Sunday 30 August 2015

Heart of Stone

People said it was remarkable that the O'Donnell family had managed to move to a new town at all. Anyone who had ever met Jim O'Donnell and his wife, Maisie, generally summed them up as having barely any brain cells between them to rub together. Most of their offspring didn't, either, but there were a couple of exceptions.

Young Maisie, the eldest daughter, hadn't got off to a promising start in life, finding herself pregnant at fourteen with the father of her child nowhere to be seen. Becoming a mother had, in Young Maisie's case, awoken in her a modicum of intelligence and determination. She didn't want her daughter, Keeley, to grow up the same way she had, in an overcrowded, tatty house on a run-down, drab housing estate in Lewisham.

Ironically, it was Jim O'Donnell's stupidity that ultimately made the move possible. One day, he'd enjoyed an extremely rare streak of good fortune. Studying form, when it came to betting on horses, was beyond him, so his method of choosing which horse to bet on was to run his pudgy finger down the list, looking for names which meant something to him. His lips moved as he struggled to read the lists, but he came across Daisy Chain, in the 1.30 at Aintree. Daisy was the name of his youngest daughter, so he'd bet his last tenner on it at fifty to one. By some miracle, Daisy Chain had romped home in first place and Jim found himself with twenty-five crisp twenties in his hand.


While most sensible people would quit while ahead, Jim didn't. He ran his finger down the list for the 2.30, and found Jimmy Riddle, a horse with similarly long odds and the name of his eldest son. Jim bet his entire winnings on Jimmy Riddle. That netted him a princely sum, but he wasn't finished yet. The 3.30 had a runner named Adam and Eve It, and since his youngest son was named Adam, the lot went on that horse. The odds were better - two to one, and Jim's luck was holding. By four o'clock, he had won fifty thousand pounds. The final race at four fifteen had no runners that shared names with any of Jim's family, so he went home to get drunk instead.

Not a bad day's earnings, he thought, as he put his feet up and took a swig of premium lager. He laid the money out on the coffee table to admire it, and after a few cans of lager, fell asleep.

Enter Young Maisie, home from Keeley's quarterly medical check-up. She saw the piles of banknotes on the table and stared.

'Dad!' She shrieked. 'Where'd all that dosh come from?'

'Wha...?' Jim spluttered.

'That money. Where did it come from? Who nicked it?'

'Nobody. I won it on the horses.'

'Liar.'

'Nope. Take a butcher's at this!' Jim thrust the betting slips under his daughter's nose. She took them and inspected them. It seemed that Jim had indeed come into the money in a perfectly legitimate way.

'You know what this means!' she cried.

'We're rich?' Jim said.

'We can use this to get out of this hell hole! Buy a house in the country!'

'House in the country?' Jim stared at her dumbly.

Young Maisie had an argument up her sleeve that she knew her father would not be able to resist. 'If we move, those pesky social workers won't be able to come round sticking their noses in our business any more,' she said.

"You mean we'd be rid of those interfering busybodies?" Jim was convinced. The most recent visitor, a fresh-faced young woman just out of college, had given him a stern lecture about cutting back on his drinking, and he could do without that sort of thing. He'd had a worse headache after she'd left than he ever had after a night down the pub.

So the family left London and installed themselves in two adjacent terraced houses in Canterbury, much to the relief of Lewisham Social Services Department, for whom the O'Donnell family had been a twenty-three year headache.

It didn't occur to the O'Donnell's that bureaucracy would follow them; but follow them it did, in the form of a very fat and very tatty folder with their name on it. It landed on Rosemary Ellis's desk one Monday morning with a dull thud, along with a covering letter from her counterpart in Lewisham, wishing her the very best of British luck.


Rosemary resisted any temptation to read anything in the folder before carrying out an assessment visit to the family. She believed people were too often labelled by the things that were written in their folders. Reports always seemed to regurgitate phrases like, 'disturbed young man,' or 'cantankerous old woman', lazily lifted from documents in the folders, without giving the person in question any chance to put it right; so Miss Ellis never read case-files before meeting the people. She wanted to create her own impressions. She opened the file for just long enough to make a note of the address.

Had she read the folder first, she would have learned the O'Donnell family history, summarised thus.

Jim O'Donnell had taken advantage of the vapid Maisie Malone 22 years earlier. She had not had the intelligence or the will-power to resist; Jim O'Donnell had got himself laid without much effort. Unfortunately, Maisie had not been intelligent enough to know about contraception either. Three months later, Jim had been forced to marry her, under threat from her gangster brothers that if he didn't make an honest woman of her and give her child a name, very painful things would happen to Jim's kneecaps.

Jim had not taken kindly to marriage. He was violent towards Maisie, resentful that she had deprived him of his freedom, but neither of them had the brains to leave the other. Thereafter, Maisie had a child each year for nine years, except for one year, when she had twins. Jim drank heavily, refused to work and occasionally had violent outbursts. Maisie lived on valium. She didn't feed her growing family properly, partly because there was never enough money and partly because working out a balanced diet was too complicated for her. She let her brood run wild.

They were kept alive by a generation of health visitors and social workers, who, as the family grew up and seemed to become more and more problematic, often wondered why they'd bothered.

The eldest child, Jimmy, took after his father. At twenty-two, he had never worked, preferring to spend his time drinking and gambling alongside his father.

The twins, John and Joe, had never worked either, not in the conventional sense. They went into petty crime, channelling their limited intelligence into stealing car radios and selling them, and convincing their probation officers they were not doing so.

Jack had followed his father by getting a girl pregnant at a young age. He'd married her, but she, unlike Jack's mother, was not going to lie down and take the O'Donnell laziness and abuse, and after a few months, she filed for divorce. There was a messy row over custody of the child, which Jack lost. There had followed several appearances in court for attempted kidnapping, failure to obey court injunctions to keep away, and for defaulting on maintenance payments. Jack did work, but his labourer's pay hardly covered the maintenance payments.

Billy had a career - in the pharmaceutical industry. He was a full-time sampler of their products, and a part time salesman. In other words, he was a drug addict who engaged in casual dealing to support his habit. Strange as it may seem, his day was more structured than that of any other member of the family. He was always the first to get up in the morning, because he needed a fix, and the rest of the day was spent organising his supply for the evening and following morning; getting the money somehow, seeking out his dealer, or finding a new dealer if the usual one had been busted. He had to be resourceful and cunning, to keep out of the way of the police. Sometimes, if supplies dried up, he'd sign on at the local drug dependency clinic, which required acting skills, too. ('I really mean it this time. I want to come off.')

Sometimes, he would buy some dope along with the heroin, and sell it to his younger brother Gerald. Gerald suffered from mild schizophrenia. Using cannabis was not a good idea for him, but nobody in the family connected this with his occasional paranoid episodes. When he had one of his "turns", John and Joe would bundle him into their car and take him to the psychiatric hospital and leave him there for a couple of weeks.

Young Maisie, the long awaited daughter, was seventeen and already had a three year old daughter. She was the one the family looked to to fight all their battles these days, for having Keeley had made her grow up rapidly. She actually had a few brains and a modest amount of common sense.

There was another girl, Daisy. Daisy was as thin as piece of string and suffered badly from eczema. She was away from school twice as often as she was there, due to her numerous illnesses and family crises. There were a couple of facts about Daisy that hadn't found their way into the file yet. One was that she was addicted to cough medicine, the other was that she was pregnant. Not even her mother or sister knew about the pregnancy, although Young Maisie was on the verge of guessing. It had taken Daisy four months to realise that she was pregnant in the first place, and thereafter had been afraid to tell. Her father would want to know who was responsible; she didn't want to tell him it was Brady Stone. Brady was black, her baby would be black, and Jim O'Donnell wouldn't like that one tiny bit. So Daisy didn't tell anyone.

Donald, fifteen, was a juvenile delinquent. He shaved his head, wore Dr. Martens, sniffed glue and smashed up telephone boxes.

The file said very little about Adam, the youngest. He suffered from severe eczema, which had never responded to treatment. He'd never been in any trouble, never taken any drugs, other than those doctors had prescribed for his eczema. He had not, however, been to school for some time, although there were medical notes covering most of his absences. Before the eczema had taken hold, he'd gone to school regularly and even appeared to be reasonably bright. The O'Donnells were extremely cagey about Adam. For the last couple of years, no-one had even seen him.

