Firewallers by Simon Packham

Author:Simon Packham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Piccadilly Press

Stormy Weather

That night there was the mother of all storms. Earl had predicted as much in the Symposium. After such a bright day, it sounded rather unlikely. But the Dawdlers never doubted him, and there was no shortage of volunteers to walk down to the landing stage and fill the fishing boat with rocks. Earl was expecting winds of over one hundred and fifty miles an hour, and if we wanted to keep enjoying all that ‘delicious’ seafood, it was crucial to stop it blowing away.

They were all so eager to please him, hanging on his every word like he was some kind of prophet or the lead singer in a really credible band. He seemed to have an almost magical ability to make people feel that he cared about them. After meditation, everyone wanted a piece of him. Helga and Toby were desperate to discuss the harvest, a beaky woman in a floral headscarf called Kirsten had an idea for a folk opera and a group of young mums were keen to canvass his opinion on controlled crying (Earl was not a fan), but he still found time to ask if I was having a good time.

It was a pity the Striplings weren’t so welcoming. The truth is I was having a terrible time. Millie went off with Sue to collect cowrie shells, so I’d spent the afternoon watching Erika and the Junior Laggards playing skipping games and checked out the dismal shower facilities. I couldn’t even text Ella. She could be pretty annoying at times, not to mention her rubbish taste in music, but that didn’t stop me missing her. I was so bored I actually started reading The Railway Children.

In fact, I was genuinely relieved when Mum said we should all get an early night. And I’d just started dreaming about Dad – a warm comforting dream where he turned up on the island in the speedboat from Brighton pier with fifty-seven varieties of moisturiser and my favourite curling tongs – when the rain started pummelling on the roof.

Earl’s weather forecast was spot on. Although to call it a storm was the understatement of the century. It was more like something out of the Bible or a 3D disaster movie. I’d never been frightened of the wind before, but the howling beast that threatened to rip our little pod from the ground and spit it out into the sea was louder than the deafening surround sound at the multiplex. Even the rats scratched restlessly against the walls. Perhaps they were trying to desert the sinking ship. I just hoped they didn’t decide to take the short cut across my face.

At first, I wanted to crawl down the connecting tube and wake Mum, but she was so exhausted after her first day in the health centre that I didn’t dare. According to her, the Dawdlers were even worse hypochondriacs than ‘real people’.

If only Dad had been there too, I wouldn’t have felt half so scared. Except he wasn’t, so I cowered beneath the itchy blankets, praying it would soon pass over.

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