The Binding

Jenny Alexander

 

Contents

Part One:  Coming to the island

1
The backbone of a jellyfish

2
Trespassing

3
A meeting on the beach

4
The fruits of Morna

5
A new moon is a magic moon

6
The eyes and ears of the Lawmaker

7
Six candles

Part Two:  Darkness in the sky

1
The Day Star

2
Good secrets, bad secrets

3
Swimming

4
The punishment

5
In the manner of the word

6
A cake fit for a feast

7
Hidden things

Part Three:  Ashes on the water

1
The re-naming

2
Outside looking in

3
Seeing Elspeth

4
One word and it's over

5
Running in the mist

6
A really big secret

7
Ashes on the water

Copyright

Part One: Coming to the island

Now, what's the difference between what you think it would be like to spend the summer on a tiny Scottish island and what it's really like? Answer. . . Where shall I start?

 

Chapter 1

The backbone of a jellyfish

‘Think about it, Dee,' said Matt. ‘It would be amazing!'

Mum actually did seem to be thinking about it. They both pored over his laptop, looking at the pictures. Her idea of a great holiday is somewhere hot with a swimming pool, but Matt was too new to know that yet—he'd only been living with us for a couple of months.

‘What?' said Tressa, coming up out of her book like a submarine surfacing. ‘What would be amazing?'

‘Jean next door has just offered us her cottage on Morna for the whole summer,' Matt said, turning the laptop towards her. ‘She can't go this year because of her ankle.'

Tressa shot me a look, like it was my fault Jean fell off her ladder, just because I happened to be holding it at the time. I personally don't think people older than your granny should go up ladders, but she had insisted and I was only trying to help.

‘Well it's a stupid idea.' Tressa downed periscope and sank back into her book.

Milo brm-brmmed his ambulance across his car-mat. There had been a horrific pile-up right outside the supermarket, involving about ten cars of all different shapes and sizes.

‘I don't think we should dismiss it out of hand,' said Mum, who would definitely have done just that when Dad was around, if it was him who had suggested it. You could tell she was trying to think of a way to get out of it though, without upsetting Matt.

‘So you're saying you actually want to go?' scoffed Tressa, surfacing again. ‘I don't think so!'

‘We're just talking about it, all right?' said Mum.

Milo abandoned his medical emergency, picked up Nee-na and sat back on his haunches. Other five-year-olds have cuddly toys but he has a police car with doors that open. It's small enough for him to hold in his fingers while he sucks his thumb, which he isn't supposed to do any more now that he's started school.

‘There's a shop on the island,' Matt said, obviously thinking that might be a selling point with Tressa. ‘Jean says it stocks everything you could possibly need.'

Tressa glanced at the picture he had brought up on the screen and snorted like an indignant hippo. The kind of shop that stocked everything she needs would have to be a mile-long mall. Milo stuck his thumb in his mouth and watched them over his fist.

While Matt went on trying to convince Mum, with things like ‘It's got a library,' and ‘The children will love it,' Tressa went on snorting and tossing her hair, and I dropped down onto the floor beside Milo.

‘Don't get your knickers in a knot,' I told him. ‘We'll just end up staying here as usual.'

We hadn't been away in the summer holidays since Dad moved out to live with Donna, which was three years ago. I didn't mind, though—we had sleepovers
and camped in the garden and stuff like that, plus Dad came down several times to take us out for the day. He and Mum don't talk to each other, which is bad, but nowhere near as bad as it used to be when they did.

Milo smiled, and his thumb slipped out. But then. . .

‘All right—let's do it!' said Mum.

My eyebrows shot half-way up my forehead and seemed to get stuck. Milo gave me a horrified look. Tressa snapped her book shut.

‘Well, you can go, I don't care. But I'm not going!'

For someone who's supposed to be clever, Tressa can be really stupid. I mean, everyone knows that if you're twelve, you can't stay at home while your family goes on holiday. What was she thinking? That she could stay with Dad? In his one-bedroom flat with Donna, who Tressa one hundred per cent hates?

