An Island of Our Own

  My mum said she fancied my dad the first time she met him. I asked if he fancied her too, and she laughed and said, “Him? No! He was too scared.” My mum could be a bit scary at times. I could imagine her swearing at my poor dad in A&E.

  Anyway, so the next time my mum went into A&E – escorting a prisoner! – she saw my dad again, and this time she made sure she got his phone number. And then they got married, and had me, and Davy, and moved into the flat we still live in now, and they were very happy, and everything was lovely.

  I was six when my dad died. He had a burst appendix. I still remember him, but only in bits. Like, I have memories with him in them, but I can’t really remember what it felt like to have a dad, if that makes sense. Or, I can, but only like I can remember what it felt like to be little.

  After my dad died, we lived with my mum, and mostly everything was still lovely. It was a bit weird, because when you’re in the police you have to work lots of nights, and we couldn’t go to a childminder’s in the middle of the night. So when I was very little, we used to go to Gran and Grandad’s house quite a lot. And then after Grandad had his stroke and they moved to an old people’s home, Jonathan had to look after us.

  I was eleven when my mum died. She had stomach cancer. My Auntie Grace came over from New Zealand, which was weird, especially because our flat is tiny, so she had to sleep in the living room. And she kept telling Jonathan he ought to be doing more to help out in the house, which was super-weird, because Jonathan never did housework. I mean, he did lots of babysitting – and he helped with the washing-up if Mum asked him to, but only with lots of grumbling, and usually several hours after she’d asked. So when Auntie Grace started telling him he was supposed to be doing all the housework, and Mum was sick, and we had this strange lady we hardly knew living in our house, it was a bit much.

  Usually eleven year olds don’t get much say in where they live, except maybe if their parents divorce or something, but because we didn’t have a dad, we were always pretty involved in decisions Mum made. Things like where we went on holiday, and what colour we should paint the kitchen, and whether I went to the secondary school down the road or the fancy new academy with the computer suites and the music centre, and the weird classrooms with glass walls and no doors.

  So when Mum knew she was going to die, she sat me down and talked to me about where I wanted to live. She said I could go to New Zealand and live with Auntie Grace. And I’d probably have to share a bedroom with my cousin Sadie, who I’d never met, and there might not be much money, because two sudden extra kids are quite expensive, and it was a long way away on the other side of the world, of course. And we wouldn’t see much of Jonathan, because he already had a place at university and it was too late to apply in New Zealand, so he’d stay here, and maybe come over in the summer holidays. But Auntie Grace had said she was happy to have us, if that’s what we wanted, and New Zealand was very beautiful, and it would all be a big adventure.

  Or, she said, I could stay here and Jonathan would look after me. I was a bit surprised when she said that, because I thought Jonathan was a kid, not a grown-up. I mean, he was always bigger than me, but he was still a kid, you know? But she said because he was eighteen it would be OK, and she could rewrite her will to make him our legal guardian, and she’d already talked to Jonathan and he’d said he was willing to do it. And it wouldn’t be easy, but we could still go to the same schools, and live in the same flat, and still see Gran and Grandad, and I could keep doing all the things I already did, like being a library monitor, and being on the netball team. And she thought it would be all right, but only if I wanted to.

  I suppose I ought to have thought about it a bit before I answered. But I didn’t. I definitely want to go to New Zealand one day, and visit Hobbiton, and climb some of those cool-looking mountains that they climb in the Lord of the Rings films. (Except I am against aeroplanes because of my carbon footprint, but I could take the Trans-Siberian Railway across Russia and then a boat, which would be far cooler anyway.) But I didn’t want to live there. And I didn’t want to live with Auntie Grace, who told me off for leaving my clothes on my bedroom floor, and told Jonathan he ought to be doing all the washing-up. My whole life is here, in this little corner of London. I don’t know anything else.

  So I told Mum I wanted to stay. And Davy said the same thing. And that was that.

