Chapter 4

Flying High

Captain Jack Sparrow flitted in and out of Ben's dreams later on that day, just before he was tersely awoken by a flight attendant looking down her nose at his feet propped up the third seat. Ben reluctantly returned to his assigned seat for landing. Squeezing in front of the behemoth's legs, he sat next to his dad and peered out of the window. Antigua was a fairly large island; he could see harbours and boats and rough-looking scrubland rushing past beneath him. Landing on a runway a fraction of the size of the one that he'd left behind was more worrying than he let on. He managed to resist the urge of gripping his dad's hand as his stomach kept trying to join his feet.

When he walked down the steps of the jumbo jet onto the tarmac, Ben could taste the air. It seemed chewy and thick. A hot breeze blew on his face. They had one and a half hours to wait at Antigua airport. The airport lounge was busy and cramped. No one in transit was allowed to go outside, and by the time they were ready to line up for the next flying lap, Ben had walked around the confining room what felt like five hundred times, getting to know intimately a bar that sold hotdogs and a collection of tiny stalls displaying magazines and books, rum and t-shirts and one that had hundreds of CDs for sale, which, after examination, all seemed to be reggae.

The last plane of their day was not at all impressive; it had only seven seats in it. The pilot was very chatty, a bit too much for Ben's liking, especially as Ben wasn't totally convinced that he hadn't been smoking something stronger than your basic cigarette before the flight. This particular flight was almost completely dedicated to the Johnstons with the exception of one man who boarded behind the family. The man demonstrated familiarity with the pilot and destination.

Ben had been informed that small planes were safer in the case of engine failure and that if they needed to, the things could glide to a safe landing. There was still something comforting, however, in the feeling of a Rolls Royce-powered, high performance, jumbo jet with hundreds of people onboard, cruising at a much higher altitude. Who cared if, ultimately, the monster aircraft would explode on impact, killing the entire passenger list and crew, not to mention anyone hanging around minding their own business in the vicinity of the crash landing, at least he wouldn't know anything about it.

He was just beginning to get his head around all this too close for comfort flying stuff as they were taxiing to the end of the runway for take-off when the guy in charge addressed him, "Close the door, man." Ben was speechless. Who in their right mind asked a twelve-year-old to take a huge responsibility like that for heaven's sake? What happened if he messed up that task? What if the door didn't close properly? What if someone fell out? But he did as he was asked and closed the door.

Apparently, the pilot was determined to develop this interactive flight technique. Soon after the shuddering vibrations caused by the steep climb over the sea below eased, he proceeded to ask Ben's father if he wanted to take the controls and fly the thing. Ben had known it was a mistake when he watched his dad climb into the front seat as they boarded. There were hundreds of dials and switches just waiting to be fiddled with by a nosy lawyer. Come to think of it, his dad had always fancied himself as a bit of an aviator; he'd even loaded a flight simulator game on to Ben's PC at home once, but fortunately gave up after a couple of attempts, complaining, "It's too complicated. What does it think I am, a pilot?"

Next thing he knew, his dad had his hands on the joystick thing between his legs, and the pilot's hands were off the one in front of him. After what felt like a lifetime later, Ben relaxed a little as the happy pilot took the controls back from Frank Johnston and turned to the rest of his passengers pointing out Kamaria below.

As the tiny aircraft lined up its approach with a runway that didn't appear to be visible to the naked eye, Ben craned his neck to look down on what was to be his home for the next two months. It looked small and green.

Bumping gently between three wheels, the island hopper landed gracefully on a rough piece of concrete with dirt and bushes along one edge and rocks covered in lapping waves lining the other. A wooden structure served as the terminal building. Bizarrely, on its flat roof, people stood waving, presumably not at him as they had fizzing bottles of champagne in their hands. Judging by the way they were celebrating the arrival, by the time their buddy joined them on the roof, there wasn't going to be much bubbly left.

No moving carousels carried luggage from their light aircraft, just two guys throwing bags from the back of an open jeep onto the wall which ran alongside the customs and immigration room. One large man in a dark uniform sat behind a desk looked in turn from them to their passports as they traipsed through. The unsmiling official then got up and walked very slowly to the next chair which was placed behind a yellow line painted on the floor. Here he took a form from Ben's dad and asked them where they were going to stay. The Kamaria Hotel was, in truth, the only visitor accommodation on the island.

As the family walked past the immigration and customs officer, he nodded and said, "Enjoy our island, and be careful, Benjamin."

Feeling just a touch spooked that the huge man had noted his name, let alone spoken to him personally, Ben stuttered, said, "Thank you, sir" and caught up with his mum and Ruby in a hurry.