Rosemary Ellis stood on the doorstep of the O'Donnells' new home. The houses had not been the most salubrious in town, even before the family moved in. The paintwork was peeling, the garden overgrown. The O'Donnells had made the situation even worse by bringing with them a battered, rusty old car, two bicycle frames and three dogs, as delinquent as some of the human members of the family. Rosemary couldn't help feeling out of place in her smart working clothes.


The dogs barked, and after some time, a tired-looking woman only slightly older than Rosemary herself, opened the door. 'Mrs O'Donnell?'

'Yes,' the woman replied.

'I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you. My name is Rosemary Ellis, from Kent Social Services. There's nothing to worry about, I just wanted to introduce myself. I understand you were in contact with the department in Lewisham, so I wanted you to know who I am if you need anything.'

'You better come in,' Maisie said, listlessly.

Rosemary followed her down the dingy corridor, littered with baby paraphernalia that Keeley had long grown out of, but that no-one had never bothered to dispose of. The house smelled strongly of dogs and whisky. Maisie showed Rosemary into a drab living room. Jim O'Donnell was sitting in his stained vest and shabby old sweat pants, a glass in his hand, his eyes fixed on the TV screen. He looked up briefly as Rosemary entered, then turned back to the programme without a word. A little girl in a grubby dress was sitting on the floor by his chair, playing with empty beer cans. A pale teenage girl in a faded dressing gown lay on the sofa, apparently asleep.

'Tea?' Maisie asked. 'There's some in the pot.'

'Thank you.'

'Please, sit down. Daisy, move over, let the lady sit down. What's the matter with you?' The pale girl sat up slowly. 

'I feel sick,' she said, and curled up in a corner of the sofa and closed her eyes again.

'Dunno what's wrong with her. She feels sick all the time these days.' Maisie commented as Rosemary seated herself at the opposite end of the sofa.

'Have you seen a doctor?' Rosemary asked the girl.

'No,' Daisy said, opening one eye.

'You probably should. He could give you something for the nausea.'

'Who are you, anyway?' Jim growled.

Rosemary introduced herself again. Jim grunted. Maisie reappeared with the tea. Jim turned away and staggered over to the television set, and thumped it hard. 'Telly's on the blink, too.'

Maisie ignored him and sat down. 'Don't take any notice of him,' she told Rosemary. Secretly, she actually liked some of the social workers - they were usually kind to her. Not having any friends in Canterbury, she was happy to have someone to talk to; and over the next few minutes, Rosemary proved most helpful in recommending doctors, good places to shop and other practical things about the area. Every so often as they talked, the picture on Jim's TV would flicker; he would swear, get up and slam his fist on the set, then sit down in front of it again.

It was not until Rosemary asked innocently, 'How many children do you have, Mrs O'Donnell?' that things began to get ugly. 

'Ten,' Maisie said.

'Nine,' Jim growled.

'Jimmy, John, Joe, Jack, Bill, Gerald, Maisie, Daisy, Donald and...'

'Nine,' Jim growled, more loudly. Maisie fell silent. It was obvious to Rosemary that she'd inadvertently touched a nerve. 'Now, I think you'd better go, Miss Ellis,' Jim hauled himself to his feet and lumbered towards her. She could smell the beer on his breath. He wagged his finger at her. 'We had enough of your sort in London, always sticking their noses in. We don't need you here as well. So push off, or I'll set the dog on you!'


Rosemary stood her ground. 'I'm here to help,' she said.

'That's it.' Jim said. 'Conan!'

The Rottweiller lurched to its feet, a menacing growl beginning in its throat. Rosemary knew it was even more important that she keep her cool now. Dogs are far more sensitive to human fear than other humans. Not that she was afraid. As usual, she knew just what to do.
Rosemary Ellis the social worker had a few secrets of her own. She was a slim, elegant woman in her late thirties. Her hair was light brown with a few, barely visible streaks of grey. She wore her hair in a professional tight bun; and was dressed in a crisp white blouse, grey slacks and a navy-blue jacket. She wore a single pearl on a chain around her neck, and was never seen without a chunky copper bracelet on each wrist. Her colleagues and the families assigned to her had never seen her let her professional persona slip. None of them, including the O'Donnells, had any idea about Rosemary Ellis's other life, or the things that made her unique.

She had talents, super-powers, you could say, which included the ability to defend herself using the power of thought. She faced the dog squarely as it braced itself to leap at her. Without taking her eyes off it, she projected a mild psionic attack at the animal. It yelped in pain and crawled under the table. Jim's mouth fell open. Even Daisy roused herself to stare. 

'Good day, Mr O'Donnell,' Rosemary said, and left, smiling to herself. The dog would he fine. It would feel like it had been at one of Jim's whisky bottles, but it would survive.
Back at her office, she took out the file, and verified that there were indeed ten children. So why hadn't Jim wanted his wife to mention Adam? There was nothing in the folder to suggest why that should be. 

Rosemary Ellis couldn't resist a mystery. She would have to meet the daughter, Young Maisie, at some stage to make sure Keeley was being looked after - but the child had looked healthy and happy enough, so there was no immediate reason to go back. At this stage, another visit would only confirm Jim's opinion that she was a busybody; but Rosemary's curiosity was sufficiently piqued that she didn't want to wait until the next routine visit. Someone who didn't represent officialdom would have to look in on them and make a few discrete enquiries. 

Rosemary's closest friend, Peter Mayfield, as headmaster of a local school, wouldn't do, especially since the word "truant" had been applied several times to each of the children over the years.

Who might be allowed in for long enough to ask a few pointed questions and be able to have a look around without being suspected of prying? Ideally someone who could provide the family with help they actually thought they needed. Remembering the visit and various things that had been said, Rosemary had an idea.

Young Maisie answered the door, holding Keeley tightly by the hand. 'Who are you?' she addressed her sullen question to the woman who stood on the step. 'You're not a social worker, are you, 'cos if you are...'

'No,' Judith Brent said hastily. 'Nothing like that.' She could see the shadowy figure of Jim, looking on suspiciously from the doorway to the kitchen. 'The reason I'm calling is that I'm setting up an electrical repairs business in the area. I wanted to leave you my card.'

'Oh really?' Jim said, as Young Maisie studied the card, 'what does a woman like you know about fixing things?'

Rosemary's associate, Judith Brent, was indeed setting up such a business. She, too, had a secret life and secret talents, including genius level intelligence and a particular gift for anything to do with electronics. It was the obvious cover and a way to make some spending money.

'You might be surprised,' Judith said. 'Let me make you an introductory offer. If you have any faulty appliances just now, I'll mend them for you, free of charge.'

Young Maisie heard the words 'free of charge' and cut in. 'You keep saying the telly's on the blink, Dad. Let her have a look at it. Can't do any harm.'


'All right. Show her where it is, I'm going down the pub. Where's your mother?'

'Dunno,' Maisie said. 'Gone to the doctor's, I expect. Here's the telly.' There was the sound of someone throwing up coming from the bathroom above. 'Oh God,' Maisie cried. 'Daisy. I'll be back.'

Judith shrugged. So much for asking questions. The little girl was hardly likely to tell her anything. 'What are you doing?' the little girl asked, as Judith removed the casing from the back of the TV.

'Mending your granddad's telly,' Judith replied. She looked at the workings inside, and spotted the loose connection immediately. 'Stay over there, sweetheart,' Judith told the girl. 'I have to use a tool that gets very hot.' She took out a soldering iron, and after a few moments, said, 'There. That should fix it.'

'Adam's telly doesn't work either.'

Adam. Judith recognised the name. That was the one Rosemary wanted her to find out about. 'No? Perhaps Adam would like me to mend his telly, too?' The girl nodded. 'Where is it? Show me?'

She followed the child up the stairs. Keeley stopped in front of a closed door. 'It's in there,' she said.

Judith knocked on the door. 'W-Who is it?' a gruff and frightened voice answered.

'I hear you're having bother with your television set.'

'No. It's fine.'

'That's not what your niece said. I'm setting up a business around here, and I'm doing a few repairs free of charge. Let me look at it for you.'

'No. No thanks.'

Judith was about ready to give up when Keeley reached up and pushed the door open. The room was dark - heavy curtains were drawn over the windows, so that the only light came from the flickering screen. Adam was hunched on the bed, with his back to the door. He was surrounded by empty crisp wrappers, mugs and plates. Judith couldn't stop herself from letting out a little gasp when she saw him. He was much too large for his years; his head and hands and feet were grossly out of proportion to the rest of him. Worst of all, his skin was rough and craggy, just like rock. Why, she thought, he's like another Elephant Man...

'I told you not to come in,' he said, thickly.

