A Flirty Dozen

A Flirty Dozen Gay Erotic Romance Box Set 12 Stories in 1 Collection! By JL Merrow Love Found on Lindisfarne It was a hot summer’s day on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. The lanes were dusty underfoot, the languid breeze heavy with the scent of the North Sea, and a Viking had just offered to buy my daughter. His drooping moustache quivered as he spoke to her, his hands on his thighs and his head bent down to her level. “How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen? That’s prime marriageable age, that is.” Kelis giggled, her honey-coloured cheeks tinged with pink. “I’m twelve. And you’re old enough to be my dad.” Actually, with his bald head and grizzled beard, not to mention the beer gut—mead gut?—he looked old enough to be my dad. Bearing in mind this was a bloke with a broadsword, I decided not to mention it. The Viking, who’d introduced himself without a trace of irony as Balder, stared at her. “So? What’s that got to do with anything? Twelve’s even better, as it happens. Fourteen, well…” He pursed his lips and sucked in a breath. “Bit long in the tooth for a first time bride. But it’s not for me, as it happens. I’ve got a wife. It’s my son I’m trying to marry off. What d’you reckon? He’s over there by the boat. Ulf!” The boat in question was a red and black longboat, with a gold dragon’s-head prow, sitting outside the priory gate as if beached there on the road by an unusually high tide. Another Viking shambled past it like a one-man zombie apocalypse. He was tall, if a bit hunched-over, had blond dreadlocks and a beard with beads in it. If it hadn’t been for the lurching and the worryingly vacant expression, he’d have been pretty good-looking. “Ur?” he grunted. “Found you a wife, Ulf. What d’you reckon?” Ulf lurched over to Kelis, put his nose up to her face and gave her an audible sniff. “Ur,” he said in a tone of approval. Kelis squealed in mock terror and cowered back against me, tickling my arm with her loose brown curls—the same mid brown as my hair, but a bubbly riot where mine is dead straight. She got my hazel eyes, too, and my nose, but the rest of her is all her mother. “Why’s he being funny?” Balder beamed proudly. “He’s a berserker, Ulf is. Great fighters, they are. Give ‘em an axe or a sword, shove ‘em into battle and you’re knee deep in hacked off limbs before you can say Ragnarok. Course, you have to remember to point ‘em at the enemy first.” Ulf’s unfocussed eyes lit up manically at the word enemy. He grabbed a wicked-looking axe from the table and waggled it threateningly in my direction. I was surprised—and interested—to see him wink as I took a step back, Kelis clinging to me like a giggly limpet. “Down, boy!” Balder grabbed Ulf’s arm. “That’s your father-in-law. Not the enemy. Friend, Ulf. Axe down.” Ulf’s shoulders slumped as he lowered his weapon. “Ur,” he muttered sullenly. “Sorry about that. Not very discriminating, your average berserker. So what do you reckon, son? Think she’ll be a good wife for you?” Ulf nodded his shaggy head with worrying enthusiasm. “Ur.” As his gaze met mine, there was a flicker of amusement that I was sure was just for me. “Looks like he likes you. All right, just a few more questions before we seal the deal. How’s your cooking?” “Um, I can make flapjacks. And we did pizza sauce in school.” “Close enough. Can you make cheese?” “Make cheese?” Kelis stared at the weirdo who didn’t seem to know cheese came out of packets. “Milk goats?” “Ew!” “And you’ll have to hand sew all your own clothes. And his. And the kids’. And you’ll need to have lots of them, to make sure one or two survive to look after you in your old age.” “Um…” Balder shook his head sadly. “Sorry, Ulf. I don’t think she’s the girl for you. Doesn’t seem ready to take on her responsibilities. Think we’ll have to keep looking.” Ulf pouted, then held up the axe. “Ur?” he asked hopefully. “No, you can’t kill them either.” With a scowl, Ulf slammed the axe back onto the table then lurched off to terrorise a Japanese family who’d just wandered into view. “You must be very proud of him,” I said, keeping my face straight. Balder beamed with paternal pride. “Chip off the old block, he is. Apart from the homicidal rages, of course. Now, any questions?” Kelis had a few questions—Kelis always had a few questions—like did girl Vikings ever get to fight? (not as a rule, apparently, although there had been one or two shield maidens) and were there any gay Vikings? (not if they knew what was good for them). I got the distinct impression your average old Norse man was pretty rigid