CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Grumpy Pirate
Captain Eddie beamed with pride. A small crowd of customers praised him and took plenty of pictures. Right in front of him stood an excited couple with their twins who plucked up the courage and asked him for an autograph. Eddie grinned as he signed their well-thumbed tour guide.
‘That was amazing, Eddie – how on earth did you pull that off?’
‘Best magical trick I’ve ever seen in ages. Of course, it’s all done with mirrors, but the spinning jellyfish at the end was a stroke of genius.’
‘Book me table eleven for next year’s show – I want a ringside seat.’
✽✽✽
Rachel, Alice, Alfred and William sat at table seven.
‘Well, at least we caught the end of it,’ William told Alfred.
‘Now, I wonder what made the Bore veer off course like that,’ Alfred postulated. ‘Something to do with the moon’s magnetic pull I suspect.’
‘I think the Gods looked down on Captain Eddie’s fine establishment and demanded his windows needed a jolly good wash,’ William smirked.
‘Do you want another kick, William?’ smiled Alice.
‘Go ahead, Alice – he’s a glutton for punishment,’ Alfred sniggered.
‘Those disgusting jellyfish gave me the creeps,’ said Alice, shivering at the thought of them. ‘Why on earth were they glowing like that?’
‘My guess is they were a bit peckish and wanted to eat us for lunch,’ Alfred replied. ‘You know they use their bioluminescent to lure their prey into their tentacles and use their deadly venom to dissolve the flesh.’
‘What a lovely thought,’ Alice remarked, scrunching up her face. ‘I’m going to have nightmares about them now.’
‘You’re very quiet, Rachel?’ William asked.
Rachel broke out of her thoughts. ‘Sorry, I was thinking about Doctor Foster,’ she replied. ‘She said her brother’s not dead.’
‘Of course, he’s not dead,’ Alice retorted. ‘He lives in an old peoples’ home down by the quay. My aunt knows him – and he’s very much alive.’
‘Looks like Fidelia’s gone mad listening to other peoples’ problems,’ Alfred said. ‘I think she needs to see a doctor –’
A boy in his white chef’s uniform attended their table. ‘The kitchen’s about to close, so can I get anyone a drink or maybe a sandwich?’ he asked with a wide grin, rubbing his jet-black hair under his itchy hairnet.
‘Hey, Jack – can we put the drinks on our tab?’ Alfred sniggered.
‘No need, Alfred – Eddie’s buying everyone a round of drinks,’ he replied, looking quite shocked as his words left his mouth.
‘Well, there’s a turn up for the book,’ said William dumbfounded. ‘What’s come over him? He’s never bought a round of drinks before.’
‘Eddie’s wallet been rusted shut over all the years of misuse, and I’ll wager he’s managed to prise it open,’ Alfred snorted. ‘I’m betting he has a few doubloons and pieces of eight tucked away in there for a rainy day.’
Jack peered down at Rachel. ‘Would the newcomer at table seven like a free drink,’ he asked her warmly.
Rachel gazed into his grey eyes that glittered through the scratched lenses of his broken black glasses (its bridge fixed with thick red tape).
Alice nudged Rachel’s arm, snapping her out of her overly long gaze.
‘Um… what about a chocolate milkshake,’ Rachel said at last.
‘For your information, Jack, our young newcomer's name is Rachel,’ beamed Alice. ‘She’s a very old friend of mine – we both went to Plums.’
‘Please to meet you, Rachel,’ said Jack brightly. ‘Any friend of Alice is a friend of mind,’ he added with deep sincerity and shook her hand. ‘Now, what would the rest of you like?’
‘I think we should go with the newcomer’s choice,’ offered Alfred, and everyone at table seven nodded their agreement.
‘Chocolate milkshakes all around,’ smiled Jack and bustled away.
✽✽✽
Rachel slurped down the dregs of her milkshake with a well-bitten straw. She had joined in with the conversation, but her mind was elsewhere, and she couldn’t stop thinking about Thomas Shire’s odd photograph.
