Breathing Underwater (10 page)

 

We both look up when we hear voices. Two figures are making their way down the path to the beach. The spell Izzy has put over me is abruptly broken. I'm suddenly cold and hungry, and very, very tired.

‘I'm going back now, ' I say.

‘OK.'

I'm sort of expecting Izzy to come too, but she doesn't. That brief, intense conversation is already in the past. It's as if she's forgotten all about it now. She's moved on. She starts doing cartwheels along the beach, spinning further and further away.

I wave at her as I leave the beach.

‘See you!' Her voice comes back faintly across the sand as she spirals away.

Almost as an afterthought, I snatch up the talisman necklace and kick the sand figure until it's just a pile of loose sand, then I start running back to Evie and Gramps' house.

It's late, much later than I'd meant to be. No one's in the kitchen, even though it must be supper time. I call up the stairs. ‘Hello?'

Evie comes to the landing. Her face looks strained. ‘Gramps isn't well,' she says. ‘He's resting in bed now. Why didn't you come back with him? Where've you been all this time?'

‘I'm sorry,' I say over and over. ‘I didn't realise how late it was. Gramps said he didn't mind me going with Izzy . . .'

By the time she comes downstairs Evie's calmed down. We make supper together and she takes a tray up to Gramps, and then we sit together in the front room.

‘He'll be all right, won't he?'

‘He's exhausted,' Evie says. ‘He's all shaky. He's not talking sense, half the time. I'll phone the doctor in the morning.'

‘Is it my fault?' I ask eventually.

‘Of course not,' Evie says. ‘You mustn't think that. I'm sorry I was cross before, when you came in. That was just worry, making me like that. Forgive me, Freya.'

I can't bear to see Evie like this. It makes me nervous. I can't settle. When Evie starts reading her book I go and stand at the window but we've already turned the lamps on, so all I can see is my own reflection in the glass and darkness behind.

‘I'm going to bed.'

‘OK, love. I'll be up shortly.'

I go along the landing to say goodnight to Gramps, but I can hear him, snuffling and snoring, already asleep, so instead I go further along, to Joe's door. I push it open and stand in the middle of the room, alone in the dark.

Someone's been in here: the window is open a little. I move forward, closer. The view through his window is the same as from mine, more or less. I can make out the dark shapes of trees and the black line of the sea, darker than the grey-black of the sky. The wind in the leaves makes a sound like water, and underneath, always there, is the rhythm of the sea itself, pounding the rocky shore.

Fourteen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last summer

The summer wears on. It's unusually hot, day after day. Joe seems to be out all the time. Sam has stopped coming to the house for baths and stuff; she must've got used to the shower block or something. There haven't been any more arguments, but that's because Joe and Sam have stopped coming back to our place. I do the usual things – swimming, playing on the field, hanging out with the campsite kids and going on all the boat trips. A load of us buy snorkelling gear and we do that, down at Periglis. Me being so good at swimming means I'm as good at snorkelling as the older kids like Maddie and Will and Lisa. Sometimes Joe comes down and joins in, but mostly not. He goes running first thing most mornings, before I'm even up, comes back for breakfast and then disappears for the day. Occasionally I see him out on the fishing rock by himself, but usually Sam's there too, sunbathing with her eyes closed, leaning back against the warm rock face next to him.

Today I find him by himself. I go to the edge of Wind Down, clamber out to the rock you have to jump from. He makes room for me next to him on the fishing rock. He even lets me have a go, using the float I made with him at the beginning of the holiday. That seems so long ago.

‘Here,' he says. ‘Like this.' He puts his hands over mine to show me how to cast the line and then wind it in, so the float darts through the water and the fish think it's something live, to eat. His hands are so warm and big, I want to cry, suddenly.

‘I never see you,' I say.

‘You're seeing me now, aren't you?'

He seems older, grown-up, even. His face is shadowed with fine dark stubble. His body is an amazing bronzed colour: he's hardly worn a top for weeks. He's not much like the brother I know, these days. It makes me feel younger than I actually am.

I try asking him about Sam. ‘What do you two do all the time?'

He just looks at me with this funny lopsided grin. ‘Nosy,' he says. ‘None of your business.'

‘Where is she now?' I ask.

‘I don't know,' he says. A slight frown comes on his face, but he laughs it off. ‘Fishing isn't exactly her thing.'

‘How long is she staying?'

‘Only a few more days,' Joe says. He wrinkles his nose.

Then he'll go back to normal.
I can wait that long. She won't be here by the time Mum and Dad arrive, nor for the August bank holiday party, and I'm glad. Is that mean? Maybe it is. I should be pleased Joe's so happy. But Sam doesn't seem good enough for Joe. She's pretty and that; I mean,
really
pretty. She looks amazing. But she's not kind or funny, as far as I can tell. Not interested in the things Joe likes. I can't think what they talk about.

When I text Miranda about it, she phones me straight back. She thinks she's such an expert when it comes to boys. She doesn't understand why I'm going on about it.

‘He's in
love
, stupid! Talking doesn't come into it!'

Miranda says that, but I think it should. I think it
does
matter, that you're a nice person.

‘Well, what do you know about it, Freya? Wait till
you
fall for someone, like
real love
,' Miranda says.

I can't imagine I ever will. I think about everything too much. I'm too picky.