about gender roles. Then we wandered off towards the picturesque ruins of Lindisfarne Priory, where some of Balder’s fellow re-enactors had set up their tents. If I cast a glance over my shoulder first for one last look at the man who’d so nearly married into the family, well, I’m pretty sure no one noticed. Except Kelis, of course, who teased me about it mercilessly (“You liked Ulf, didn’t you?”) until she got distracted by a monk making ink out of berries, thank God. The accompanying spiel was quite interesting, actually, but I zoned out after a while. Lack of sleep, probably, although Kelis didn’t seem affected even though it had been her nightmares that’d kept me awake last night. Kids. “I’m going to take a look around outside, all right?” I whispered in her ear. “Yeah, whatever.” She nodded, her gaze not wavering from the sack-cloth clad, vaguely druidical looking bloke with the berries. “Okay. Be good. I’ll see you back here, or just outside.” I wandered off into the ruins. There was a place in the priory wall where a jagged-edged window perfectly framed a view of sixteenth-century Lindisfarne Castle, perched a mile or so away on its volcanic mound. I stopped to snap off a photo, and decided I’d drag Kelis over that way for a closer look. After all, we’d managed a different castle every day during our week in Northumberland, and it’d be a shame to fall down on the job on our last full day’s holiday. It didn’t look too far to walk, although an ice-cream bribe might be indicated. I stood for a moment under a slender archway that curved between two sections of crumbling wall, and gazed up at it, outlined against an impossibly blue sky. Further on, there was a larger-than-life, green-tinged statue of St Cuthbert, Lindisfarne’s seventh-century bishop, missionary, and hermit. Back in those days, a total lack of any kind of social life could be seen as a good thing, it seemed. A ginger cat lay stretched out at the statue’s feet, sunning itself on the low stone plinth, and Cuthbert gazed down at his feline companion with long-faced serenity. As I watched, a tall young man in Viking gear stooped to stroke the cat, which nuzzled into his hand. It was Ulf, the berserker from earlier, now straight-backed and smoking a rollie. I stared at him for a moment, then thought, what the hell? I wandered closer. “Ur,” I said, in a tone I hoped conveyed friendly greeting. He turned and grinned, showing gleaming white, slightly crooked teeth. “It’s all right, I can speak English.” He spoke it with a light rural accent, not easy to place. “I’m on a break. I’m Ian, by the way. When I’m not running amok.” Ian held out his hand, and I shook it. His grasp was firm and warm, and lingered in an easy-going sort of way that was pleasant, but frustratingly inconclusive. “Chris. Nice to meet you. Sorry the marriage plans didn’t work out.” “Yeah, no offence to your daughter, but twelve-year-old girls really aren’t my type.” Did that mean girls weren’t his type? Or just twelve-year-olds? I really needed to work on my gaydar. Ian took another drag on his rollie and blew out a thin stream of smoke. “Her mum off shopping somewhere?” Was I reading too much into it, or was that a leading question? Unfortunately, even if it was, my answer was going to be a bit of a buzz-kill. “Actually, her mum died when she was six.” His eyes took on a pinched look. “God, sorry. That must have been rough.” I shrugged a bit awkwardly. “It was for Kelis. Her mum and I weren’t actually together. Never were.” I caught his wide-eyed look of surprise. “Well, apart from fairly briefly, thirteen years ago, obviously. I think we were both equally horrified when we saw who we’d woken up with next morning.” At nineteen, Shandi had been a free-spirited, exotic (to my sheltered eyes) beauty, with warm brown skin and swinging black braids, living in a squat with a bunch of other bizarre characters. I, on the other hand, had been skinny, awkward and conventional. Actually, come to think of it, I wasn’t sure all that much had changed. Except maybe the “skinny” part. Ian laughed. “Yeah, I’ve had mornings like that. Can’t be easy, being a single dad.” I looked down, pushed a loose stone around in the grass with my foot. “We get along all right, most of the time. Probably because she hasn’t discovered boys yet.” I glanced up again. “You got kids?” “Only nieces and nephews. So far.” He gazed past me, out towards the sea, a gust of wind blowing back his dreads and making the beads in his beard dance. “I’d like them one day. But it’s not always that easy.” I snorted. “Based on my own experience, I’d