Featherlight Peter Bunzl (red queen ebook TXT) 📖

today. Gertrude headbutts me angrily and refuses to be milked, so I decide to leave her until later.

Provisions are getting low. I hope that Dad returns today with more food. Otherwise I will have to forage for cockles and mussels along the coast.

Before I have my breakfast, I decide I will try to find something for Tan to eat. I wander out into the walled allotment garden, where we grow all our vegetables. I take Tan from my pocket and put her down beside a large orange pumpkin that has yet to ripen. Then I find a spade and start to dig in the raised bed. The earth is damp and soft. I turn it over, looking for worms and grubs. Part of this is to teach Tan to feed herself.

Each time I find a worm, I put it down next to her.

“Here you go!” I whisper. “Juicy worms!”

Tan doesn’t seem interested. She ignores the long slimy creatures.

I stare at her, frustrated. “Worms are what you’re supposed to eat, you stupid bird!”

Why doesn’t Tan want them? Is she still unwell?

I glance up for a second, thinking. Then, all of a sudden, I see something in the distance.

A figure.

Someone is walking slowly up the path from the jetty and across the island towards the lighthouse. Even at this distance I can tell it isn’t Mum or Dad.

“Deryn!” the figure calls out as it gets closer.

It’s Grandma. As soon as she gets near enough, she grabs me and hugs me tight.

“There’s good news and bad news,” Grandma says, and my heart twists in my chest like a fish on a line.

10

GRANDMA DARLING

I sit at the kitchen table, beside the stove. Tan is curled up once again in my cardigan pocket. I check on her intermittently.

Grandma potters about the kitchen. She spoons tea leaves into the teapot and pours in hot water from the kettle on the stove. She is making herself busy, preparing to speak. She knows the house well from the years she used to live here when Grandpa was alive. Back then she was the assistant lighthouse keeper.

Soon the tea is ready. Grandma pours out two cups of tea from the pot, then sits beside me and clears her throat. I place my hands around my tea cup, letting the warm feel of it comfort me while I wait warily for the news.

“Your mother’s had the baby,” Grandma says. “It’s a little boy. But there were complications. And your brother, he’s not very well.”

I don’t really know what that means. It sounds scary.

“Have you seen him?” I ask, my heart beating a bit too fast.

Grandma doesn’t answer at first. Then she says, “I don’t want to worry you, Deryn. Everything’s going to be fine, I’m sure.”

“But where are they?” I ask.

“Safely tucked away at my house,” Grandma says. “The midwife’s keeping an eye on them. Your dad’s staying too. He asked me to sail over here and look in on you. I can stay for as long as you need me.”

“Thank you,” I say, and put my hand in the pocket of my cardigan to stroke Tan’s soft feathers. Somehow the warm feel of them soothes the worry away. Maybe if I can look after Tan and make her well again that will mean the midwife can help my baby brother.

“What have you got there?” Grandma asks. She has seen me fidgeting.

“A little bird that crashed into the lighthouse,” I say, opening my pocket to show her. “I named her Tan. I’m looking after her until she’s better.”

“How nice.” Grandma smiles. “I used to tell your father when he was small: ‘A lighthouse keeper is not just here to tend the light and save ships. We’re here to take care of the birds and beasts of the island too.’ You’re doing a fine job at that, Deryn.”

*

The rest of the morning, Grandma and I clean the lighthouse together. Grandma says it’s to get it ready for my parents’ return, but I think it’s because she feels it’s got a bit scruffy since she lived here.

“When you’re worried and waiting,” Grandma says, “it’s best to find things to take your mind off your troubles. Like your bird, Deryn, and tidying the lighthouse. It will be nice for your parents to come back and find everything here spick and span and shipshape!”

While we work, Grandma tells me stories about when she and Grandpa used to live at the lighthouse with Dad. “Your dad was such a naughty boy,” she says. “He was always chasing Gertrude into the kitchen.”

“You had the same goat?” I ask, shocked. “Gertrude doesn’t look that old.”

“It was a different goat,” Grandma explains. “It just … well … our goats have always been called Gertrude. Your father continued that tradition.”

“Oh,” I say. “I see.”

Names again. I think of Tan, and then of the baby.

“Have they named my brother yet?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” Grandma says. “There’s so much else going on that I don’t think your mum and dad have decided …” She trails off, looking worried once more, then changes the subject. “I’ll tell you something, my bunions are itching like billy-o today. That means there’s bad weather on the way. Now autumn’s here, the storms will be coming more often.”

After we’ve cleaned the cottage, the last thing we do is polish the panes of glass in the lantern room. I forgot to do it this morning. As we clean them, I explain to Tan how the light works. Grandma listens. She finishes buffing the panes on her side of the lantern first, and comes over to inspect how I am doing.

“You’ve