'I'm sorry. I had no idea...'

'I know. You had no idea I was so ugly. Please. Leave me alone.'

'I said I'd fix your television, and I intend to do just that, no matter what you look like,' Judith said, briskly. Again, it was a common fault, easy to find and rectify. 'There. I think you'll find that's much better. You can call me again if there are any more problems. Here's my card...'

'Don't touch me,' he said, as she reached out to hand him the card.

She drew back. 'Does it hurt?' she asked.

'Of course it hurts. You'd hurt too if you had to go through life looking like this!'

She looked into his eyes. There was a sad, trapped creature behind them. A sensitive soul imprisoned in this body, in this room, in this house. Her heart went out to him. She laid her hand on his arm. The skin was rough and hard, but warm.

'What are you doing in here?' Young Maisie snapped, from the doorway.

Judith started. 'Your little girl told me there was another dodgy TV set in here. I've seen to it. It's not flickering now. Here.' She dropped one of her business cards on Adam's bed. 'If it starts playing up again, just call me, okay?' She smiled at Adam, and left the room.

'Oh. Good,' Young Maisie said, awkwardly, 'but she shouldn't have. Don't tell anyone about him, though. We don't want a fuss.'

'No. Of course you don't,' Judith said, and took her leave, but she made no promises not to say anything to anyone.

'He can't go on living like that!' Judith's words echoed around Peter Mayfield's head as he strode up to the O'Donnell residence. He agreed heartily. When Rosemary and Judith had told him about Adam, he knew he'd have to do something to help the boy. There was no medical condition which would leave him so disfigured; he had to be a genetic variant of some kind, and as such could not be ignored. The problem was going to be getting past his family.

Headmasters usually left problems of truancy to other officials, and didn't carry out home visits themselves. As it was, the officials hadn't yet picked up the fact that Adam had failed to register at a school in the area. Peter knew the officials wouldn't be able to help Adam as he could - anything that was in their power to do for Adam would be woefully inappropriate, however well-meaning. He had to get to Adam before they did. His position of Head of the nearest secondary school was the most plausible way of gaining access to the boy and assessing what could be done.

'Peter Mayfield, head of St. Kilda's school,' he announced to Jim when he opened the door. 

'I'm here about your youngest son. I notice he hasn't been put down for any of the schools in the area, and I'm rather concerned.'

'That's 'cos he's an invalid,' Jim snapped. 'He can't go to school.'

'I understand, but it is a legal requirement that children are educated up to the age of sixteen. If he's ill, then you will need to organise a special school or home tuition. I can help you with that. Perhaps I could have a word with your son?'

Jim stood solidly in the door frame. 'That isn't possible.' Peter suspected that any minute Jim would set Conan on him. He knew Jim hadn't hesitated to set the dog on Rosemary. He couldn't disable the dog with psionics like Rosemary had; but he had other talents, and he wanted to speak to Adam.

Jim hit the floor as if a twenty-stone wrestler had leapt on him from the landing and was sitting on him. He hadn't the strength to lift himself up from the floor. He growled with impotent fury as the headmaster stepped calmly over him and went up the stairs. The fury quickly gave way to fear. He recalled all the warnings he'd ever heard about sensible drinking. What had he done to himself? For the first time in his life, he was afraid he might have damaged his health.

Peter knocked on Adam's door and went right in. Adam was still hunched on the bed. It looked as if he hadn't moved since Judith had seen him. When he saw Peter, he buried his head in his hands and rocked back and forth. 'No. No.' he groaned.

Peter sat down beside him. 'I'm Peter, Adam. I just want to talk to you. Look at me. Please?'

Slowly, Adam raised his head. 'What do you want with me?' he asked, dully.

'I want to help you.'

'What can you do? Are you a doctor? Can you make me look like everyone else?'

He looked so hopeful. It hurt Peter to have to say, 'I'm not a doctor. I'm afraid I can't change how you look. I'm afraid a doctor couldn't, either; but I believe I know why you look that way.'

'So why? Let me guess. I'm cursed by God. That's what my dad says.'

'No,' Peter said, 'it's not that. You're a genetic variant.'

'A mutant, you mean. A monster.'

'Well, it's true that genetic variation is another word for a mutant, but I prefer to use genetic variant because it doesn't have the same negative connotations. Whatever you are, you are not a monster. A monster would have attacked me by now. You're just a lad with an unfortunate genetic variation.'

'How do you know that?'

'You see this device?' Peter held out his hand. He held out a small black box with a dial on it. 'It's called a G.V.D. Genetic Variation Detector. It's a small laboratory and computer in a box. It is continuously sampling the air, which contains skin and hair cells from both of us. It can detect any variation from a so-called normal genotype. It's telling me you are a variant.'

'I suppose it's nice to know why I look like this, but if you can't make it go away and make me look normal, you can't help. I might as well be dead.'

'I wouldn't say that,' Peter said. 'Variants usually have abilities - often the kinds of things people would call super-powers. In fact, I'm a variant myself, which is why I believe I can help you.'

'How can you help? I can't go out. I'm stuck in this room...'

'You don't have to be. I don't think you should live like this, all shut away with the curtains drawn. It isn't healthy. I'm suggesting you come and live with me. I have a big house, with grounds, surrounded by a high wall. If you live there, you'll be able to go outside in the fresh air without anyone seeing you. Not only that, you can meet some other variants. They know genetic variants can come in all shapes, sizes and colours, so you don't have to worry about frightening them. I'm a teacher, too, and I could arrange for you to be home-schooled so you can get some qualifications. Think about it. Give me a call.' He handed Adam his telephone number.

Adam stared at it, long after the man had gone. It sounded like a dream; he wanted it more than anything, but it had to be too good to be true. His dad would never let him go, for a start. How could he get to Peter's house, anyway? Even if he'd known where it was, he couldn't catch a bus or call a taxi or even walk there. He would terrify anyone who laid eyes on him. That was why he'd stopped going to school, even though, unlike his siblings, he'd enjoyed learning. He put the number aside with a gigantic sigh, and turned on the TV.
Something snapped inside Mrs. O'Donnell as she struggled home from the supermarket. Elation at finding the very reasonably priced one that the social worker had told her about gave way to frustration; now she had heavy bags to carry and no idea of the way home. She'd taken a wrong turning somewhere, and was hopelessly lost. She sat down heavily on a bench and started to cry.


Her inability to find her way home was the final straw in a string of catastrophes thrown at her by her family; new burdens she was somehow going to have to cope with. She looked at the smart suburban apartments across the street from where she sat, and wished she could live in one of those, instead of a dilapidated house that constantly smelled of dogs. She buried her head in her arms and sobbed.

'Mrs. O'Donnell? Are you all right?' Maisie stopped crying to wonder who could possibly be here who knew her. She looked up. 'You're not, are you? How about a nice cup of tea?' Rosemary Ellis said. 'My flat's just over there.'

Maisie gratefully followed Rosemary across the road and into the building. There was nothing she wanted more than a nice cup of tea, except perhaps someone to unload her problems onto, and Rosemary Ellis seemed perfectly able to provide both. 'Okay,' Miss Ellis said, handing her a steaming mug, 'feel like telling me what's wrong?'

'What's right? Jim's really sick. He fell down the other day and couldn't get up again for half an hour. He's drinking himself to death, I'm sure he is. He might not be a good husband, but I don't know what I'd do without him...'

Rosemary smiled to herself. She knew very well what had caused that, and it wasn't the drink. Nevertheless, it would do Jim O'Donnell no harm to worry about his drinking. 'I'm sure it's not too late, if he goes and sees a doctor right away.' Rosemary guessed that paralysis or no paralysis, any doctor would have sharp words about the amount Jim drank, and that could only be a good thing.

'And Daisy. She's pregnant. She told me this morning. She must be about six months gone. She was scared to say anything because the father's black. It doesn't bother me, but Jim will go crazy. He might even throw her out on the street.'

'If it comes to that, tell her to call me. I can find her a place to stay - that's what I'm here for. She told me, though, she hasn't seen a doctor. It's very important that she does, for her sake and the child's. Promise me you'll take her to the doctor.' Mrs O'Donnell nodded. 'Now, is there anything else?'

'Adam is more depressed than usual. I don't know what to do with him.'

'Who's Adam?' Rosemary knew she wasn't supposed to know about him, and kept to the pretence. 

'My youngest son. The one Jim didn't want me to tell you about. He's deformed, you see. Something wrong with his skin. He can't go out or anything. The doctors can't do nothing.'