have to take issue with that. Sometimes it’s far too easy. Not that I regret having Kelis. God, no. Best mistake I ever made.” Followed nine months later by the worst mistake I ever made. But Ian didn’t need to know about my painfully steep learning curve on the road to good decision-making. “Is she enjoying it here?” “Oh, yes. She loves all these sort of events. Right now, she’s busy producing some epic masterpiece of calligraphy. Allegedly. Or possibly being bludgeoned to death with a crucifix by a monk who can’t take any more questions.” “Sounds like she’s a bright kid.” He took a last drag on his rollie, looked at it regretfully and stubbed it out carefully on the wall. “Right. Back to the berserkergang. Enjoy the rest of your day. Maybe I’ll see you around? Are you staying on the island?” He looked hopeful. I hated to dash it. “No, we’ve been staying in a cottage just over the causeway for the last week, but we’re due off home tomorrow morning. But I expect you have to go off and pillage somewhere else tomorrow anyway?” “Actually, we’re camping out in the priory grounds for the night, and we’ll be around all day tomorrow. We’re doing a small-scale re-enactment of the 793 raid, if you’re interested.” “That’s the bit where they give you an axe, wind you up and point you at the enemy, right?” I bet that was a sight to see. Probably not from the receiving end, though. “Yeah, but I try not to hack off too many limbs for real. Health and safety’s a bugger these days.” I nodded. “It’s the nanny state gone mad. I’d love to see you do a bit of hacking, but we’ve got a long way to go, and with the tides as well…” The causeway to Lindisfarne is only passable at low tide. Notices all over the island warn of dire consequences to anyone stupid enough to ignore the warnings, and a lot of the postcards gleefully display pictures of half- or, indeed, fully-submerged cars. Clearly there are plenty of stupid people about. “Shame.” Ian did actually look disappointed, which was good for the ego even if it didn’t change the facts. “Right. Back to the grind.” “See you,” I said, reflecting that Viking-style tunics and long chainmail vests were a total killjoy if you wanted to check out a bloke’s rear view as he walked away. Nice shoulders, though. Probably from swinging that axe around in battle. Ah, well. Maybe nothing had come of it, but a bit of flirting was always good for the soul. When I got back to the scribe’s tent Kelis was just finishing off her masterpiece: her name and address in wobbly cursive script. “It’s really hard, writing with a feather,” she said, thrusting the results of her labours in my face. “Can you look after this?” I made appropriate sounds of admiration before folding it carefully and putting it in my camera case. Then I took Kelis off to meet St Cuthbert and his pet cat, the latter of which impressed her far more than any of the old stones around us. “Can we go to the beach, now?” she asked when the cat finally tired of all the attention and wandered off. I consulted my map. “There’s a beach up that way, past the castle. It doesn’t look far.” Kelis squinted in the direction of my pointing finger. She’d heard me say that sort of thing before. “It’s miles.” “Buy you an ice-cream on the way?” “Yay! Come on, Dad.” She tugged on my arm. Our way out of the priory took us, of course, past the longboat and our two friendly Vikings. Ian was chatting with Balder, both of them leaning against the wall. “Run out of tourists to terrify?” I asked. Ian looked up and smiled. “Yeah, what with the tides, everyone coming over already got here a while ago. Off back to the mainland now, are you?” I tried to tell myself I was imagining the note of regret in his voice. “No, we’re—” Kelis cut me off in her excitement. “We’re going to get ice creams and go to the beach!” “Lucky you. They didn’t have ice cream in Viking times, you know.” Ian made an exaggeratedly sad face at her. I could practically see the cogs whirling round behind those big, brown eyes of Kelis’s. “Da-ad?” “Ye-es?” I gave her my best stern look. It didn’t work. Which, based on past experience, shouldn’t have surprised me. “Can Ulf come, too? It’ll be more fun with more of us. Pleeease.” “Sweetheart, I’m sure Ian—Ulf—has got better things to do than play on the beach.” Ian quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Quite fancy a trip to the beach. Specially if there’s ice cream.” He turned to Balder. “You’ll be all right here without me, won’t you?” Balder nodded his bald head, now faintly reddened from the sun. “Course I will. You go off and enjoy yourself.” He smiled