Her mother had taken Doctor Foster back to her room, while her father played round after round of darts and took advantage of Eddie’s offer of free drinks and gulped down pint after pint of meady ale.
Over to her right, she glowered at William who held Alfred in a bizarre headlock as he explained the most efficient way of fighting off a grizzly bear. He only released his tight grip on his brother's neck when someone crept up behind him and gave him a sharp clip round the ear.
‘T-thanks, S-Stew,’ Alfred spluttered, coming up for air.
Stewart beamed back at Rachel’s surprised face. ‘So, Rachel – you’ve finally met these two reprobates?’ he muttered, looking a bit flustered.
‘Here – who are you calling reprobates,’ William scoffed, sounding mildly offended. ‘We learnt all our reprobating from you, Stew.’
Stewart gave William an exasperated sideways glance and quickly pulled up a chair. He eyed every one of them with a worried look. ‘I have a pot of good news – but I have buckets of bad news,’ he told them.
‘We’ll take the good news first, Stew,’ said Alice.
‘The teachers at Gravelings are going on strike,’ he spouted.
William gave Alfred a high five. ‘I knew they wouldn’t want to teach the likes of us anymore. The teachers can’t handle the rough with the smooth,’ he chortled with a smile that spoke of a job well done.
Alice shook her head. ‘Your science teacher Mr Rawlings is probably breathing a sigh of relief after what happened last week,’ she told them.
‘I know I’m going to regret asking this,’ Rachel frowned, ‘but what happened last week?’
‘Mr Rawlings had just finished his talk on fire safety in the laboratory when William burped near a Bunsen burner,’ sighed Alice. ‘Mr Rawlings’ eyebrows got singed, but his toupee bore the brunt of the flames.’
‘Nine hot dogs for lunch – possibly a school record,’ Alfred guffawed.
‘And what about the bad news, Stew?’ Rachel asked.
Stewart’s face looked grave, and even William and Alfred stopped laughing about Mr Rawlings’ burnt hairpiece and remained tight-lipped.
‘Gribble’s scrapyard is shut for the foreseeable future – so no more spare parts for our candyfloss machine,’ said Stewart, giving Rachel an uncomfortable look, ‘and no spare parts your father’s ice-cream van.’
‘But, Stew, my dad needs the van else he’s out of a job,’ she aired.
‘And Bumbles need to keep their customers,’ he added gloomily.
‘But why has it shut?’ Alfred demanded.
‘There’s been another death in the family,’ said Stewart glumly. ‘The youngest Mr Gribble has unfortunately popped his proverbial clogs.’
‘Didn’t his father die only a few days ago?’ Alice inquired.
‘Yes, and that’s why the boys in blue are buzzing around the Gribble’s scrapyard like busy bees in spring,’ Stewart bemoaned.
‘I’ve heard the police are investigating foul play,’ Alfred chipped in.
‘And they’ve taped off the entire scrapyard,’ Steward added.
‘That must have cost a small fortune,’ William snorted.
‘The police are still questioning the Gribble’s butler,’ said Stewart, ‘but I’m sure he didn’t do it – so that just leaves the Gribble’s only child.’
‘Don’t be daft, Stew,’ Alfred scoffed, shaking his mane of hair. ‘You know Sophronia’s been locked up in that institution for like an ice age.’
‘I assume you mean Bellingtons,’ added Alice guardedly. ‘Probably the most exclusive boarding school this side of the border.’
‘Bellingtons is built like a fortress,’ William told them.
‘Built more like a prison if you ask me,’ Stewart said.
‘I’ve heard a nasty rumour about that place,’ said Alice, sounding mysterious. ‘Petula Wilding use to go to Bellingtons – well, she did up until about a month ago,’ she added, sounding even more mysterious.
‘Well, go on,’ pressed Rachel, hanging on her every word.
