CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A Boring Tale
Rachel’s shin smarted. Two pairs of hands helped her back up and onto her wobbly feet. The young gentlemen at table seven stood beside her with broad grins as they clapped and cheered her.
Right at the back of the room, the locals were beside themselves and shouted, ‘ENCORE! ENCORE!’ and right at the front, tourists reached for their cameras and phones and took endless pictures of table eleven.
The hubbub came to a sudden sharp end as a heavy chair scraped across the floor. Tight-lipped but fuming, Henry Silverback stood up.
Rachel turned around and met Henry’s thunderous face.
Pieces of steaming stringy pasta and meat dripped down his slick black hair and onto his red tartan jacket and kilt. He eyed everyone in the room with vicious contempt as he slithered and slipped around his table.
Henry snarled at the room and said in a deadly tone, ‘Mark my words – every last one of you is going to pay for this insult!’
A peaked-cap man ran into the room. ‘Your, lordship – I –’ the man began, but he stared at Henry’s tomato-splattered attire.
‘What are you gaping at, Croom?’ Henry barked at his open-mouthed chauffeur. ‘Go and get the phantom started.’
‘Y-yes, your l-lordship – um, at once, your lordship,’ said Croom subserviently and ran back up the stairs like a scared rabbit.
‘Excuse me, Henry – but haven’t you forgotten something.’
Henry whirled around in a fit of rage, his red-stained teeth ready to tear apart the person who dared to disrespect his family’s noble heritage.
Rachel matched his icy stare and stood squarely up to him. ‘One should always keep good care of their possessions,’ she said airily. ‘If I’m not mistaken, Mr Silverback – I believe this is your property?’ she added coolly and held out his slimy riding crop.
Henry hesitated, but with a savage sneer, he snatched the crop from out of her hand, turned around and traipsed towards the stairs, leaving the pungent smell of parmesan cheese in his wake.
✽✽✽
‘That was just amazing – but I think a custard pie to his face would have been even funnier.’
‘It's about time someone stood up to Henry and put him in his place.’
‘Best entertainment I’ve seen in years – and I really mean that.’
‘I didn’t know you had it in you, Rachel,’ said Alice. ‘Miss Pritchard’s going to punish you for sullying the school’s reputation.’
‘I don’t go to Plums anymore,’ Rachel told her with a heavy sigh.
‘But, Rachel – you’re their star pupil,’ Alice replied.
‘My father lost his job, so we had to move,’ she said, recalling that Alice suffered the same fate with her father. ‘I live here now.’
‘I’m so sorry, Rachel,’ said Alice glumly. ‘Whereabouts do you live?’
‘We live along the Forestry Glen at number eleven – it’s right at –’
‘You lucky so and so,’ a boy’s voice cut in.
‘Must be fun living in a treehouse?’ added the boy beside him.
Alice glowered at the gentlemen at table seven. ‘Didn’t your mother tell you it’s rude to earwig on peoples’ conversation?’ she asked them.
‘She’s worse than us,’ said the boy with the short wavy black hair.
‘And Dad’s no better,’ the other boy chipped in, brushing his long blond hair out of his eyes, showing a grin that matched his accomplice.
As they each drew up a chair, their grins grew even wider. ‘Well, Alice – aren’t you going to introduce us?’ asked the black-haired boy.
‘Well, if you insist,’ she snorted. ‘Rachel, I’d like you to meet William and Alfred Plodding. Alfred’s the one with the long golden locks.’
‘You’ve always looked like a girl,’ William sniggered.
‘Please to meet you,’ said Rachel, shaking their hands.
‘You might regret meeting us,’ William chuckled.
‘We’re Eddie’s favourite nephews,’ Alfred imparted.
‘You’re his only nephews,’ Alice harrumphed.
‘HEY, YOU LOT – IT’S ABOUT TO START. YOU WON’T SEE ANYTHING FROM DOWN THERE,’ shouted a girl’s voice from the top of the stairs.