The lone passenger that had silently shared their plane from Antigua was apparently the recipient of the celebration on the roof. As they watched, three of the welcome party rushed to take bags from the man, and a woman gave him a rather overbearing hug.

Surveying his surroundings with his knapsack strapped to his back and a larger bag between his ankles, Ben saw flat open land in the foreground, encircled by tall, green hills. He suspected that they may even be classed as mountains. There were no buildings other than the one behind him that he'd just walked through. The ground was rough; a combination of sand, rock and dirt. Any grass was sparse and unkempt. The light was rapidly turning warm and soft, the sky responding by displaying blue, orange, red and black broad brush strokes. The dwindling sun threatened to disappear behind a rock on the water. Or maybe that was a cay? There was no noise, well perhaps that wasn't entirely true; rather, there was no familiar noise. No traffic, music, people, telephones or industrial work in progress, but there was something. Ben assumed he could hear birds, but they had a very strange call, a high pitched chirp. Then he realised he could hear a grasshopper. No, two or three or maybe hundreds.

Chapter 5

The Fisherman

At five in the morning, local time, Frank Johnston had already left for his new workplace. He figured he might as well take advantage of his jet-lag affected sleeping patterns by getting to work early. In two minutes, he walked from the hotel to the building leased by his British-based firm. His office had a picture window framing the harbour, a view to die for anywhere in the world, let alone a fledgling law subsidiary in a newly developing territory. He wasn't sure how this offshore facility would pan out, but he could see no reason why he and his family should not take advantage of a two- year contract. With his home in England already housing a tenant and his own salary reflecting the "inconvenient" overseas move, he would actually end up making extra money, too.

He did worry about Ben, however, who, after his summer in the Caribbean, would be taking a huge, independent step by enrolling in a boarding school in the UK. Knowing that Ben worried about this and the anticipation of being away from him and Penny, Frank prayed that the next two months would provide new experiences and a safe freedom for his son that sadly no longer existed for young people in the modern, so-called developed world. Ben would be fifteen when the foreign posting ended, which meant that he would probably stay in his boarding school until after he'd finished his GCSEs. It was certainly going to be an important time for them all.

Still working on UK time, Ben's watch said ten minutes past ten in the morning. A five hour time difference meant that it was actually only ten past five local time. Adjusting his watch, he gazed out of their rather small hotel room window. A pale blue sky was emerging over a harbour with a handful of boats swinging with the wind, not one the same size or shape, and most of them looking like tired fishing vessels. They had pots made from chicken wire stacked one on top of the other and tall floats tied along their sides.

Holidaying in Cornwall had partially prepared Ben for the view, but this harbour was larger and less congested. A jetty pushed into the sea across the street almost dead opposite his window. A couple of the fishing boats were moored alongside it, moving back and forth with the gentle swell. A building stood close by within a rough car park, and even at this time in the morning, a hum of activity was emerging from

it, people meeting and talking in anticipation of the coming day. The jetty seemed to be the centre of attention. As Ben lifted his baby sister up to the window, he watched an open-topped blue passenger boat come into view from around the corner of his horizon. A minute later, it was mooring up on the opposite side from the fishing boats to what was, in fact, the main dock on the island.

The sea was a deep blue with gentle waves sliding up and down boulders on either side of the town dock. Just like on those West Country holidays in England, he immediately wanted to climb and explore the rocks and the pools he imagined were hidden amongst them. Further around the water's edge was a sandy beach with a few sailing yachts anchored off of it. Ben ached to climb his way to that beach. Beyond were the two headlands of New Harbour. Their edges, resembling snow, were made from soft, fluffy wave crests, surging on the high, rugged cliffs that rose up to green hills and down into the depths of the Caribbean Sea. As the boy and his little sister watched, the ferry spewed out people from somewhere else and waited while passengers that had been chatting on the dock stepped aboard.

Have you ever noticed that sea gulls always stand head to wind? Well this particular species in Kamaria certainly did. Ben had never noticed this phenomenon before at home, but these smart birds stood like soldiers on parade, incredibly immaculate and completely identical. All pointing directly into the breeze, they were much smaller than the birds from the south of England. Ben mentally christened the one closest to him "Humphrey." He wondered if he'd see him around again, sniggering to himself that he wouldn't know if he did. Time to get out of this hotel room, he thought. He was talking to himself.

After a lot of persuasion and conversation with his mum about the usual boring stuff—safety on the roads, safety on the rocks, safety in the water...blah blah blah, and a makeshift breakfast from the café-type place next door, Ben had been given a pass. He was free! But in which direction was anybody's guess. He was standing at the bottom of the U-shaped natural harbour and was probably equal distance from either headland. He had a bottle of water, a packet of crisps, two snack bars, a towel in his backpack and until lunchtime to explore. Great, he thought, that's three hours without Ruby.

