The Magic of Endings by Tom Avery

Author:Tom Avery [Avery, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Andersen Press Ltd
Published: 2020-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

Lockes at Sea

They hugged a while and when they turned back to the sea and to Dad and the younger Grandad, the red boat was fifty metres out amongst the waves.

‘He showed me the world, your dad. When I was with him, it was like seeing through a pair of new eyes.’ Grandad sniffed. ‘I’m glad I’m here with you two. Remembering.’

There were just two figures in the boat. The girl with the flaming hair had gone – not on the beach at all. Gone.

‘Well,’ said Grandad, taking a long sniff of the sea air. ‘As we’re here, on a beautiful day like today, we should see what can be done about you city boys getting a taste of the sea.’

On all their trips down to Dor, Grandad had never spoken like this. They’d not come near the beach. No sand. No sea.

And now... a taste of the sea. Jojo didn’t like to tell him that he already had. In his mind. He remembered it all. He remembered the sea and the waves and the feeling of the deep beneath the boat. Grandad must not remember this part, as Jojo had not remembered it till now.

‘Hmm, we don’t have a boat of our own but—’ said Grandad.

‘Ah,’ said Aunt Pen. ‘That’s not actually true.’ She set to searching her necklaces and chains.

‘You’ve got a boat?’ shouted Ricco. ‘Brilliant! Let’s do it!’

‘How could you—?’ began Grandad but before he could finish:

‘Aha! Here it is.’ Aunt Pen held up a pendant that looked like a fat fish, it even glimmered as one, the sunlight glinting off its green, blue and purple scales. ‘Now. There’s a knack to opening this. If I just...’ She ran a finger along the fish’s shimmering side. ‘...it should...’ And with that, the mouth of the fish sprang open and out flew a yellow pellet, like a medicine tablet. It flew. Aunt Pen didn’t reach for it; she knew better than that.

But Ricco did. He flung out a hand, grasping at the spinning yellow tube, for now it was a tube, as big as one of Mum’s lipsticks. Ricco did not catch it, but knocked it on, out of reach.

Next Jojo made a grab for it, as it grew and twisted. It was the size of a school dictionary, bright yellow and seemingly made from little planks of wood. Like his brother, Jojo did not get a hand on it, just a fingertip. For a moment it seemed to balance there, on the end of Jojo’s finger. He made to flick it backwards, but instead flicked it on.

Which was probably a good thing, all told, as now it grew and grew. It was a box. It was a cushion. It was bigger and bigger. And whatever reflexes Grandad the Navy boxer had once had, they returned to him then; he stuck out his hand and grabbed hold of a rope which flailed free of the bulging, billowing yellow thing. Or maybe it had hold of him.

Grandad’s feet left

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