CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tea and Tyranny
Lorraine coughed. ‘Looks like the flu, Mr Pillings,’ she sputtered into the phone. ‘I think its catching… Yes – I’ll keep you posted about tomorrow – goodbye,’ she added with a husky voice and put the phone back down.
Rachel and George sat quietly on Morag and Elspeth’s couch; their glum faces studied Lorraine, who looked most upset. Curled up into a ball, growling and twitching its paws, Flotsam carried on dreaming as it lay in Rachel’s lap (however, its brother, Jetsam, had gone to another home that better suited its feisty and belligerent moods).
‘I’ve just lied to your headmaster,’ grumbled Lorraine, ‘and it wasn’t even a white one. So much for making a good first impression at school.’
Rachel plucked up a morsel of courage and said, ‘It’s Mr Mallings’ fault, Mum. Dad wouldn’t have slammed on the brakes if his scatty cat hadn’t bolted out of the blue right in front of us.’
‘At least Wilberforce’s back in his kennel,’ George added. ‘It took all four of us to drag him away from the shed.’
‘Did you speak to Stewart about the brakes on the van?’ Lorraine asked Rachel. ‘Your father needs to keep his job.’
‘Yes, Mum, he’s bunking off French,’ she replied. ‘His grandparents have agreed to bring him down without his mother’s knowledge.’
Lorraine’s eyes lit up. ‘I haven’t seen Bill and Bella in ages,’ she said. ‘I better tell your father, as he’ll want to show off his baking prowess.’
Rachel stretched out her arms and stifled a yawn. ‘Dad’s probably going to be in the bath all morning getting rid of that awful smell,’ she said and gave her hands a cautious sniff. ‘I’ve just washed my hands, but they still smell a bit funny – what was in that rubbish bag, Mum?’
‘Oh – just some medicine and jars of perfume,’ she replied vaguely.
✽✽✽
Elspeth disappeared into her mountainous airing cupboard and perused the stacked shelves. Shoving the lofty steel ladder along its metal rails, she finally staggered up the rungs and tottered back down with a tower of tea towels. ‘Well, I think we can spare a few of these,’ she snorted. ‘Anyway, most of them are probably out of date by now, but your father and Stewart can at least make good use of them – and I’m sure Captain Eddie wouldn’t mind them going to a good home.’
Rachel’s puzzled expression vanished as Elspeth flashed a somewhat faded threadbare towel in front of her that had a beady-eyed red lobster on every corner, pointing its razor-sharp pincers at the fishy menu:
Captain Eddie’s Fish Bar Restaurant
Our prices are as cheap as chips!
Welcome to our new menu. We pride ourselves on sourcing local produce. Please note that if you are unfortunate enough to have an allergic reaction to any of our dishes and are hospitalised, we will only charge you half price, and on your next visit, you’ll receive a complimentary drink of our famous Lemon Sprat Tea.
Freshwater Moon Jellyfish
Crab Cauldron Soup (Quite Spicy)
Organic Oysters in Pickled Orange Slices
Haddock Surprise in Prickly Pineapple Sauce
Honey Glazed Lemon Sole with Snail Dippers
Please note that our dishes come with complementary Nettle Salad.
‘Sounds delicious,’ Rachel smirked.
‘Eddie’s always experimenting, so it’s best to stick to the traditional dishes – you know – just to be safe,’ warned Elspeth darkly. ‘Bob Turner at number seventeen had the Jumping Bean Fish Pie a few months ago, and he’s never been able to walk straight since.’
‘Um – I think I’ll give Captain Eddie’s restaurant a miss,’ said Rachel, feeling a bit queasy from reading his fanciful and dubious menu.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Rachel,’ Elspeth informed her. ‘As of last week, Eddie has a new trainee chef working for him,’ she added chirpily. ‘His aunt’s an old friend of mine. He’s just out of catering college and eager to try out his new culinary skills.’
Rachel still wasn’t convinced.
Elspeth leaned in. ‘If you mention my name – I’m sure he’ll cook you some burger and fries,’ she chuckled. ‘Now, I’ll take these towels down to George, and I’ll get him to pop them around to your house.’