‘WE’LL BE RIGHT UP, MARY,’ William shouted back.
‘WELL, YOU’VE GOT ABOUT TEN MINUTES,’ she added.
‘Since her sixteenth birthday, wouldn’t you say her nagging’s gotten a lot worse?’ Alfred asked William sarcastically.
‘It’s a sister’s job to nag her brothers to death,’ William retorted.
‘What’s about to start?’ asked Rachel, a little puzzled.
They all looked at her agog.
‘You’re kidding, right?’ replied Alfred.
Rachel just shook her head and pursed her lips.
‘So, you’ve never heard of the Inkcome Bore – the world-famous Inkcome Bore?’ asked William in jest.
‘No, I haven’t,’ Rachel replied, a tiny bit irked she hadn’t.
‘I guess she’s been too busy studying Latin,’ Alice smirked.
‘OK, William – tell me about the Inkcome Bore,’ Rachel huffed.
William beamed. ‘The Bore is a magical wave sent by the Gods…’ he began and paused for dramatic effect. ‘It appears at the same time and on the same day every year. The ancient legend says the Bore washes away the evil spirits that lurk on the seabed – OUCH – that hurt!’
‘You deserved that kick,’ Alice told William. ‘Stop telling porkies.’
‘Well, at least half of it wasn’t made up,’ William snorted.
Alice faced Rachel and smiled. ‘The Bore has been a regular visitor here since records began,’ she told her straight, ‘and it brings in the tourists who help to keep Captain Eddie’s restaurant afloat.’
‘You see, his restaurant has the best vantage point –’ Alfred began.
‘YOU’VE GOT ABOUT FIVE MINUTES, BOYS,’ Mary shouted.
‘C’mon – let’s get up there before I go deaf,’ William said.
‘I’m not coming,’ said Alice. ‘I’ve all this muck to clean up – and when you’ve seen one Bore you’ve seen them all,’ she added whimsically.
The Bore must be boring if I’ve never heard of it, thought Rachel, still miffed she hadn’t heard of the unusual phenomenon. ‘I’m the one that caused all this awful mess, Alice – I’ll stay and help you clean up.’
✽✽✽
Rachel giggled. ‘It’s a little bit big for me,’ she told Alice, fitting into Joyce’s plastic uniform, which squeaked annoyingly as she tried it on for size. ‘So, what end of the table would you like me to start on first?’
‘Well, as you’re new to the job – how about giving the glass a jolly good clean,’ she replied. ‘I don’t think it’s ever had a proper scrub down.’
‘Should I get my mum to give me a leg up?’ Rachel chortled.
‘Just start at the bottom of the dome,’ Alice grinned, ‘but be careful with the rubber seals as they’re rotting away. We’ve had a couple of small floods, and Eddie needs to get them fixed, but he’s such a penny pincher.’
Rachel dragged the bucket of soapy water across the slippery tiles. With some effort, she pulled her tight-fitting yellow rubber gloves up to her elbows, but she heard movement coming from the back of the room.
A stumbling shadowy figure sat down at the farthest table and rested their crutches up against a chair. Rachel thought the person just wanted some peace and quiet, well away from the stomping crowd above them.
‘Henry’s tablecloth is soaked in spaghetti sauce,’ cringed Alice in disgust. ‘Maybe I should just chuck it in the rubbish bin. What a ghastly tartan pattern. I think Henry’s ancestors must have been colour blind.’
‘I feel sorry for Judy having a father like him,’ said Rachel bitterly, and got down on her knees and began rubbing the ingrained dirt, fresh pasta and sauce off the grotty mildew glass.
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ said Alice heatedly.
‘What d’you mean by that?’
‘Remember when you made Prefect? Well, Judy went sick a day later.’
‘Yes, I remember she had a nasty knock playing netball,’ Rachel said. ‘Those bruises on her neck and shoulders didn’t heal for weeks – and she was off sick for well over a month.’
