Sky Run (5 page)

‘All right.'

‘And hurry up too, Martin.'

‘All right, Gemma. Since when were you in charge –?'

I went to get what Peggy wanted from the boat.

‘Kids, eh?' I heard Angus say behind me. ‘Brother and sister, often arguing. Mine are the same. But they love each other underneath. Mine are the same,' he repeated. ‘Just the same –'

I found one of Ben Harley's bottles of private stash and returned to the jetty.

‘Open it and give it to Mr Angus,' Peggy said.

I pulled the stopper out of the bottle neck. That familiar foul smell hit me. Old Ben Harley's home-made private stash was disgusting. The smell soon wore off though, once the air got at it.

I knew why she was giving it to Angus. And I knew now why the midges weren't bothering us.

‘There. That's our toll paid.'

Peggy put the bottle into Angus's hand. He sniffed at it.

‘It's poison.'

‘No, just smells like it. I wouldn't drink it though. It's got better uses. Just dab some on your beard.'

He did. Then he re-corked the bottle and set it down.

‘Well? Now what?'

‘Well, look at yourself.'

‘How can I look at myself,' Angus said, ‘when there's nae mirror? There's been nae mirror for years.'

‘Evidently …' Peggy muttered.

‘Then what's this stuff do?'

‘Haven't you noticed?'

It took him a few more seconds. Then a smile spread across his face.

‘The midges!' he said. ‘They're leaving me alone! They've tormented me every minute of the day since I can't remember! They're leaving me alone!'

‘And it'll last a long time too,' Peggy said. ‘Especially if you're not big on washing.'

‘Don't have the water to spare,' Angus said. ‘Not that that means I don't maintain standards. Always been big on personal hygiene. A bath every three or four months, whether I need it or not.'

‘I'm pleased to hear it,' Peggy said. ‘Then that bottle there should last you years. You just need a dab and they'll keep their distance and not bother you again.'

‘It's wonderful,' Angus said. ‘It's like someone turned the misery off.'

‘Is that us quits then?' Peggy said. ‘Have we paid the toll?'

‘More than paid it,' Angus said. ‘But I don't have any change.'

‘We're not expecting any,' Peggy said. ‘Just happy to help. Aren't we?'

‘Yes, Gran,' Gemma agreed.

‘Very happy,' I said.

‘Then I'll let you get on your way,' the Troll said – and he wasn't really such a troll now. He was just another person, a rather large and frightening one, but essentially just like us.

‘We'll do that then,' Peggy said. ‘Gemma, Martin –'

‘Goodbye, Angus,' Gemma said.

‘What a pretty wee girl,' Angus said to Peggy. ‘I compliment you on your granddaughter. She's just like my Nancy. So young, and full of life – and the young man here, reminds me of my Colin …' And then his voice trailed away.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Angus,' I said.

‘A pleasure to meet you all. And thank you for the … thanks.'

‘Not at all. If you're ready then –'

Peggy led us aboard. Angus helped us untie and he stood watching from the jetty as we uncovered the solar panels and unfurled the wind sails.

He undid the lines that held up the net blocking our way; the net sank down and we were free to leave.

‘Sail safely now,' he said. ‘Mind how you go. There's some weird people about,' he said. ‘You want to be careful.'

‘It's just straight on, isn't it?' Peggy said.

‘That's the way. Empty sky for about fifty kilometres, and then you'll see the Isle of Ignorance.'

‘We'll see the what?'

We were already sailing and his voice was lost on the wind.

‘Ignorance. You'll see it. But keep going.'

And he waved, and we moved on.

I looked back. We could just see him changing the sign by the jetty.

It now read
THE TOLL TROLL IS: OUT
.

And he was reeling the net in, and the way was now clear. And there was no longer a swarm of angry midges around his head, and he somehow looked less angry too.

