Breathing Underwater (6 page)

Danny's excitement is catching. He does a kind of dance there on the rock. He'd go on catching fish after fish, if he had his way.

‘That's enough,' I tell him. ‘We shouldn't be greedy. Just get enough for supper.'

We walk back together. Danny's already planning a barbecue. He's seen too many of those telly programmes – cooking wild food . . . living off the land . . . whatever. He talks about finding edible seaweed and all sorts. ‘We might find marsh samphire, if we look. It tastes a bit like asparagus.'

He sees my face. ‘What is it? What's the matter? Freya?'

‘Got to go.' I manage to spit out the words. Then I start running.

I leave him way behind, looking puzzled, those stupid dead fish dangling from his line. I don't care what Danny thinks any more. All I can think about is getting away, being alone.
Samphire.
The name no one's said for nearly a year.

Eight

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last summer

August 14th

Dave and Huw take the
Spirit
over to Main Island to pick up people from the ferry two or three times a week, to bring them back to the campsite on St Ailla. If the weather's good enough, all of us kids go down to the jetty to meet the boat and see who's arriving. We sit on the wall and watch the
Spirit
ploughing back across the Sound, and we help with loading the bags and gear on to the tractor-trailer. Sometimes, if Huw's driving he'll give us a lift back. Everyone loves the bumpy ride along the track to the field.

So that's what we're doing now: waiting. Me, Joe, Will, Luke, Lisa, Maddie, Rosie. Rosie is the youngest (about six) then me (thirteen). Maddie, Rosie's big sister, is the next oldest, then Joe, Will, Luke and Lisa are all sixteen. Huw's more like nineteen, and Dave's grown-up of course, like forty or even more.

‘Where's Ben?' Rosie asks.

Maddie shrugs. ‘Off somewhere.'

Ben lives on St Ailla all year round. He loves it when we all turn up in the summer: it means he gets to play football. He's not very good at it because he never gets any practice. He's about eleven or twelve. Small for his age. He goes to school by boat, on Main Island. How cool is that?

‘He said he was going to Main Island on the early boat with his dad,' Lisa says. ‘That family with twin babies left this morning, too.'

‘The campsite's full now, apparently,' Will says. ‘Just one new family, arriving on the ferry.'

‘I hope there's a girl for me to play with,' Rosie says.

‘Me too. So you stop bothering us all the time,' Maddie says.

Rosie puckers up her mouth and slaps Maddie's leg. Maddie picks up a pebble and pretends she's going to hit Rosie, just so Rosie squawks, then chucks it at the can we've set up on a rock. She misses.

I have a go. I miss too.

Joe picks up a handful of pebbles. He chooses them carefully, testing their weight. He aims. The can bounces off the rock and clatters down the cliff a little way. ‘Yes!' Joe jumps down from the wall and goes to set the can up again.

‘Best of three,' Will says.

‘Boat's coming,' Lisa calls.

We watch the people getting off. A few rambler types, for the bed and breakfast place, we guess. The family with camping gear is just a woman and two girls, one about seven, so Rosie's happy, and the other older, more like Joe's age. She's got long straight dark hair, almond eyes. She's utterly beautiful. A sort of collective sigh passes from Will to Luke to Joe and even to Lisa and Maddie.

Huw helps the girl up the steps. He holds her arm longer than is strictly necessary. We all notice.

When I look round at Joe, I see his mouth's slightly open. ‘Catching flies, fish-face?' I tease, and he shoves me so I fall off the wall.

The new girl doesn't smile. We watch her follow the woman and the little girl up the steep stone jetty. No one else moves or says anything. It's like we're all spellbound. As she goes past, she glances briefly at us. Rosie hops down and runs after the little girl. ‘Hello, my name is Rosie.' We hear her chattering after them, like she always does with new people. The rest of us turn our heads to watch their progress along the path. The girl stops and looks back once. Joe smiles. Then Huw comes chugging past on the tractor, and we all scramble to get a lift with the luggage on the trailer. I see Joe check the labels on the bags.

That's the real moment Joe's summer changes. The day Samphire arrives.

Nine

 

 

‘I thought I'd go on the boat trip tonight,' I say at teatime. Evie and I have grilled the mackerel and we're eating it now, picking out the small bones.

Evie shoots a look at Gramps, and then at me. ‘Well,' she says slowly. ‘I'm not sure . . . your mum and dad might not think that's a good idea . . .'

‘Please?' I say. I know
why
they fret about me going on boats. Even so.

‘I suppose we could come too,' Evie says.

Gramps snorts. ‘Whatever for? I've seen enough seals to last a lifetime.'

‘It's not just about the seals,' Evie says. ‘It'll be fun.'

‘It's OK,' I say. ‘I'll be perfectly safe. Please. I want to go by myself. I'm fourteen, you know. Not a baby.'

I can see her wavering, trying to decide.

‘All right. But be very careful. Hold on tight. And take my waterproofs,' she says. ‘You'll need them.'

 

She's right. Out of the shelter of the islands the sea's still rough and churned up from the big storm. The waves seem huge, the boat suddenly tiny. But everyone's just laughing as waves break and spray drenches the deck. People start singing. It
is
fun, once I stop thinking too much about how far out we are, how deep the water is beneath. And everyone's there: Izzy and Matt and Danny. Maddie and Lisa from last year come up and say hello and no one mentions Joe or last summer, thank goodness, because it's obviously not the right time, and somehow it all feels easier to handle today.