‘Um – d’you mind if I wash my hands again?’ Rachel asked. ‘I can’t seem to get the strange smell out of my skin.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Elspeth. ‘Here, take one of these towels and oh, be careful with the taps – the plumbing can be a bit temperamental...’
When Elspeth departed, Rachel marvelled at her ornate bathroom.
There wasn’t an inch of pine on the walls: seashells of all shapes and colour covered the walls and ceiling. The opulent décor made the Cook’s bathroom back in Princes Drive look decidedly drab. With four crystal chandeliers hanging down from the high vaulted ceiling, a barnacle-encrusted washbasin and a nautical-inspired cerulean marble bathtub as its centrepiece, their bathroom wasn’t fit for a king – but a queen.
Decisions – decisions, Rachel thought, sniffing the bars of soap stacked high in the crab-shelled container that stood beside the washbasin. As she unwrapped her favourite smelly soap, the sporadic wind battered the window. Taking Elspeth’s warning to heart, she slowly turned the hot tap on, but the plumbing just burped and fell silent, so she turned the cold tap on, but the pipes just groaned and shuddered.
A sudden gust of wind ruffled the dried seaweed blinds, knocking a red envelope onto the black and white whale-tiled floor. Another gust catapulted the envelope right under Rachel’s left shoe, so she quickly grabbed the thick envelope off the floor and snatched the folded letter that had just fallen out of it. Ignoring her mother’s stern, overly long lecture about eavesdropping and snooping on other people, she unfolded the paper and read the neatly written letter as the wind rattled the blinds:
To Morag & Elspeth:
My dearest friends, it brings me great sadness to inform you that I will probably never see you again. By the time you read this letter, I will be long gone. There’s a chance I will reach our lands, but I must face facts that I’m on a fool’s errand, and I will be forever lost in the mire.
As the scales tipped in our favour, we escaped like scared rabbits into the light and left them in darkness. I must bear the brunt of our disgrace. I believe cowardice lies in all our hearts, but only the weak allow it to thrive. I pray you will forgive my past transgressions that have brought us so much sorrow. I enclose a photograph of happier times. May Madeline’s mercy save us from an eternity in the shadows.
Thomas
Rachel thought long and hard, berating herself as she tried to remember Larry’s exact words back at Shire’s Waterpark. Whirlpools the newspaper had reported; an accident by all accounts, but now she knew the truth.
She wondered if she should tell her mother the whereabouts of her brother, but she dismissed that thought, as Morag and Elspeth would have probably told her by now. With curious and nervous expectation, she pulled the photograph out of the envelope.
A double dome tent dominated the crowded scene. A gathering of happy faces, bulging boots, bulbous noses and oversized frizzy hair stood below a tall man, whose long beard was so thick and long, it appeared he had grown an upside-down Christmas tree on his chin.
By his side, a giant moustached man held twin girls aloft on his muscular biceps. At the head of the circus troupe, a suave man dressed in flamboyant breeches and tall boots cracked a whip at an invisible lion.
At the very front, a dwarf sat alone with his arms and legs crossed, his impatient face staring out of the picture.
Rachel brought the photograph right up to her nose – and a rush of recognition met her eyes. Goosebumps spread down her arms as she stared at the two girls who had the same grinning expression –
SCREACHHHHHHHHHH!
The water pipes shook violently.
Another screeching sound blasted out. Both taps suddenly burst into life, belching out a torrent of hot and cold water. Scorching steam shot skywards, smothering her hands and the black and white photograph.
She jumped backwards in shock, tripped over the red lobster chair and fell against the rim of the bath with a painful thud. With her head throbbing from her clumsy fall, susurrus sounds echoed all around her.
Rachel stared into the photograph where whispering echoes brought colour and life to the circus troupe who found their voice and spoke:
‘Are we almost ready, Mr Wyman?’
‘C’mon, Nettie, I can’t keep this face for long.’
‘Call that a whip, Clarence, it couldn’t calm an alley cat.’
‘Speak for yourself, Cecil, my June’s got redder lips than you.’
‘Right, take your places, everyone,’ a man boomed. ‘Now, I only have enough chemicals for one more photograph – so let’s make it count, eh.’
