Suki
& the Christmas Treasure Trove
Category:
Literary fiction
Summary:-
Suki lives in a quiet, English coastal town with
a strange group of friends. Chirpy has a big secret and so does Edward, Suki's
toy bear. But when they discover another dimension in an ancient mirror and an
eccentric old man from the past called Honkworth O'Dibley, their routine lives
are turned upside down when they find themselves in a creepy, timeless world
with Marcia Congleton, Suki’s arch-enemy.
Returning home proves troublesome for the group
of reluctant time travellers who, guided by a strange little man with a helium
voice, must first find a mysterious old woman called Granny Gherkin – who
exists in the past, the present and the future.
Having found her they are introduced to Joseph, a
lonely boy living with her in a remote lighthouse. Peechu, another of Suki’s
friends, who reached the strange lighthouse in the bay long before the others,
in an inflatable raft, accompanied by Edward, has befriended Joseph.
When they jump through another magic mirror,
provided by the sinister Granny Gherkin, Peechu grabs Joseph and they all find
themselves aboard a doomed airliner plummeting towards the cold North Atlantic
Ocean. Will they return Honkworth O’Dibley safely to the nineteenth century?
Will they get back to the 21st century? What happens to Joseph? Is
he dead or alive? And what about Peechu? Does he have a secret? Or is he merely
haunted by the old woman and the seemingly tragic life of his new friend,
Joseph?
Biography,
MJ Moggridge
MATTHEW
JOHN MOGGRIDGE was born and bred in Sutton, Surrey. After studying sociology
and English literature, he embarked upon a career in business journalism. As a
magazine editor, he has travelled the world, reporting on subjects as diverse
as bulk handling and [drum roll...] potato processing, but in the main writing about food and
drink. He is currently travelling the world again, writing about aluminium, but
lives in suburban South Croydon with his wife and two children where he enjoys
cycling at weekends and blogging – but he’s not a geek. Suki and the Christmas
Treasure Trove is his first novel.
Here are six reasons why Suki & the Christmas Treasure Trove should be published.
1. There is plenty of
potential for other Suki adventures.
2. The book appeals to
all ages.
3. It would make a great
motion picture and there’s also merchandising opportunities.
4. There’s a lot of
humour surrounding characters like Honkworth O’Dibley, PC Gorringe and Edward,
Suki’s toy bear.
5. While not a ‘festive
favourite’ kind of novel, it could enjoy success in the lead-up to
Christmas.
6. It’s not a ‘hard
read’ and has likeable characters.
The penultimate chapter from Suki & the Christmas Treasure Trove – the penultimate chapter.
The penultimate chapter from Suki & the Christmas Treasure Trove – the penultimate chapter.
Chapter Twenty-four
S
|
UKI WAS AWAKE and it was still dark. The green glow of
the digital clock provided the only light and, like a moth, she was drawn
towards its sombre, smouldering glow.
The house was quiet – too quiet.
She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, trying to work out its area by
counting the polystyrene tiles and then confusing herself when she tried to tot
up the halves and quarters and got hopelessly lost.
The battle was on; did she remain
in bed or admit defeat and go downstairs pretending to herself that she needed
a glass of water?
There were no easy answers to be
found in the dead of night, nothing and nobody to counter an argument, just
silence and the hissing in her own ears.
And then she remembered Edward
and smiled as the memory unfurled. If Edward were here, she thought, there
would be no loneliness, but he was nowhere to be seen; she didn’t even know if
he was still alive, out there in the ether, in another dimension of space and time. What was he doing right now? Where
was he? That was the hardest question of all.
She flung back the duvet and
swung her legs gracefully out of the warm bed, her feet touching the soft
carpet that covered most of the floor. For
a while, she sat on the edge of the mattress, her head bowed, not in shame, but
sadness. She never realised it was
possible to miss somebody as much as she missed Edward.
Edward was much more than a toy
to Suki; he was something special and she knew that only Peechu would
understand her loss – her grief. He was, after all, the only one of her friends
who knew the secret.
She stood up and moved towards
the heavy curtains, behind which there was a bay window and a small triangular
area of exposed floorboards.