'I'm sorry. So tell me, where is he now?'

'In the back bedroom. That's where he always is. It's such a shame. He was always the best of my bunch. He might have made something of himself. Given the chance.' Rosemary nodded. From what she'd heard, that was probably true.

'Perhaps he still can. I know someone who could help him. A friend of mine owns a big house, big enough for someone like Adam to get totally lost in; most of his visitors would understand about Adam's condition, and any who didn't could be easily avoided. He's a teacher, too - so Adam could catch up on his education.'

'Jim would never allow it.'

'What we're talking about is what's best for your son, not what Jim wants. You need to talk to Adam. Find out what he wants to do. I'll give you a lift home, if you like, we can speak to him together.'

'I'd like that,' Maisie said.

Daisy awoke in agony. Surely the baby wasn't coming already? She struggled out of bed, and down the stairs. She had to get someone to call for help. It wasn't time for the baby, not yet, but what else could all this pain be? Daisy stumbled from room to room - no-one was there. The house was empty. Jim and Jimmy were at the betting shop. Her mother wasn't back from the shops yet. John and Joe were out on one of their dubious errands; Billy was never around at this time of day - he'd be sorting out his fix. Jack was at work, Donald was at school, officially, anyway. Young Maisie had taken Keeley to the park, and Gerald was having one of his stays at the hospital, not that Gerald would have been any help even if he'd been there.

That left Adam. She hammered on his door. 'Adam, it's Daisy. Please, let me in!'

Adam lumbered over to the door, just in time to catch her as the pain got too much for her and she passed out. It was a few weeks since Adam had seen Daisy. She avoided him, as a rule. When he'd last seen her, her pregnancy had hardly been showing. Now it was obvious. It hurt that his own sister hadn't even told him she was pregnant. He lifted her effortlessly but gently onto his bed. He knew no-one else was home. He'd watched them all leave, from behind his net curtains, one by one. It was down to him to help her. How? He thought of Peter Mayfield. He still had the number. He'd know what to do. He could come over and drive Daisy to hospital.

There was no reply, just an answering machine. Adam realised he would have to take Daisy to hospital himself. There was no other way.

'I have to call in at my office first,' Rosemary said. 'I need to let them know where I'm going.'

Maisie nodded. The car swung into the hospital grounds. Rosemary's office was based in a pre-fabricated building at the far end. Rosemary took in the commotion that seemed to be taking place around the casualty department. A couple of police cars, blue lights flashing, were parked outside. A hysterical woman was being calmed by a young police officer. It was a hospital. Things like this occurred all the time. Rosemary drove past and turned into the staff car park.


Maisie followed Rosemary to her office, deciding that she really admired the woman. She lived and worked in such luxury, yet she was so kind and capable.

'Oh, Miss Ellis, there are a couple of quite urgent messages for you,' the receptionist said as they walked in. 'I left them on your desk.'

'Thanks, Emily,' Rosemary said, picking up the scraps of paper. She scanned them, quickly. There was a young girl in the maternity ward, giving birth prematurely, a single parent. She was going to need social work support. The bizarre aspect of the girl's confinement would be discussed with her by Sister when she got to the ward.

The second message was from Robert Keating, her boss, and today's duty social worker. Call urgently, it said. There was no other information. 'Maisie, I have a couple of calls to make, I'm afraid. I hope I won't be too long. Make yourself comfortable.'

She decided to deal with Robert first. She paged him, and he returned the call immediately. 'I'm in security,' he said. 'It's an incredible story. I'll tell you all about it later, but what I really need to know is where I can find Peter Mayfield. He's not at the school. I thought you might know where to find him.' Of all the people Robert Keating might want, Peter Mayfield was the least likely. The two of them had hardly spoken for years. It must be an emergency. 

Rosemary thought hard. 'What is it, Tuesday? Yes, I believe he's at a school board committee meeting. He'll be impossible to get hold of before four. Is there anything I can do?'

'I don't know. Maybe. Security are holding a - a person - who is asking for Peter Mayfield to be called. I can't really explain on the phone, you'll have to see for yourself. You won't believe it otherwise.'

'Okay. I have another call to make, then I'll drop in on my way out. Tell security that. Tell this person I'm a friend of Peter's and I'll help if I can.'

Maternity sister confirmed that, although the girl was well advanced in labour, it would be some hours yet before she was in a fit state to see a social worker. 'Make your calls, Miss Ellis, and call me again afterwards.'

'Can I have a name, so I can get my files ready?'

'Sure, her name is Daisy O'Donnell...'

Rosemary flashed a glance at Maisie, who was drinking her tea, blissfully unaware of the crisis. 'Right. How is she?'

'As well as can be expected. Wants her mother, but no-one seems to know where she is.'

'I do. She'll be there shortly.' She put the telephone down and turned to Maisie. 'Maisie, Daisy's on the ward. She's in labour. I think I'd better take you there instead of taking you home.' Maisie turned pale.

Maisie may not have been bright, but one thing she knew a lot about was childbirth. Daisy knew that, and visibly relaxed when she saw her mother. Rosemary left them and went to find Sister. 'What was this 'bizarre aspect' you were telling me about?'

'The way she got here,' Sister said. 'You'd have to see it to believe it. I think it must have been what started her off. You've seen the Incredible Hulk and all of those things, well, the Police picked up this - this thing, carrying her off down the street - they brought them both here. Security have got the monster. It was quite hideous.'

Sister's assumptions angered Rosemary. Especially when she knew that the 'thing' was Daisy's brother, not a monster at all, and that he would have been trying to help her, not harm her. 'I see you have everything under control here, as far as is possible, so if you'll excuse me, I have other calls to make,' she said, shortly, and walked out of the ward.
Sister watched her go, rankled by her tone. She had come to expect that of Rosemary Ellis, though. Sister had nothing but respect for the work Rosemary did; there was no doubt that she knew what she was doing, the majority of the time, but some of the stands she took were inconvenient to the point of irritation where the work of the ward was concerned.

When she was on the ward, Rosemary Ellis was officious and curt, almost rude. Yet Sister knew that in a day or two, she'd meet Rosemary Ellis in the canteen, and she'd apologise for her bad temper, and explain over coffee why she'd demanded certain things for a particular patient. That was what usually happened, which was how Sister had developed such respect for the social worker, in spite of her manner. Sister was not sure if that was a tactic for getting things done her way, the way Rosemary Ellis reacted under pressure, or if she was ill-at-ease on the ward for some reason. Sister suspected the latter.

Rosemary went straight to security. There she found Adam sitting hunched in a corner, head in hands, trying to make himself small and inconspicuous - not an easy task - with Robert Keating and a security guard watching him warily as if he was about to go berserk. 'I don't know why you're looking so worried,' Rosemary said. 'He's not going to hurt anyone.' She turned to Adam, and said, 'It's Adam, isn't it?' and held out her hand. Adam looked slowly up at her. For a long moment he just stared at her, then hesitantly shook it.

'You don't think I'm a monster, do you?'

'No. Of course I don't.'

'These people do. The police do. My family do. Sometimes I do.'

'That's because they don't know any better. You're special, Adam, and I'm going to make sure you realise it.'

'I wish I wasn't special. All I want to be is ordinary.'

'I'm going to take this boy home,' Rosemary announced, and would listen to no objections from Robert or the guard. 'He won't hurt me, and it's the best thing for him. Out of my way.'

She hoped Adam would be able to squeeze into her car. He didn't fit in the passenger seat, but if Rosemary put both front seats forward as far as possible, he could just about straddle the back seat, although he still had to hunker down with his head on his chest. Rosemary suspected he hadn't quite finished growing yet. He was going to get even bigger. 'I don't want to go home,' Adam announced, as she reached for the ignition key. 'I'd forgotten what outside was like, I don't want to go back into that room. I feel like a prisoner.'

'I bet you do. When I said 'home', I meant wherever you want to go. What about Peter Mayfield's? If you're interested in taking up the offer he made you, that is.'

'Yes, I am. You know, it was so easy, stuck in that room, to believe I'd always be there, shut away, that it was too hard to get out. Now that I've been out, I don't want to go back. Ever.'

From that day, Adam O'Donnell took up residence in Peter's mansion, and never looked back. Daisy O'Donnell stayed there too for a short while with her baby son, Luke - Maisie had been quite right - Jim had been furious when he'd learned the baby was black, and refused to let Daisy or her son into his house. Having a baby helped Daisy as it had her sister - she grew up rapidly. Her mother was a regular visitor, behind Jim's back, and taught Daisy all she needed to know about child care. Then, after a few months, Daisy got back together with Brady Stone, this time permanently. Rosemary was able to help move them to the top of the housing list.