Out of the centre of the photograph, a young girl skipped towards a dwarf and sat beside him. Mimicking his posture, she crossed her legs, gave the invisible photographer the thumbs up, and smacked her lips against the dwarf’s craggy cheek.
Rachel choked, and a lump stuck in her throat. She felt her heart stopped beating as she recognised her deceased grandmother, Nettie, whose smiling face looked out of the animated photograph that trembled and then exploded with a burst of blinding blue light.
Rachel felt woozy, the bathroom blurred and swirled, and she barely registered the door bursting open and the terrifying scream.
‘GET IT AWAY FROM HER – GET IT AWAY FROM HER!’
‘FLUSH IT DOWN THE TOILET – FLUSH IT DOWN THE –’
Rachel fought to stay awake, but her mind fogged over. A pair of warm hands gently cupped her head, and she felt droplets of warm water dripping down her flushed cheeks.
A faraway voice pleaded, ‘Rachel, don’t you dare leave me –’
Rachel heard no more as she felt her whole being falling into oblivion. Above her, the three faint shadows coalesced into dusty blackness, and as they crumbled away, she finally lost conciseness and blacked out.
✽✽✽
‘I’ve just given her a sedative. She’ll sleep for a while.’
‘Is she… is she going to be all right?’
‘I don’t know, Lorraine – I really don’t know.’
‘She’s been fine – well, all apart from the nightmares.’
‘What nightmares?’
‘They began the day after we moved in – but…’
‘But what?’
‘One night, she screamed – she screamed out their name.’
‘My God – does he know?’
‘No, he’s completely in the dark.’
‘And we better keep it that way – at least for now.’
‘What about Gravelings and her education?’
‘Bellingtons would harness her gift, but Gravelings will do for now.’
‘Thank you, Doctor Gloucester. You’ve always been here for us and especially for Rachel when she was a baby.’
‘You remember Doctor Foster don’t you?’
‘Why, yes – Fidelia and I are old friends.’
‘How’s she keeping?’
‘She’s slowly getting better. The invigorating sea air is doing her a world of good. Now listen, Lorraine, I would like Fidelia to meet Rachel – just to give you a second opinion. But due to her ongoing illness, you would need to visit her at her place of residence.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘She’s renting a room above Captain Eddie’s Fish Bar Restaurant.’
‘Oh, yes – who could forget Eddie’s restaurant.’
‘Right, when you get to the restaurant, remember to say nothing at first. Just give Eddie my card and say Gilbert sends his regards…’
✽✽✽
Lorraine sat down in her living room and stared up at the ceiling.
‘She’ll be fine,’ said Paul softly, giving his wife a thoughtful glance as he entered the living room with a steaming cup of tea and an iced bun.
‘Shall I check up on her again?’
‘It’s only been fifteen minutes since you last checked on her,’ Paul told Lorraine. ‘She’s as tough as old boots,’ he added firmly.
‘I know,’ she replied, sipping on her lukewarm tea. ‘I worry too much.’
Paul patted her on the back of her hand. He switched off the light and sat down beside her. When their leather sofa had finished wheezing, they leant back and watched the nine o’clock news.
✽✽✽
Lorraine couldn’t concentrate on the irreverent news anymore, so she made her excuses, slowly tiptoed up the creaky stairs and crept into her daughter’s bedroom, but she needn’t had bothered: slurping down a glass of ice-cold water, Rachel grinned and asked her mother for a refill.
Lorraine waited patiently for her to empty the second glass of water and without taking no for an answer, she pushed a glass thermometer into the corner of her daughter’s dribbling mouth.
Ignoring her brittle stare, Lorraine puffed up the gaggle of pink goose down pillows, sat down on the bed and pulled the thermometer out of her daughter’s mouth. ‘Your temperature is almost back to normal,’ she said with a sigh of relief. ‘How do you feel, Rachel?’
‘I’m feeling fine now, Mum,’ she said brightly. ‘What’s the time?’
‘Nine thirty, thereabouts.’
‘So, what’s wrong with me?’