She recalled a distant memory of
hiding behind the curtains to escape the wrath of her mother; and even though
she was still a child, that recollection haunted her as she stepped into that
world again.
It was too dark to find her
slippers – and turning a light on was out of the question. Besides, she liked
the illusion of being in outer space, even if she was in her bedroom. Soon, her
eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.
She approached the curtains and
parted them, stepping through from the relative opacity of outer space into a
world illuminated by the halogen glow of street lights.
It was a clear night, full of
twinkling stars and the afterglow of Christmas Day. The streets below her
bedroom window were empty. Cars slept in the gutters; cats cast scary shadows
on the pavement.
Suki was glad to be at home and
not in the mad world of crashing planes and
weird lighthouses. Scanning the skies for the diamond lights of an airliner,
she found herself wondering about Joseph. What had become of him and Edward?
Then she remembered: they were
probably dead, along with all the other passengers on that stricken, ill-fated
aircraft. Sadness forced her to look down at her bare feet on the black floorboards. Memories. Flashbulb moments. Deep
inside, Suki was relieved that she and her friends had tricked the devil.
She raised her head and resumed
staring out of the window. Outside, all remained quiet, but something had
disturbed the tranquility of the early morning.
Whatever it was, it had moved
fast. Suki was puzzled and rubbed her eyes in disbelief. Perhaps it was a trick
of the light or just early morning weariness.
She began to think about
returning to bed, crossing back into outer space and treading a careful path to
the warmth of her bed. Except that, by now, it would be cold.
There was an unseen presence in
the room. She turned and pressed her back into the bay window, expecting
something to come flying towards her, but nothing came.
Suki advanced towards the heavy
curtains and gently parted them, not daring to think what she might find on the
other side. She made her way back to bed, in the dark, and covered herself with
the duvet.
Peering out, she saw a shadowy
figure standing by the door and gasped with fright. “Who’s there?”
Panicking, she reached for her
bedside lamp and fumbled for the switch; but when the room was bathed in light,
the figure had gone, leaving the door ajar.
Suki breathed a sigh of relief,
as if glad that she had been dreaming; but it was not a dream. Perhaps she had
been sleepwalking, but no, the reality was simple: the frightening figure by
the door had been real.
There was no alternative other
than to pursue the intruder. She jumped out of bed again and put on her
dressing gown, which had been hanging, corpse-like, behind the door.
Cautiously, she moved on to the dark landing, expecting to be attacked at any
moment, but nothing untoward happened and she found herself standing alone,
staring into the void of night.
As she crept downstairs, she
heard voices and saw a flashing light, like the beam of a lighthouse, through
the stained glass windows.
Blurred figures murmured outside
and she heard a familiar voice, but couldn’t quite place it.
Suki advanced towards the front
door and tried to see more by pressing her face against a stained glass window.
Her vision was distorted and she saw not one, but several faces – and they all
belonged to PC Gorringe. The flashing light from his squad car illuminated the
hallway and behind her the mirror was glowing.
“Now you be
on your way home, sonny,” said PC Gorringe.
“Yessir,” said a quieter and even
more recognisable voice.
Suki heard footsteps and assumed
they belonged to PC Gorringe – they did. A door slammed, an engine spluttered
and the squad car drove away.
Suki opened the door, convinced
that she would find the owner of the quieter voice standing in the garden.
“Hello?”
No answer.
“Is anybody there?”
Still nothing.
She looked around and then began
to close the door.
“Suki?” said a voice, at last.
There in front of her stood the
shadowy figure she had seen in her bedroom.
“Chirpy?”
He stepped out of the darkness.
“I’m sorry, I was feeling restless
at home,” he said.
“Do you want to come in?” It was
cold outside and she began to shiver.
“It’s late, I’d better get home,”
Chirpy said, awkwardly, his head bowed as if ashamed.
Suki was confused. She wanted to
know why Chirpy had ventured out in the early hours to visit her. “You can come
in for some tea if you like,” she said. “Or you can stay; it’s nearly morning.”
“You’re probably wondering what I
was doing in your room,” he said, guiltily.
“Yes, I am; you frightened me.”
Suki was curious, not suspicious.
“I didn’t mean to; I just thought
you might fancy a night flight, that’s all.”
