Heartstones (11 page)

Chapter Ten

‘Hello.’

Phoebe opened her eyes to find Honey sitting at the end of her bed. There was a smell of burning in the air, Phoebe sniffed. It smelled like toast. She pulled herself up on to her elbows.

‘Here’s your breakfast,’ Honey indicated a small tray on the bedside table. ‘Sorry about the toast. No one else is up and I’m not allowed to use electric things without a grown-up, so I did it on top of the Rayburn. I think I left it there too long. I’ve put loads of jam on top so you can’t really see the black bits.’

‘What about the coffee?’ asked Phoebe. ‘Did you make that on top of the Rayburn too?’

Honey shook her head, ‘No, I just used the water from the tap – it’s very hot in the mornings.’ Phoebe glanced at the mug; little flecks of un-dissolved coffee granules floated on the pale beige surface. She picked up the mug and took a tiny sip.

‘Delicious!’

Honey beamed. ‘Really?’

Phoebe nodded and forced herself to take another sip. ‘How are you this morning?’

Honey shrugged and started tracing the patterns of stitching on the quilt with her finger.

Phoebe bit a corner of the charred toast; it immediately broke into brittle pieces falling, jam side down, onto her pyjama top. Honey sprang up and took a large handful of tissues from a box on the windowsill.

‘Your spotty pyjamas are all messy now.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Phoebe mopped ineffectually at the sticky smears with the tissues. ‘I need to do some washing anyway.’

‘I’ll show you where the washing machine is. I’m sure Grandma won’t mind.’

Phoebe suspected that Mrs Flannigan would mind very much.

‘I’ll find a launderette somewhere.’

‘But there isn’t a launderette in Carraigmore.’

‘I’m leaving this morning so I’ll –’

‘No!’ Honey’s face crumpled in distress. ‘I don’t want you to go. Please stay here.’

Phoebe reached out and took Honey’s hand in hers. ‘I can’t stay here; I think I need to go home, back to England.’ Honey bit her lip.

‘You will come back won’t you?’

Phoebe smiled. ‘Of course I will, maybe I’ll bring my sister and my niece and nephew.’ That seemed like wishful thinking but at least Honey looked happier. The little girl sat down on the bed again.

‘Soon?’

‘I’ll try.’

ʻHow old are your niece and nephew?ʼ

ʻMy niece is twelve, getting a bit teenagery if you know what I mean – she wears her Superdry coat at all times and finds grown ups
SO
embarrassing.ʼ

Honey nodded as though she knew all about teenagers.

ʻBut my nephew is only a bit older than you; very handsome and fantastic at karate.ʼ Phoebe realised it was Rubenʼs birthday and felt a pang of sadness. ʻHe looks like an angel.ʼ

Honey made a face. ʻBut heʼs a boy.ʼ

Phoebe laughed. ʻWell, he canʼt help that. Heʼs a boy who looks like an angel.ʼ

Honey shook her head. ʻWeird. Aren’t you going to finish your coffee?’

‘Oh, yes, I’d quite forgotten about it.’ Bracing herself to take another tepid mouthful she reached towards the bedside table for the mug and suddenly saw the diary. She picked it up and offered it to Honey.

‘I have to give this back to you. I borrowed it yesterday because I wanted to read it but I can see you’ve been using it to draw some lovely pictures in.’

‘You can keep it,’ Honey said. ‘I’ve got more at the boathouse.’

Phoebe sat up straighter. ‘More of books like these?’

‘Yes.’

‘With writing in them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like this?’ Phoebe opened up the notebook and showed her a page of her grandmother’s writing.

‘Yes, just like that, lots of funny, loopy letters.’

‘Can you show me?’ Phoebe was already swinging her legs out of the bed, picking up her jumper and jeans from the floor, searching for clean knickers in her bag.

‘OK,’ said Honey with a cheerful smile.

Outside dark clouds were scudding away towards the Atlantic, leaving behind damp pavements and a fresh smell in the chilly air.

‘That was a big storm last night,’ said Honey as she and Phoebe walked briskly down the High Street. ‘I couldn’t sleep because of the rain and wind.’

The shops were still closed though there were some signs of the village emerging from its slumber. Mr Murphy the butcher adjusted his green and red plastic foliage in the window prior to displaying his chops and sausages, The General Store had already rolled up its metal shutters and Molly Mackey from the Hair Hut was poking at her stripy awning with a broom to get the rainwater off. She turned and waved. Phoebe waved back but Honey pulled her on. They only stopped briefly for Honey to show Phoebe a small carved dragon in the window of Rainbow’s End Gifts.