‘You’ve had an allergic reaction,’ said Lorraine more tensely. ‘Doctor Gloucester’s bandaged up your frozen fingers, but we’re getting a second opinion, so we’re taking you to see Doctor Foster tomorrow morning.’
‘But what about school, Mum?’ Rachel blurted out.
‘That’s all taken care of,’ said Lorraine placatingly. ‘Your father’s already spoken to Mr Pillings about your sudden illness.’
‘Can I go and visit George tomorrow?’
‘We’ll see. Now, try and get some sleep.’
‘I’ve had enough sleep,’ Rachel huffed, still feeling a bit crotchety. ‘Could you please bring me something to read,’ she added more politely.
Lorraine stood up and gave her a sly smile. ‘Why don’t you look under your pillows,’ she beamed. ‘It’s a little present from your father.’
As her mother shut the door, she tossed the pile of pillows aside until she found her father’s present. Unwrapping the brown paper, she began reading L.C Warbler: Birds of Prey for Beginners with keen interest.
Her father’s neatly written message lay inside the front cover:
To Rachel:
I found this little gem at last week’s book fair. You asked about the wildlife down here, so I bought you this informative book to add to your growing collection of birds of prey.
I even got the author to sign it for you. By chance, I met him at the bus stop. Funny thing is, he seemed to know me and started talking about the good old days. I just humoured him and went along with it. He knows his birds all right, but I think he’s as mad as a box of frogs.
Love
Dad.
Rachel read the first two chapters and snapped the book shut. Puffing up her pillows, she laid back down and thought about Thomas Shire’s letter that had suddenly turned up after all these years; her uncle knew Morag and Elspeth well enough – well enough to tell them about his journey, but she wondered if her mother knew as well.
Turning this way and that, Rachel couldn’t get comfortable no matter how much she fidgeted. Her troubled mind fought sleep, and she thought about her late grandmother and the dwarf she had kissed on the cheek. Moreover, she thought about George, and if she told him the truth about Thomas’ animated photograph, he would probably think she was as mad as Lionel Chestnut Warbler.
✽✽✽
What’s keeping them? Rachel thought.
Her parents should be ready by now. Thoroughly bored, she began righting the rosy-cheeked garden gnomes that had lain face down in the dirt since last night’s blustery gale. The town clock chimed eleven times.
We’re going to be late, Rachel thought, but the front door flew open.
‘C’mon, Lorraine – our ride will be here soon,’ said Paul.
‘Dad, why is your van up on blocks?’ Rachel asked, looking worried.
Paul craned his head. ‘Stewart couldn’t fix it the other day,’ he told her inattentively, pushing up on his toes and peering down the road. ‘He said the spare parts are really tough to get hold of, so he told us he’s off to Gribble’s scrapyard straight after school.’
I bet he’s bunking off French again, Rachel thought.
Pulling the warped front door towards her, Lorraine swiftly locked it.
‘So, how are we getting to the surgery?’ Rachel asked.
‘We’re meeting Doctor Foster at her new lodgings – and we’re taking the tram for this afternoon’s appointment,’ panted Lorraine. ‘No doubt Gladys will get us there in no time at all – ah, here she comes now.’
Utterly confused about riding a tram through a town without tracks, Rachel followed her parents into the cul-de-sac. A squeal of brakes and somebody shouting, ‘BLOODY MANIAC’ shattered the silence.
The smell of burning rubber wafted in their direction; unimpeded, a green tram sped over the speed bumps with a flock of seagulls in tow.
The Cooks leapt back as the tram hit the kerb with smouldering tyres.
Hundreds of bugs smothered the tram’s number eleven placard, and even the windscreen had its fair share of squished insects. The tram’s front tyres looked like paddles from a steamboat; however, its rear tyres resembled those used on a farm tractor. A ring of rubber tyres wrapped themselves around its riveted body. Covered with bird mess, desiccated crab shells, seaweed and a few other unmentionables, the tram had a surprising number of nautical pendants decorating its very cramped roof, which came with four brass foghorns and a wonky weather vane.
The tram trembled then rumbled.
Seagulls squawked and flew away as the tram door whooshed open. With timid steps, Lorraine edged closer and peered inside.