  AUNTIE IRENE AGAIN

  Jo rang after school on Thursday. Davy and I were building a Lego train set all the way through the kitchen. We didn’t have enough train track to make the railway (Davy’s Lego train only came with a rubbish little circle of track) but the kitchen had washable tiles, so we just drew track straight onto the floor with felt tip.

  “Holly,” said Jo, when I answered the phone. “Is Jonathan there?”

  “No, he’s at work,” I said. “Are you OK? Is Auntie Irene OK?”

  “Not really,” said Jo. “I’m sorry, Holly. She died last night.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know quite how to feel. I knew I ought to be sad, because I liked Auntie Irene, but I didn’t really feel sad, because actually I didn’t know her very well. I felt removed-sad, like the way you feel when something sad happens on the news, or to one of your friends. I also felt a bit weird that I was allowed to have this conversation with Jo. Dead relations are definitely not something you’re supposed to have to deal with, when you’re twelve.

  “The funeral will be next week sometime,” said Jo. “But I know Jonathan works, so I’ll understand if you guys can’t come. Tell him Mum wouldn’t want him to lose money for her sake. Unless he wants to come, of course.”

  “I’ll tell him,” I said. Jonathan doesn’t get sick pay or holiday pay, so whenever he has to take time off work, like if one of us is ill, or it’s Davy’s nativity play or something, he doesn’t earn enough to pay the rent. I wouldn’t have thought someone like Jo, with a proper job and all the rest of it, would have understood that, but she did.

  “OK,” said Jo. “And, Holly, I need to talk to him about Mum’s will. Tell him to ring me, will you?”

  “Auntie Irene’s will!” I sat straight upright, I was so excited. “Has she left us some money?” Auntie Irene was loaded, everyone knew that. Maybe she’d left us a million pounds. Maybe she’d left us a house!

  “Not exactly,” said Jo. “Honestly, Holly, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t get excited. Just tell Jonathan to call me when he gets in, will you?”

  But of course I did get excited. I’d never been left anything in a will before. Mum left all her money to Jonathan, to spend on boring things like rent.

  I wondered what she’d left us.

  A car? A villa in Spain? A yacht? (I wasn’t sure why Auntie Irene would leave us a yacht, but I couldn’t see Uncle Evan using one. Perhaps she figured we’d be able to use it more, being young. We could totally use a yacht. We could go and live on it, and Jonathan could give up being a waiter and get a job taking people out sailing for the afternoon. How hard could it be? You just had to put the wind behind the sail, right?)

  Davy was just as excited as I was.

  “Maybe she’s left me a bike!” he said.

  “A bike?” I said. “Why would Auntie Irene own a kids’ bike?”

  “She might!” said Davy. “Or – or – or – maybe she’s left me some treasure, and we could spend it on a bike!”

  “I didn’t know you wanted a bike,” I said.

  Davy hugged himself as tight as he could. “I want one more than anything,” he said, all round-eyed and serious. It was the first I’d heard of it.

  Jonathan wasn’t nearly as excited as we were, but he did call Jo back. Davy and I tried to eavesdrop, but he didn’t say anything exciting. It was all, “Yes… yes… yes, I understand… yes, of course.”

  “She’s coming round,” he said when he’d put the phone down.

  “Here?
” I said, alarmed. The flat was a mess. Every piece of crockery we owned was dirty, and most of it was in the living room. And we hadn’t taken the rubbish out in ages, so the kitchen smelt. And any bit of floor that didn’t have rubbish or dirty plates on it had Davy’s Lego railway winding its way carefully and economically through all the obstructions, Lego houses and signal boxes wedged in amongst the piles of paper and chip boxes, like the Lego people were trying to build a city in a future world completely overrun with mess, like the one in WALL-E.

  “God no,” said Jonathan. “We’re going for coffee.”

  Jo rang the buzzer and waited for us to come down. She was unusually flustered. And she looked a bit alarmed when she saw Davy and me come out with Jonathan.