Adam blossomed, and looked forward to visits from his mother and siblings. He enjoyed entertaining them, and showing them around the grounds. Most of all, Adam loved to sit outside, simply enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin and fresh air in his lungs. He could be found on the lawn most afternoons, his school books spread around him. He was catching up fast with the other kids his age, and was showing an aptitude for maths and science.
As Rosemary had suspected, Adam kept on growing. He grew taller, his hands and feet grew larger, and his skin became harder, and even more like granite. He grew stronger, too, and learned that with proper training, he could be quite formidable. Peter, Rosemary and Judith couldn't help but notice that, where they were concerned, at least, he'd gained confidence. He was bright, willing to learn, and had a wicked sense of humour, often at his own expense. He asked for a pet rock for Christmas, said his favourite music was rock music, and in particular, the Rolling Stones. He didn't even mind when Judith affectionately called him 'Boulder'.

One day, Peter Mayfield entertained a group of local head teachers at his home - he'd not been especially keen to do so, as they were a rather starchy bunch - but there were some important policy issues to discuss, and they'd agreed that they were all becoming stale sitting around the same table: the same old arguments going round and round, and no new ideas coming into play. A change of scene might help things along.

It was a pleasant day, so Peter invited them onto his patio for drinks, not realising that Adam was there, sunning himself. Before Peter could steer his guests back inside, Adam winked and took up a pose. Throughout the meeting, he stood perfectly still, until, just as the guests were leaving, one of them, a tartar of a woman, walked up to inspect the strange statue. 'An interesting piece of art, Peter,' she said.

Adam gave her a playful wink. She let out a most undignified shriek. 'Did you see that?'

'See what?' Peter replied, trying hard not to laugh.

'It winked at me!'

'Winked at you?' A pompous, obese gentleman boomed derisively. 'Really, Hortense, I think you've had too much sun. Or too much of Peter's sherry, har har!' Adam winked again. 'Good God! It does wink!'

'Nonsense, Edward, how could it? It's only a statue,' Peter replied, secretly relishing the joke. 'No sherry for you, next time, either, Ed!'

He saw them out, and returned, his sides shaking with laughter. 'You're wicked, you know that!' he said. Adam collapsed into hysterical giggles. They were still laughing when Rosemary arrived, and it was several minutes before they had stopped laughing sufficiently to explain the joke to her.











Sunday 16 August 2015

Rocking The Boat

Sylvia pushed the trolley slowly around the small supermarket, consulting the list on her tablet as she went. Provisioning the boat was always her job. It made sense for her to do it, rather than Jack; people would recognise him and then it would be all over Whitter that the President was on Dewdrop Island; people would be on the lookout for him and if he was seen with Sylvia, that would make things very awkward indeed. Sylvia, on the other hand, was just another customer, one of the regular sailing crowd.

She dressed the part, in navy blue slacks, flat canvas deck shoes and a white sweater. She always looked forward to her sailing weekends. It was refreshing to get out of the city, breathe in the fresh sea air, and spend time in the pretty little village that surrounded the main harbour of Dewdrop island. The huddle of quaint little houses with their whitewashed walls, terracotta roofs and climbing plants with flowers in all colours of the rainbow, never failed to charm her. 


The only ugly thing in the whole place was the hulking, rusting shell of a tanker lorry that had crashed there years ago and no-one had taken responsibility for moving it. The tank had eroded and slid onto the ground beside the cab. It looked worse every time they saw it. She wished Jack would write to the Dewdrop Island council and demand they remove it - but then they would know that the President was a regular visitor - something that Sylvia and Jack took great pains to hide.

She frowned at her list. The trolley was quite full already and she still had more things to get. It seemed that this week, they had run out of just about everything and especially heavy things, like bottled water, soft drinks, a box of wine and cleaning fluid. Carrying this lot to the boat was going to be a challenge. Jack should be on the boat by now, but she couldn't call him to help and risk them being seen together. The trolleys automatically jammed a few yards from the shop, so borrowing the trolley wasn't an option. She'd just have to manage.
Her purchases were bagged up - she was thankful for her sturdy Hessian bags-for-life, but they were, as she had expected, very heavy, and bulky. Still, she'd make it if she took it slowly and made frequent stops.

'Can I help you with that?' someone said.

Sylvia looked up and saw a young man standing in front of her. He was tall and his short-sleeved t-shirt revealed pretty impressive muscles under tanned skin. A couple of heavy shopping bags would pose no difficulty at all to him. Sylvia hesitated. At home in Sprawling, an offer like this from a stranger usually meant the person was involved in some kind of scam; they would either run off with the shopping, or be some kind of oddball who'd liked the look of her, and would take her acceptance as an excuse to stalk her for months.

This guy didn't look like an oddball. He had an intelligent, honest face and a charming, slightly lopsided smile. 'It's okay, really,' he said, seeing her hesitation. 'I just want to help. I'm not a thief or a loony. I could see you were struggling with all that stuff.'

People in Dewdrop were friendlier than people in Sprawling, Sylvia had noticed. They would say hello simply to be friendly and polite; random strangers at the quay would help with mooring up, which, seeing as Jack had to stay out of sight, Sylvia was always grateful for. She tried to recall if this young man was one of the people who used to tie the boat up for them. He might have been, but she wasn't sure. 'Okay, thanks,' she said, and the young man took the bags from her.


'Where to?'

'Mooring number nine, The White Swan,' she said.

The young man started walking. He didn't seem to find the bags heavy at all, and before too long, they had reached Jack's boat. The hatches were closed, although that was to be expected. Jack would usually shut himself up inside the boat to avoid being seen. Sylvia had a key.

'Do you want help putting all this away?' the young man asked.

'I think I can manage,' Sylvia said. 'Just pop it all down on the deck.' She felt awkward as the young man bounded up the gangplank and put the bags down. He'd been very helpful and it would have been good form to offer him a drink - but she couldn't let him run into Jack. She couldn't be sure that he wasn't a Whitter spy, sent to check out a rumour that Jack Ward spent weekends on his secret yacht with his fancy woman.

Her dilemma was solved when her phone rang. Jack. 'I'm at the boat,' she said. 'Where are you?'

'I'm really sorry, but the Senate session has significantly over-run. I won't be able to get there until tomorrow morning. Will you be okay on your own for tonight?'

'Of course,' she said, trying her best to hide her disappointment. The time she got to spend with Jack as his lover, rather than a work colleague, was short enough as it was. She resented anything that ate into that time. 'I've got my key and I've got the provisions. I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow.'

She clicked the phone off and turned to the young man. At least she wouldn't have to appear so terribly rude and send him away. 'That was my partner. I thought he was down below but apparently he's still in Sprawling. So a bit of help would be welcome after all.'

'No problem,' he said.

Sylvia wondered if it was actually wise to let the young man know that her partner wasn't around - she'd be safer if he thought her partner was going to show up any minute; but her gut feeling was telling her this guy really was okay and just wanted to help, as he'd said. When everything was put away, he went up on deck and made for the plank. He wasn't waiting around for any reward or even a thank you.

'Wait,' Sylvia called after him. 'Thank you.'

'My pleasure,' he said. 'If the gods gave me a strong body, the least I can do is use it.'
'Can I buy you a drink? Supper, maybe?' She pointed to the small taverna opposite the boat. She'd often thought she'd like to eat there, but eating out was never usually possible, because the staff would surely recognise Jack. She could go there with this young man and nobody would comment or badger them, or take pictures to post on Whitter. People might think she was a cradle-snatcher; they might even assume she was his mother; but since this young man wasn't famous, that was as far as it would go.

'A drink would be good. I'm not sure what I did merits a whole meal, so I'll pay for my own food.'

'All right,' Sylvia said. 'That's a deal. Let's go. I'm Sylvia, by the way.'

'Pleased to meet you. I'm Nathan.'

Sylvia felt a little concerned at first that she and Nathan would find very little to talk about, but her fears quickly proved unfounded when she asked him what he did for a living.
'I'm in my last year of college,' he said. 'I'm studying politics.'

Well, there was common ground, for a start, Sylvia thought. 'What do you think you'll do with that?'