‘Well, me dearies, are you coming aboard the number eleven or not?’ asked a woman with a hearty laugh. ‘I haven’t got all day, you know.’
Lorraine took the plunge and boarded the tram that wasn’t a tram.
Rachel followed her father through the tram door, and in the dingy light, she watched her mother hug the tram driver affectionately.
‘Gladys,’ Lorraine squealed in delight. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘Lorraine, you’ve aged a bit – but in a good way,’ Gladys remarked. ‘There’s not a grey hair on your head, and you’ve grown it long, too.’
Their warm embrace ended.
‘Well, look who we have over here,’ Gladys told Paul, her eyes welling up. ‘Come over here and give me a hug and a kiss you old softy.’
Paul looked petrified and took a sharp step back. Lorraine touched Gladys’s elbow and quickly shook her head.
‘Oh, pardon me,’ quipped Gladys all of a fluster.
‘That’s quite all right,’ replied Paul and shook Gladys’ rough hands, but he shied away from her as if she had some disease that was catching.
‘And the young lady on the steps is Rachel – our daughter,’ Lorraine told Gladys with parental praise and motioned Rachel to come forward. ‘C’mon – don’t be shy – Gladys is a very old friend of mine.’
‘Hey – less of the old,’ Gladys retorted.
Rachel took a step up, gave the rosy chubby-cheeked tram driver a smile and took in Gladys’ unusual attire: a tarnished black leather belt held up her white canvas trousers, and her dark navy blue woollen blouse had shrunk down a size. Tied around her neckline, a black silk sailor’s kerchief displayed a white anchor. On her head, she wore a stiff, flat wide-brimmed white straw hat with a blue ribbon tied around the crown.
‘Please to meet you,’ Rachel told her, shook her tattooed hand and thought, Gladys wouldn’t have looked out of place on an old whaling ship.
‘Your mother has told me all about you,’ beamed Gladys.
‘Not everything I hope,’ replied Rachel shyly.
‘No – just your bad points,’ chortled Gladys mischievously.
Lorraine laughed, but Paul just stared at Gladys and gave her a funny look. ‘I think we better get a move on,’ he said churlishly. ‘Rachel has an appointment with the doctor you know – and she needs to be on time.’
‘You’re quite right,’ said Gladys and settled into her whale-boned inspired driving seat. ‘Pick a seat in the middle if you want the best view of the town,’ she added briskly. ‘Watch out for the slippery seaweed on the starboard side, as I haven’t had time to mop it all up after last night’s tourist ride – and we were packed in here like sardines.’
Rachel settled down in the dryest bucket seat and glanced out of the nearest porthole window. Her father sat beside her, but her mother sat behind Gladys, nattering away to her until the engine revved into life.
‘Do you hear that?’ Gladys asked her passengers.
Everyone listened.
Paul sighed. ‘No – I can’t hear anything,’ he told her, slightly irked the tram hadn’t budged at all.
‘Well, of course, you can’t hear anything,’ Gladys chuckled, ‘as the ship’s engine is tuned to perfection –’
‘– Now, hang on a mo,’ Paul cut in, tilting his ruffled toupee to one side with keen curiosity. ‘Hmmm… now that you mention it, I can hear a strange scrubbing sound – and there’s an odd snapping noise, too.’
Rachel could hear it as well, but her father suddenly squealed and leapt onto his seat with eyes wild with fright.
‘D-down t-there on the p-port side,’ Paul stuttered, pointing at a dank pool of murky water that had an unsightly spume on its oily surface.
The water churned.
Rachel watched fascinated as a couple of beady yellow eyes protruded out of the water; the eyes blinked a couple of times, and a sliver of red armour emerged with a smattering of acorn barnacles on its back.
‘What on earth’s going on in the stern?’ Gladys demanded.
‘WEIRD CREATURE ON THE PORT SIDE!’ Paul bellowed. ‘It’s got yellow eyes and a flat red face!’
‘Oh, that’s just Nigel – he’s my pet lobster,’ Gladys snorted. ‘He doesn’t normally introduce himself to strangers. Now, are you sure you two haven’t met before?’ she added with a grin and a chuckle.