They were still standing on the
doorstep in the cold, their freezing breath like exhaled cigarette smoke.
“Come in,” she said. “We can go
to the kitchen, nobody will hear us.”
Chirpy advanced towards her and
crossed the threshold. Suki closed the door behind them and they walked along
the darkened hallway, past the glowing mirror.
“It’s active,” said Chirpy, still
feeling a little embarrassed about being there.
“Yes, it is,” she replied as they
headed towards the kitchen at the end of the hall. “But I think we’ve had
enough adventure for one day, don’t you?”
Suki flicked a switch and
fluorescent lights spread a hesitant brightness across the room. It reminded
Chirpy of lightening, but there was no thunder.
The kitchen had at its centre a
large oak table surrounded by matching fitted units.
“Take a seat,” Suki said.
Chirpy dragged out a chair and
sat down.
“I couldn’t just go home and
sleep,” he said, playing with a coaster that had been left on the table.
“Why not?” asked Suki, her back
turned as she rinsed out a couple of mugs at the sink.
“Because of everything that’s
happened, I guess,” replied Chirpy. “It’s not every day that you travel through
time.”
“We’re all time travellers,” said
Suki, philosophically, dropping a couple of teabags into the mugs. The kettle
purred as it heated the water.
Chirpy spun the coaster like a
coin. It landed cork side up and he wondered whether it was heads or tails. He
decided it would have to be heads. Flipping it over, he examined the pattern on
the other side.
“Where did you get these?” he
asked.
Suki walked
towards him carrying two steaming mugs of tea. “The coasters? Mum picked
them up at a craft fair. They’re made by some forgotten tribe in the
Amazon, I think,” she explained, placing the mugs on the table, but
not using the solitary coaster.
They sipped their tea until Suki
broke the silence. “So, remind me, why were you in my room?”
“I told you: to see if you wanted
to fly.
“In the middle of the night?”
“It was early morning.”
“But still, I was asleep and it
was dark.”
“No, you were awake, looking out
of the window.”
“Yes, but, you know what I mean;
for all I knew you could have been a burglar.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What did PC Gorringe want?”
“He must have seen me loitering
outside.”
They sat in silence, finished
their tea and then Chirpy stood up. “I’d better be going,” he said, yawning.
Minutes later, Suki waved goodbye
to him at the door. “I’ll call you later,” she said and he disappeared into the
dark.
On the other side of town, PC Gorringe had parked his
squad car in one of the rickety garages behind his apartment block. He trudged
wearily towards an iron fire escape that led to his front door, three floors
up.
On the landing, he fumbled for
his keys and then searched for the right one to insert in the lock.
He smiled as he walked through
the front door and into his small lounge. His shift was over and finally he had
time to open his Christmas presents. He remembered a bottle-shaped parcel on
the table; it was a single malt whisky from his mother. Every year she bought
him the same present and now that he was off-duty, he looked forward to a glass
while he watched the sun rise.
He didn’t feel guilty or in any
way ashamed of drinking so early in the
morning. As a shift worker, he was in a completely different time zone to those
who worked normal hours.
A battery-powered carriage clock
on the other side of the room chimed five. The timepiece was a birthday present
from his mother, one of those landmark occasions he’d rather forget. Whenever
it chimed, he was reminded of his mortality – and it saddened him.
The lounge was sparsely furnished
with an imitation leather sofa, matching armchair and pine coffee table. A
large television was crammed into the remaining space. On the table, a single
place-mat betrayed PC Gorringe’s solitary lifestyle. An oil painting of a
lighthouse lashed by choppy seas adorned one of the walls and there was a small
sash window.
Whisky bottle in hand, PC
Gorringe headed for the window, which afforded a splendid view across the
rooftops to the sea.
Enjoying a small snifter, after
clocking off, was part of his daily routine and he rarely left the flat without
ensuring that a clean tumbler was on the table awaiting his return.
He sat down and began to unwrap
his present, but something was wrong – he was still wearing his uniform.
He stood up and made his way to
the bedroom, where space was at a premium. Fitted wardrobes didn’t help and, as
his mother often said in a slurred, intoxicated voice whenever she visited,
‘there’s no room in ‘ere to swing a cat’.