‘I love dragons,’ she said, gazing at the polished jade statue mounted on a crystal rock. ‘I wish I was a dragon.’

‘What would you do if you were?’ asked Phoebe.

‘I’d breathe fire all over Mr O’Brian so that he could never make me read to him again.’ She breathed all over the window in front of her making a little foggy circle on the glass. ‘Like that!’

Phoebe laughed. ‘I met Mr O’Brian last night. I don’t think he deserves to have fire breathed all over him.’

Honey grunted and set off down the road again so quickly that Phoebe had to run to catch her up.

‘Look!’ said Honey as they rounded the bend in the little path leading down on to the beach. She pointed at the shoreline below them and Phoebe could see that it was edged with a thick brown line as though someone had drawn along the last waves of high tide with a broad marker pen.

‘What is it?’

‘Seaweed of course. Loads and loads of seaweed. It came in with the storm.’ She jumped off the path onto the sand. Phoebe watched her as she picked up one end of an enormous strand and pulled it with her across the beach.

‘It looks like a dragon’s tail,’ called Phoebe, and Honey laughed and started to run faster, making the seaweed swish behind her.

As Phoebe got closer she could see that the seaweed lay in great shining mounds, different sorts: thick, thin, flat, wavy, green, brown, amber – some were very red.

Honey picked up another piece, yellow and whip like; she coiled it round and round to make a spiral on the sand.

‘We could make a picture?’ Phoebe suggested.

‘I know. Let’s make a whole dragon over here,’ Honey was already pulling several slimy strands towards the black rock. She draped the seaweed over a low humped promontory so that it resembled the back of some sort of exotically striped reptile, and along the middle she placed a wavy length of amber weed that extended on the sand to form an undulating tail.

Phoebe looked at her watch and tried to work out what time the ferry from Rosslare might leave.

‘Can you help me?’ Honey was trying to pull a huge piece of root-bound seaweed from the tangled heap. ‘This is going to be his head.’ Phoebe walked towards her and together they heaved until the slippery stalk suddenly slid free, causing Phoebe to lose her balance and sit down hard on the wet sand. Honey laughed but put out her hand to help her up.

‘You’ll have a soggy bottom now.’

Phoebe put on her most pompous voice. ‘Artists always have to suffer to make great works of art.’

‘Do you think that man who painted all those sunflowers had wet knickers?’

‘Which man?’

‘That van man. Mr O’Brian told us about him. He only had one ear.’

‘Van Gogh.’

‘Yes, that’s him; we had to paint a vase of sunflowers just like his; it was fun.’

‘So you do some nice things with Mr O’Brian?’

Honey shrugged her narrow shoulders and started heaving the great brown stem towards the body of the dragon.

‘That looks wonderful,’ said Phoebe, standing back to admire the seaweed creature that looked as though it was crawling menacingly up the sand. Its elongated neck gave way to a vicious-looking head with white pebbles for eyes and bright red seaweed coming from its mouth in a veiny facsimile of fire.

‘He looks really scary.’ Honey walked around the dragon with a satisfied smile.

‘What about a name for him?’ said Phoebe. ‘You could write it in the sand.’ She handed Honey a sea-bleached piece of driftwood to use as a tool.

‘You do it,’ Honey looked reluctant.

‘OK.’ Phoebe crouched down and wrote ‘Daisy May’ in swirling letters. ‘Daisy May suits him, don’t you think?’

Honey’s long blonde hair swung around her face as she shook her head vehemently. ‘That’s not a scary name at all!’

‘All right, let me have another go,’ Phoebe crossed out ‘Daisy May’ and wrote ‘Scamp’. ‘There, that’s just right for a dragon.’ She stood up and started to walk towards the boathouse.

Behind her she could hear Honey slowly reading out the letters, finally putting them together to make out the word. ‘Scamp!’ She ran after Phoebe shouting, ‘That’s a dog’s name; my dragon’s not going to be called Scamp.’

Phoebe walked back towards the little girl. ‘You do it then, if you think you’ve got a better name for him,’ she handed her the stick, ‘though I really can’t imagine anything that would be better than Scamp.’

Honey took the stick and very slowly started to write. Her letters were huge and wobbly, her face fixed in an expression of concentration. At last she stood back, her hands on her hips.

‘Now that’s what I call a scary name!’

Phoebe read the child’s words out loud, ‘Dlub curblu?’

‘No!’ Honey underlined the name as though to make it clearer. ‘It says “Blood Curdler”.’