 

That evening Joe has supper with us all. Evie's made shepherd's pie, and strawberry cheesecake for pudding. Afterwards, Joe comes with me to play football on the field. I'm allowed to be on his side. We play cricket next and I'm really happy because I bowl two people out (Lisa and Ben), and Joe and everyone on our team cheers. Lisa and Ben are fed up with me for ages. Sam isn't there. Neither is Huw.

We play out till long after dark. I love this night. I never want it to end. But it does, of course, eventually. Everyone walks back along the footpath to the campsite, and then just me and Joe go up the lane to our house.

‘You go in,' Joe says. ‘I won't be long.'

‘Where are you going?'

‘Not far. Go on, it's late. Evie and Gramps will be wondering where you are.'

‘What about you?' I say. ‘That's not fair!'

‘I'm sixteen, for heaven's sake, Freya. I can do what I want.'

‘No you can't!' I say, but I unlatch the garden gate.

I watch him carry on up the lane, until he's swallowed up in the darkness.

Lying in bed, I try to imagine where he might have gone. Up the lane, past the empty lighthouse buildings, and then where?

 

A few days later, and I'm retracing his steps. I don't know that for sure. I'm following my instinct, intuition, whatever. When you just know something without knowing you know it. I stop at the lighthouse buildings. The Keep Out notice pinned to the gate has faded in the sun and rain so you can barely read the words. Rust from the drawing pins has bled into the paper. I push open the gate into the overgrown garden. I haven't been here since that last time with Joe, weeks ago.

Someone else has, though. No one else would notice, but I see that the weeds growing over the path have been flattened by feet, and there's something different about the front door. That's it! You can actually see the door with its peeling blue paint. Before, there was this mass of prickly climbing rose and clematis growing right over it.

My heart's beating faster. I look over my shoulder. No one's there; just a bird calling from the hedge, and the sun still beating down, drawing out the smell of rank undergrowth. Butterflies flit from bush to bush. One shrub with blue flowers is covered in honeybees. Gramps' bees? For no good reason, that gives me courage. I step carefully over the squashed nettles growing beneath the front window and peer in.

Someone has definitely been inside. There's a small table where there wasn't one before, two rickety-looking chairs and a pile of rugs and cushions. If it was anywhere else, I'd have said a tramp or homeless person had moved in, but we'd have seen someone like that: on the island they'd stick out a mile off.

That's as far as I go, the first time.

I don't tell anyone. Not even Joe. I've got my secrets too.

 

The next time I visit, it's evening.

Joe hasn't been back to the house all day, but that's OK – we aren't having supper together because everyone's invited to the barbecue later in the evening, on Periglis beach. Evie and Gramps are busy in the garden. It's about seven in the evening. I find myself wandering up the lane, towards the old lighthouse. I'm not sure if I'm imagining it or whether there really is the smell of woodsmoke coming from the house. I can't see any smoke from the chimney. My heart's beating fast. I'm not afraid exactly, more like on edge, a bit excited, even. The gate's been left open. Someone's definitely been here before me. I creep in to the garden. All I'm going to do is look through the window. There's no harm in that, is there?

What did I expect? I'm not sure, thinking about it now. Is it spying, what I'm doing? Being nosy? I don't want anyone to see me, for sure. I sidle along the edge of the house to the window and peep in.

Samphire's sitting on one of the chairs at the table. The other is empty. She's looking down, smiling at someone out of my view. They must be sitting on the floor, on that rug. I realise how rare it is to see Sam smile like that. All her attention is on whoever it is in the room with her. She holds the long sweep of her hair back from her face with both hands and leans forward. She lets her hair fall softly back, and then she takes the hem of her skimpy T-shirt and slowly, ever so slowly, she starts to pull it up and over her head, still smiling, smiling. My first thought is:
She's undressing. What on earth for?

Such a silly, childish thing to think! I know why really.

Heart hammering, I think:
Joe
.

It must be Joe, sitting on the cushions on the floor at her feet, watching every move she makes. She's taking her clothes off for him. This is what they do together.

I go dizzy. Quick. I've got to go, before they see me spying on them. Stupid, ignorant, naive little sister.

An insect brushes my hand. It startles me. I shake it away, and as I turn I suddenly get a glimpse through the window of the person in there with Sam. It's not Joe. Relief floods through me. I duck down quick, and slink back along the wall underneath the window, round to the back of the house where there's no chance of them seeing me. I pick my way through huge rhubarb leaves and self-seeded cabbage plants and tall pink flowers with fluffy seeds in what must once have been the vegetable garden. I keep catching my clothes on things. Something stings my leg. At last I clamber over the stone wall and get back on to the lane. My heart's still thumping. No one saw me, though. No one knows.

As I get back to our house, it's beginning to dawn on me, what I've seen. What it means for Joe. Little by little, it becomes a weight, pressing down on my heart. I think about it as I pick the tiny, clinging burrs off my clothes. My leg is stinging and itchy with nettle rash.

Joe's beloved Sam was taking her clothes off for
Huw
.

What do I do now?

Tell Joe? Pretend I don't know? Say something to Sam? Or Huw?

It's none of my business.

I'm pretty sure that's what Miranda would say, or Maddie or Lisa or anyone else. Not that I'm going to tell any of them.

I hold the secret tight to me. All the rest of the evening and into the night, I can feel it there, a hand pushing down on my chest, stopping my breath.

Fifteen