Opposite Island

  Title Page

  OPPOSITE ISLAND

  By Margaret Mignon

  Publisher Information

  Published in 2011 by

  GA&P ePublishing

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Digital Edition converted and distributed in 2011 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Copyright © 2011 Margaret Mignon

  The right of Margaret Mignon to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Dedication

  For my son Zachary, of course.

  The Birthday Boat

  Oliver Cook was tending to his shiny new rowboat. He had named it The Marvel and had lovingly finished painting the name in big white letters on the starboard side a few hours before. It was his tenth birthday, and the boat, which seated two or maybe three people, was his present. It was a bonus that Oliver and his family, plus his sister, lived by the seaside, and that his birthday was during the summer time. Could things get better? He planned to test out his new boat that day, and then return home hungry from his sea voyage, just like real pirates did, to feast on birthday cake.

  ‘Can I come?’ asked Lois.

  Inwardly, Oliver felt his insides recoil and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He stopped polishing the blue paint on his beloved boat and slowly turned around. His eight year old sister Lois had quietly crept up on him whilst his back was turned. (Sometimes Oliver could swear she had Ninja powers.)

  Well, anyway, he was ten now. It wasn’t done to sail with an eight-year-and-three-month-old girl.

  ‘No. It’s my boat, Lois. Go away. Why don’t you go off and collect your ladybirds and butterflies, then jail them against their will in jam jars?’ (This was Lois’s hobby: collecting bugs and keeping them in jam jars. She would treat the trapped insect like pets. Only, the poor bugs never lasted long.)

  Lois huffed and screwed up her nose, and then something she thought of lit up her face. ‘Okaaaay. I won’t come. It’s just ... I’ll have to tell Mum and Dad, as they said you shouldn’t sail on your own,’ she said, smiling slyly.

  Oliver sighed.

  ‘Also, I know you don’t even have permission to sail at all. That was the rule as well. Only when Mum and Dad know and “not on your own,”‘ Lois recited in a sing-song voice. ‘They said that right after they showed you the boat this morning. Remember?’ She crossed her arms, smiling triumphantly. ‘It’s all about safety, Oliver.’

  ‘Fine. Hope you don’t mind sharks,’ said Oliver, slipping into his boat and untying the rope from the jetty.

  ‘Hey, not without me!’ Lois said as she quickly hopped into the boat before he could sail off without her. It rocked side to side with their weight.

  Oliver couldn’t help but wonder what they must look like, sitting together in such a small and confined space. They both had flaming red-hair and were sitting in a brightly painted blue boat. Hardly stealth-like, which one needs for scoping the ocean for pirates, sharks, and invading war ships. Oliver slipped on his large, black, three-pointed pirate hat, complete with skull and cross-bones, to aid in camouflage.

  ‘I’m a-going shark hunting. Fasten your seat belt,’ said Oliver, smiling wickedly and hoping this would change his sister’s mind.

  ‘Don’t believe you,’ Lois said, very sure of herself. ‘You’re frightened of wasps. When you see one, you run like your butt is on fire. I even heard you scream once. So there’s no way your going after sharks.’ She shook her head in amusement.

  ‘You get stung on the forehead, and then see how you feel about wasps!’ Oliver spat defensively. (If the truth be known, Oliver didn’t like bugs at all after the wasp incident. Sometimes he was soooo sure Lois captured her pet bugs for the sole purpose of winding him up. Annoyingly, no one believed him when he voiced his suspicions.) ‘Look, Lois,’ Oliver pleaded. ‘The Marvel is MY boat. MINE! Just get out please.’

  ‘The what?’ Lois asked, sounding confused.

  ‘The. Marvel.’ Oliver said as if he were speaking to someone hard of hearing. ‘You know, the name painted on the right hand side of the boat you are now sitting in?’

  Lois frowned. ‘It says “E.H.T. L.E.M.A.R.L.” I thought it was French,’ she said shrugging.