  “Oh,” she said. “Er – hello, Holly. Jonathan, are you sure…?”

  “We want cake!” Davy said, before Jonathan could say anything. “And ice cream!”

  “Oh,” said Jo. “Right. Well – of course.”

  She took us to the Moroccan restaurant on the corner with the hookah pipes which Mum would never let us try. She let us order cake, and ice cream, and milkshakes, and she sat there while we ate, looking worried and miserable. That was my first clue that maybe we hadn’t been left a house.

  “The thing is,” she said. “Well Mum really liked you three. I know she did. She liked your mum too. Your mum used to come and stay for holidays when we were little, and Mum always liked her. I know she felt bad about the way things were for you… but, well, she never gave money to people, ever. She thought people should solve their own problems, not expect hand-outs from relations. Even when I was little, I had to earn all my own pocket money and win scholarships to school and things like that.”

  Jonathan was looking down at his coffee cup. He was looking like he wanted to run away and hide, but he couldn’t, because Davy was kneeling on his chair, sucking chocolate milkshake through his straw like this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him, ever.

  I was getting a bit bored with all this miserableness when we didn’t even have anything to be miserable about yet. (Well. Jo did. Her mum had just died.) “So she hasn’t left us anything?” I said.

  “Holly!” said Jonathan.

  “Sort of,” said Jo. She rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s been a horrible week. You know what Mum was like. Totally paranoid. The last few years, she got even worse. She was convinced Dad was going to steal all her money. And she was convinced we were trying to take it and spend it on the boys. Just because I asked her once if she’d help out with Noah’s school fees. Which was a huge mistake. Of course.”

  “Did you like her?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine having a mum like that. In my experience mums were just… mums. Nice. Kind. Sensible.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Jo. “It’s complicated, and sad, and I’m sorry, Holly, but I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

  I opened my mouth to point out that she’d started it. Then Jonathan kicked me, and I shut it again.

  “Anyway,” Jo said. “The important thing is, when your mum was a little girl, Mum apparently told her she could have all the jewellery after Mum was gone. We used to play with it when we were little. So, when Tess died last year, Mum changed the will, leaving the jewellery to you.”

  “Oh,” said Jonathan. He looked a bit taken aback. “That’s – that’s – um – very nice of her.”

  “Is it worth money?” I said. Jonathan glared at me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to be rude. But – like, your mum had old-lady jewellery. And Davy and Jonathan are boys. So – I mean – it’s lovely that Auntie Irene thought of us – but…”

  “It’s all right,” said Jo. “I’m sure she expected you to sell it. And yes, the jewellery is worth a lot of money. There are a couple of really beautiful pieces. This isn’t the jewellery she wore every day – she left that to me, because she knew I’m the sentimental one. This is the stuff she wore to gala dinners and press launches. Some of it is ridiculous.”

  “But there’s a problem,” said Jonathan.

  “Yes,” said Jo. “We can’t find any of her paperwork. She’s got all sorts of shares, and investments, but we don’t know with whom, or what her customer ID numbers are, or anything. We can’t even find the deeds to the house. And the jewellery was always kept in a safe in her dressing room, but it vanished when she retired. That was two years ago. We thought she’d put it all in the bank, but apparently not. I’m sorry, Jonathan.”

  “But,” I said, “she can’t have sold it, can she? I mean, if it vanished two years ago, and she changed her will last year, that means she still owns it, right?”

  “I suppose so,” said Jo. She sounded tired. Jonathan was giving me the evils. “Look, I don’t know what to say, Holly. I’m sorry. It really could be anywhere. She had all sorts of paperwork hidden in a safe in the living-room wall. And I’m almost certain she hid something in that house she used to own in Polynesia. I mean, Polynesia, for heaven’s sake! Lord knows where she put the jewellery. I wish I had better news for you, but honestly, I think you should just be pleased that she remembered you, and leave it at that.”

  “But!” I said. “But—”

  “Holly,” said Jonathan. “That’s enough. Eat your cake and be quiet. I mean it.”

