Set in Cape Town, South Africa, Seekers of the Lost Boy, as the first in the hoped for series is tentatively titled, is an adventure that brings a middle class white family with four home schooled children face-to-face with the atrocities of their apartheid past. It begins when the eldest son (Simon, 12 years old) finds a bottle on the water’s edge during a visit to the beach on a wintery day.  He brings the bottle home, dreaming of adventures, pirates and hidden treasures, only to have the bottle shatter just after he steps out of the car.  At first, he is dismayed, but his disappointment is soon turned to intrigue when he discovers an envelope in the bottle.  It contains a letter written 30 years prior by a 12-year old Cape Flats school boy as part of a multi-disciplinary school project.  The letter is brief and contains one question, “Who is God and does he care about me?” The letter fascinates the Ward family, so they embark on a journey of discovery.  Through clues left in the letter, the children, together with their mother, find themselves revisiting their country’s apartheid past as they search for their mystery letter-writer.

A sneak peek…

Chapter 1

It Glowed

“What is that?” Simon half-whispered his thoughts aloud.   Ignoring the icy fingers of wind that slipped down his coat neck, he  trained his eyes on the strange object at the water’s edge.  Tangled seaweed surrounded it.  If it weren’t for the glinting flash of light that seemed to break free from the kelp mass, he may not have even noticed it. “What ­is that?”  said Simon, this time more loudly. It wasn’t uncommon to see all manner of debris littering the beach in the middle of winter.  The Western Cape had been dubbed the Cape of Storms centuries before, for good reason.   But, there was something mysterious about the smooth object embedded in the beach’s shoreline. It glowed. Despite the overcast greyness of a typical wintery June day, the sun managed to push through the thick cloud, reaching out to touch the object, lighting it up as if it were a signpost to another world.  Simon was strangely drawn to its glow.  What could it possibly be? “Simon!” From the sandy Muizenberg beach walkway, Rachel Ward called to her eldest son.  Simon’s three younger siblings huddled around her legs, trying to stay warm as the relentless wind whipped their hair across their faces and teased their coat hoods away from their heads.  It was cold.  Mrs Ward waved, signalling that it was time to return to the car and head home.  She regretted their impromptu beach outing to collect shells for their sea-life project.  It had been calm and sunny at their house, but the weather in Cape Town was known to change dramatically even within the hour. With a shrug and a sigh, Simon turned and ran towards the car.  Perhaps it was nothing after all:  just his lively imagination playing tricks again.  Yet, Simon couldn’t help sneaking another glance back towards the water’s edge.  The sea foam now pooled around the kelp, sliding off its smooth surface with each wave of the murky sea.   The glow had faded.  The heavy clouds had reclaimed the sky and not one sliver of sun escaped.  But, the object was still there.  It was…?  Simon narrowed his eyes.  A bottle? “Mom!” Simon yelled into the roar of the wind, “Mom!  I’m coming now!  Wait for me in the car!”  Not stopping to see if she had heard him, Simon turned and sprinted to the water’s edge.  There it was.  Tangled seaweed gripped it, but with a gentle tug he managed to free it.  Tucking it under his coat, he dashed back towards the parking lot. Breathless, his cheeks red and his nose damp from his frosty exertion, Simon skidded to a stop at the car.  His mother had just finished buckling his youngest sister into her car seat.  Simon ducked under her arm and slipped through the gap between the seats towards his spot at the back of the car. “Simon!” his mother chided, “Really!  Can’t you remember to be patient and wait until I’m done with buckling Jemma in?  You almost knocked me over!  It’s bad enough that the wind is trying to carry me away, without you trying too!”  Shaking her head, Mrs Ward slammed the sliding door shut and marched around the car to the driver’s side.  She hadn’t even realised that he was out of breath. Simon scowled.  Why did his mother always snap at him so easily?  One minute she was the best mother ever, letting them build forts out of her couch cushions and baking delicious treats for tea.  And the next?  A growling monster who snapped at the slightest thing.  Some days, it was more than his 12-year-old brain could fathom.  But, Simon chided himself, today he wasn’t going to dwell on his mother’s fickle behaviour.  Today, he would think about exciting things, like his new discovery. Beneath his coat, the bottle began seeping icy dampness through the layers of his T-shirts and jersey.   Strangely, the wetness on his skin sparked a sense of mystery.  Simon chuckled to himself.  Why was this bottle so intriguing?  It was just a bottle after all.  The handful of vagrants who gathered near the beach in the wintertime warmed themselves with sips of wine from bottles shaped just like this one.  It was probably just one of their old discarded bottles, empty of everything but perhaps a few specks of sand.  He would return home, examine it and then, in all likelihood, toss it into the recycling bin under his mother’s kitchen sink.  Yet, despite knowing this, Simon couldn’t help feeling a warm thrill of adventure scuttle down his spine.  He shivered with pleasure.  While Mrs Ward drove along the M5 towards the leafy suburb where they lived, and his brother and sisters sang their loud and off-key accompaniment to the nursery songs playing on the car’s sound system, Simon was lost in a world of intrigue where his bottle contained jewels and secret codes.  By the time they arrived home, he was convinced that his bottle was a part of a secret spy plot from hundreds of years ago and that he, Simon Ward, now held the last piece of a great mystery. Kim flung her seatbelt aside and bolted across the car with all the exuberance of a typical 10-year old girl, knocking Simon right out of his dreamy state. “Hey!” Simon shouted as her beanie sailed across the car and slapped him in the face, “What was that for?” Kim didn’t hear Simon; she was too intent on racing her twin brother, Nic, to the front door.  