as we turned to go, then called after us, “No pillaging, mind, and no sacking, neither!” We bought our ice creams, which were of the traditional British seaside variety—swirls of pale creamy stuff with a chocolate flake jammed in tight. Kelis insisted on hers being smothered with chocolate sauce. Ian went for strawberry. “Ulf, why didn’t you get chocolate sauce?” Kelis asked, before carefully licking around the melty bits at the top of the cone. He grinned. “I like the red stuff better. Looks more like blood. And you can call me Ian, you know. Now I’m off duty.” “Ian,” Kelis said thoughtfully. “If I was a Viking, what would my name be?” He gazed at her for a moment, lips pursed. Kelis seemed to have been turned into a chunk of impatient stone, a dab of ice cream on her nose and chocolate sauce around her mouth. “Astrid,” he said firmly. “It means beautiful.” She accepted it as her due. “What does Ulf mean?” “Wolf,” Ian said mildly—then turned to growl at her. Kelis squealed and nearly dropped her ice cream. “Oi, careful with that,” I said with a smile. “I’m not paying for another if you lose that one.” She ignored me. “What about Dad? What would his name be?” Ian took a thoughtful lick of his ice cream. I tried not to stare at his tongue. “Now, that’s tougher. Hmm. Einarr?” “What’s it mean?” “Lone warrior.” “Dad’s not alone. He’s got me.” Kelis’s tone was scornful. “All right, what about Triggr? It means trustworthy.” I frowned. “I don’t care what it means. I’m not going through life being called Trigger.” “Touchy, ain’t he?” Ian rolled his eyes at Kelis, and she giggled. The sun on our backs was baking hot despite the fresh sea breeze, and I was glad I’d insisted Kelis slather herself with sunblock. The path skirted around the castle mound. When we got to the nearest point, where anyone wanting to visit the castle would have to turn off the path, we stood there for a moment, gazing up the hill at it. The road up to the castle gates looked extremely steep, and the castle, frankly, not all that impressive after you’d seen Bamburgh—Kelis had dubbed that one “Castle Awesome”. “Dad,” Kelis began thoughtfully. “The castle still counts as our one-a-day if we don’t actually go in, doesn’t it?” “Absolutely,” I said, relieved. Ian grinned. “Just as well. If I turned up there dressed like this, they’d think I’d come to invade the place.” “What, and got held up several hundred years en route?” “Took the long way around, didn’t I?” “Where are you from, by the way?” I asked, as Kelis skipped on ahead. “If you don’t mind me asking.” “I’m based in Bath right now, but I like to move around a bit. Always have.” That explained the hard-to-pin-down accent. “Nice part of the country.” I paused. “You live alone?” “Nah, I’ve got a flatmate. But that’s all he is. Young, free and single, that’s what I am.” Ian grinned. “Whereas I’m old, encumbered and, yes, still single.” “You don’t look that old to me. Early thirties?” “Thirty-two,” I confirmed. “Feels old enough, sometimes. Especially when I’m explaining to blokes I can’t take them home because my daughter’s there.” Ian didn’t react to my outing myself, confirming my suspicions he already had a pretty good reading of me. “If they’re not worth explaining to your daughter, they’re probably not worth taking home in the first place.” “Yeah, but it’s not always easy to tell the difference on first meeting.” He raised a shaggy, pierced eyebrow. “How about me? Would I be worth it?” I stared at the path at my feet, shaking my head. It was so peaceful here, the only sounds our footsteps and the calls of seagulls. “I honestly can’t imagine the question ever coming up, under normal circumstances.” “Okaaaay. Nice to know where I stand.” I looked up sharply. “What? No—that’s not what I meant. I just…you’re the kind of bloke who, well, doesn’t look twice at a bloke like me.” “A bloke like you? And what sort of bloke is that?” “You know.” I gestured down at myself. “Boring.” “Do I look like I’m falling asleep?” “No, but it’s only been half an hour. Give it time.” He laughed. “You’re the one who’s in a hurry to leave, not me. Where’s home for you, anyway?” “Cambridge. Well, just on the edge of it, really. I’m a software designer. I work from home these days. Means I can be there when Kelis gets in from school.” I paused. “What do you do, when you’re not hacking off limbs?” “Hack off more limbs, as it happens.” He laughed at my expression, then launched himself over a stile with easy grace. “I’m a tree surgeon.” Kelis’s voice cut through our conversation. “Da-ad! Ian! Come on, we’re nearly there!” After meandering