  “But—” I said, and he half sat up like he was about to grab my ear and drag me out of the restaurant. I shut up and chomped down on my cake and tried to pretend like I was miserable.

  But inside I wasn’t miserable.

  Inside I was turning somersaults on my own personal trampoline.

  You see, I knew just where Auntie Irene had hidden our jewellery. I was sure I did.

  I KNOW WHERE AUNTIE IRENE HID THE TREASURE. I DO!

  I waited until we were outside the Moroccan restaurant and had waved goodbye to Jo. Then I grabbed Jonathan’s arm. “I know where the jewellery is!” I said.

  Jonathan gave me his why did God give me a sister? look.

  “No, I do!” I said. Jonathan leant against the bus shelter while I rummaged in my bag. “Look!” I said. I flapped the album in his face.

  “OK,” said Jonathan. “Calm down. Jesus. How old are you – eight?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Look at this!” I riffled through the album until I found the picture I wanted: Auntie Irene’s living room, with the drinks cabinet and a vase of flowers and photographs and framed newspaper cuttings on the wall. “That’s where Jo said they found the safe! Remember? So these must be pictures of where Auntie Irene hid the rest of her safes! So she wouldn’t forget where she put them! That’s why she gave it to me!”

  “Hold on,” said Jonathan. He took the book and turned the pages slowly. I bounced up and down impatiently.

  Davy peered over the edge of the cover like a hopeful gnome. “That’s where Auntie Irene hid her treasure?” he said.

  “Yep,” I said. I gave another little bounce. “It’s like the Moors Murderers! I saw this TV programme about them – they killed loads of people and then buried their bodies on the moors, and they took photos of the graves and went and had picnics on them. This is just the same!” I saw Jonathan’s expression. “Only, you know, gold and stuff, not bodies. Probably. Although maybe bodies actually, knowing Uncle Evan.”

  Jonathan didn’t say anything. He looked through the photograph album very slowly and carefully, studying each photograph in turn.

  “Maybe,” he said, in the end. “But, Holly, these are just pictures of beaches and railway lines. How are you going to find out where they are? There are still bodies of people the Moors Murderers killed that the police haven’t found. And their photos were all of one moor! These could be anywhere!”

  “We’ll find them,” I said, confidently. “We’ll take them to the Maker Space on Sunday! There are loads of geniuses there. If anyone can find out where these photos were tak
en, they can.”

  WHAT THE MAKER SPACE WAS

  So, imagine you’re best friends with an inventor. Not just one inventor – about a hundred real, mad-scientist, evil-genius type inventors. The kid on TV programmes who knows how to hack computers and build bombs out of glue and kitchen foil. Inspector Gadget, or that guy who invented time travel in Back to the Future.

  Now imagine all the mad scientists in TV programmes got together and pooled their money to buy the biggest and best mad-scientist laboratory they could. This thing is nearly warehouse-sized. It’s on two floors. It’s got classrooms, where you can run lock-picking classes and lessons in how to use metal-cutters. It’s got all the biggest and most awesome equipment from the best sort of CDT lab, plus wood and metal and wires, and 3D printers, and desks, and lots and lots of interesting people making interesting (and mostly legal) things. There are biology fanatics, who are doing DNA tests on random bits of food to find out if they’re really what they say they are. There are people building robots, and people building rockets, and people just trying to help other people make the things they want to make. There’s even a lightsabre, for when people get bored of making things and want to mess around.

  That’s the London Maker Space.

  Jonathan joined first, about two years ago. He got interested in computer programming and building stuff – he programmed one of those boxes that lets you play music and films out of your telly. Then he made Davy a robot that would read his favourite stories when he pushed the button with the right picture on it, because Mum was getting fed up of reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory over and over. And then Gran and Grandad bought him a year’s membership as a Christmas present, which was more than they usually spent on us, but Grandad really liked building things too, so I think he thought it was worth it.