‘I'm freezing!' Lisa crosses over to sit on the slatted bench behind the wheelhouse. Maddie joins her, huddled up in her quilted jacket, and Danny plonks himself down in the space next to me.

Matt and Izzy are leaning out at the front of the boat, Izzy laughing as usual. Dave yells at them from the wheelhouse and Matt pulls her back. He kisses her. She closes her eyes. I can't look away. There's something magnetic, magical even, about them.
What does it feel like, being kissed like that?

‘There! See? Loads of seals!' a voice calls out, and everyone surges to one side. The boat rocks.

‘Sit down! Keep her balanced,' Dave growls. ‘You'll all get a look. Stop panicking.'

‘They look almost human,' Danny says. ‘Those eyes.'

‘Whiskery humans,' I say.

Two come right close up, heads high above the waves. They're watching us watching them.

‘These are grey Atlantic seals. Another month or so and they'll start giving birth . . .' Dave begins the usual patter. I've heard it loads of times, but I still love looking at the seals. I can imagine each seal is a person, treading water. I watch one dive, begin counting. I start to feel dizzy: I can't help holding my own breath, waiting for the seal to come back up. My lungs push against my ribs till they hurt.

‘How do they stay under so long?' Danny says.

‘Mammalian diving reflex,' I say. ‘They store oxygen in their blood and muscles, instead of in the lungs like we do.'

Matt and Izzy listen too.

‘But people have the same reflex, up to a point,' I tell Danny. ‘Your body goes into oxygen-saving mode when your face goes under. Heart rate slows down and everything. You can practise holding your breath.'

Not for ten minutes, though. Not for half an hour, like seals. Not for long enough, if you're trapped underwater.

‘She's clever, that Freya,' Izzy says to Matt. He kisses her again and this time I'm looking away, suddenly sick and cold to the bone.

‘You're shivering,' Danny says.

A small girl squeezes in next to him. He puts his arm round her. His little sister. She's the little girl I saw before on the beach, playing with Rosie.

It begins to rain.

‘Back to the pub?' Dave asks and a cheer goes up from the boat. He revs the engine and the boat begins to turn. Only Izzy and Matt stay at the front, oblivious to the rain and the spray, hands clasped together, yelling with each roll and tip of the boat as it rides the waves back to our island. They look like people in a film. Izzy's hair is plastered to her head, sodden, and yet she's still beautiful, radiant. Matt sees it, and so does everyone else.

‘Camping in the rain again,' someone says. ‘Oh joy.'

‘It'll blow out by morning,' Dave says. ‘Tomorrow will be fine.'

 

I don't go to the pub with everyone. I come straight home, peel off the waterproofs – which aren't – and the layers of wet clothes underneath and get warm in the bath. Rain's still battering the window when I'm lying in bed. I think about the tents in the field, the sound of rain drumming on nylon, the damp seeping up from the grass. I imagine Izzy and Matt curled round each other in their nest of duvet and blankets. I'm almost asleep, half dreaming.

Am I asleep? In my muddled dream-thoughts, Joe is outside in the wind and the rain. Not a spirit Joe, but a real flesh and blood Joe, cold and wet and alone. And it's my fault. Why don't I do something? I need to find someone to help. I need to call him back. I'm caught in a nightmare maze and every turning takes me further away from where I want to be. I'm hotter and hotter and something tight is winding round my chest, smothering me.

I wake with a start, my heart thrumming under my ribs. I'm bound tight by the twisted sheet. Outside, the wind is shrieking, pulling at the window latch, trying to get in. I untangle the sheet and sit up. It's just after midnight. I'm so thirsty. I make my way downstairs. The light's still on.

Evie's reading on the sofa. She looks up. ‘Freya! You look hot! What's up?'

I ease myself next to her so she can feel my forehead. I'm shivering now, my feet freezing. She tucks me under the garden rug, next to her.

‘I was dreaming,' I say. ‘And the wind woke me.'

‘It makes such a strange noise, sometimes,' Evie says. ‘Like it's moaning. It sounds almost human, doesn't it? I was wide awake too. So I came back downstairs to read. I don't like to disturb your gramps. He's terrible if he doesn't get enough sleep.'

Evie strokes my hair back from my face. ‘Perhaps you've got a temperature. You caught a chill, maybe, from the boat. I'll get you some water. You stay there.'

She gets me a drink, and makes tea for herself, and I listen to the sounds from the kitchen of the tap running, and the kettle going on, and her feet padding round on the tiles, the chink of the cup on the table. I start to feel safe again. It's like being very little, when someone else is looking after you and you don't have to think or do anything for yourself. It hasn't been like that for me for a long time.

When Evie comes back she tucks the blanket round me again. She sort of pats me, and we sit together in the circle of light from the lamp on the side table, and we don't say anything. Evie finishes her tea.

‘You're missing Joe,' she says at last. ‘Of course you are.'

I look at her. She's lost in her own thoughts. There are tears on her cheeks. It's a comfort, sitting together like that, without having to say anything.

I don't even remember going back up to bed, but I must have, because that's where I am, next thing, and it's the morning: bright sunlight is flooding through the window and my phone says 11.06.