'I might be overly ambitious here,' he said, 'but I'd like to work in government. I know the President has a team of people who watch social media for him and compile statistics and advise him about all of that. I don't know if they'd take anyone fresh out of college, though.'
Sylvia laughed. 'You know something? Today might just be your lucky day. That team you just mentioned - I'm the head of it. Sylvia Brightman. We have been known to take college graduates, if they're good. Our IT guy was one, although he did work for us one summer as an intern.'

'So do you have any advice for someone like me?'

'You have a few months to go - have you chosen your options?'

'Almost. I thought statistics, history of political speeches, and social media in politics.'

'Perfect. How are your grades?'

'Good. 'A' average and a distinction for handing in work on time.'

'You sound promising,' Sylvia said. 'I don't have any vacancies just now, but in a few months, who knows?' She opened her purse and took out her business card to give to him. 'Give me a call when you graduate and I'll see what I can do. If I don't have any vacancies myself at the time, there might be some other opening you can look into so you can get some experience while you're waiting.'

'Thanks, I'll do that.'

'What's your last name, Nathan, so I can look out for you?'

'It's Tate. Nathan Tate.'

'That name's familiar,' Sylvia said, frowning. She was certain she'd heard the name before.
'Really?' Nathan looked faintly concerned.

'Yes, it definitely rings a bell. Have you contacted the President's Office before?'

'No. The nearest I got was calling in something suspicious I saw when I was visiting the ADDS facility in Proton.'

'That's it,' Sylvia said. 'I remember now. It was your evidence which nailed the guy who tried to shoot down Innovia One.'

'Yes. That was me.' He seemed relieved. Sylvia couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something; and that made her wary. After all, Jorge had seemed a pleasant, helpful type, too, until he'd been exposed as a mole for the Freedom From Politics organisation. 'In fact it was that day that aroused my interest in politics. Until that point I was going to go into building and construction.'

'That's quite a change.'

'Yeah. I know. All through school I never really knew what I wanted to do as a career and then I got to the point where I had to choose something. I thought I wanted to be outdoors, doing physical work, but I realised that it wasn't enough. I needed something to stretch my mind, as well. So I switched. People said I'd wasted a year, but I don't think so. I know how to build a wall. You never know when that might come in handy.'

'I'll bear that in mind if any of my friends need a builder,' Sylvia said. 'So you don't miss being outdoors doing physical stuff?'

'As long as I can get out in my spare time, I can handle it,' he grinned. 'That's kind of why I'm here. When I get a few days off, I often go hiking somewhere. Dewdrop has a coastal path that's supposed to have stunning views.'


'You don't sail, then?'

'Never tried it, although it looks like fun. I'd like to give it a go one day. It's on my list.'

Sylvia looked at him. Was she being paranoid? Had she been living in Sprawling too long, where every other person had an ulterior motive? Could he really be a mole as well? Surely not, if he'd handed Jed Hart over. A FFP supporter would never do that.

'You must have known people who were on Innovia One that day,' Nathan said.

'I was on board myself,' Sylvia said, quietly.

'That must have been terrifying,' Nathan said.

'It was,' she replied, pushing a potato around her plate with her fork. 'I still have nightmares about it. I thought that was it, that I was going to die.'

Nathan said nothing.

'It was pretty incredible what happened,' she said. 'Who would have thought a superhero would appear out of nowhere, catch the plane and carry it to the nearest airport?'

'Yeah. I don't think anybody was expecting that.'

'I did a bit of research at the time,' Sylvia said. 'Seems the same guy had foiled a few petty crimes but had managed to escape much publicity. He's really high profile now, yet nobody knows who the heck he is. Beats me how he does it. The President was never able to thank him personally for what he did.'

'I expect if he'd wanted thanks, he'd have stuck around for it,' Nathan shrugged. 'Strikes me he wants to stay out of the limelight.'

'I suppose. But Jack Ward is pretty big on giving people credit and thanks where it's due, so he feels the lack of closure, I think. Especially since Power Blaster saved his life a second time, at that Longest Day speech in Northlake.'

'My guess is that if Power Blaster wants us to know who he is, then he'll tell us,' Nathan said.
Just then, Sylvia's phone rang. She picked it up, wondering if it would be Jack, but the caller ID simply said, 'Office'. One of her team. Even though this was a rare day off for Sylvia, she was never out of touch. 'Sorry, Nathan, I need to take this.'

'Go ahead,' he said. 'Don't mind me.'

'Yes?' Sylvia spoke brightly into her tablet phone. 'Hello, Shanna, what can I do for you? No, it's absolutely fine - I said to call if you had any problems at all, and I meant it. OK. Right. Oh, that man is a nuisance. What's his query? Ah. That is nothing to do with us, Shanna. Tell him he needs to talk to the Treasury about that. Marcus will know. Aside from that, is everything okay? Good. Don't hesitate to call if there's anything else, but don't you stay too much longer. It's gone six. You too. 'Bye.'

She slipped her phone back in her bag. 'New girl,' Sylvia said. 'Only been with us a week, but it happened that one of the others had holiday, too, another had a doctor's appointment today and the other one was on their break when the office pain in the backside decided to go in and hassle her.'

'There's always one, right?'

'There certainly is,' Sylvia smiled. 'So what's your plan for your trip?'

'I'll start out early tomorrow morning and walk the coast path. Do the round trip; chill out in the evening and head back to Sprawling some time the day after. You?'

'We were planning to circumnavigate the island tomorrow, but since I don't know what time my partner will get here, I'm not expecting there to be time to do that. We both have to be back in Sprawling the day after, as well, so it doesn't look like we'll get very far. Still, it's good to be out of the city. It's relaxing to be on the boat, even if we stay in dock.'

'Must be disappointing, though.'

'A little, but he may well get here in time to get to a nice bay we can anchor in and eat some of that food I just bought.'

When Sylvia returned to the yacht it was almost dark. Nathan insisted on walking her back and wouldn't leave until he'd seen her safely inside. Such a young gentleman, she thought, as she watched him walk briskly away towards the guest house he was staying in. That reason alone made her think she'd like him on her team some day. She hoped his work was as good as his manners. She closed and locked the hatch and settled down for a night by herself.

**

In the early hours of the morning, three figures dressed entirely in black, their faces covered, crept down to the quayside. Two of them carried a large, heavy bag between them. They stopped in front of the row of yachts and put the bag down. Their leader counted the boats. 'Fourteen,' he said, 'and only twelve bombs.'

'So which two boats do we spare?'

'None of them will be spared, Kitch. They'll all suffer damage. Even the two we miss out will need repairs. If twelve are completely destroyed that will be statement enough. I say we miss out the two smallest ones. I mean, they are all disgusting shows of excess wealth, but if we have to choose then it has to be that the most ostentatious go first.'


Kitch cast his eyes along the row of moored boats. Two of them were indeed smaller than the rest; the Early Bird, and the White Swan. Jack Ward had purposely chosen a smaller vessel, knowing that people would assume the President of Innovia would go for something showy. Had Kitch and his friends been aware of this, The White Swan would have been the first boat to be blown up. Jack Ward, after all, was responsible for the policies which allowed some people to be able to afford floating gin palaces while others starved.

'OK,' the leader said. 'On my signal.'

Twelve explosions ripped through the silent night in quick succession. Three people asleep on three of the yachts died instantly; the explosions destroyed five boats completely and severely damaged others. Shrapnel and burning pieces of wood flew into the air; even the two yachts the group had decided to spare were aflame. There was no-one on board the Early Bird; on the White Swan, Sylvia woke from a nightmare in which she was on Innovia One again and it was falling from the sky in flames, and Power Blaster was not there to save it. She woke to find the yacht in flames and acrid smoke pouring in through the open porthole. She found the fire extinguisher with difficulty as her eyes were streaming and it was hard to see anything. She thought the fire was on deck; she had to get out and deal with it; but the cabin was full of smoke, and as she felt for the key in the hatch and tried to turn it, it fell onto the floor. Gasping and coughing, Sylvia tried to find it, feeling all around in vain until she passed out.

Power Blaster had arrived on the scene a few minutes earlier, and had hefted up the hulk of the old tanker lorry, flown with it to the harbour, and used it to scoop up large quantities of sea water he could use to douse the flames. By the time the fire-fighters got there, most of the fires were out, and there was little left for them to do. Power Blaster had no way of knowing which of the boats were occupied, although it was clear there would be nothing he could do for most of the people who had chosen to sleep on board that night. The White Swan was nearest to him; he could see a pair of deck shoes next to the hatch, suggesting there was someone inside.