The last we saw of him, he was standing by the three stone mounds, as if engaging them in conversation. But what he was saying we could only imagine, or fail to imagine. For who knows what is really in another person's heart? That was what Peggy told me.

‘So what did we learn back there?' she said, once we had put a good distance between Angus and ourselves.

‘I don't know, Peggy,' I said. ‘Eh … we learned that his real name was Angus?'

‘What else?'

‘Eh … I don't know.'

‘Gemma?'

‘Plenty,' Gemma said.

‘Tell me what you learned,' Peggy said.

‘Not to judge people on first appearances. That angry people are often upset and in pain inside. That you never really know about anyone, that your first impressions can be completely wrong. And that underneath everything we all have a lot in common, and we all suffer in the same way, and can all be happy in the same way.'

Peggy smiled.

‘That's right.' She nodded. ‘That's right.'

It was all a bit above my head, to be honest. All I felt I'd learned was that the troll's name was Angus. But there you are.

Taking advantage of the situation though, I said, ‘Peggy – if we've already learned so much about life, do we
have
to go to City Island? Couldn't we just turn around and go back home?'

‘Martin,' she said. ‘You can learn about life anywhere. But if you want to learn about physics, chemistry, history, geography, economics, languages, algebra and quadratic equations, then you have to go to school.'

‘I don't know that I do want to learn about quadratic equations,' I said. ‘I don't know what they are but I can't say I like the sound of them.'

‘You'll love them,' she said. ‘Once you get started.'

But I wasn't so sure about that. I had this sense of vague unease. There was something about quadratic equations that didn't sound very inviting.

Peggy said from the off that we had to get Martin to do the cooking. She said, back in the very old days, it was always girls who got stuck with the cooking, but Martin wasn't going to know that, so we'd stick him with the cooking instead, right from the start.

‘How is he going to know any different?' Peggy had said. After all, there were just the three of us. It wasn't as if he was going to pick up bad habits from elsewhere. The only other male of the species (as Peggy called them) within visiting distance was old Ben Harley. And he was stuck with the cooking too, and as far as he was concerned, it was cook or die. For who else was going to do it, as he was on his ownsome?

When I say we stuck Martin with the cooking, that's not strictly as bad as it sounds. All we did was get him to do his share. So that was accepted. We all had to help. Sometimes it was washing-up; sometimes it was cooking; sometimes it was keeping the place clean. You always got stuck with something. But when everyone else is getting stuck with something too, you don't mind. It's when you're stuck with everything and everyone else is stuck with nothing – like Cinderella, who Peggy told us about – that's when you feel aggrieved. It's seeing those ugly sisters with their feet up on the coffee table and their bums on the sofa cushions all day long that gets you riled.

All the stories we know come from Peggy – the Cinderellas and so forth. She's got plenty that she can recite off by heart and there were books in the house, but not many, as they were hard to come by. There's no visiting library boat out where Peggy lived; the only other literature you get there is what's written in the clouds, or the future that's scrawled across the palm of your hand – if you believe in that kind of thing, and I don't, though I don't mind pretending for fun.

It's another of the reasons why we have to go to City Island and meet new people. Peggy says she's got no more stories left and she's told us them all. She's all storied out. She says there's plenty more out there, but she doesn't know or can't remember them no more. Or rather – any more. I've got to remember that. It's grammar. We're not supposed to say
no more
no more. We've got to say
any more
from now on.

Peggy says there's books out there like you'll never see the end of. She says there's so many that no one could ever read them all, not even if they made it their life's work and dedication. Seems hard to imagine to me. I can't even picture that many books, not like walls and walls of them, going on forever, but Peggy says they've got books in City Island like fish in the sky.

And then there's boys. Peggy says they've got almost as many boys as books and you could never get to the end of all of them either. She says it's time I met some, but I don't know. I mean, Martin's a boy and so what? But Peggy says a boy's not like a brother. She says a boy who's not a brother is a completely separate thing and an entirely different kettle of fish. So I had to ask her what a kettle of fish was, and why you'd be cooking fish in a kettle. But she said it was just an expression, and that was all the kind of thing we'd get the hang of once we arrived at City Island.