There was a small space between
the bed and the window and it was here that he began the tiresome – and often
dangerous – task of changing into his pyjamas. The process involved hopping on
one leg, losing balance and falling over. Today was no exception. In fact, PC
Gorringe’s consistency was beginning to annoy his neighbours, the Danzigers,
who lived in the flat below.
The Danzigers had three children
under five years old who slept in the bedroom below PC Gorringe’s. They rarely
had an uninterrupted night, but when the children finally fell asleep, at
around four o’clock in the morning, Mr. Danziger knew that he had to make the
most of the next two hours before his alarm rang. The last thing he wanted to
hear was the thunderous, crumpling sound of a 17-stone policeman tottering,
losing balance and crashing to the floor, but it happened, as regular as
clockwork, and was invariably followed by the sound of crying, wide-awake,
babies.
PC Gorringe emerged
puffy-cheeked, red-faced and flustered from the bedroom, having picked himself
up from the floor. His uniform now hung on the back of the bedroom door and he
was wearing another present from his mother – a pair of pink and white striped
pyjamas.
When he wasn’t working the night
shift, and could turn in at a decent hour, PC Gorringe often woke up in the
middle of the night and thought there was an uninvited policeman in his room –
until he realised it was his own uniform hanging on the back of the door.
As he made his way back to the
easy chair and his single malt, he stopped. Could he hear the sound of children
crying? Or was his imagination playing tricks with him?
“Thank the Lord for Mum,” said PC
Gorringe, smoothing the material of his pyjamas appreciatively as he made
himself comfortable in the chair. He was a true mummy’s boy and his rotund
figure owed plenty to his mother’s iced fairy cakes and hearty meals.
As he resumed opening his
present, the rustling of wrapping paper disturbed the peace. Pulling the
gleaming whisky bottle from the mass of colourful, seasonal paper was like
delivering a baby, thought PC Gorringe, recalling a distant and mildly
humiliating memory from his early career. He unscrewed the cap and poured the
peaty, golden liquid into the tumbler. For a second, he considered rising from
his chair again and fetching some ice from the freezer, but why ruin a single
malt whisky?
PC Gorringe savoured his first
mouthful and smiled with satisfaction as he recalled his day. It had been
pretty uneventful – the Christmas night shift was always the same. Everybody
stayed in and watched the television – apart from the strange boy he had seen
just before clocking off. Why, he wondered, would somebody so young feel the need
to wander the streets at such an ungodly hour?
The boy’s name was strange too,
he thought: Chirpy. Who in their right mind would give their son such a silly
name? He took another sip from the tumbler.
“Chirpy,” he said aloud,
examining the shimmering contents of his tumbler. “Perhaps he’s a bird,” he
thought with a giggle. “Perhaps he can fly!”
He took another sip and was
beginning to feel nicely relaxed. Outside, it was still dark and the rooftops
were silhouetted against the clear night sky.
As the whisky began to warm his
soul, PC Gorringe could think of nothing better than watching the world come
alive from the warmth of his lounge.
“Chirpy,” he said again. “The boy
who could fly.” Now that’s what he should have done, he thought: written a
children’s story about a magical boy who discovered he could fly. But then he
remembered Peter Pan and smiled the smile of a defeated man. He took another
sip
from the tumbler and resumed his gaze out of the window.
from the tumbler and resumed his gaze out of the window.
His lips had barely made contact
with the rim of the glass when he almost choked. Outside, hovering high over
the rooftops, but clearly visible, was the boy – Chirpy. He really was flying,
prompting PC Gorringe to place the tumbler back on the table and rub his eyes
in disbelief.
When he looked out of the window
again, the boy was still there. PC Gorringe picked up the whisky bottle and
checked its strength and then, on satisfying himself that his mother’s
Christmas present was not the problem, and that perhaps his eyes were deceiving
him, he rubbed them again after putting the bottle back on the table. The boy
was still there, suspended in mid-air.
But PC Gorringe had a problem.
Who at the police station would believe his crackpot story? The answer, of
course, was nobody, so he reached for the whisky bottle and topped up his
glass, toasting Chirpy in the process as he watched him disappear into the
distance.
