This Northern Sky Page 10

  ‘OK. That’s a good idea. Then you and Finn can make your own way to the beach. But if there’s anything heavy you want to bring, we can shove it in the back of the jeep easy enough.’

  ‘Just bring yourself!’ Tim says. ‘That’s all that’s needed.’

  ‘And some warm clothes!’ Joy smiles. ‘It’ll get chilly at night, even with a fire. We’ll bundle a whole load of sleeping bags into the jeep, just in case.’

  I walk back to the village. A boat trip’s about to leave: a crowd of people are standing at the end of the old pier waiting to go on board. There’s a family with three little girls in straw sunhats. I swallow hard. That’s how we must have looked once: a happy family on holiday together.

  Someone’s in the red phone box. For a second I’m thinking Dad and then I see it’s not: some man about the same age, but wearing a suit. Weird. He’ll be someone to do with the wind farm project, I guess. Someone official. Poor Finn, I think. Wanting so much to stop things changing. And you just can’t sometimes.

  Mum looks up as I go inside the house. ‘Everything OK?’

  I nod. ‘How was the pottery?’

  ‘Interesting. Lots of lovely things. See what we got?’ She shows me two coffee cups.

  Blue, gold.

  A hare, running.

  They’re beautiful.

  ‘Dad bought them for me,’ she says.

  He’s watching birds through the binoculars, as usual. But there’s a notebook open beside him on the windowsill, a pen beside it; something scribbled in black ink.

  Something shifts inside me, seeing that: almost a click, like a key turning in a lock. Hard to say what it means: just the tiniest bubble of hope.

  At bedtime, I lie awake under the open window, watching the stars. This time tomorrow, I’ll be out all night, on a beach. Anything might happen. Anything at all.

  Because nothing stands still.

  Nothing.

  Not people, or feelings, or the world itself, turning, turning.

  Eighteen

  Finn is waiting for me at the Manse: I’m late. The others have already left.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘It took longer than I thought by bike.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, with all that on the back! What on earth have you brought?’

  ‘Just a cake, and a bottle, and extra clothes in case it’s cold.’

  ‘How sensible you are,’ he says, in a way which makes me wish I wasn’t.

  ‘I’m thirsty already,’ I say. ‘Can I have a glass of water before we set off?’

  Joy’s in the kitchen. She runs the tap for me so the water’s dead cold and fills the glass.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  Suddenly the Manse kitchen seems so cosy and familiar and warm I wish I could stay longer. A bit of me longs to tell Joy what’s happened to me and Mum and Dad. I just know she’d be kind and put her arms round me and hold me for a moment, make me feel safe.

  But Joy’s busy. She waves us off. ‘Have a lovely night. It’s absolutely perfect: almost balmy. You’ll see the sun set, and the stars come out, and before you know it, it’ll be dawn.’

  ‘Is it far?’ I ask Finn.

  ‘Five miles or so,’ he says.

  We push up the hill towards the road. Finn seems distracted.

  ‘Have you had a nice day?’ I ask him. ‘Did you do lots of birthday things for Tim?’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘He was out most of the day, getting stuff ready for his party. He’s Piers’s and Jamie’s friend, not mine, in any case.’

  We plod on up the hill.

  ‘I went back to that exhibition,’ he says.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing.’ He looks at me. ‘Why don’t you give me that bag? It’ll make your bike easier to push.’

  ‘OK. If you’re sure. Thanks, Finn,’ I say.

  He waits while I untie the bag and hand it over. I can’t work out what’s the matter with him. Is it the wind farm stuff, or something to do with Tim, or is it me?

  He seems happier as soon as we get to the road and can actually cycle. The road flattens and straightens; we bowl along at a good speed, the wind behind us. The sky is deep blue, fading to turquoise and green. The road is empty; the fields either side are gold with ripe barley; all I can hear is the swish of the bike wheels, the occasional baaing of sheep, the wind in the grass. It’s as if we are cycling to the end of the earth. What was that word? Finisterre . . .

  ‘OK,’ Finn says, slowing down. ‘The beach is just over there. We can go the long way round by the road, or take a short cut over the grass. Short cut?’

  I nod.

