The sun was starting to break through, and there were beams of light shining in several spots on the sea; more beams were appearing every few minutes or so, like they were slowing ripping the clouds apart. Most of the sky was dull, though: grey, boring, slow-moving. The morning was still bitter, and there were white trails of frost in the shadows of the cliffs. We were hunching at the front of the Jellyfish, sitting on our hands until we absolutely needed to write. For me, that wasn’t going to be soon, because after Old Albert’s talk last night, I was finding it difficult to think about lessons. There was also a wailing noise coming from just beyond the Big House, and one of those quiet men, the muscular rugby types, had his head back and his arms outstretched. He was wailing enthusiastically, and with great emotion, whilst waving his right arm across his left arm every so often. From this distance it was a bit tuneless – though that’s not to say it wouldn’t have been a bit tuneless if you were close by too. I’m just mentioning the distance to point out our good fortune in being far away.
‘I think Stinky is pretending to be a violin again,’ said James. ‘Do you remember the last time?’ He started to laugh. ‘God, it went on for ages . . .’ His laugh was hysterical now. Dr Jones was striding off towards Stinky, so it was possible we wouldn’t need to beg him to stop ourselves, but it also gave us a few minutes to chat without being asked if we needed any extra maths.
‘What do you think?’ I said, ‘Are the kriks and the jellyfish working together?’
Everybody sat up immediately. I knew they’d all been wondering the same, after last night.
‘Really doesn’t look like it. I know what Dr Jones said,’ said James, ‘but apart from the fact that they both come from the sea, they’ve got about as much in common as us and birds. Or cows, or sheep. Like, they’re a whole different species.’
‘But they appeared at the same time, didn’t they?’ I said.
‘Don’t know,’ said James. ‘Sort of the same time, I suppose.’
‘I think,’ said Kate, ‘I think that’s because Dr Jones said that there was climate change and sea levels rising. I think that would disturb a lot of things. You know, if where you’d been living for millions of years suddenly changed, you might want to change too. And you might want to move somewhere else too.’
‘Yep,’ said Lana. ‘I really know the feeling.’
‘No,’ said Kate, ‘I mean I understand why the jellyfish and the kriks are here. If things have changed for them where they used to live because of humans, then they have the right to be angry, and they have the right to come and try to attack us. They also have the right to try and survive. And I suppose surviving, for them, means eating us.’
‘Do you think that’s what the Jellyfish wants?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know if it even knows what it wants. It’s just been disturbed by us – by humans, I mean – in Before. It can’t live where it used to live, because we destroyed wherever that place was, down deep somewhere, so now it’s come up here to try and live instead.’
‘Do you think the human race will die out?’ I said. I didn’t much fancy the idea, to be honest.
‘It might . . . be a good thing for the world if we did,’ said Kate. ‘I don’t think we’ve always taken good care of things.’
‘WHAT? If I flippin’ die out, I’m taking something else with me. Something big.’ Lana raised her voice and narrowed her eyes. ‘And something that’s wobbly and something that’s see-through and crap. Naming no names!’ She stabbed her pen into the Jellyfish’s surface at that point, and gave it a little slice for effect, her hand gripping so forcefully that her knuckles were white.
‘I mean . . .’ I began, but I didn’t know what I meant, actually, so I carried on with something else. ‘Do you think the Jellyfish actually is a jellyfish? Or do you think it’s some sort of sea monster? Do you think Albert’s right?’
James made a spluttering noise, which I think was a laugh.
‘Well, Albert can’t be right, for a start!’ said Lana. ‘Whatever he thinks, I’d go for the opposite.’
‘Well, isn’t it weird that this one never goes beneath the water surface, because that’s where jellyfish normally go, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Are you asking us because you think we’re jellyfish experts?’ said James. ‘Because I don’t know anything about jellyfish. I’ve got a life, you know?’ He looked off into the distance, and shook his hair back like it wasn’t manky or salt-encrusted. We all smiled at the idea that any of us might have an individual, interesting life. ‘But yeah, I think this probably isn’t a jellyfish,’ he said. ‘It’s probably one of those creatures that were on the news, Before. It might not be a normal one, though, because I think I remember them being even larger than this when you saw them on television. I remember one in America, I think, and they had a drone flying above it taking the pictures, and it was the size of an island. This one is only the size of . . . a rugby pitch.’
‘That must be why it’s chosen you, then,’ said Lana. ‘Because you’re not normal either.’