  Oliver was about to protest then felt his face burn with embarrassment. He had what was called “Mirror Writing,” which meant he could read just fine, but he wrote things in reverse. Even worse, when he wrote mirror style, it looked normal to him. Initially it had baffled him that his school teachers could not read his writing (but now he just expected them to find his work rubbish). Also, sometimes Oliver said the opposite to what he meant. Like saying, “Wow, its cold,” when he meant to say it was hot. If he wasn’t corrected, Oliver felt normal.

  So notes had been sent home; his mum became upset, his dad became angry, and then came the smiling strangers that were “just going to sit with him today at school,” and who Oliver was to pretend “were not there.”

  Later, he found out the strangers were “undercover special-needs teachers” and other types of people that had “special” jobs. None of them were doctors - not even head-doctors - but these smiling strangers had decided to label him with dyslexia, ADHD, dyspraxia, deafness... all the D’s! They just couldn’t decide which one he had caught.

  Then one overzealous head-teacher at school named Mr. Pratt had claimed that Oliver was a problem-child who didn’t know how to write correctly because he never paid attention, was naughty and was probably mildly retarded - and therefore was a drain on school resources. Oliver’s mother and father went berserk and ... well; the head-teacher never said anything like that to him again and was now on extended vacation. Oliver felt it was soooo unfair that Mr. Pratt was not even told off for being so cruel and instead got a long holiday!

  Oliver had loads of friends and - despite his grades never being very good - he was, in general, happy. But when he was corrected, he felt stupid. His parents tried to boost his confidence by telling him Leonardo Di Vinci, a really famous artist from the olden days, apparently use to write backwards. But when Oliver wasn’t able to do the schoolwork the other kids could, he still felt like he was rubbish at smart things, and this made him sad ... then angry. Oliver escaped feeling dumb by making up elaborate stories in his head that would one day see him become one of Hollywood’s most famous screen writers. (Even though he might have to dictate his ideas to someone else to type up!)

  On the boat, Lois, who knew all about Oliver’s ‘unidentified D disorder’, tried to backtrack. ‘Well,’ she said, smiling awkwardly, ‘you can tell it says Marvel. I thought it was the French way of writing it. Err -’

  ‘Let’s set off!’ Oliver said, trying not to make eye contact.

  Lois was in his new boat, and to Oliver it seemed she was smiling like a Cheshire cat that had managed to get the cream that came with a side-order of mouse pie. He pushed the small boat from the jetty with the oars; shot Lois (who looked like she was straining on the toilet) a quick steely glare, and then he began to row away - backwards.

  The Smudge

  The water was calm and so far, no fins. Maybe if he threw Lois overboard it might attract - Oliver quickly stopped his no-no thought, chided himself, and pulled himself together. Tak
ing a deep breath, he resumed scoping the waters with his binoculars, alert for any danger.

  Lois sat opposite him, bored.

  ‘Oliver, can we fish?’ she asked. ‘I’d quite like to catch a mermaid.’

  Oliver gritted his teeth. ‘No,’ he said with more patience than he intended.

  ‘Well, what are we doing?’ Lois asked.

  ‘Sailing.’

  Lois sighed and began to hum some random tune.

  ‘Hang about!’ Oliver exclaimed suddenly.

  Lois jumped on her bench seat.

  ‘I believe I see an island. Land ahoy!’ Oliver yelled happily.

  ‘Where?’ asked Lois, her head darting in every direction.

  Oliver pointed.

  She couldn’t see what he was pointing at. ‘I wanna go hooooome,’ she wailed. This was obviously more than she had bargained for.

  Oliver lowered his binoculars and looked at his sister incredulously. ‘Are you mad? That’s probably undiscovered land. I will go down in history as a discoverer. I, Oliver Cook, will be the new Captain Cook!’ Eat that, Mr. Pratt, he thought bitterly.

  Lois looked unconvinced.