‘Apparently, Petula’s sweet tooth got the better of her, and she stole Sophronia’s black liquorice wheels,’ replied Alice sinisterly. ‘Petula was hospitalised the very next day, as most of her teeth had either decayed or fallen out and even her lips had turned deathly black.’
‘Yuk – that’s gross,’ Rachel grimaced, wishing she hadn’t asked about the nasty rumour in the first place.
‘Mrs Rose Dandelion, Bellingtons’ headmistress, found out the truth of the matter and punished Sophronia severely for smuggling in sweets into the school,’ Alice told them reservedly. ‘I heard she only got out of solidarity confinement because one of the school governors intervened.’
‘So, it’s obvious she’s not a suspect,’ Alfred advocated.
‘Gladys told me they’ve put a round-the-clock policeman on guard outside the main gate,’ Stewart informed them. ‘With a murderer on the loose, Detective Sergeant Ian Inchman isn’t taking any chances what with his new promotion and all.’
Rachel sighed. ‘Well, Stewart, we don’t really have much choice – now do we?’ she said with a heavy heart. ‘We’ve got to get into the scrapyard without getting arrested,’ she added apprehensively.
‘To be honest, I’m more worried about the getting murdered bit,’ added Stewart light-heartedly but nobody laughed.
‘If your parents find out what you’re planning – they’ll probably murder you instead,’ Alice told Rachel reprovingly.
Rachel gave Alice a look of just you dare tell them.
Stewart clapped his hands together in glee. ‘Well, I’m definitely in,’ he smirked gleefully. ‘So, d’you boys want to go scrumping for scrap?’
Alfred and William looked at one another and grinned joyously.
‘Just try and stop us, Stew,’ William chuckled.
‘Scrumping’s in our blood,’ Alfred added.
‘As Head Girl, I can’t – I won’t let you lot go,’ snapped Alice. ‘It’s my responsibility to keep Gravelings’ pupils on the right side of the law.’
‘I s’ppose you’re going to split on us?’ Stewart snarled, flashing Alice a scathing look. ‘And here’s me thinking you were still one of us?’
Alice ignored Stewart’s cutting remark, but it still hurt. ‘Anyway, how are you going to get across the estuary? Do you even have a boat – or a car that floats? Even at low tide, the causeway’s difficult to navigate. It’s downright dangerous and foolhardy to even attempt a crossing,’ she protested, out of breath and out of excuses why they shouldn’t go.
‘She’s got a point,’ Alfred piped up.
William kicked him.
‘And how are you going to get by the police on guard without being spotted, eh?’ added Alice smugly. ‘Admit it – you don’t have a plan –?’
A hairless tattooed arm slammed a poster down on the table. Riddled with dart pinholes, the poster advertised Pirates’ Night down at the Grumpy Sailor. ‘I think this should give us a diversion,’ Gladys told Alice bluntly. ‘Bob Jones wants me to kidnap his dog Finkle, and I have a plan for getting into the scrapyard – so who wants to come along for the ride?’
✽✽✽
‘Just hold still for a little bit longer… there, all done, Dad,’ said Rachel and carefully placed the green paint pot down on the kitchen table, stood back and admired her creative handiwork. ‘Right, just try and sit still for ten minutes – the quick-drying paint should be cured by then.’
‘Can I at least breathe?’ asked Paul grumpily. ‘I’m parched – and I could do with a strong cup of tea to wet my whistle.’
‘Now, if you really want to get into character, you should have a grog of rum,’ Lorraine told Paul frivolously. ‘The scar down your father’s cheek is a nice touch, Rachel. I always knew you had an artistic streak.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she grinned and stepped towards the sink to fill the kettle with water. ‘D’you think Dad’s parrot is ready for Pirates’ Night?’
The clock on the kitchen wall chimed five times. On the dining room wall, the Cooks’ ageing cuckoo clock hadn’t made an appearance, and the freshly painted songbird on Paul’s shoulder hadn’t made a sound, either.