through a field of lazy, cud-chewing sheep, we reached the beach. It was entirely made of stones and driftwood, very different from the broad expanse of golden sand over at Alnmouth. There, you could almost imagine yourself somewhere southern and exotic—until you were reckless enough to dip an unprotected toe into the icy North Sea. Here, there wasn’t the remotest temptation to go for a swim, but there were stones to be skimmed, and shells to hunt for. We crunched and slipped our way along the pebble beach, picking things up and either pocketing them or lobbing them into the water, as appropriate. I wondered, if there had been anyone else but us on this lonely stretch of coastline, would they have thought us a family? Two dads, raising a presumably adopted daughter? Would they think we were sweet? Or would they look away, disgusted? Then I reflected anyone observing us would probably be too hung up on the fact that one of us was dressed as a Viking to even think about alternative family dynamics. “It’s great, her still wanting to do this sort of thing,” Ian said, watching the stone he’d just skimmed as it skipped across the water, bouncing roughly twice as many times as my best effort before sinking with a plop. “I know. A lot of girls her age are teenagers already. We’ve seen a few of them while we’ve been on holiday—slathered in eyeliner, whining for their X-boxes and complaining how boring everything is. I’m glad my Kelis is still a little girl at heart.” “Dad! Ian! Come see!” We looked up at her shout, to see she’d got a fair way ahead of us down the beach. She was standing next to something that’d been washed up by the sea—a larger-than usual bit of driftwood? It was a rusty brown in colour. “Come on!” We hurried up—and then the stench hit me. It was like a fishmonger’s dustbin. In a heat wave. After the bin men had been on strike for a month. “God, what is that?” “It’s a dead seal! Look, you can see its bones through its face! That is just so gross.” Brown eyes wide, she gazed at it with horrified glee. “Ah, little girls. Got to love ‘em,” Ian said with a grin. I groaned. “Thanks, sweetheart. My holiday is now complete. This trip’s been sadly lacking in rotting corpses up until now.” Kelis ignored my sarcasm with the ease of long practice. “Aren’t you going to take a picture?” “Trust me, I’m not going to forget this sight.” “Da-ad! Come on. I want Ian in it, too.” Ian didn’t hesitate, just scrambled over the stones to my daughter and her new best friend. He didn’t seem to mind having to share the limelight with a putrid corpse. I ended up snapping off a whole string of shots of the three of them. It felt strange, knowing I’d be able to see Ian’s face in our holiday photos for years to come. Years after I’d last seen him in person, no doubt. Even if we got something going now, it wouldn’t last, would it? He liked to move around. He’d told me that himself. And Kelis needed stability. “Dad, Dad, I want the camera.” I handed it over with a sigh. At least I was able to back off to a less nauseating distance while Kelis took picture after picture of the fetid thing from every conceivable angle. “Why’s it that colour?” she demanded. “I thought seals were grey. All the seals we saw on the Far Islands were grey.” “Farne Islands. And, er, I think it’s because of bacteria. Or something.” I looked at Ian, but he shrugged in a search me kind of way. “Are they eating it? That’s so gross.” She crouched down to peer at it even more closely. “That’s natural recycling, that is,” Ian said, bending down next to her. Didn’t the smell bother him? Or was it just me, letting excessive squeamishness keep me from a bonding experience with my daughter? I took a step towards them, and gagged as the odour hit me afresh. No, I decided. Ian clearly had no sense of smell. That thing was foul. Eventually I managed to persuade her away from the festering carcase, and she slip-slid back over the pebbles to me with Ian by her side, the camera swinging wildly on its strap from her neck and threatening to brain one of them any minute. She yanked it over her head and handed it back to me. “You can carry it now.” “Thanks. Come on, it’s time we were heading back. Tides, remember?” “Do you think the seal died of old age? Or did something kill it?” Kelis bombarded me with questions as we started on our way back to the village. “I hope it died of old age. Do you think it had any babies?” “Maybe all its children were grown up,” I suggested carefully, wary of what might be going on in that curly little head of hers. “Come on, we need to hurry up a bit to make sure we