‘Well, I’m glad I’m not if you think you are,’ said James.
Dr Jones was still over with Stinky and, rather worryingly, Staring Crone had joined him. She was stamping her feet loudly in a regular beat on the Jellyfish’s surface.
Probably the most controversial activity we do on the Jellyfish is the choirs. I think the plan was . . . well, no, I don’t remember there being a plan, actually. But anyway, we do have regular choir rehearsals. Old Albert has a group that does mainly sea shanties. I don’t think anybody knew any sea shanties before they started the group, so they’ve had to invent their own. Some of them sound good, but after the fifteenth verse, you’ve usually had enough of even a good thing, to be honest. And those are the short ones. When the sea shanty crew look like they’re gearing up for one of their really epic songs, there’s usually a drift towards the opposite side of the Jellyfish. And right now, it looked suspiciously like Old Albert’s crew was forming at the far end of the Jellyfish, whilst Stinky’s group was gathering in the middle. It looked like we were in for a real session this morning.
‘Shall we put our things away, do you think?’ said Kate.
We had mostly finished by now, but it looked like Dr Jones was thinking about joining the classical choir by the Big House. Her hands were out, and her fingers bent like she was about to start playing the air piano. She nodded her head at Crone . . . and they were off! Stinky started moving his arm back and forth, though he was wailing more quietly now. Dr Jones was making ‘plink plonk’ noises, that I think she once said were chords. Staring Crone started stomping more rhythmically, and a couple of others joined in with air trumpets: ‘Doo, doo, doooo!’
‘Oh dear,’ said Kate. She spoke for us all.
Lana folded up her work with a dramatic sigh, whilst James threw his over his shoulder into the sea. He likes to do that most days, I think because it means he doesn’t have to tidy up.
‘What shall we do now?’ said Kate. ‘Shall we have a sing?’
She said it more politely than excitedly, because I think she wasn’t that keen herself.
‘Nah, you’re all right,’ said Lana. ‘I’d rather eat a rotting pile of raw seaweed.’
‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ said James. ‘Eating contest? Who’s in?’
‘NO!’
‘No.’
‘Nope.’
‘But think of the diarrhoea!’
‘We are, James. That’s why none of us want to do it.’
‘It’s funny, though.’
‘Nope. No, it’s not.’
‘Well, let’s play krik races, then,’ said James. ‘Everybody choose your favourite krik, and see which one makes it to the end of Long Street first.’
The kriks were scuttling back and forth again. At the moment, they were in front of the church, around the houses nearest the dark, mossy cliff. There weren’t so many birds’ nests on this cliff face, as it didn’t catch the sun, but every so often you could see little scurryings or movements on the grassy outcrops of rock, and the adults had said these were rabbits or deer.
‘I call the big orange one,’ said Lana immediately. And it was a good call. It had well-developed pincers and extra limbs that almost reached the floor. When it sometimes decided to run, for no obvious reason, it was able to move very quickly, and very unpredictably.
‘The mottled one with the big stomach,’ said James. This one was currently poking its claw into the corner of a garden wall, though it was impossible to see why.
‘The dark brown one’s mine,’ I said. Mine was carefully chosen, not because it was particularly strong-looking, or fast, but because it was the one which was already the closest to Long Street, and therefore the most likely to get there first.
‘Good choice,’ said James. ‘I see your strategy. Cunning. Kate?’
‘I think . . .’ said Kate, ‘I think I’d like that one . . .’ She pointed to the smallest one, which looked a little starved. It was obviously male, because one of its pincers was larger, but even from this distance, he just looked a little ill.
‘Whatever,’ said Lana. ‘He doesn’t need you to be kind to him, Kate, and your kindness is literally helping him in no way at all.’
‘He’s my krik,’ said Kate loyally.
‘Go!’ said James. ‘Come on, GO!’ For a minute his krik paused, as though he’d heard, and then he removed his claw from the wall, and scuttled back towards the cliff.
‘Bollocks, you stupid thing,’ said James. ‘Turn around, idiot.’
‘Good boy,’ muttered Kate. ‘Good boy.’ Her krik showed no sign of moving at all, and looked as though he’d stopped now to eat from a pile of dried seaweed by the water’s edge.
And I don’t know if it was because we were all watching so intently, or if it was just luck, but at that point we saw some humans run across, from one side of Long Street to the other.