Setting off on the sea side of the road, which he guessed at some point had been tarmacked, he followed the dirt edge. The traffic was light and slow moving. Most of the vehicles were 4-wheel drive, and all of them had definitely seen better days. The gulls had flown from the dock and were patrolling the inner harbour's skies. He could also see larger seabirds circling higher. Ben ended up opting to walk to his left, east, he thought. Up ahead, he could see the end of the road where the town transformed into open land with just a few individual homes scattered along a rough track. They were low houses that had balconies around them. Nothing more than two stories high appeared to be the fashion here.

Although not a particularly shy boy, with the exception of when he was around teenaged girls, Ben had never been on his own out of the UK before. Sure, he'd visited other countries around Europe, where they spoke different languages and dressed and acted differently, but he'd never walked around alone in another country, especially one where the people, culture and climate were so different from England. He heard snippets of conversation between the islanders as he passed by, and although he tried, he had difficulty understanding their dialect. He could maybe make out one in twenty words. He wondered if they'd be able to understand his UK accent. Also, several adults had said, "Good Morning" to him as they strolled by him on the street, as if they knew him. This confused him even more.

He was getting further away from the town now, and the track began to move a little inland away from the water. He was determined to stay by the rocks, so that's what he did. The climbing was easy enough—just boulders to scramble over— the yellow beach didn't seem to be getting closer, though, and Ben was already wondering if he was going to make it there and back in three hours. Walking in just his shorts and trainers as the sun grew stronger, he had already drunk half his water supply. Stopping for a swim off the boulder-strewn coast was becoming very appealing. Although the swell was not harsh, he could see that it would be tricky to get in and especially climb out from the rocky edge. The water displayed so many different shades of blue and green as the morning went on, and Ben could see the bottom clearly now. No sand, just more rocks and what he thought had to be reef. Even to his untrained eye, it looked exceptionally sharp.

He was debating risking the plunge into the sea to cool off, wondering if his mum would kill him if he kept his trainers on when he spotted a boy standing on a large flat rock ahead. The boy was peering into the water below his feet, holding a long sack of string. Abruptly, the boy launched the sack over his shoulder grasping a rope attached to the head of the bundle, swinging it like a cowboy's lasso. Then, right before Ben's eyes, he let go, and the spinning white sack opened in the air beyond the rocks before gracefully landing, having spread out into a perfect circle, stretching at least two metres across. As it hit the sea, it was dragged below by tiny lead weights sewn around the edge of what was obviously a net. The contraption sank from the outside in, being held just underneath the surface of the water by the rope that the boy was still holding. While Ben continued to watch, fascinated by this display, the young fisherman hauled on the line in his hands, and the net gathered together from the middle as it was dragged up and towards the rock that the boy stood on.

Ben, though becoming a little self-conscious that it looked like he was spying on the kid, was reluctant to move from his spot as he continued to watch the net exit the water carrying hundreds of tiny passengers. Some of the fish managed to fall free, but most were trapped inside. The boy continued to drag his haul up to a bucket standing beside him before dropping the net and its contents inside.

To Ben, that seemed infinitely more sensible and rewarding than the way his grandfather fished. The catch was huge in number, but the squirming fish were small. It reminded him of one time when he went to a restaurant with his parents, and he'd watched with disgust as his mum ate a plate of tiny fried fish including (unbelievably) the heads! He wondered now if that was the way they had been caught. He certainly couldn't imagine catching each individual fish on a rod and line. It looked like a cool thing to have a go at; he figured he could do it easily. As he was considering this, the boy turned and waved at him.

The next thing Ben was aware of was being very wet. How lame can you get? When he raised his hand to wave back, he had lost his balance, fallen off his perch and was thrashing around trying to regain his footing on something slippery. About the same time, it occurred to him that, yes, his mum would kill him if he got his brand new trainers wet.

Laughing, the boy with the fishing net leant over a rock, reaching out his hand close to where Ben was trying to get some traction on the rocks. Hoping he could pretend it was an intended dip in the sea, being the new kid on the block, Ben was reluctant to take the offer of a helping hand from this still giggling dude. Eventually, having to admit he wasn't making much ground up the slippery face of the boulders on his own, Ben grasped the boy's arm and was pulled to his knees on the shore, grazing all his exposed skin on the way.

"Thanks," Ben said, looking bedraggled but much more in control of his arms and legs now. He grinned lopsidedly at his rescuer. "I'm Ben."

"You on vacation?"The boy asked.

"Kind of. Well, I had to come with my parents for the summer. My dad is working here now."