Simon shook his head at her back.  Hopefully, Kim and Nic would keep up their twin banter and leave him alone.  Perhaps then he could slip quietly into his room to examine his treasure more closely. It was not to be. Just before Simon reached the front door, Purdy, their energetic border collie, hurtled towards Simon, her favourite human in the whole world.  With three bounding leaps, she crossed the front path and planted two great big muddy paws on Simon’s chest.  As Simon tried to ward off Purdy’s enthusiastic greeting, his precious bottle slid out from under his jacket and shattered on the driveway. Ignoring the slender, icy fingers of wind that slipped down his coat neck, 12-year old Simon trained his eyes on the strange object at the water’s edge.  Tangled seaweed surrounded it.  If it weren’t for the glinting flash of light that seemed to break free from the kelp mass, he may not have noticed it. “What is that?” Simon half-whispered his thoughts aloud. It wasn’t uncommon to see all manner of debris littering the beach in the middle of winter.  After all, the Western Cape had been dubbed the Cape of Storms centuries ago for good reason.   But, there was something mysterious about the smooth object embedded in the beach’s shoreline. It glowed. Despite the overcast greyness of a typical wintery June day, the sun managed to push through the thick cloud, reaching out to touch the object, lighting it up as if it were a signpost to another world.  Simon felt strangely drawn to its glow.  What could it possibly be? “Simon!” From the sandy Muizenberg beach walkway, Rachel Ward called to her eldest son. Simon’s three younger siblings huddled around her legs, trying to stay warm as the relentless wind whipped their hair across their faces and teased their coat hoods away from their heads.  It was cold.  Mrs Ward waved, signalling that it was time to return to the car and head home.  No doubt she was regretting their impromptu beach outing to collect shells for their sea-life project.  It had been calm and sunny at their house, but the weather in Cape Town was known to change dramatically even within the same hour. Glancing back at the object, Simon reluctantly turned and ran towards his mother.  Perhaps it was nothing after all.  As if to reassure himself that it wasn’t really much of a mystery, Simon looked over his shoulder towards the water’s edge where the sea foam pooled around the kelp, sliding off its smooth surface with each wave of the murky sea.   The glow had faded.  The heavy clouds had reclaimed the sky and not one sliver of sun escaped.  Yet, the object was still there.  It was… it was… a bottle? “Mom!” Simon yelled into the roar of the wind, “Mom!  I’m coming now!  Wait for me in the car!”  Not stopping to see if she had heard him, Simon turned around and sprinted to the water’s edge.  There it was.  Tangled seaweed gripped it, but with a gentle tug he managed to free it.  Tucking it under his coat, he dashed back towards the parking lot. Breathless, his cheeks red and his nose was damp from his frosty exertion, Simon skidded to a stop at the car.  His mother had just finished buckling his youngest sister into her car seat.  Ducking under her arm, Simon slipped through the gap between the seats and scooted across to his own seat. “Simon!” his mother chided, “Really!  Can’t you remember to be patient and wait until I’m done with buckling Jemma in?  You almost knocked me over!  It’s bad enough that the wind is trying to carry me away, without you trying, too!”  Shaking her head, Mrs. Ward slammed the sliding door shut and walked around the car to the driver’s side.  She hadn’t even realised that he was out of breath. Feeling a sliver of annoyance at his mother’s rebuke, Simon secretly fingered the bottle beneath his coat.  It was cold and wet, seeping icy dampness through the layers of his t-shirts and jersey.   Strangely, he felt a sense of excitement.  “Strangely” because it was just a bottle after all.  A handful of vagrants gathered near the beach in the wintertime, warming themselves with sips of wine from bottles shaped just like this one.  It was probably just one of their old discarded bottles, empty of everything but perhaps a few specks of sand.  He would return home, examine it and then, in all likelihood, toss it into the recycling bin under his mother’s kitchen sink.  Yet, despite knowing this, Simon still felt a warm thrill of adventure scuttle up his spine.  He shivered with pleasure.  Before long, while imagining scenes from his favourite shipwreck stories, Simon plotted out a fantastical tale of the bottle’s journey.  While Mrs Ward drove along the M5 towards the leafy suburb of their home and his brother and sisters sang their loud and off-key accompaniment to the nursery songs playing on the car’s sound system, Simon’s thoughts were lost in a world of intrigue where his bottle contained jewels and secret codes.  By the time they arrived home, he was convinced that his bottle was a part of a secret spy plot from hundreds of years ago and that he, Simon Ward, now held the last piece of a great mystery. Flinging her seatbelt aside, Kim bolted across the car with all the exuberance of a typical 10-year old girl, knocking Simon right out of his dreamy state. “Hey!” Simon shouted indignantly as her beanie sailed across the car and slapped him in the face, “What was that for?” Kim didn’t hear Simon; she was too intent on racing her twin brother, Nic to the front door.  Shaking his head, Simon carefully unclipped his seatbelt and followed his excitable younger siblings, hoping that he could slip unnoticed into his room to examine his treasure more closely. It was not to be.  Just before Simon reached the front door, Purdy, their energetic border collie, hurtled like a bullet towards Simon, her favourite human in the whole world.  With three bounding leaps, she crossed the front path and planted two great big muddy paws on Simon’s chest.  As Simon tried to ward off Purdy’s enthusiastic greeting, his precious bottle slid out from under his jacket and shattered on the driveway.

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