I'm just hoping all this education is going to be one bit as marvellous as Peggy's making out it is. I've been disappointed before. She said that eating sky-oysters was a real treat when you can get them. But when we did find them, I thought they were disgusting and tasted like slime with extra slime added. So I hope that finally going to school isn't going to be like that.

The expression is always
finally
going to school with Peggy. Other kids, I reckon, just go to school. But not us, we
finally
go to school, like we're the last to arrive or something.

Anyway, I just hope she's right and that it is going to be something special and we're not going all this way for nothing. Though I am interested in seeing what all the fuss over boys is about. Not that I'm fussed or making a fuss. It's Peggy who's gone on about them. She just says we gotta go out into the world and grow up normal. She says growing up on our ownsome with a batty old woman – which is what she calls herself and we've ended up stopping arguing and contradicting with her as she seems kind of proud of being batty, to say the truth – but she says that growing up with a batty old woman like her isn't good for two kids. She says it's all right when you're little but that we aren't so little any more, especially me. She says (when he's out of hearing distance) that maybe Martin still is a little bit little but that I'm not and that I am growing up apace.

That's the kind of word she uses sometimes. I like that expression, that you are growing up
apace
. It just means quick but it somehow sounds better. Peggy says there's all kinds of words like that, ones that are plain and simple, and other ones that have poetry in them.

Anyhow, Martin doesn't really remember. Not like I do. It's all buried deep down in the underground for him; he was so young and small when our parents were lost. But when you lose your mum and dad, it's like the ground has gone and you're falling, falling, falling, all the way down into the sun. And plenty of times that was what I wished would happen and it would be the better and the easier way. I even said so to Peggy, when she found me crying once, that sometimes life feels so bad that you'd rather not live it, and you miss people so much you'd rather be with them than go on living. She said that was true and she could understand that, but we have to go on. And when I asked why, she said what about Martin, what would Martin do, as I was all he had left now, and he was all I had too.

And when you think about that, it's right I guess, and sometimes you don't go on because you really want to, you go on for someone else's sake. And when you do, after a while, the happiness slowly comes back into you, and you want to be alive again, just for the feeling of it, because it's nice and you might even be happy – not that you'll ever forget. But I don't think he remembers or knows any of that. That's the difference a couple of years makes. It can make all the difference sometimes, just being a little bit older.

Not that I'm getting all sentimental and dewy-eyed (that's another of Peggy's expressions; I sound like her sometimes and have been
unduly influenced
by her, which is another of her sayings). I mean, he's my brother and all that but I have hated his guts on occasions and he can still really get on my nerves and I have even wished he would drop dead. But Peggy says that's normal and when we get to City Island we'll meet other girls and boys who have had similar experiences. So all because you feel like murdering your brother occasionally, there's no call to feel bad about it, as that's what people do.

Oh well. I don't know. I don't know if I really want to go to school or what I want. Life's been so strange and sometimes so sweet and peaceful. It's been just us for years and years, me and Martin and Peggy, and old Ben Harley across the way, making sure to come over for birthdays and other celebrations, always bringing you a small present though nothing special, just something he'd carved out of a piece of driftwood or a polished stone or a bracelet made of sky-clam shells.

And now here we are, going out into the world, and we've only gone a short way and it already seems full of crazies – at least if Angus the self-styled Toll Troll is anything to go by. If he's what you meet when you go looking for an education then I can see the benefits of ignorance all right.

But anyway, I'm talking on again. Peggy says it's lack of company that keeps me talking, as I don't have anyone around me with something new to say that I haven't heard before, so I just go on talking like I'm on overdrive. Stream of consciousness, she calls it. She says I'll find out what that means when –

Yeah. You've got it. When we arrive at City Island and get an education.