One kick from Power Blaster and the locked hatch splintered. He shielded his face with his cape and went in. Sylvia was lying at his feet. Power Blaster scooped her up effortlessly and laid her gently on the quayside. She did not seem to be breathing. He was about to administer CPR when the people who'd started to come running from the village arrived at the scene.

'Who can do CPR?' Power Blaster shouted to them. A man stepped forward and started working on Sylvia while Power Blaster flew from boat to boat looking for other survivors. Four more people were saved, including a six year old child.

Sylvia spluttered and coughed as her lungs started working again. She managed to sit up and look around. Power Blaster, his face still covered by his cloak, was handing the child to a paramedic on shore. The Superhero was just a few feet away from her; if only he'd uncover his face, she'd get a good look at him. She thought for a moment that he was going to show himself, just as he turned to look right at her, as if checking that she was all right. His eyes met hers for a moment, but the darkness and the smoke and the fact his face was mostly covered meant that she couldn't get a good impression of him; she couldn't even make out the colour of his eyes.

He looked away from her, glanced around the scene to make sure that he'd done all he could, and that the emergency services were coping adequately with the aftermath, and flew away, as enigmatic as ever.

The paramedics insisted upon taking Sylvia to the Dewdrop Hospital to be fully checked out, and she was still there in the morning when Jack Ward arrived. He told the nurses that one of his staff had been caught in the explosion and he had come to check on her. The nurses seemed to believe that, and much as Sylvia wanted to throw herself into Jack's arms, she couldn't do it. She had to pretend she was only being visited by her boss.

As well as Sylvia, Jack visited all those who had been injured and kept in the hospital. He'd seen the news of the disaster on his news feed, he said, and had flown straight over. He neglected to mention that he'd been halfway through the flight to his planned rendezvous with Sylvia when the story had broken.

As Jack did the rounds of victims, Sylvia was discharged. She did not wait for Jack, but went back to the boat. White Swan had been incredibly lucky. Aside from burns on the port side, much of the interior blackened with smoke damage and the broken hatch Power Blaster had kicked in, the yacht was intact. A good clean and a new hatch and she would be as good as new; but others had not been so fortunate. Blackened hulls and floating debris was all that was left of some of them.

People had already left bunches of flowers on the quay in memorial to those who had lost their lives. Sylvia looked at them, and read the cards. She realised she'd known some of those people. She'd never known their names, but she had known them by their boats, the names of which appeared on the card. Mrs. Queen of Sprawling was gone and so were Mr and Mrs Sealegs. Sylvia stood quietly for a few moments out of respect for these people whose real names she had only just learned, before boarding White Swan to assess the damage. It was heart-breaking. This wasn't just a boat to Sylvia. It was her love-nest, and the scene of so many memories. She sank onto a seat which smelled of smoke, and cried.

'We can clean her up,' a soft voice said behind her. 'We were lucky.'

Jack, wearing a cap, sunglasses and casual clothes, came down the companionway. Without his smart suit he was barely recognisable as the President; but Sylvia knew him right away. 'Oh, Jack,' she cried, and clung to him.

'Thank the gods you weren't killed,' Jack whispered into her hair.

'Power Blaster saved me,' she said. 'Again.'

'You get a look at him?' Jack asked. 'I still haven't personally thanked him for the previous occasions when he's saved our bacon.'

'I didn't, sorry. I was unconscious when he kicked the door in and carried me out. I saw him when I came round, but he had his cape over his face - I guess he can't breathe smoke any more than the rest of us can - and he didn't show his face before he flew off. I don't think he wants to be recognised, or thanked by anybody. That's what Nathan said.'

'Nathan?'

'You remember the boy who called in the missile strike on Innovia One? Nathan Tate?'

'Sure. I wanted to meet him back then to thank him but my schedule was too tight - I could only write him a thank you letter.'

'Well, he's here. Hiking around the coast path. I met him yesterday. He helped me with the shopping and I bought him a drink - and only then found out who he was.'

'You must point him out,' Jack said.

'If I see him again, I will,' Sylvia said. 'I expect he's somewhere on the path by now, but he did say he'd be back here this evening. Failing that, I found out that he's studying political analysis, and his ambition is to work for us. What happened with Innovia One inspired him, I think. Anyway, I gave him my card so he can contact me when he qualifies. He's a nice young man. If his references check out, I'd be inclined to consider him next time we have a vacancy.'

'Good. Now, before we start cleaning up here, we'll need to take pictures of the damage so I can send them over to the insurance company. I've already contacted the firm who built her and the man is coming over this afternoon to give me a quote for repairs. We won't be able to take her out this time, and it doesn't look like we can stay aboard tonight.'

'You want me to go home?' Sylvia asked.

'No,' Jack said, his lips brushing her hair. 'I want to be with you tonight, even more so after all this. I nearly lost you. I went online and booked a room in the Harbour View guest house in your name. You'll need to go over there this afternoon and check in. I'll join you for dinner. The restaurant there is always rather dimly lit, so if I keep my hat and shades on, and don't shave, and let you do all the ordering, people will never guess it's me, especially if I stage a goodbye and a wave off at the airport, so the public think the President has gone back to Sprawling.'


'What about Melie?'

'She knew I was sailing this weekend.'

'But won't she see reports of your staged goodbye and expect you home?'

'Unlikely - she's gone to a spa in Lavaland. She'll be covered in volcanic mud or be up to her boobs in foul smelling water, or something. In any case, she knows that I use the yacht to get away from it all, and it won't surprise her that I pretended to leave to throw people off the scent.'

'I should be able to point Nathan Tate out to you, then. I think that's where he was staying.'
The Harbour View Guest house was a quaint hotel built into the rocky cliffs, so that every room boasted a sea view. It extended upwards rather than outwards and the facilities normally found on a hotel's ground floor were spread over numerous levels. Reception, the bar area and a dance floor were the first things Sylvia saw when she went to check in. The restaurant/dining area was on a mezzanine floor above, so diners could watch people dancing as they ate. While she waited for the receptionist to finish a phone call, Sylvia looked up at it.

'Sorry to keep you,' the receptionist said. 'How can I help?'

'I have a reservation. The name is Brightman.'

'Yes, I have it. You're on the top floor, room 112 - the penthouse suite, yes?'

'Er, yes,' Sylvia said. Jack hadn't told her he'd gone for the penthouse, but it was hardly surprising, especially when the receptionist told her that room 112 was served by its own elevator, for which she'd need a special key card.

'Do you want to make a dinner reservation for this evening, Ms. Brightman?'

Normally, they'd eat on the boat - find a secluded bay and enjoy a romantic meal on deck. That wouldn't be possible tonight. Eating hidden away in the cabin would be unpleasant, even if it was safe to use the oven, which it might not be. 'Do you have a table free in one of the alcoves? My partner and I would like to have a private meal.'

'Of course. I'll reserve a table for two in the West Alcove - would eight o'clock suit you?'

'That sounds perfect,' Sylvia said.

A porter carried her bag up to the room. She tipped him and went out onto the balcony. The afternoon sun was warm, and sitting on a sun lounger soaking it up made Sylvia feel more human than she had since the bombings. The view, normally charming, was marred today by the clean up operations and the parts of boats still floating in the water. She turned the sun lounger around so that the unpleasantness was behind her, and instead looked out to sea at the other islands.

She wondered which room Nathan was in. As a student, no doubt one of the smaller, cheaper rooms lower down. Not that he'd be there now - he'd still be on the coast path somewhere. Sylvia had once considered walking the path herself, one weekend when Jack had been unable to join her at all, but had been put off when she read that even at a brisk pace, it would take all day to get round.


She went to the lobby to meet Jack when he called. He had changed into a brightly coloured casual shirt, shorts and sandals. He wore sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. People were used to seeing the President in a smart, expensive suit; that, and the fact that he was known to have left the island, meant no-one paid him any attention as he sat in the lobby engrossed in his tablet device. He hadn't bought a drink at the bar, though, in case the barman recognised his voice.

Sylvia took him up to the room, where they could finally be alone and in comfort. He took her in his arms. 'I'm so sorry this happened,' he said. 'Some faction must have found out I have a boat here.'

'I don't think that's it,' Sylvia said. 'I watched the news just now. The Fiscal Equality Movement have claimed responsibility. It seems it was a strike against rich people in general, not specifically against you. Which makes sense - the two boats that weren't directly hit were us and Early Bird - the two smallest. There was no mention in the report of you, except that you flew over and visited the hospital.'

'That's a relief. I'd hate to think those people died because of me; and we don't have to make new arrangements. Gods, Sylvia, I love you. To think I almost lost you.'