  We get off and push the bikes over the machair and down a steep bank of dunes. There’s no proper path. The bike wheels stick in the sand; the sharp edges of marram grass scratch my bare legs as we push our way through. Should’ve worn jeans, like I usually do, but Isla always wears skirts, and this once I thought I would. It is a party, after all . . .

  ‘Oh, wow! It’s beautiful!’ I say, as we come over the top of the dunes to the other side. It’s another amazing beach, with gleaming white sand: crushed shell, and turquoise sea. I can see people swimming, way out.

  Tim’s set up camp further along the sand: the jeep’s parked up on a strip of grass where the track comes down to the beach from the road. We push the bikes along the beach in that direction. It’s hard work, through soft sand.

  Piers and Jamie are building a fire at the top of the beach next to an outcrop of striped rock. Bags and boxes are piled up nearby.

  Tim waves as we get closer.

  I wave back. ‘Happy Birthday!’ I call.

  Isla’s already here, looking amazing in a pale green dress, her hair loose down her back. She’s sitting next to Tim, opening bottles of beer and handing them round. She passes a bottle to Finn.

  ‘Kate?’ She offers me one but I shake my head. She laughs. ‘I forgot; you’re only fifteen.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I say. ‘I don’t like beer, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of other stuff.’ She waves her arm towards the boxes stacked on the rocks. ‘Help yourself.’

  The fire starts to crackle and spit and send up sparks. The damp bits of wood sizzle and steam.

  Thea and Clara run up the beach, dripping from their swim, and dash off again, playing tag and larking about, laughing. Piers and Jamie watch them.

  Tim does too. He grins at Isla. ‘Surprised you didn’t swim. You usually do.’

  ‘I am full of surprises.’ She’s blatantly flirting with him. ‘There’s plenty of time for swimming, in any case.’

  She looks at me. ‘How about it, Kate? Fancy a dip later under the stars?’

  I smile but don’t answer. I don’t know what to say. I haven’t brought swimming things. I know she wouldn’t let that be a problem. It’s probably what they all do, skinny-dipping under the stars . . .

  Finn’s downed his beer already. He picks at a loaf of bread and breaks off a lump of cheese to go with it. There’s a kind of tension running in the air; like electricity, fizzing round Tim, Isla, Finn . . .

  ‘The sea’s not that cold this evening,’ Thea says, as she comes back up the beach to get her towel. ‘Hello, Kate.’ She changes into jeans and a white shirt; wrings out her dripping hair and sits with her back to the fire to dry it.

  Tim pours her a glass of wine.

  The tide’s a long way out. The sand stretches as far as you can see, white and pure, hardly touched except where the girls ran and danced after their swim and left their spiralling trail of footprints.

  I’m watching everything, but not quite part of it. Don’t feel as if I belong here really. Not just because I’m younger . . . it’s that they all know each other so well. And I’m still thinking about Mum and Dad. Our family, broken. I can’t stop.

  I slip off my shoes, sit with feet buried in the dry sand at the top of the beach, feel it trickle through my toes. The geese are calling. I watch them fly over, and the feeling washes over me again: a
yearning sadness for what I’ve lost, can’t have, ever again . . .

  I pull myself back. Stop it! It doesn’t change anything. And I’m here at a party, for God’s sake. Tim’s birthday. Be here, I tell myself firmly. Now. In the moment.

  I remember the cake. I go to find the plastic box in my bag, hand it to Tim. ‘For you,’ I say.

  He takes off the lid. ‘Hey, a proper birthday cake, with candles and icing! You sweetheart! Thank you, Kate.’ He kisses the top of my head briefly.

  ‘It’s only small,’ I say.

  ‘That’s perfect, because Joy made us a cake too. Not as pretty as yours though.’

  He passes the box round for everyone to admire.

  ‘Mmm. Chocolate,’ Piers says. ‘My favourite.’

  ‘Let’s save it for pudding,’ Thea says. ‘We should definitely wait for it to be dark before you light the candles.’

  A crowd of people arrive, other friends of Tim’s, people he’s got to know on the island over the years he’s been visiting the Manse. They are polite enough, but they don’t take much notice of me. I’m much younger than everyone else except Finn and Isla.

