tearfully as she flashed him one of her rare I really am pleased to see you smiles. ‘It’s been such a long time – and how’s your wife, Lydia?’
Larry seemed thoroughly bemused by Lorraine’s familiarity. ‘Er – Lydia’s fine… um… do I know you?’ he asked her warily, patting his head as he just realised his flat cap wasn’t there anymore. ‘How did you get inside? I’m pretty sure I locked the door.’
Lorraine went to say something, but she thought better of it and went deathly quiet. However, she let out a long sigh and said, ‘You really don’t remember me – do you, Larry?’
Larry rubbed his peppery stubble; his grey eyes scoured Lorraine’s face for any signs of recognition, but he shrugged his shoulders in defeat. ‘Sorry, but I haven’t a clue who you are –’
Then all of a sudden, he stepped over the collapsed deckchair and gawped at Rachel. She felt most uncomfortable as the stranger’s dull eyes stared into her face, but little by little, they grew brighter, and he clapped his hands together in gleeful recognition.
‘Now, would you Adam “n” Eve it,’ he chuckled, the lines across his craggy face doubling in width as he let out a roar of laughter. ‘Well, if it isn’t the baby, Rachel – I’d recognised those emerald eyes and that cute button nose anywhere. Look at you – all grown up – what, you must be eleven years old by now –?’
‘– I’m still ten,’ Rachel cut in, but she immediately regretted her rude outburst and gave him a reassuring smile.
Larry’s face filled with joy. He gave her a friendly wink, turned to face Lorraine, grabbed hold of her hand and shook it enthusiastically. ‘Mrs Cook – Lorraine – now, you’re a welcome sight and no mistake. How could I have forgotten you,’ he cried, looking at the pair of them with sparkling eyes. ‘It’s been such a long time since the incident, but Rachel doesn’t seem any the worse for it.’
Rachel couldn’t take her eyes off her mother. ‘What incident, Mum?’ she asked tentatively with a bit of curiosity thrown in for good measure.
Lorraine sniffed. ‘Your father and I took you to Shire’s Waterpark on your first birthday,’ she said misty-eyed. ‘We wanted to go back to the place where you were –’ she added, but her words ended, and she gave Larry a painful look as she clasped her hands together in anguish.
Larry cleared his throat and gave Lorraine a subtle nod. He turned towards Rachel and said, ‘I was down by the shoreline with Suzy. It was our first day on the job together. I looked up from cleaning the deck, as I heard strange slurping noises, and the screaming started.
When I stood up, I saw Lorraine at the water’s edge holding on to you as a freak whirlpool tried to suck you both down. Damnedest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Your dad clung onto your mum, but those churning waters were just too strong. You and your mum were going under.’
‘If Larry hadn’t come to our rescue,’ added Lorraine gratefully, ‘we wouldn’t be standing here today. Larry’s a hero.’
Larry’s ruddy cheeks went even redder and said, ‘And don’t forget about Suzy. I couldn’t have done it without her – that girl’s a diamond.’
No wonder the waterpark seemed familiar, Rachel thought. Her childhood fear of water began here. Her headache nagged at her, so she brushed those dark feelings aside and took a step forward to shake Larry’s hand, but she gave him a thank-you hug instead and whispered in his cauliflower ear, ‘Thanks for saving my mum, Larry.’
‘My pleasure,’ he replied warmly and grinned.
‘I’d like to thank Suzy, too,’ Rachel added. ‘Does she still work here?’
‘She sure does,’ Larry chuckled. ‘Suzy’s down by the jetty with the misses – um – I mean Lydia.’
‘Well, as you’ve had your lunchtime snooze,’ Lorraine told Larry, giving him her broadest smile, ‘Rachel and I would like to have our picnic on Shire’s Island – so we’d like to hire one of your boats.’
Rachel’s insides churned. Larry’s boats didn’t look very seaworthy. Aghast at her mother’s suggestion, she squeaked, ‘We’re going all the way out to the island – that little spec on the horizon?’
‘The island’s a lot closer than you think,’ Lorraine replied, ‘and at this time of year, a leisurely picnic in Spring Park and its shady woods would be wonderful right now – and a chance to get away from this heat.’
Larry groaned.
