The Tween

Quest
Jack and Hannah Ormerod and Lucia, Delphine & Fin
Mon 20 Jun 2016 00:47
Hi Everybody,

Lulu is a tween. It's official. Tonight she said to me, 'I'd quite like to be a lawyer though I'm not sure I'd like to be a gay rights lawyer. I was thinking something more along the criminal defence side.' We went to bed not long after and I read Chapter Six to them of Treasure Island. That is, I tried to read it. What with Delphine rummaging around in her Barbie accessory box, it felt more like the morning rush at a car boot sale. I've started reading the classics to the girls at bedtime which sounds like I'm trying to foist cultural pretensions upon them (both vile and true). Anne of Green Gables came across as an old-fashioned version of kids nowadays, self-obsessed but without the digital device. At least her constant screw-ups made us want to read on. We tried The Call of the Wild. I'd read it before and had my doubts on its suitability, particularly from the point of the book when Curly, the friendly Newfoundland, has her face ripped off by a pack of town dogs. Not surprisingly, Lulu didn't take to it but Delphine's reaction was unexpected. 'I like this book,' she'd maintain every night as Lu cowered down in the covers under a stream of understandable complaints. Even I had to give it up after Buck killed the mean husky by first breaking its front two legs. Delphine's face was so still and captivated it started to freak me out. Even now, when we're at a loss for a new book, she says, 'Can we read that dog book again?' 'No, Delph, I lost it,' I say, seeing the sparkle in her eyes. That's a lie. It's on my Kindle. 

We did Hound of the Baskervilles but it was harder-going, too scary and complicated with its here and there narrative. We lived Pippi Longstocking's life for a while and decided she is one subversive Nordic and then, on the other end of the spectrum is Heidi. We found ourselves hoping for Heidi's downfall. Hold on, maybe that was just me. Anyone that nice? And now, Treasure Island who Lulu stopped the proceedings mid-Chapter Six. Jim Hawkins has escaped to the Squire's house and pulled out the oil-skin packet with the ultimate teaser in it: the treasure map from newly-deceased Billy Bones' sea chest. 'What's an oil-skin?' Delphine stopped me the moment before. 'Remember at night when we're sailing and I go and get our oil-skins to wear?' Nod. Ok, carry on. Stop again. 'I don't get it,' Lulu says. I squint at the kid who has just explained what specialist profession has caught her fancy for the day. 'What don't you get?' She scrunches up her forehead. 'None of it really.' Earlier she'd got full marks for a maths quiz I'd expended a large number of brain cells that I will surely never see again. An hour later, she dropped our half-empty spaghetti sauce plates on the way to the washing-up bowl. That's my tween. I stand up. 'Ok, I'll see you guys tomorrow.' I hear 'Best Mum in the world!' called behind me. I don't stop.

I go upstairs and sit under a full June moon. Quest bobs at the bottom of Grenada under this lunar spotlight on the edge of the jungle, coral reef a few metres away, staring due West in the direction of Venezuala. The rumour floating round is that a few weeks ago a Venezualan Coast Guard boat robbed a Grenadian tuna fishing vessel. Stole their cash and watches. Poor Venezuala. Tonight there are no lights in the jungle, no people unless they want to be seen, tree frogs singing their little throats out and the water sparkling jet black. I strip off for a midnight transom shower. Nothing makes sense. How did we get here again? Two days ago, we went from living three metres up in the air at the boatyard to hoisted back in to the water to anchored and then mooring ball, each movement no farther than 300 metres from Grenada Marine. 'I like this place,' Jack said just before we left. I looked around at the gritty yard, small beach, cafe-cum-schoolroom, men milling around, working seamlessly in-between the milling. Delphine's got so many insect bites from the three weeks we've been here they could be surely connected into a decent abstract. Or maybe a huge picture of a mosquito. The bathroom's got so many dead mozzies squashed against its walls, they've become the crossing out of days for us. Birds nested in our anchor roller and made two tiny blue eggs for their effort. I had to give it to the kindly Travelator guy to find a new home for. I look at my husband who likes this place. Tonight, we could be at the end of the world. Fin stretches out on the cockpit bench and looks at me with lugubrious brown eyes. 'You sailed here, remember?' she seems to say, 'and you brought your kids, your house and your dog.' I kiss her black, shiny nose. 'Oh yeah.'

Love from Quest and her crew