As Chirpy surveyed his surroundings, which consisted
mainly of black rooftops silhouetted against the grey darkness of an early
morning’s winter sky, he was unaware that behind the solitary window
illuminated below him, was an astounded PC Gorringe. Had he known, he might
have smiled.
Chirpy
remained suspended in mid-air wondering what to do next; should he take off on
a new adventure – one he had been secretly planning – or simply return home and
get some sleep?
The idea of going home and
climbing into bed was appealing, but he had to press on with his plan. Without
further ado, he flew off and headed towards the harbour.
Sleep, he decided, was not an option
– not yet, and besides, he could rest when his job was done.
To accelerate during his silent
ascent, Chirpy streamlined his body by placing both arms at his side. It wasn’t
long before he could look down on a familiar sight: the Sea Shells Café, boarded
up for the night; and the eerie glint of the sea, reflecting a watery moon. The
sea lapped silently against the harbour walls and Chirpy decided to land.
The harbour was deserted and he
thought it was best to go now, under cover of darkness. He spent a few minutes
listening to the clinking masts of the boats and then, bending at the knee, he
pushed his body into the air again.
He flew high – higher than his
previous excursions – and was no longer afraid. It was as if he knew that all
would be well and that his magical powers would not desert him.
Soon, he found himself far out to
sea with only the distant horizon for company. The darkness had lifted, the
skies were blue and below him there was nowhere to land.
It dawned on him that something
else, some invisible force, was controlling his flight path and that he had no
way of stopping it. Despite flying so high and at incredible speed, he seemed
to be protected from the elements: he couldn’t feel the cold winter air on his
face and felt safe in the hands of whatever was pushing him forward.
Soon, he
noticed objects floating on the surface of the water. As he began to descend,
he realised they were suitcases and items of clothing bobbing on the swell.
Fragments of fuselage, plastic bottles, magazines and aircraft seats covered a
wide area.
He was gliding, only feet from
the water. Ahead of him he spied a bright orange life raft with a sloping roof.
As he drew closer and hovered
silently overhead, he could hear voices.
“You are assessed for street
repairs: £40 per house; £115 per hotel,” said one voice.
“You’ll have to mortgage your
stations,” said another, quieter voice.
Chirpy had yet to perfect his
landing technique. He hit the raft heavily and its occupants began to shriek.
The sound of a zip being
unfastened was followed by the figure of a young boy peering out. It was
Joseph.
“Chirpy?”
“Joseph?”
“Have you come to rescue us?”
“I guess I have,” said Chirpy,
sounding vague and baffled. “How many people are in there?”
“Er, well, just me,” said Joseph,
awkwardly, as if he had something to hide.
“But I heard voices. You were
playing Monopoly.”
“We were, until you crashed into
the raft and sent all the pieces flying.
“Who’s ‘we’, who were you talking
to?”
“Just the bear.”
“Edward? Suki’s toy bear?”
“Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but
being alone in a life raft in the middle of the ocean is enough to give anybody
cabin fever, don’t you think?”
“I suppose it’s better than
talking to yourself,” Chirpy suggested.
“A million times better,” said
Joseph, surveying the wreckage of the airliner as it floated past.
Inside the raft, Edward had been
listening to their discourse and, quite frankly, he was getting annoyed. There
was no point in pretending any longer, he thought, poking his head out of the
raft, much to Chirpy’s surprise.
“Yes, it’s me, Chirpy, and I can
talk. I’m a magic bear and I’ve been hiding my light under a bushel for too
long,” said Edward, glad that he had revealed his secret at last.
“What’s a bushel?” asked Joseph.
“I wish I knew,” said Edward.
“It’s an old word for bowl. I
read about it at school,” Chirpy explained.
Edward and Joseph nodded,
feigning knowledge they didn’t have.
There was a momentary silence,
which was broken by Chirpy. “We ought to be going. There’s a storm’s brewing.”
“Go where?” asked Joseph.
“Back to dry land, of course.”
“What about the others?”
“The others?”
“The other survivors – from the
plane.”
Chirpy’s silence said it all. He
turned to Edward.
“Suki thought she’d lost you
forever.”
“Thanks to you, Chirpy, I will
return to her today.”
Chirpy smiled and prepared
himself for flight.
“Now, hop on – both of you –
we’re going home.”