  Oliver began to row towards the island. It looked like a small brown smudge, and Oliver was going to be the first to claim the smudge in the name of the Queen. If only he’d remembered to bring a Union Flag to officially stab into the ground, he thought, peeved with himself.

  The Backward Stranger

  The tide was going in with vigor. Strangely, without Oliver even rowing anymore, the boat seemed to shoot towards the island with ridiculous speed. Oliver and Lois held onto the sides as they found the boat catapulted toward the beach. It came to a sudden halt when it stuck into the wet sand, and Oliver and Lois were flung forward, as if they were in a car that had braked abruptly.

  The water around them was an inch deep. Oliver expertly hopped out of the boat, ordered Lois to get out (she mumbled something about her new shoes), and pulled his boat onto the dry sand.

  ‘Well, that was weird,’ said Oliver, taking in a breath.

  ‘What?’ asked Lois, squinting in the sun.

  ‘Err, the fact that suddenly the boat sped towards the shore like a speed boat, without me even rowing anymore, and delivered us right here, exactly where I wanted to go!’ Oliver pointed to the ground to emphasize his point.

  ‘Oh.’ Lois shrugged. ‘Now what?’

  Oliver looked around.

  The land appeared terribly out of place for an isle on the coast of England. It had tropical white sand of the kind Oliver had only ever seen in holiday pamphlets, huge palm trees, and overgrown, dangerous-looking thicket that one would expect in the middle of a jungle somewhere in the south.

  Suddenly, a large rainbow-coloured bird swooped down and attempted to steal Oliver’s pirate hat. Oliver waved his arms frantically over his head, whilst Lois dove into the sand in the fashion of someone avoiding gun fire.

  Defeated, the bird screeched piercingly at Oliver (he could tell it had said something very offensive in bird language) and flew away ... rearwards. With his hand on his head to protect his hat from any further invaders, Oliver narrowed his eyes and blinked. It was the sun, he thought. I’m seeing things, like a mirage.

  He got an idea. He straightened his pirate hat and puffed his chest out. ‘Let’s explore,’ he declared, pointing one finger into the air.

  Lois got up and brushed sand off her dress. ‘Sure. Good idea. Err, one thing. Don’t you remember the bird that one second ago TRIED TO KILL YOU!’ she shrilled.

  ‘You can explore, but we are undiscovered,’ said a squeaky voice from out of nowhere.

  Both Oliver and Lois jolted and then looked at each other with nervous sideway glances.

  ‘Well, goodbye, big dull-duds!’ said the voice.

  ‘Um, OK.’ Oliver said nervously to thin air. He grabbed Lois’s hand and began to push his boat back into the water.

  ‘Go away!’ said the voice.

  ‘I am!’ Oliver yelled, still pushing.

  ‘Yes, I never want to meet you,’ said the voice, excited.

  ‘Wha - ?’ Oliver said, spinning around to face the source of the frustrating voice.

  He was surprised to see a small stout man standing there, staring at him. Well, Oliver thought he was a man. His face was young, but his voice was old. He was barely as tall as Oliver and wore elaborate clothing: a three-piece purple suit, top hat, and... Oliver rubbed his eyes with his fists. Yes, it was true; the man’s clothes were on backward, so the back of his jacket was on his chest. Even his shoes were on back to front.

  The strange person smiled broadly, and then he turned around and walked towards them, backwards.

  ‘I’m scared,’ said Lois.

  Oliver put his arm protectively around his sister’s shoulders. ‘Look. We’re going, OK?’

  ‘It’s easy to go towards here. Do not look around. You haven’t arrived at Opposite Island!’ said the man, back still turned.

  ‘I don’t understand a word you said,’ Oliver said, shaking his head.

  ‘Of course you do,’ the man declared. ‘You’re not a dumb Mainlander!’

  ‘Oh, but I am!’ said Oliver without thinking.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the man, nodding excitedly. ‘I haven’t heard of them, and never wanted to meet one. Now I haven’t. Isn’t it horrible?’ he said, clapping and laughing.