‘The bird still looks a bit dishevelled – but it will have to do,’ Lorraine muttered. ‘Cheer up, Paul – you look like you’re going to a funeral.’
‘I’m going to miss the championship darts match at Captain Eddies,’ he said tetchily. ‘And why all the rush? The festivities don’t start for at least another couple of hours.’
‘Gladys phoned and said there’s been an accident along the High Street,’ sighed Lorraine exasperatedly. ‘Anyway, you can play darts with the locals in the Grumpy Sailor’s saloon bar.’
‘I bet they’re not dressed up like some fanciful pantomime dame,’ griped Paul bitterly. ‘And do I have to wear this long curly wig – it itches?’
The kettle boiled. Rachel dropped a teabag into her father’s favourite mug, and her head disappeared into the cupboard.
‘We’re going there for Rachel’s sake,’ Lorraine whispered. ‘All her friends are going to the Grumpy Sailor for Pirates’ Night – so it will look odd if she doesn’t go as well, and you never know, you might actually enjoy yourself.’
‘Is George going along?’
‘You know he isn’t – he’s been grounded.’
‘Here you go, Dad,’ said Rachel and handed her father a piping hot cup of tea. ‘Two sugars – oh, I couldn’t find any grog in the cupboard.’
Lorraine chuckled and gave Rachel a sly grin, but she stared over her shoulder at the kitchen clock, whose ticking seemed more urgent. ‘Well, shiver me timbers, I’d better get shipshape and Bristol fashion for tonight’s entertainment,’ she blustered. ‘Right, I think I’ve made just enough cardboard cutlasses for a flotilla of budding young pirates.’
Rachel looked confused and asked her, ‘Cutlasses – what cutlasses?’
‘Oh, didn’t I tell you,’ Lorraine snorted, acting all innocent. ‘Gladys has kindly offered to ferry the Forestry Glen’s children to the Grumpy Sailor tonight. Your father and I are helping her out, but she might be a little bit late – something about a surprise for the kiddiewinks.’
✽✽✽
The sun began to set behind the treehouses, and the clouds rolled inland.
Lorraine rechecked her watch for the fourth time and started tapping her foot. ‘Where’s Gladys got to? We’re going to be late for the opening ceremony,’ she moaned, more to herself than anyone else in earshot.
Rachel peered down the street. Mrs Muckle corralled her brood of children into the cul-de-sac. The Shuttlecock’s small terrier, Terrence, had escaped from his garden and joined in at the end of the conga line.
At the head of the long snaking line, the portly one-eyed pirate held his cardboard cutlass high. He gave Rachel and Lorraine a merry wave and sang another sea shanty as the pirate children followed his lead.
‘Give him a uniform, and it goes to his head,’ Lorraine smirked.
‘Well, you did want Dad to get into character,’ Rachel reminded her, ‘and at least he’s not grumpy anymore –’
BOOOOOOOOOOOM!
A billowing silhouette blotted out the sinking sun and its glorious orange hues. The sonic boom sounded out again. Rolling white clouds of smoke shot out of the silhouette that had trundled into the cul-de-sac.
The children went wild, and their parents roared even louder than their offspring. Tall timber masts rose above them with swelling white sails and a tatty Jolly Roger that hung on for dear life in the brisk wind. The hulking wooden hull of a pirate ship halted outside number eleven.
‘AHOY DOWN THERE – ARE YOU LOT READY TO BOARD?’
The children waved their cutlasses up at the ship’s captain and screamed together, ‘Yesssssssssss!’ They screamed even louder as Gladys grabbed a rope and swung down to the pavement like a seasoned pirate.
‘C’mon, little’uns – we don’t want to be late for our pirate supper,’ Gladys chuckled with her real cutlass raised high.
Clad in full pirate regalia, Rachel stared at Gladys and her surprise for the kiddiewinks that completely bowled her over.
By all accounts, she had dropped a half-scale pirate ship down on her tram. The tram’s tyres were buckling under the sheer weight of the ship.