catch the tide.” “What time is it?” Ian asked. Not surprisingly, he wasn’t wearing a watch with his Viking outfit. “You know you’ll be all right for a good half hour after the tide tables say. They just like to play it safe.” “Yes, well, they’re not the only ones,” I muttered. He grinned. “Ah, what’s the worst that could happen? I won’t be complaining if you get stuck on the island for a bit longer.” He made it sound so easy. As if doing things just because you wanted to didn’t have consequences. We were halfway back along the path to the priory when Kelis stopped dead, clutching at her neck. “Oh no!” I thought she’d been stung by a wasp or something. “What is it?” Her face twisted in anguish. “Mum’s necklace. I was wearing it before and now it’s gone. We’ve got to go back.” She turned on her heel and ran back along the path. I cursed under my breath. “Kelis! Wait. We haven’t got time.” She turned to shout back at me. “It’s Mum’s necklace.” “I know, but if you go back we’re going to miss the tide.” “I don’t care!” She kept on running. Ian and I exchanged looks, then ran after her. “At least slow down a bit,” I called out. “If you dropped it on the path, you won’t see it if you run.” She spun and looked at me uncertainly, hopping from foot to trainer-clad foot. “You’re not going to try and make me leave it?” I sighed. “No, it’s okay. But I’d better not hear one word from you moaning about being tired tomorrow. If we miss the tide now we’ll have to wait until…” I frowned as I tried to remember the tide tables. “Be getting on for midnight, I reckon,” Ian said. “Great. We haven’t even packed yet.” We’d either have to get up at the arse crack of dawn tomorrow or be late leaving the cottage, which wouldn’t win us any friends with the staff who had to get it ready for the next family. And it was a long, long drive back down to Cambridge, which wouldn’t be any easier for being sleep-deprived. “Thought you’d tell her to leave it behind,” Ian said in a low voice as he fell into step beside me.” “No…Well, it’s her mum’s necklace. God knows, she’s got little enough to remember her by.” Shandi had died owning barely enough to fill a couple of suitcases of shabby tat. “But look, you don’t have to come back with us.” He shrugged. “Six eyes are better than four, right?” “Yes, but…” I swallowed the polite words that would tell him not to bother. Keep him at a distance. “Thanks.” “No problem.” He put a hand on my shoulder for a moment, and I caught my breath. “So tell me what we’re looking for.” “It’s a silver locket—just a cheap thing, really, and it’s got a few dents in it. Shandi—that’s Kelis’s mum—always was careless with her stuff, and it’s had a few more knocks since Kelis got it, too.” That wasn’t the only thing Shandi had been careless about, of course, and I wasn’t just talking about contraception. But Kelis had loved her. Idolised her. Ian would probably have liked her, too. “What’ll you do if we don’t find it?” he asked. “God knows.” Consoling a distraught Kelis was not a prospect I was looking forward to in the slightest. “Hey, at least she’ll know we did our best.” Again, Ian put his hand on my shoulder. I tried not to lean into the comforting touch, and failed. The walk back along the path was a frustrating one, spent scanning the ground and going over the age-old questions of Where do you think you left it? and Where were you the last time you saw it? To which, of course, Kelis just answered an increasingly agitated “I don’t know.” “Okay, listen,” I said finally, as we drew level with the castle again. “We should probably go straight for the beach. Tide’s coming in, remember? We can search the rest of the path on the way back.” At least that got us moving faster. The sheep stared at us, uncomprehending, as we hurried back through their field. The tide was visibly higher when we got close enough to see the sea, but we hadn’t been right down at the waterline when we’d been here before. At least, not for most of the time. I started where the path came out on the beach, and walked slowly, scrutinising the pebbles at my feet until my vision started to dance. Kelis was going to be devastated at losing the locket. I should have made her leave it at home, or checked the clasp was sound, or… “I got an idea,” Ian said suddenly. “Kelis, you spent most time round the dead seal, didn’t you?” She nodded. My heart ached as I saw her face was already streaked with silent tears, and I scrambled over to hug her. She clung to me the way she had as a six-year-old, missing her mum. “And you had that camera round your neck for a bit,” Ian carried on. “The