Or did she think she could stay with her friends? Maybe some people could, for a week, but not for the whole summer, and anyway Tressa hasn't really got any friends unless you count Lana and Jodie, and she doesn't seem to like them all that much, except to boss around. She'd much rather spend her time trawling
through books, scooping up long words she can use for showing off with, such as ‘ingest', which doesn't mean, as you might think, ‘only joking' but ‘take food into the body,' or as any normal person would say, ‘eat'.

‘Just take a pile of books with you,' I said. ‘All you're going to do in the holidays is read anyway, so what difference does it make where we are?'

It was annoying. I mean, sometimes you just have to suck it up. It wasn't as if she'd be missing out on good stuff such as playing footie in the park or swimming at the lido or making rope-swings and zip-wires in your best mate Benjie's back garden (don't tell Mum).

‘We'll get to go on two planes and a boat,' said Matt. ‘It'll be a real adventure.'

Way to get Milo onside! I actually quite liked the sound of that myself, plus it reminded me of a joke. ‘What did the water say to the boat? Nothing—it just waved!'

Tressa jumped up and turned her fire on me.

‘Everything's a joke with you. I hate you, Jack!' she said. Then, bang! She flounced out, slamming the door behind her.

I wish that Tressa was a sulker. Then if she didn't get her own way, she'd go off in a huff and everyone
could just ignore her. But it's really hard to ignore someone who's in a massive strop. She kept it up for the whole of the rest of term, even after Mum and Matt had got the tickets and there was no way any of us were going to get out of it.

She was furious with Matt for wanting to go, with Mum for caving in and with me for not saying anything. ‘If you'd taken my side, they'd have had to listen,' she said. Like that would have made any difference.

She kept it up even when the rest of us started to feel excited.

‘Just give it a chance,' said Mum. ‘The island really does look beautiful.'

But, see, here's the first difference between how we thought it was going to be and how it was—when we got to the island, it didn't look like Jean's photos at all. Or rather, it did, but only in parts.

On one side of us, as the boat came alongside the jetty, there was a gorgeous white sandy beach, but on the other was a kind of gulley which was full of broken plastic bottles and smashed-up rubbish, with a rusty old cooker on the top.

There were two buildings near the shore, which looked as if they'd once been houses. One seemed
to be used as some kind of store, and the other had half its roof missing and all the windows boarded up. There were three rusty wrecks of cars at one end, with all the windows out and grass growing on the seats. The whole place looked as depressed as a goalie who's missed a penalty.

Matt said obviously Jean wouldn't have chosen the tatty bits to take pictures of, but we could do like her, and just focus on the lovely bits.

‘Was that a rat?' said Mum, as a streak of brown disappeared in the seaweed bundled up at the top of the beach.

The second difference was that things weren't the way we'd imagined from Jean's descriptions. Most people round where we live, if you say there's a shop that sells everything, would assume you mean a really great shop.

The island shop wasn't a proper shop at all. It was somebody's house, just up from the jetty, and it didn't even have any set opening times—you had to go in and shout.

‘The door's always open,' the shopkeeper said. ‘No-one locks their doors here.'

She wiped her hands on her apron, which looked as if she'd wiped them on it lots of times before, and
stood behind the counter, waiting for us to choose. All the food was behind her, on dark wooden shelves that covered the whole wall, floor to ceiling.

The choice seemed to be things in tins, dried stuff like rice and pasta, long-life milk, and a billion sorts of biscuits, from ordinary ones like cream crackers and bourbons, to oatcakes and something called ‘butter biscuits' in plastic bags, which looked as tasty as cardboard.

There were two boxes of eggs on the counter and a sack of potatoes on the floor in front of it, beside a box of carrots and a big bag of onions. While Mum and Matt were getting the food, me, Tressa and Milo started looking through the bashed-up books and board games in a big bookcase behind the door.