  The sun’s low in the sky, casting long shadows. The sky is turning pink and gold in the west. More birds fly over, whole flocks of them. Finn watches them. I tell him the ones I know now. Oystercatchers, terns, and sandpipers. Black-backed gulls. Greylag geese. I’m getting better. I know lots more than I did just two weeks ago.

  I’m starving: it must be at least nine and the only thing I’ve eaten all day is toast and the scrapings from the cake mixture. I help myself to bread and cheese.

  Finn notices. ‘We could start cooking,’ he says. ‘The fire’s easily hot enough now. Want to help?’

  It’s nice having something to do. Thea takes over after a while, and organises us. Tim gets steaks and home-made burgers out of a cool box and starts cooking them on a metal grill balanced on stones over the white hot heart of the fire. Isla helps him. They laugh, look at each other; he keeps touching her arm.

  The smell of sizzling meat fills the air. Finn and I get the bowls of salads out of the bags, posh crisps, chutneys and sauces. I arrange slivers of smoked salmon on a plate; slice a lemon into pale yellow circles to decorate it.

  Tim opens bottles of champagne: everyone has a glass, including me. And it’s a proper glass, not a plastic one. It’s like being in a film: I imagine describing it all to Molly. Piers holds up his glass for a toast. ‘Happy Birthday, Tim.’ We all join in.

  Everyone but me has a second glass of champagne.

  Tim makes a slightly drunken speech about the importance of friends. While we’re all still eating, Jamie sets up speakers for music. Some people begin to dance on the sand. A small group of us watch for the moment when the sun actually sinks beneath the horizon.

  ‘Wait for the green flash,’ Finn says, but it never comes. Instead, the sun bleeds liquid gold into the sea and slips down into the dark.

  ‘Try some of this,’ Tim says. ‘Just a little, because of your tender age. It’s not a party without a wee dram.’ He pours some amber-coloured drink into my empty glass and I drink it in tiny sips, even though it burns my throat.

  ‘Ten-year-old single malt,’ Finn tells me, ‘from Islay. The island, not the girl.’

  ‘We should build up the fire again,’ Thea says. ‘The air’s much colder now the sun’s gone.’

  Jamie appoints himself chief fire-tender. He adds more wood: huge heavy timbers from a broken boat, or a rotten pier or something. He builds it up, a pyramid taller than himself.

  ‘Enough!’ Clara pulls at Jamie’s sleeve. ‘Careful! You’re like a man possessed!’

  Flames stalk up the salt-crusted edges, lick and flare. Every time he throws on more wood, showers of glowing red sparks fly skywards. He grins. ‘There! Isn’t it wonderful?’

  Some of the guests leave. ‘Thanks, Tim, lovely party! Goodbye!’ Their voices call like birds through the dusk. They walk back up the track to the road.

  For a while the music plays on, people dance. The mood changes as darkness covers the beach. The sea sounds louder, roaring, as the tide begins to come back in. The edges of everything seem blurred and fuzzy. Where sky meets sea, or sea meets land, or the boundaries between one person and another. I hold my arm at full stretch and look at my hand: even my own body is merging into the landscape.

  ‘Now is a good time to swim,’ Isla says, ‘with the tide coming in over the sun-warmed sand.’ She moves further away, into the dark. She strips off her clothes. I can just make out her pale limbs as she runs down to the sea. ‘Come on!’ she calls.

  Finn starts pulling his jumper over his head, unzipping his jeans, stepping out of them.

  ‘Be careful,’ Thea warns him. ‘Swimming and alcohol are not a good mix . . .’

  He’s not listening. He’s already following Isla down to the sea.

  Thea looks at Piers.

  ‘All right,’ he says, as if she’s asked him a question. ‘I’ll go.’ He gets up and walks slowly down the beach after them.

  Jamie laughs. ‘He’s the good brother,’ he says.

  Thea frowns. ‘The sea can be dangerous,’ she says.

  Out of the corner of my eye I notice Tim, standing up, staring towards the sea. He starts walking, not seawards but towards the jeep. He opens the door, gets in.

  ‘Piers left the keys in,’ Thea says.

  Jamie shrugs. ‘Oh, well.’