strap could have caught on the clasp, or something, couldn’t it?” He was right. God, yes, why hadn’t I thought of that? “Come on, then.” Taking one last lungful of untainted air, I headed for the dead seal. Karma, I decided as I tried not to gag, was going to owe me big time after this. Kelis crunched nervously at my side, her fingers digging into my arm, as we looked for the locket together. Ian was a few feet away, his dreads hanging over his face as he scoured the ground. We seemed to search for hours. I was going to dream of pebbles, I decided. An avalanche of potato-sized boulders would cascade down and bury me in my sleep. Probably while a blond, dreadlocked berserker taunted me with Kelis’s necklace on the tip of his battle axe, his plunder—and himself—forever tantalisingly out of reach… There. A glint of silver, among the grey and white pebbles. The locket. Heady relief flooded through me as I bent to pick it up. “I’ve found it!” Kelis grabbed it from my hands and cuddled it to her chest before giving me a big hug, followed by an even bigger sniff. Ian’s smile was broad, his eyes crinkled at the edges in genuine happiness for her. “Hey, well done.” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “It was your idea to look here. Come on, let’s get back to civilisation.” “Do you think the seal was looking after it for me?” Kelis asked as we turned to retrace our steps once again. Every now and then she’d come out with stuff like that—I mean, I knew she knew what “dead” meant. “Well, the smell probably kept away anyone who might have picked it up,” I conceded, rotating my shoulders, stiff from hunching over. The necklace safe and sound, Kelis was free to get excited about the whole stranded-on-an-island thing, coupled with the prospect of staying up past her bedtime even by holiday standards. She fairly skipped along the path back to the village, babbling questions all the way. “Is it going to get all spooky here like in The Woman in Black?” I’d had a few choice words to say to the parents of one of Kelis’s classmates who’d allowed her to watch that film, with all the mothers and children dying in it. “No. People live on this island, remember?” “Dad, what happens if people don’t see the warnings, and they try and drive on the road, but the tide comes in while they’re on it? Do they sink in the sand and never get found again? Do lots of people die?” I was going to kill Chelsea’s mum. “Nobody dies. They just get to feel very silly when the coastguard rescues them.” I hoped. “So there aren’t any buried cars out there? Or people?” “No,” I said firmly. She was silent a moment, kicking pebbles along the path. “Dad?” “Yes, treacle?” “If you died when the tide came in, would you be a ghost on the island or on the mainland? Or would you just have to stay in the middle?” Ye gods. I was still trying to work out what to say when Ian jumped in. “Which do you think would be the best place to haunt?” “We-ell…On the mainland might be more fun, because there’s more to do. But I like it here, too, they’ve got beaches and seals and Vikings and stuff. Or you could be a good ghost, guiding people back to land if they got lost at sea. Like Grace Darling.” “Grace Darling wasn’t a ghost,” I reminded her. “We went to her lighthouse,” Kelis told Ian. “On the Far-un Islands. We saw her bedroom and everything. It had round walls.” He c****d his head, smiling. “Oh, yeah? Think you’d like to live in a lighthouse?” Kelis’s eyes went wide. “Ye-es!” “And look out for shipwrecks in storms?” Ian seemed as excited by the prospect as she was. She nodded. “Is Grace Darling a ghost now?” I’d hoped we were off that topic. “Sweetheart, not everyone turns into a ghost when they die. Just think how crowded the world would be with them by now if they did. I expect she’s in heaven.” “With Mum?” I hated it when she asked questions like that. “Yes. Look, we’re almost back now.” I checked my watch. “We’re going to have quite a bit of time to kill.” “Have we missed the tide?” Ian laughed. “Just a bit.” Kelis clung to my arm and looked up at me with her big, brown eyes. “Are you cross with me?” I gave her a swift cuddle, letting go of her before she could squirm out of my grasp with a cry of Da-ad. “No, of course not. And I’m glad we found your necklace.” The village seemed mostly deserted when we finally got back there, and the shops were shut. Either the staff had gone back to the mainland or, more likely, assumed all their customers had. They’d probably popped back home to put their feet up with a cuppa. I could see Kelis getting very, very bored once her energy