  Oliver blinked.

  Lois jabbed Oliver in the ribs. ‘He said this place is Opposite Island,’ she whispered through the corner of her mouth. ‘So I am guessing he speaks backwards. Everything he says, turn it around, and that’s what he means.’ She felt rather pleased with herself.

  Oliver stood, stunned, his mouth in the shape of an O, and inwardly wondered when the television crew would jump out from behind a shrub to tell him he had just been “punked”.

  The Skipping Journey

  ‘Oh, how unlucky,’ the man exclaimed happily. ‘There I wasn’t, hoping to not find a jellyfish for my pudding, and you two didn’t show up.’

  Oliver and Lois looked at each other.

  ‘Oh, how polite of me. You know my name. My name is not Nutter.’

  Oliver thought about what Nutter had said, then turned it around. (Why not, eh?!) ‘Err, I a-am not, err, Oliver. This is not my sister Lois,’ he said.

  ‘I would hate you to join my family for dinner,’ Nutter said. ‘We are not at all interested in people from the Mainland. Not this way,’ he declared, bouncing on the balls of his feet before skipping away backward into the thicket.

  Oliver and Lois exchanged nervous looks. ‘I am hungry,’ Oliver whispered.

  ‘He seems harmless enough,’ said Lois frowning.

  Leaving the boat behind, they both followed the little man tentatively, completely forgetting their parent’s warnings about NEVER going off with strangers.

  Nutter skipped backwards, looking straight at them and smiling. How he didn’t bump into trees or fall over mounds of sand was remarkable, Oliver thought.

  Lois was starting to feel enthused by the whole thing and began to skip as well.

  ‘You are not clever at all, not being able to skip forward,’ said Nutter, shaking his head in awe. ‘I can wait for you to not see my village.’

  ‘What is it called?’ asked Lois cheerfully.

  ‘Horridham,’ said Nutter proudly.

  Lois had to stop herself from letting out a giggle.

  It didn’t take long - with Nutter and Lois skipping while Oliver jogged to keep up - before they reached a large clearing.

  Both Oliver and Lois stopped to catch their breath, and then they froze. What they saw was incredible!

  The Village

  It was a small UK-style village in the middle of a jungle. Also, this vi
llage was upside down! Or was it backwards? Oliver couldn’t work it out, so he simply gaped, open mouthed, silent and transfixed.

  Small beetle-looking cars sped about on the grassy pavements, backwards. The people of the village walked on the small windy roads, also backwards. The houses had windows for doors, and doors for windows.

  Lois and Oliver held hands and walked down into the village. Nutter skipped next to them, rearward.

  Oliver noticed a lady in a fur coat pushing a large baby’s buggy backward, and could hear the wail of what sounded like an old man crying with laughter from inside it.

  ‘Here, here,’ cooed the lady. ‘We won’t be home soon. Mummy won’t give you a bottle before staying up.’

  Lois and Oliver unashamedly walked around like zombies, mouths wide open in astonishment.

  ‘Hurt yourself,’ declared Nutter. ‘We don’t have flies the size of apples that hate to fly into a closed mouth. They won’t choke you to death.’

  Lois and Oliver shut their mouths promptly.

  Oliver noticed a pub called the Horrid Legs.

  ‘Lois,’ he asked. ‘What is that pub called, and if you make fun of me because I can’t read it correctly, I will have to destroy you.’

  Lois squinted up. ‘The Horrid Arms - No wait... Yes. The Horrid Legs!’

  Oliver was chuffed! He had gotten it right. He decided to look through the window, or was it a door?

  Inside, everyone sat sombre and sober, not drinking. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The barman was preparing sushi and steamed vegetables.

  ‘Not my shout,’ declared a stout and very smartly dressed punter, eyeing the vegetables and fish with a twinkle in his eye.