Kidnap Island

Kidnap Island

A Jonny Wild Adventure

By Philip Raby

To the real Jonny and
Louisa

© Philip Raby 2014

Published by Philip Raby at
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Chapter
One

Jonny let out the
mainsheet as he pulled the tiller towards him and headed downwind,
grinning as his little sailing dinghy surged forward, spray flying,
his small dog curled up under the foredeck. He squinted into the
low evening sun. Was that a face looking at him from the island?
No, it couldn
’
t be. Jonny rubbed
the salt from his eyes and cleated the sheet so that he had a free
hand to shield the sun from his face.

“
Starboard!”
yelled a
voice, bringing Jonny to his senses before he was jolted forwards
with a sickening sound of splintering plywood.
He
’
d hit something. The dog barked angrily and Jonny
ducked down as the boom swung dangerously across in an accidental
gybe. When he looked up again, he caught a glimpse of a modern
racing dinghy in front of him, its young helm shouting:
“
Look where
you
’
re going, you wally
!”
And then the other boat planed off
into the distance, leaving a shaken Jonny to assess the
damage.

The bow of his old
wooden boat was cracked but the damage was well above the
waterline, so Jonny was happy to sail back to the clubhouse.
Besides, what choice did he have? There was no rescue boat out as
it was the middle of the week
.
The boy was gutted
;
he
’
d never
done anything so stupid before and his dad would kill him.

Then Jonny remembered
what it was that had distracted him.
“I
’
m sure that was a face I saw,
”
he muttered, partly to
himself and partly to the dog, who woofed softly in reply. But it
couldn't have been; no one ever went onto Folney Island because the
ground had been contaminated since the war, when the Navy had
stored some sort of chemicals there. A gust of wind took Jonny from
his musings and he was soon easing his old boat onto the plane for
a fast and exhilarating reach back to the sailing club.
“
This is what
sailing
’
s all about,
”
he smiled as he hiked out as far as
his twelve-year-old legs could reach, the salt spray stinging his
suntanned, freckled face.

As the wooden
buildings of the sailing club loomed near, Jonny pulled up the
centreboard and let the sail right out to slow the boat. At the
very last second he pushed the tiller away to turn the dinghy into
the wind and bring it to a stop. He hopped out smartly onto the
concrete slipway, grabbing the damaged bow.
“Perfect,”
he grinned,
delighted to have managed such a textbook landing on his own. The
dog, seemingly unimpressed by his young master
’
s
seamanship, jumped happily onto dry land and ran off to find his
favourite tree.

Jonny looked around to
see if his dad had arrived to help but he wasn't there. The only
other person was a boy about his age, whom he
’
d never
seen before, busily unrigging a new-looking racing dinghy.
“
U
h, oh, it
’
s the kid
I hit,”
thought Jonny sheepishly. He pulled his own rather
sad-looking boat up onto the slip and walked up to get his
launching trolley.

“
Oi,
what the hell do you think you were playing at?
”
yelled the other boy,
storming down the slipway as Jonny struggled to get his boat onto
the trolley, the breaking waves doing their best to hinder
him.
“Don
’
t you know the
starboard rule?
”
he continued, referring to the fact that a boat with
the wind on its starboard, or right, side has right of way over a
boat on the opposite, port, tack.

The other boy was tall
and thin with short dark hair and wearing a brand-new sailing suit
and buoyancy aid, plus some expensive-looking sunglasses.
“
You could
have damaged my boat, and it
’
s only two weeks
old,
”
he yelled, not making any effort to help the struggling
Jonny pull his dinghy up into the boat park. Jonny was surprised,
though, to see his dog go up and lick the
other
boy
’
s hand; he
only ever did that to people he liked so maybe this angry
kid
wasn
’
t too bad
after all.