'Well, you didn't. Thanks to Power Blaster again.'

'Somebody, somewhere must know where that guy comes from,' Jack said. 'I'll put out a press release, offering a reward...'

'Don't,' Sylvia said. 'He doesn't want to be found. If anybody knows, I expect he's sworn them to secrecy - and how do we know he won't harm anyone who gives him away?'

'He wouldn't, surely... but you're right. I guess if Power Blaster wanted people to know who he was and where he came from, he'd have issued a press release himself. He must value his privacy as much as we do.' He kissed her, deeply.

That evening, Jack, still wearing the hat and sunglasses, sat with Sylvia at the secluded table. He did not speak to the waiter - Sylvia did all the ordering. The waiter seemed to accept all this as normal. No doubt the private tables were sought after by many couples who were married to other people. Perhaps Jack had chosen the place because it was known for its discretion.

The alcove afforded a good view of the dance floor and the bar, and as the evening wore on, Sylvia couldn't help but look out for Nathan. They were on their dessert course when she spotted him. He was chatting to a young woman with highlighted blonde hair who was wearing a skimpy, luminous pink dress. She looked tiny and almost child-like beside him, but the size of her breasts proved she was no child. He leaned forward and said something to her. She laughed. They touched their drink glasses together as if toasting something, and took a sip.

'I can see Nathan,' Sylvia said, leaning forward to speak quietly to Jack. 'He's the guy talking to that girl in the glow-in-the-dark dress. If you want I could get a message to him and get him to come up here, or up to our room if you wanted to talk to him, see if you think he'd work well on my team.'

'He looks rather busy just now,' Jack said.

Sylvia looked back at Nathan. He and the blonde were kissing now, urgently and passionately. 'Oh. Looks like it. Funny, he didn't mention that his girlfriend was here.'

'That's because she isn't his girlfriend. Not yet, at least. I was watching him. He just pulled her.'

'Really?'

'Yes. I'm a bloke, remember. I know pulling technique when I see it. And he's good at it.'

'A man like him wouldn't have to try too hard,' Sylvia commented.

'Do I detect a note of jealousy there? Perhaps a bit of resentment that he didn't hit on you?'

'Don't be silly, Jack. Why would I be jealous of that girl when I have you? Besides, I mentioned early on to Nathan that I was expecting my partner to arrive so he would have known I wasn't on the market. Not to mention the fact I'm nearly old enough to be his mother. I'll tell you something, though.' She watched Nathan as he tangled the fingers of one hand in the girl's hair and stroked her tanned back with the other. The girl, in turn, seemed to be devouring Nathan with insatiable hunger. 'Watching those two going at it is kind of turning me on. I think we should get the bill and go back to our room.'

'I second that,' Jack said.

Sylvia expected to sleep like the proverbial log that night. It had been an emotionally exhausting day, but she was now in a comfortable, warm bed, wrapped in the arms of the man she loved. She dozed a little, but as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, she was wide awake. She shifted position and then gasped and clutched her leg as a cramp violently contracted the muscles in her calf.

'You okay?' Jack asked.

'Cramp,' Sylvia said, through clenched teeth. 'I'll be okay in a minute. Go back to sleep.'
'I wasn't asleep,' he said. 'I woke up about an hour ago and couldn't drift off again. I'm wide awake, actually.'

'Me, too,' Sylvia said. 'Enough to get up, but it's so early...'

'Seeing as we are both wide awake, it might be a good time to go down to the yacht and start cleaning up,' Jack said, 'before anyone else gets up, while nobody is around to see me.'

'Yes,' Sylvia said. 'That's a good idea.'


The marina was indeed deserted. The only sound was water lapping against the remaining boats. The sun was peeping over the horizon as Sylvia and Jack reached the yacht. 'I reckon we've got an hour or two before people start getting up,' Jack said, pulling the hosepipe out of the cockpit locker.

'Nobody gets up before eight when they're on holiday, which most people here are; and it's the weekend, so the residents will lie in, too. I'd thought I'd have to get somebody in to do this. I'm glad I get to sort the old girl out myself for once.'

Sylvia laughed. 'Most people aren't anything like as keen to do cleaning.'

'When do I ever get the chance to do cleaning?' Jack shrugged. He went ashore and attached the hose to the dockside water supply, and turned the tap. A jet of water burst from the nozzle, and the black soot began to vanish. Jack came aboard and took the hose, while Sylvia began scrubbing the soot from the nooks and crannies.

After about five minutes, they were startled by a voice.

'Good morning, Sylvia, I'm pleased to see you're all right, they said you were taken to hosp... Mr. President?'

Nathan Tate was beside the boat, dressed in running gear and jogging on the spot. That some holiday-makers might have a strict training regime, including an early morning run, had not occurred to either of them.

'You must be Nathan,' Jack said, recovering quickly from the shock of being recognised. 

'Sylvia told me all about you. You were a great help, I understand.'

'She did? I was?'

'You carried my shopping home the day I arrived, remember?' Sylvia said.

'Oh. Yes. The shopping. Do you need any help cleaning up?'

'Well...' Sylvia felt embarrassed at being seen with the President by a relative stranger.
'It'll get done much faster if there are three of us, and I can help if anything needs lifting.'
'He's right, Sylve,' Jack said. 'We do always struggle with the dinghy when there are just two of us. He's seen us together, now, so there's no point trying to hide it from him.'

'Okay,' Sylvia said, 'so long as we're not keeping you from your run, or your girlfriend.'

'I've nearly finished the run, and I'm in no hurry to get back to Nikki. I really only wanted a holiday romance and she's talking about coming back here for our wedding.' Nathan said, with a grin. He came aboard and picked up a broom.

Jack laughed and slapped him on the back. 'What it is to be young,' he said. 'I remember it well.'

Sylvia glared at him. 'Don't go getting too nostalgic,' she said.

'I'm going to catch the early ferry,' Nathan said. 'I just hope she doesn't come looking for me in Sprawling. If I'm going to do something like that again, I'll have to use a false name or something. Where do you want me to start?'

'You can help me shift the dinghy,' Jack said. The two men went forward. Sylvia was relieved - the dinghy was heavy and unwieldy, and although Jack was strong, she never felt quite equal to the task. She was always sure she would drop her end, or slip and fall, and it was always a palaver. With Nathan to help, moving the dinghy looked almost effortless.

Nathan had been right when he said that the clean-up would take less time with three. 
Within an hour, the White Swan looked almost as good as new, apart from the broken door and other minor damage. 

'What did that?' Nathan asked, fingering the splintered wood.

'Power Blaster kicked the door in to get me out,' Sylvia said. Nathan's eyes widened a little. 'If not for him, I'd probably be dead. I'd rather not think about that. I think we should have a drink and a bit of breakfast. Some of my shopping survived - there's tea, coffee, milk, cereal, bread - will you join us, Nathan?'


'I'd love to,' he said. He pitched in helping to prepare breakfast, too. No doubt he was trying to impress Sylvia as a possible future employer, but all the same, he had a cheerful and willing disposition that would be difficult to completely fake. It also gave them a chance to talk to him seriously.

'You've been a great help, Nathan,' Jack said, 'but you must continue to help us.'

'What else do you need me to do?' Nathan asked.

'You've seen Sylvia and I here together,' Jack said. 'You seem like an intelligent young man, so I'm sure you've worked out by now that we weren't here to write speeches.'

'No, sir, I mean yes, sir.' Nathan's cheeks flushed. While no stranger to the concept of romantic getaways, this was the President he was talking to.

'I'm sure you understand how potentially damaging it could be to my office and indeed the country if this secret got out.'

'I understand perfectly, sir.'

'Do you promise to keep our secret?' Sylvia asked.

'Absolutely,' Nathan said. 'I'm good at keeping secrets. I've been good at keeping my own, anyway.'

'Thank you, Nathan,' Sylvia said. 'For everything you've done for us. You've been so helpful. You have a real 'can do' attitude. I hope you'll contact me when you're looking for a job.'

'I will,' Nathan said. 'If you'll excuse me, though, I really need to go take a shower and pack if I'm going to get that early ferry. Good day, Mr. President. I hope we'll meet again.'

They watched him break into a jog as he headed for the guest house. 'What a charming young man,' Jack said. 'I hope we'll be able to find him some work.'

'Well, Lissa has applied to start a family,' Sylvia said. 'I've just sent off a reference for her, so if that works out and the timing is right, then we might be able to offer him a few months maternity cover at least. The only reservation I have is that he might prove a little distracting for Maive and Shanna.'