‘What’s the matter, Larry?’ Lorraine asked. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘The parks aren’t open at the moment,’ he replied dejectedly, picking his sunken flat cap from out of the soup bowl and dropping it into the plastic bucket beside him.
‘None of them?’ squeaked Lorraine.
Larry nodded glumly.
Lorraine took a deep breath and composed herself. ‘Well, Rachel and I can at least have our picnic on Oyster Bay,’ she said positively upbeat. ‘I have some fond memories of that sandy beach,’ she added dreamily.
Larry looked downtrodden. ‘I’m sorry, Lorraine, but the island and its beaches have been closed off for donkey’s years,’ he said solemnly.
‘What did you just say?’ snapped Lorraine, narrowing her eyes almost to slits, as she didn’t quite believe what she had just heard.
‘As the main benefactor of Professor Shire’s will, it was up to me to carry out Thomas’ wishes to –’ Larry began.
‘– Larry, how could you do such a thing?’ Lorraine spat, towering above him, her eyes pinning him down with furious ferocity.
Rachel wondered if she should go and hide in the toilet or the alcove, as she wanted to keep out of the line of fire. At first, Larry said nothing as he clenched his teeth and scowled; he balled his fists in a bid to stem his anger, but he quickly grew tired of Lorraine’s raging sharp tongue.
‘I don’t own Shire’s Island,’ Larry growled, slamming his fists down on his table in frustration, completely ignoring the bits of bamboo that shot across the room. ‘Thomas left everything to me – everything but the island and that went to Henry Silverback.’
Lorraine’s fiery face mellowed at once. ‘Thomas entrusted the island to Henry – what on earth was he thinking?’ she snarled, morally shocked on hearing the grave news.
‘I couldn’t believe it either when Thomas’ solicitor read out his will,’ added Larry woefully. ‘It’s like putting the fox in charge of the hen house – madness – sheer and utter madness!’
‘I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Larry,’ said Lorraine meekly.
Larry shuffled his feet; he looked very ill at ease, and his face went paler than a runny egg white. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been kept in the dark for so long, Lorraine,’ he lamented. ‘Do you remember the day Thomas went missing? The newspapers had a field day what with all those whirlpools popping in and out of place. The police searched the lake, but they gave up when they found his brown boots and gingham socks,’ he added with a deepening frown, clearly bereft to be the bearer of bad news – no matter how late or bad that news was.
Lorraine sighed. ‘I always believed that Thomas went off on another one of his expeditions – you know what he was like back then,’ she said.
‘June Wrigley still lays the table for him at The Frumpy Friar,’ Larry told her. ‘After all these years, she still carries a torch for him – and refuses to believe he’s dead and gone.’
‘I’ve missed so much…’ Lorraine muttered but said no more.
Larry chewed his bottom lip. ‘Oh, bugger the law,’ he pronounced and stomped his foot on the floor, appearing unperturbed that a strange cracking noise that had immediately followed his act of defiance. ‘Laws were meant to be broken – and it’s about bloody time we found out what Henry’s been doing on that island,’ he added doggedly. ‘He’s been back and forth there for ten years now. He’s been digging for who knows what – and on one occasion he asked to borrow Suzy – but, of course, I told him to put it where the sun doesn’t shine.’
Rachel sniggered.
‘Rumour has it that Henry’s gone and left the island for good – and I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him these past few months,’ added Larry broodingly. ‘Only the other day, Lydia told me her uncle got chatting to a bloke down the docks, whose brother knows a chimney sweep, whose wife works at the butchers, whose niece works as a barmaid… um – now, where was I? Oh, yes, well, the barmaid at The Golden Toad said that after one of Henry’s lackeys had downed a couple of pints of their strongest ale, he blabbed on about how he’d come into a small fortune along with Henry and his brother Wilfred.’
‘I dare say if Henry caught us trespassing on the island, he’d lock us up and throw away the key,’ added Lorraine morosely.
‘Well, we’re just going to have to risk it,’ Larry urged. ‘C’mon – we’ll use my Mud Skipper to get us to the island. Lydia should be down with Suzy right now. We’ll have a nice cup of tea, and then we’ll cast off.’
‘What’s a Mud Skipper?’ Rachel asked.
‘Oh, I think you better ask Suzy that,’ Larry chuckled.