At that moment, the
roar of a car exhaust and the toot of a horn made both boys look
up.
“Hey, Will,”
yelled the driver of the bright-yellow Porsche 911
through its open window.
“
I see
you
’
ve got a friend with you. You two OK putting the boat
away while I get a drink at the bar?
”

“
Yeah, alright, dad
”
replied Will without enthusiasm, as
he watched his father jump out of his sports car and disappear into
the clubhouse.

“
Look, I
’
m really sorry about
bumping into you,
”
said Jonny; he was a boy who always admitted his
mistakes.
“
I kinda got distracted.
”

“
Distracted by what?
”
replied Will scornfully.
“A mermaid?”

“
I wish,”
grinned Jonny, trying his best to be
friendly,
and
chucking his scruffy and faded
lifejacket into his boat.
“No,
I
’
m sure I saw a face on the island.
”

“
Yeah, right,
”
sneered Will.
“
As if. No one ever goes
onto the island, everyone knows that.
”

“
Well, I
’
m sure I saw
someone.
Maybe it was just the
light,
”
shrugged Jonny, flicking his long blonde hair out of his
eyes.
“
Hey, do you want some help with your boat? It looks
great.
”

“
OK,
thanks,
”
replied Will reluctantly.
“It
’
s typical of my dad to leave me to sort it out on
my own. Is this your dog?
”

“
Yeah,
he
’
s
Ainslie.”

“
What, like the TV chef?
”

“
No,”
Jonny rolled his eyes.
“
Ben Ainslie,
the sailor.
”

“
Ah,
cool. I guess I
’
d better sort this
boat out, seeing that my dad
’
s not gonna
help.
”

“
Well, it won
’
t take long with the
two of us,
”
grunted Jonny as he lifted off the rudder from the
transom.
“
Wow, this is really nice, let
’
s get it hosed down
and under its cover.
”

Will found it hard to
be bad-tempered with Jonny
’
s enthusiasm and
infectious grin, which spread over his freckled face at every
opportunity. Before long, the two boys were making rude jokes and
laughing as they helped each other clean up their boats and pack
them away.

“
Sorted,
”
said Will.
“
Come on,
let
’
s go and get a drink at the bar.
”

“
Er,
I
’
ve no money,
”
replied Jonny sheepishly.
“
I never
carry a wallet when I
’
m sailing.”

“
No
probs, my dad
’
ll get us some. Come
on,
”
shouted Will as he ran into the
clubhouse.

“
Hey, dad, can we have some cokes?
”
Will asked as he went
up to the bar, which was deserted apart from his father, who was
calmly sipping a pint of beer.

“
Sure,
kiddo
.
Who
’
s your
mate?
”

“
This is Jonny, dad. Can we have some crisps,
too?
”

“
You
certainly can, just don
’
t tell your mother.
Hi, Jonny, I
’
m Rick, Will
’
s
dad.
”

Rick held out his hand
and Jonny shook it, shyly eyeing up this tall, suntanned man. He
was coolly dressed in faded jeans, a brown leather jacket and white
tee-shirt, with his sunglasses perched on top of his cropped,
greying hair. Jonny spotted a Rolex diving watch on the
man
’
s wrist.
“
Nothing like
my
dad,
”
he thought to himself.

“
Come on, let
’
s go
outside,
”
said Will when they
’
d got their drinks
and crisps.

The two boys, with
Ainslie at their feet, sat down on the grass overlooking the large,
picturesque harbour with its small tree-covered island at its
centre. It reminded Jonny of his earlier distraction:
“
Look,
I
’m really sorry about bumping
into you.
”

“
No
worries,
”
said Will, giving Jonny a friendly thump.
“
Just stop
going on about it, OK? It
’
s your boat
that
’
s damaged not mine
–
that plastic hull just
bounces.
”

“
Well, my dad
’
ll help me mend it,
once he
’
s finished killing me,
”
replied Jonny.
“
A bit of
glassfibre and it
’
ll be like new. Well,
as new as it could ever be. You
’
re so lucky having a
modern boat; me and my dad had to rebuild mine from an old wreck
that had been sitting in someone
’
s garden for
years.
”