flagged and she realised just how little there was to do on the island. We hadn’t brought her DS or any of her puzzle books, and we could hardly knock on some islander’s door and ask to watch their telly for a bit. “Want to come back to the priory?” Ian asked. “You could meet some of the others.” Kelis shrugged, her Bamburgh Beast t-shirt rising and falling with her bony shoulders. “All right.” The English Heritage lady waved us on through the gate, either recognising us from earlier or taking our costumed escort as a sort of human ticket. Inside, the visitors were easily outnumbered by the Vikings. The re-enactors had mostly left their individual tents and were clustered around an open fire at one end of the priory grounds. There was a large pot suspended over the flames, beside which stood a grey-haired woman in an apron-style dress almost as broad as it was long, stirring the contents with what I assumed was the Viking equivalent of a ladle. There were a couple of kids running around, both of them a fair bit younger than Kelis. The girl was wearing a soft blue apron dress that came down to just above her ankles, with an under-dress that looked like linen, and a matching cap with loose cords to tie it under her chin. They’d come undone, and trailed behind her as she ran. The boy had on a baggy, belted knee-length tunic and rough trousers, just like Balder and Ian, and was waving a wooden sword. There was a predictable cry of “Da-ad! Can I have a Viking dress? And a sword?” “I don’t know where you get them from,” I hedged. “Can you ask? Ple-ease.” I drew in a breath to give the beleaguered parent’s old standby, “Maybe,” but was interrupted by a gruff voice from behind. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite daughter-in-law. You had a good time today?” Balder stood there, holding a mug of something. Disappointingly, when I looked closer, it appeared to be tea, rather than ale, mead, or whatever used to be the Viking beverage of choice. “Er, yes, thanks.” “I thought you’d have gone back to the mainland by now, along with everyone else.” “So did we.” I shrugged. “Looks like we’re going to be staying a bit longer now. We were admiring the kids’ costumes. Are they homemade?” “All hand sewn by my lovely wife, Aud. Aud!” At his stentorian yell, the lady with the ladle looked up and gave us a wave. “Come and meet her,” Balder insisted, and shepherded me through the Viking horde with a hand in the small of my back. I glanced back to see Kelis—and Ian as well, to my surprise—had run off to join the children. They’d got hold of a home-made looking ball from somewhere, and were using the sword as a cricket bat. I hoped it’d survive the game. As we neared the fire, I could smell the rich meaty aroma coming from the pot. Balder sniffed appreciatively. “Ah, that’s proper food, that is. Aud? This is…hang on, you never did mention your name, did you?” “Chris.” I stuck out a hand, then felt a bit of an i***t. “Um, do Vikings shake hands?” “These ones do, dear.” Aud smiled, and wiped her hand on her dress before shaking mine. She had a firm, warm grip, her palms a little rough. “Are you staying on the island?” “They missed the tide,” Balder answered for me. “Going to have to wait for the next one.” “Well, there’s worse spots to be stranded. Just you wait until sunset—the skies are beautiful around here. And it’s Sharon, really,” she added in a lower voice as Balder went to speak to another Viking, waving a quick apology in my direction. “But Kevin does like to keep in character.” “Kev—? Oh. You mean Balder.” I hesitated. “So, er, is Ian—Ulf—actually your son?” She gave me a long, considering look, a smile quivering on her lips. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? No, Ian’s not ours. He’s a lovely lad though, isn’t he? Is that your daughter, the little dark-skinned girl playing with my grandchildren?” she carried on, before I could work out if I ought to be embarrassed or not. I turned to see Kelis bending down to whisper in a giggly Viking girl’s ear, and nodded. “Yes, she’s mine. Kelis. She’s twelve.” “She seems a friendly one. Why don’t you eat with us tonight? She eats meat, doesn’t she?” “Total carnivore,” I confirmed. “But are you sure you’ll have enough? I mean, there’s a lot of people here.” “Oh, bless you! I’m not going to feed all this lot. Most of them will be off down to the Anchor for fish and chips later. But like I said, Kevin prefers to keep in character. We’ll have plenty to spare.” She nudged me with a well-rounded elbow. “And Ian’s going to be eating with us.” She had me with that. And she knew it.