‘W-what he doing in here – and d-down there?’ Paul spluttered.
‘He likes taking a bath in the bilge,’ Gladys retorted. ‘Just leave him be, and he’ll soon wander off. OK, everyone, we’re ready to cast off.’
Nigel sank slowly below the surface.
Paul got down into his seat, and Rachel helped him with his seatbelt.
His cheeks turned the colour of overripe blueberries as he breathed in, and she struggled to close the rusty buckle around his ample waist.
‘Welcome aboard my ship everyone,’ said Gladys gleefully, adjusting her oyster rearview mirror. ‘Just like old times, Lorraine, eh?’
‘Exactly like old times, Gladys,’ she answered.
‘Anchors aweigh!’ Gladys trilled and put her foot down.
With oodles of curiosity, Rachel took in her strange surroundings: various buoys of all weird shapes and sizes hung down by coils of thick shipping rope. Back in the stern, odd fishing nets hung down from the ceiling and pinned precariously to the roof, grapnels and harpoons rocked violently from side to side as the tram hit every bump at speed.
Barely two minutes into the journey and Rachel wished she hadn’t wolfed down her lumpy porridge at breakfast: Gladys hadn’t stopped for anything as she had barrelled out of the Forestry Glen and headed towards the town like a woman possessed:
Red traffic lights were treated as a suggestion
Cyclists were deliberately aimed for
Mini-roundabouts mowed down
Pedestrian crossings laughed at
The tram whizzed through the streets of Lower-Inkcome-by-the-sea. Green about gills, Rachel hadn’t watched the town go by and kept her head down, trying her hardest not to think about porridge and the slickly strawberry jam that went with it.
‘We’ll soon be at the seafront, Rachel,’ said Paul, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. ‘We’ll get the bus on the way back – I promise.’
✽✽✽
Rachel staggered out the tram and sucked in the refreshing salty sea breeze that quickly quelled her queasiness. With her stomach settled, she approached her parents, who had just thanked Gladys for the lift.
‘Now, don’t forget to call me if you need a taxi service, a tour of the town or the isles,’ Gladys told her parents, ‘and that goes for you too, young lady,’ she added with a nod and a broad smile at Rachel.
‘How much do we owe you for the ride?’ Lorraine asked.
Gladys just stood there. Her face filled with sadness and a single tear trickled down her cheek. ‘Owe me – you don’t owe me anything, Lorraine,’ she added and threw her arms around her. ‘Just the three of you being here is payment enough.’
‘Now, don’t be a stranger,’ Lorraine added and pulled apart.
‘I won’t – and goodbye, Paul,’ sniffed Gladys, her sadness still with her. ‘It was nice meeting you.’
‘You too, Gladys,’ he replied, but he seemed far away as if he had just remembered something, and it was just on the tip of his tongue.
‘Well, I must dash,’ blustered Gladys, wiping her tear away. ‘I have a few busy hours ahead of me and a pickup at Gravelings at four o’ clock – and with the high winds forecast, it’s going to be a treacherous journey across the causeway and through the sand dunes to Gribble’s scrapyard.’
✽✽✽
The diminutive red and black bricked building looked a sorry sight. Even its twin chimneys, which belched out a torrent of tarry smoke, seemed ready to topple over if someone happened to sneeze close by. The austere Victorian fish bar restaurant appeared out of place stuck in amongst the gaudy seaside shops and amusement arcades.
Parked precariously in a disabled space, a man scratched his baldhead and yawned as he leant against a long silver Rolls Royce. He placed his peaked-cap back onto his head and buried it into his newspaper.
‘C’mon – the entrance is this way,’ said Lorraine, leading them down a dozen well-worn steps that led down to Eddie’s place of business.
Rachel read the restaurant’s sign that swung above the door:
Captain Eddie’s Fish Bar Restaurant
Our prices are as cheap as chips!
Rachel grinned on reading the scrawled words at the foot of the sign:
Burnt offerings our speciality
Lorraine went to open the restaurant’s door, but she held back, startled by a man’s sweaty, pale face and pudgy nose pressed up against the glass that sweltered with slick condensation. The rotund man flung open the door, looked them up and