Paul, Lorraine and Gladys wasted no time, guided the last stragglers along the gangplank and bustled them into the bowels of the ship.
Up on deck, Alfred and William’s cutlasses clashed as they fought to the death. Stewart held onto the ship’s wheel with a jabbering parrot on his left shoulder. The parrot flapped its wings and flew away as she hollered, ‘AHOY THERE, SHIPMATES – ANY ROOM FOR ANOTHER PIRATE?’
Stewart spotted her and yelled, ‘There’s plenty of room up here, Rachel – hold on – I’ll send the bucket seat down…’
Rachel spun around in the wind, and she fell out of the bucket seat and onto the wooden deck with little dignity. Still hot and sweaty from their pirate playacting, William and Alfred came over and joined them.
‘So, Rachel, what do you think of Gladys’ pirate ship?’ Stewart asked, brushing the bird poop and green feathers off his shoulder.
‘It wouldn’t look out of place on the High Seas,’ she scoffed.
‘If you think about it, who’s going to take any notice of a pirate ship on Pirates’ Night,’ William enthused, ‘and Gladys’ plan in getting into Gribble’s scrapyard is virtually foolproof.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right, William,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m counting on the weather forecast being correct for a change.’
‘Why’s that?’ Alfred asked.
‘It’s a full moon, so we need to keep these clouds for cover,’ Rachel replied, but her eyes scouted the deck, not the sky. ‘Um – where’s Alice?’
Stewart face darkened. ‘She stormed off in a temper,’ he said in a brittle tone. ‘She’s taking her duties of Head Girl way too seriously.’
✽✽✽
With the booming canons firing their last charges, the pirate ship slowly limped over the speed bumps. Harold Higgins stood to attention and gave the ship a sharp salute as he held Wilberforce by his side. However, his boisterous bulldog went down on all fours and whimpered.
Rachel held onto the pirate ship’s wheel for support. As they sailed past The Nutty Pine treehouse, she gazed up at the only lit porthole window and wondered why George’s landladies had grounded him.
✽✽✽
‘Gladys is cutting it a bit fine,’ Stewart said. ‘It’s almost seven o’clock.’
‘If she sings another sea shanty,’ Alfred muttered, ‘I’m going to keelhaul her myself and give her the cat o’ nine tails for good measure.’
‘I wish I’d taken some seasickness tablets,’ said Rachel queasily, looking decidedly green about the gills.
Gladys’ whooped. ‘STANDBY TO WEIGH ANCHOR,’ she bellowed.
The bright buzzing bunting on the Grumpy Sailor public house lit up the quayside. The ship listed lazily to port and then righted itself before landing with its bow in the beer garden and its stern in the children’s paddling pool because the becalmed parking lot hadn’t any space left.
The gangplank bounced as hordes of excited children disembarked.
Lorraine and Paul chased after the children as they sped along the pavement and through the pub’s swinging doors.
Everyone else gathered around Gladys’ pirate ship.
‘My parents are going to be busy for the next couple of hours,’ Rachel announced, ‘so we better get a move on before the weather turns –’
A flashing white came their way. The sound of clicking wheels came with a blue figure who struggled to stay upright. The policeman’s brakes squealed annoyingly as he jammed them on. He came to a jolting stop right beside Gladys’ immaculate black buckled boots.
William and Alfred slowly backed away.
‘Evening,’ said the policeman.
‘Evening,’ the pirates chorused.
‘Excuse me – but which one of you is the driver of this... um, ship?’
‘That would be me,’ replied Gladys. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Well, I can’t see your rear number plate,’ he said, leaning over his handlebars, checking to see if he could read the ship’s front number plate amongst the cluster of crustaceans. ‘Now, it’s just a warning this time.’
‘Yes, Officer – it won’t happen again,’ Gladys told him.
‘The next time I see The Scarlet Lady on the road – I want to see her rear number plate,’ the policeman said and mounted his bicycle. ‘You all have a pleasant evening,’ he added and rode off into the night.