I promise I won't mention that again. No, well, I don't exactly guarantee – but I promise I'll try. Do my best. Peggy says that's all you can do.

Anyhow again. We left big Angus behind us and we sailed on. Peggy's boat wasn't huge, but it was decent-sized. It had six berths down below and you could easily sleep another six or more on deck – which was where I liked to sleep most of the time. It's cooler there and nicer, as long as the bugs don't bite. When you get a midge bloom though, you've got to take cover or they'll eat you right down to the pimples. The only thing that will keep them off is an application of old Ben Harley's private stash. That repels most living things, so Peggy says.

There are other hazards to sleeping on deck too, of course. You can wake up and find a couple of sky-fish nibbling at your feet. They like to eat the dead skin off you, which is OK for a quick pedicure. The trouble is, they don't know when to stop and when they run out of dead skin, they'll start in on the bits of you that are living. But you always wake up before they get to eat much of you. And you can always keep your sandals on.

The other thing you need to sleep on deck is something to cover your eyes as it's always daylight up there. I made myself a sleep mask out of an old piece of cloth. Martin made himself one too. Peggy said boys should be able to sew as well and she showed us both how. She said the days when girls got stuck with the sewing were long gone and she wasn't letting them come back without a struggle.

So we left old, sad, mad, not-so-bad Angus behind us, and Peggy checked the charts and said we were sailing right, and had our bearings accurate, and so on we went.

It was a lazy sort of progress, as Peggy's old boat was never built for speed; it's too chubby round the middle and it sits in the air like a fat old sky-whale, solid and slow and unsinkable-looking. If it had a steam engine it would chug along, but it doesn't, so it kind of chugs but without the chugging, if you get what I mean.

There wasn't a whole lot by way of scenery at the beginning of our journey. We weren't in an interesting part of the system and were still days and days from the Main Drift. It was all little islands and floating rocks and bits of junk and debris passing by on the solar wind. And there were sky-fish and jellies and all the usual, and here and there some sky-crabs clinging on, with more legs than a creature could ever reasonably have a use for, to the undersides of the islands.

‘Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm getting hungry,' Peggy announced in her usual way. ‘Whose turn is it?'

Well, it was Martin's. And he was perfectly happy to get on with it.

‘I'll throw a line over the side,' he said. ‘See what I get.'

Because that was about all there was to eat: sky-fish. I mean, I've heard Peggy say about people who lived on nothing but vegetables and would never eat a fish not even to save their lives. But there's not a great deal of choice here. It's fish or hungry. Sure, we had a few veg and things on board that came from Peggy's greenhouse, and there were some pots along the deck with a few herbs and basics growing in them, but it would never have kept you going. So it was fish, fish, and sometimes, for a change, fish, when you were travelling. You couldn't change the meal, just the way it was cooked.

So Martin threw a couple of lines over and I did the same while Peggy lay down in her hammock on the deck, slung between the mast and a rigging line, as she said (as ever) that she was old bones and had to take it easy in the afternoons so as to ward off the arthritis and cramps.

It didn't take us long to wind in a couple of sky-fish and soon we had ingredients aplenty. (Which is a word a little like
apace
.)

‘That should do it, Martin,' I said. But no. He wouldn't listen.

‘Couple more,' he said. ‘Don't have enough yet.'

Well, the fact is, when it comes to the cooking, that Martin has one problem – he always makes too much. He can cook all right. For his age he's a pretty fine chef. But his eyes are bigger than his stomach, and my stomach, and Peggy's stomach. So there's always leftovers and it's always getting wasted and ends up going off or getting thrown away.

Now, back on Peggy's island, that didn't matter. All the waste went into the composter and she'd use it for growing her fruit and veg. But out here in the middle of the sky, there was nowhere for it to go except over the side. Which shouldn't have been a problem – you might think. But you'd think wrong, just like we did. And wrong thinking brings consequences, every time.