Alice’s face turned sour. ‘Judy never played netball that day,’ she seethed. ‘Miss Pritchard helped Henry cover up her injuries with a lie.’
‘He did that to her – didn’t he?’ Rachel snarled.
‘I found Judy crying behind the bike shed,’ scowled Alice. ‘She broke down – and told me everything about his drunken rages and cruelty.’
‘And I just gave Henry his riding crop,’ Rachel fumed and squeezed her sponge, thinking it was Henry’s thick-skinned neck.
‘You weren’t to know,’ Alice said.
Rachel plunged the sponge into the bucket, thinking it was Henry’s head. Water splashed everywhere, and her throbbing scar turned to pain. Wrenching the gloves back out of the water, she glared down at the huge split in the rubber. Ripping the wet gloves off, she cast them aside and asked Alice, ‘Where did you get this water from – it’s salty –?’
‘I – I DON’T BELIEVE IT – IT’S – IT’S TURNING – IT’S TURNING.’
‘What on earth is going on up there?’ Alice snapped.
‘EVERYONE GET BACK – RUN FOR GOD’S SAKE – RUN!’
Terrified screams rang out, and heavy plumes of dust fell from the ceiling as stampeding footsteps thundered across it. The pool of water near Rachel’s feet rippled, and to her astonishment, it turned tail and flowed back through the glass with an unnatural slurping sound.
The rumbling sound intensified. The bucket of salty water sploshed about; it churned and spewed over the rim and rushed back through the glass, leaving the bucket high and dry and spinning across the floor.
Alice grabbed Rachel’s hand and went to pull her away, but the dark shadowy mass fell upon the grubby glass-domed window. The Bore came crashing down against the glass, blotting out the remaining sunlight.
Turbulent water thrashed up against the glass dome.
The temperature dropped, and a sliver of yellow light squiggled in front of their eyes. By its side, another fragment of yellow light joined it. Squiggles of red, orange, green, cyan, blue and violet colours burst forth, their haunting glow made brighter by their adjacent twin.
Creepy wriggling tentacles blossomed into a mishmash of colours.
Thousands of fringe-like tentacles slithered across the glass with bloated bell-shaped bodies that pulsated like beating hearts.
Rachel recoiled at the sight of so many jellyfish and against her better judgement, she let go of Alice’s sweaty hand and kept her fear at bay as she stepped towards the glass to face the countless fiery jumbled mass of jellyfish that spun around like crazy Catherine Wheels.
‘Rachel – what are you doing?’ Alice hissed. ‘Keep back.’
Rachel stepped no further and stared at the dog-eared shape that slid across the slimy glass until it came to rest in front of her. Held fast by the jellyfishes’ icky sickly slime, Thomas Shire’s photograph trembled against the glass as it came alive and whispered:
‘Any room for an old salt and his wife, Mr Wyman?’
‘It will be a tight squeeze, but I think I can fit you both in.’
‘There’s plenty of room at the back – just don’t step on my boots.’
Torn and tattered, the soaking wet picture suddenly burst into colour.
The frizzy-haired clown took a step back; Rachel’s jaw dropped as Larry, and Lydia Lido slipped into the picture and moved beside him. Her jaw dropped even further as her young grandmother, Nettie, skipped towards the dwarf and plonked herself right next to him, crossed her legs and gave the invisible photographer a smile and the thumbs up –
The room shuddered and then let out a terrible groan.
An explosive sucking sound followed and pulled the photograph, the jellyfish and the Bore away from the mud-splattered glass.
Bright sunlight relit the room. Rachel and Alice jumped out of their skins, as something crashed behind them. They whipped their heads around, and their eyes met Lorraine and an elderly woman.
With her arm gently wrapped around the old woman’s bony shoulder, Lorraine asked her, ‘Doctor Foster – Fidelia are you all right?’
Alice bent down and picked up the doctor’s crutches.
Fidelia’s wild wretched eyes stared into Rachel’s face. ‘I know you saw him,’ she told her. ‘Don’t you see – he’s alive – my brother’s alive…’