"Cool, man. You wanna fish?" Ben realised the boy hadn't told him his name yet.

"Wicked. But I don't have long. I have to be back in town in an hour, and it'll take me that long to walk it."

"We catch a ride. Me have to go see my uncle in West End." Ben assumed that catching a ride meant with a friend or his parents or someone. He wanted to act cool and not too concerned about getting back to his mum on time in front of this kid, but he also knew in his heart it would be unfair to let his mum worry about him. Besides, if he messed up on his first day, he'd risk being grounded, and he had too much exploring to do to lose his freedom so soon.

"Look, the bait fish there."The local boy was pointing over Ben's shoulder into the water.

"How do you know?" Makingaweirdsuckingnoisewithhisteethhesaid,"'Causethepelicansarediving." "Right," he said, then to himself, asked, "How was I supposed to know that?" The boy held out his net, and Ben, realising that the thing was much bigger up

close, wondered if it was going to be quite as easy as it had looked. The birds were definitely trying to tell him something—they were crashing into the sea from amazing heights, beak first, some of them more elegantly than others. What if I catch a pelican? he thought.

"Look there, throw, throw."

Ben heaved the bundle above his head and made an attempt at throwing it towards the feeding frenzy underway in front of him. He needn't have worried about catching a pelican—just as the net had begun its flight upwards, it stopped abruptly like someone had pressed freeze frame, and instead of spinning weightlessly through the sky to land on hundreds of waiting fish, it dropped like a stone directly onto Ben. It seemed like he was destined to be the butt of this kid's fun today, as peering through the net wrapped around his face, he could see the kid rolling around holding his stomach, killing himself laughing again.

Getting a little tired of being the entertainment of the moment, Ben ripped at the disgusting smelling mesh around him, trying to throw it at the grinning boy.

"Okay, okay. What's so hilarious? It's not like I need that useless skill to get through life. I'm out of here. I have things to do." Ben stomped away from the fishing rock back towards town. He was hot, thirsty and angry. His trainers squelched with every step, and his backpack was still dripping down the backs of his legs. Determined not to slow down, he heard the black kid yell at him.

"It didn't work 'cause you were standing on the rope!" Ben kept clambering, ignoring the kid, and then he heard, "You wanna ride?" Still fuming about being made an idiot, he hesitated at that question. His shoes

had been rubbing at his heels for a while before he fell in the sea, and now the salt water was making the raw spots sting like crazy. He'd love a ride, but was he going to get laughed at again and in what would he ride? he wondered. In the end he gave in and yelled in a cocky voice, "In what?"

"Soon come," was the only reply.

According to the kid, who still hadn't told Ben his name, hitchhiking was the normal thing to do on the island. Apparently, that's how most of the kids got to school. An old pickup appeared in a cloud of dust from behind them as they waited by the side of the track. It slowed to a stop and the kid leapt in the back. He motioned Ben to follow, and before he had both legs in, the truck was moving again. No one had said anything to anyone at all, but now they were bumping around in the bottom of the vehicle sliding around on some old sacks. Taking off his soggy trainers, he looked out into the harbour and watched as the clumsy pelicans crashed into the sea popping back up with bloated throats. There were two other types of seabird feeding other than the gulls he had seen earlier.  For something to say he asked,

"What are those birds called?" He was pointing towards some very sleek birds, diving like arrows, barely breaking the surface of the water as they disappeared for a few seconds before coming back up head first instead of the Pelican's butt-first technique.

"Boobies."

"Excuse me?" Ben questioned with a smile developing on his face, not sure if he had heard right.

"Boobies. Brown ones. Brown boobies." Ben had heard right and began to giggle. The boy looked at him straight faced and said, "What's up?" From this reaction, Ben decided not to elaborate on why he thought "brown booby" was a hilarious name for a bird. Almost frightened to be told what the other species of bird gliding over the harbour was named, he didn't bother to inquire. New Town was up ahead, and he could see the ferry dock. It seemed that was where the guy driving the truck wanted to go, too, as the pickup pulled into the makeshift car park. Ben jumped out quickly in case the driver took off again without all of him being safely away from the wheels and then turned to look at the boy still sitting inside.

"So, you staying there?" "Go to West End to my uncle's house. He wants bait to catch pot fish from his boat." "Okay, I'll see you around then. What's your name?" "Isaac. See you tomorrow." The truck driver finished talking to another man through a glassless window,

revved the rattling engine and drove off. Wonder how he figures he's going to see me tomorrow? Ben thought. As he turned to look across at the hotel, his thoughts turned very rapidly back to how loud his mum would shout when she found out his new trainers were drenched.

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