  The engine starts up. Next minute, Tim’s driving the jeep on to the sand, revving the engine as the wheels get clogged, then getting up speed. He drives in wide, crazy circles over the beach: I can’t see properly, just hear the engine, see the grey shape appearing and disappearing. My heart thuds against my ribcage. No. Not this. Not again . . .

  Jamie jumps up; he runs after the jeep, yelling and whooping with excitement. Not to stop him, but to climb in too.

  ‘So stupid!’ Thea says.

  The jeep comes back up the beach towards us: Tim brakes just in time, before he hits a line of low rocks.

  Laughter. Shouts of glee. They open the doors, and haul Clara in too. Tim switches on the lights: the beams are blinding. Thea puts her hand over her eyes.

  ‘Kate? You coming for a spin?’ Tim calls.

  I shake my head. ‘I’m looking after the fire,’ I say, heart racing.

  The jeep veers off again, much too fast, wheels spinning in the sand.

  ‘Ridiculous!’ Thea says again. ‘Dangerous and foolish!’ She looks at me. ‘I’m glad you have more sense, Kate. Not drunk, like they all are.’

  ‘Just scared,’ I tell her.

  I nearly tell her about Sam, and me, and a car journey that could have ended everything for ever. But I stop. It’s a party, I tell myself. Stop being like this. It’s a huge beach. There are no other cars. It’s all fine . . .

  The two of us sit, knees hunched up, staring into the darkness, listening to the cries and shouts blown over the beach, the sound of the engine, harsh and unnatural. Tyres, brakes squealing. Someone presses the horn and the sound of it, on and on, makes my heart pound and my palms sweat.

  ‘It isn’t funny.’ Thea peers into the dark. ‘And where are Piers and Finn and Isla? They’ve been ages.’ She stands up again.

  I get up to stand next to her.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I can see Piers, I think: there, right down near the sea.’

  As we stare into the dark, the jeep judders into view again, coming along the beach very fast, heading for the sea this time.

  Tim swerves it in and out of the shallow water at the edge, laughing and shouting, as if he’s having the best fun ever.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Thea says. ‘Has he gone totally crazy?’

  He’s changed utterly from the sensible grown-up Tim I know into someone quite different. I’m full of fear now, and fury too . . .

  ‘He’s lost it completely!’ Thea says. ‘He shouldn’t be driving at all in that state. It’s madness. And why aren’t the others s
topping him? Instead they’re all egging him on. It’s totally irresponsible of them.’

  ‘What –!’

  The jeep’s stopped, still in the water; there’s a second of ominous silence. Then laughter, and shouting. ‘It’s stuck!’

  ‘Out everybody! All push!’

  The wheels are wedged into the wet sand. The incoming waves rush in, foaming against the wheels.

  Piers runs over to help. ‘What the f– ?!’

  Tim doesn’t seem to have any sense of danger or responsibility. The sea’s coming in. It’s not even his car. No one has a rope or anything to tow it out of the water. And he and Jamie and Clara are still laughing so much they haven’t the strength to push properly . . .

  Someone yells out.

  Thea rolls up her jeans and runs down to the sea.

  But I’m paralysed, unable to move. Memories are flooding in – all the details of that night that I’ve been trying so hard to forget. Sam exhilarated by the speed of the car, driving faster and faster; the look on his face as a car pulls out in front of us . . . him overtaking it. Then blinding lights and the horrible, long squeal of car tyres on wet tarmac . . . Glass breaking. Metal, thumping and crashing over the edge of the road . . . Someone calling out . . .

  My heart’s hammering in my chest so hard I can hardly breathe . . . I’m shaking, crouched and terrified in the dark, as if it’s going to happen all over again.

  No.

  I make a huge effort to steady myself.

  You’re OK, I tell myself. That’s all over and done with. You survived. You’re safe now. Sitting on a beach . . .

  Breathe, deeply.

  I begin to hear voices again: the real voices of Tim and the others. Here, and now.

  ‘Run, get your phone and call someone,’ Tim shouts. ‘Anybody who lives nearby who’d have a rope and a four-wheel drive . . .’

  ‘There’s no signal, you idiot!’ Piers shouts back.

  Isla’s already sprinting up the beach, Finn close behind her. They pull on their clothes, take their bikes, disappear up the track.