The Scarlet Lady dogged her every move, Rachel thought.
‘That was too close for comfort,’ Alfred said to William. ‘I thought our goose was cooked. I’m pretty sure he didn’t have a good look at us.’
‘Now, what have you two been up to?’ Rachel asked, but she quickly had second thoughts as Alfred and William grinned back at her with mischievous eyes. ‘No, forget I even asked – I really don’t want to know.’
The ship’s wind vane veered.
‘We’re in luck,’ beamed Gladys. ‘We’ll have the wind at our backs.’
✽✽✽
The solitary blue figure looked up at the dispersing clouds and emerging moon as he waited patiently for the tide to turn. The policeman made his way along the slippery waterlogged causeway and struggled to push his bicycle up through the sand dunes that clogged up his spokes. He thought he had lost his way, but he smiled as he had spotted a rather grubby sign:
GRIBBLE’S SCRAPYARD
VISITORS BY APPOINTMENT ONLY
THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW AND THEN SOME
YOU LOT HAVE BEEN WARNED
He leant his bicycle against the chain fencing and unbuckled his pannier. He began unwrapping layer upon layer of plastic wrapping, but as he freed his entombed tuna and cucumber sandwiches, he heard a rustling noise and grabbed his truncheon – almost dropping the weapon in panic.
‘HALT – WHO GOES THERE?’ he shouted fearfully.
The floodlights fizzled. A man came out of them and removed his flat cap, ruffled his thick hair and said, ‘At ease, PC Taylor – at ease.’
The tall man folded his flat cap in half and placed it in his heavy overcoat pocket. PC Taylor quickly lowered his truncheon and asked in amazement, ‘DS Inchman – what the devil are you doing here, sir?’
‘I relieved PC Jenkins a few minutes ago,’ he replied. ‘I just wanted to come back here and check up on a few things.’
‘Isn’t it your day off, sir?’ PC Taylor quizzed him.
‘Murder doesn’t take time off,’ retorted DS Inchman with a weighty smirk. ‘There’s something definitely odd about this place. I can’t put my finger on it, but something smells decidedly fishy about this case.’
PC Taylor eyed his sandwiches and decided he needed some hot tea instead. ‘Police Commissioner McDonald told us it’s an open and shut case,’ he informed him. ‘Would you like a cuppa, sir?’
DS Inchman nodded that he would.
PC Taylor pulled a flask and two clay mugs out of his pannier.
‘McDonald retires in a few months,’ DS Inchman said with a hollow smile. ‘Fergus wants to bathe in other peoples’ accomplishments. He’s the golden boy of the force,’ he added with a scowl. ‘He’s risen through the ranks on the backs of hardworking men and woman. Thirty years in the force, and he’s never lifted a finger or even solved a single crime.’
‘Excuse me for speaking aloud, sir,’ said PC Taylor hesitantly, ‘but I take it you’ve never liked the commissioner?’
DS Inchman chuckled. ‘I’m I that obvious?’ he asked, not expecting an answer. ‘Old money and heritage buy a lot these days.’
‘Um – here’s your cuppa, sir,’ said PC Taylor. ‘Sorry about the mug – Hilary made it at art school,’ he added apologetically.
DS Inchman supped thoughtfully on his milky tea and made a snap decision. ‘I think I’ll have just one more look around the yard,’ he said ruefully. ‘I’m going in by the tradesman’s entrance, but I think I’ll have just enough time to look around before the tide returns.’
‘Do you want to borrow my truncheon, sir?’ PC Taylor asked. ‘You know – just in case the murderer comes back and takes you by surprise.’
‘No, Simon,’ said DS Inchman gratefully. ‘You keep it. I’ll be fine with just my wits,’ he added with a broad grin and fumbled for his flat cap.
‘Goodnight, Ian,’ Simon said.
‘Give my regards to Hilary,’ Ian replied, put his flat cap on his head and vanished back into the flickering shadows with steely-eyed resolve.