weight problem. Strict rationing meant the islanders got stick-model thin. What most people don’t know is that Winston Churchill was against sending Red Cross food parcels to the islands. This was because he’d heard that most islanders were low-life collaborator types and therefore deserved to suffer.58 But people survived one way or another. Dad always said it was amazing how little a man could live on, and he proved this fact regularly with his rabbit food.
Mum started buying me diet meals, but I was always sneaking off to Les Riches and stock-piling chocolate and sweets. Then I’d go and eat them on the beach at Fermain. I’d sit in an XL T-shirt and stuff my face and pretend I was a common English tourist. Well, I did that until Mr McCracken found me out.
There I was, surrounded by Fanta plus crisp packets plus Lion Bars, when along comes McCracky, wandering-lonely-as-a-cloud along the water’s edge. He didn’t look half-bad with his shirt off, unlike me, the Human Pavlova. I wanted to run away but I didn’t dare get up in case that was more frightening.
Mackers waded into the sea like he was going to go for a swim, but his arms were up at right-angles so I knew he was feeling the cold. The water was icy, even in August, and I think he must’ve lost his nerve. He was hobbling back up the shingle when he saw me. I waved whilst trying to hide Bounty wrappers.
‘Hello.’ His eyes darted over the wrappers and crisp packets. ‘Are you having a picnic?’
I was still eating so I put my hand over my mouth. ‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s not all for me! I’m meeting Vicky and some of the other girls.’ (I looked up and down the beach and acted exasperated.) ‘I don’t know where they’ve got to.’
Mr Mac nodded. ‘You must be missing Nicolette. She’s in France with her family for the whole summer, I hear.’
I had to swallow hard and some Lion Bar got stuck in my throat. After narrowly avoiding a choking fit I looked up at Mr Mac.
‘It’s not like she’s my only friend.’
He smiled. ‘Of course.’ Then he turned back to look at the sea and I did the same and there was a long enough silence for it to feel awkward.
A few kids ran past us. When they dipped their toes in the sea they jumped and started screaming.
Mr Mac chuckled. ‘I was trying to build myself up into going for a swim but it’s still so cold! I don’t know. I think your dad had the right idea about jumping in off the Moorings. Are you still clearing the stones out there?’
‘Oh no,’ I said, ‘I stopped doing that ages ago. Nobody else dares to dive off there so what’s the point?’
Mr Mac blinked. ‘Oh! That’s good to know.’
I advised him to go to the West Coast, since the water is definitely warmer there, and Vazon kiosk has home-made ice cream. He said he might definitely try it and told me to take care. That was my last Mc-sighting of the summer. OK. So I did go to Vazon a few times but I don’t know if he took my advice, and NO, I didn’t go to check. I went because cycling there was good exercise, and I needed a change of scene. I certainly wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known I’d see the Lisa-Ferret. I was sitting on the slipway, minding my own business and reading That-Genius-Stephen-King when she came along. Actually, it was quite funny, since I was reading Pet Sematary and Lisa does have the look of the undead.
Bloody Lisa-Ferret-Face Collenette. I suppose I should be glad she came over to sneer in my face, since she also told me that Michael was out of his coma. It was Wednesday, 20th August – I remember writing a big ‘X’ on my Guernsey Museums wall calendar.
‘The doctors are really pleased with him. He’ll need physio and stuff, but all things considered it’s amazing.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ I smiled so hard it hurt. ‘When will he be home?’
Lisa shrugged her bony shoulders. ‘Just count yourself lucky. He says he doesn’t remember a thing about what happened so you’re off the hook. We’ll never know what really happened.’
I thought about calling her a Loony but knew there was no point.
‘Thanks for telling me.’
Lisa sniffed and walked down the slipway onto the beach, and I watched her go, waiting for her to be a teeny-tiny speck and not matter