‘Oh, I see now.’ In her mind Phoebe read it out phonetically and reversed the jumbled letters – suddenly it made perfect sense. ‘That’s a terrifying name, fantastic for a dragon – I’d never have thought of that.’

‘I know,’ Honey pranced in front of her making dragon-like expressions. ‘I can’t believe you wanted to call him Daisy May or Scamp.’

‘Honey?’ Phoebe crouched down beside the sand writing and beckoned for Honey to come closer. ‘Do you want me to show you a way to remember which way round your
b
s and
d
s go?’ Honey backed away, her whole body seeming to stiffen.

‘I knew you were going to tell me I spelled it wrong, you’re just like Mr O’Brian.’ She threw the stick on the ground.

‘I just want to show you something that helped some of the children in my class to get their letters the right way round,’ Phoebe said gently. ‘Reading and writing can be very difficult and sometimes we need to use little tricks to get it right. Watch this.’ Phoebe held up the index finger on each hand and then curled her thumb to touch her second finger. ‘Now can you see I’ve made the letters
b
and
d
,’ Reluctantly Honey nodded. ‘If you imagine an
e
in the middle what word have we made?’ Honey was sullenly silent but continued to watch her. ‘
B,e,d
-bed,’ went on Phoebe. ‘If you ever want to check you’ve got your
b
and
d
the right way round just think bed and do that with your fingers. Do you want to have a go?’ Slowly Honey raised her own hands and with her fingers formed the letters.

‘What are you two up to?’ the voice made Honey’s face fall. Phoebe looked up to see Rory O’Brian standing beside them in very short shorts and a T-shirt emblazoned with
Mountaineering Rocks
. He bent over, his hands on his knees and took a series of deep breaths; sweat glistened on his skin, his quiff slightly drooped to one side. He had evidently been running.

‘Are you having a spelling lesson?’ he asked after a short pause. Phoebe wondered if she were imagining the irritation in his voice.

‘I’m just showing Honey a trick to get her
b
s and
d
s the right way round.’

‘We have a trick at school, don’t we Honey?’ said Rory. Honey glowered at her teacher. ‘Have you told Phoebe about the bat and the drumstick? No? We’ve got picture cards with a cricket bat and a ball that look like a
B
and a drumstick hitting a small round drum to make a
D
shape. You have the cards on the wall by your desk, don’t you, Honey?’ He straightened up and started doing some stretching exercises, lunging from left to right – it made Phoebe feel slightly giddy. ‘It really helps you doesn’t it?’

‘I like Phoebe’s way better,’ said Honey petulantly.

‘Mr O’Brian’s way sounds good too,’ said Phoebe quickly. She looked at Rory. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded critical of your teaching last night, it’s none of my business.’

The dimples appeared on Rory’s cheeks. ‘I’m sorry I got so huffy.’

They smiled at each other, then Rory suddenly jumped theatrically back as though he’d had a fright. ‘Don’t look now girls but there seems to be a rather large dragon behind you; shall we make a run for it or shall we stay and put up a fight?’ He preformed a nimble little boxing move in front of the seaweed-strewn rock. Phoebe smiled but Honey continued with her straight-faced scowl. Rory stopped boxing. ‘It was certainly some storm last night. I wish it had been in the daytime; I would have loved to surf the rollers that brought all this seaweed in.’

‘You seem quite the action man round here,’ Phoebe said. She hadn’t meant to sound derisive but a sudden flush on Rory’s face suggested she had embarrassed him. ‘I mean, I can see you’re very fit.’ That sounded worse.

‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘I don’t want my muscles to seize up and my father needs help on the farm before lunch. You’re leaving today aren’t you, Phoebe?’

‘Yes, soon,’ Phoebe replied. ‘There’s just something that I want to look at first.’

‘Well, come back and see us again, won’t you. I can tell you’re a big hit with Honey.’ He smiled at Honey and Phoebe saw a kindness in his eyes that the little girl certainly seemed to be oblivious to. He waved at them both and took off down the beach, turning once to wave again.

‘I don’t think Mr O’Brian is quite the ogre you make him out to be,’ Phoebe said, taking Honey’s hand in hers and leading her up the beach.

Honey made a face. ‘I just don’t like teachers – apart from you. Why can’t you be my teacher? You could stay here and have Mr O’Brian’s job.’

Phoebe laughed and was about to explain why this wouldn’t be possible, for so many reasons, when a movement on the cliff above them caught her eye. Looking up she saw a figure standing outlined against the sky. Phoebe sensed it was staring at her, watching her progress up the beach with Honey. She put her hand to her eyes to try to see who it was, but the early morning sun was too bright to make out anything but a dark silhouette.