This Northern Sky (10 page)

It’s actually rather nice being driven by Tim in his big estate car. He drives slowly and carefully: very different from Piers. He talks a bit more about his work. He drives around the country selling books. He’s travelled all over the world, but he loves it here on this island more than anywhere else, even the most exotic places.

‘Really?’ I say. ‘What, even more than the Seychelles or the Caribbean?’

‘Yes!’ he says. ‘Even more than those.’

The car bumps over the cattle grid. Tim carries on talking. ‘How about you? What job might you do when you grow up, Kate?’

Those two little words –
grow up
– make me cringe. He thinks I’m just a child.

‘I’ve no idea,’ I say. ‘It’s too hard to know what I could do. Like there must be loads of jobs I haven’t even heard of. I don’t know how you find out.’ I look at him. ‘Did you always know what you wanted to be?’

He laughs as if I’ve said something hilarious. ‘A lifelong ambition to be a sales rep, you mean?’

I shrug.

‘No,’ he says. ‘I wanted to be a writer or a broadcast journalist.’

‘And do you still?’

He looks at me, still faintly amused. ‘Well, of course. You don’t stop dreaming, just because you’ve grown up! Haven’t your parents told you that?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘They don’t tell me anything.’

That shuts him up. And in any case we’ve arrived, and he’s parking up on the grassy verge near the house. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, when the engine’s stopped. He puts his hand on my shoulder lightly. ‘I touched a raw nerve. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘I’m not upset,’ I lie. ‘Thanks for the lift.’ I shut the car door and walk away quickly.

Dad’s in his usual seat at the window. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but I go straight upstairs before he can.

I lie on my bed. Stare through the low window at the framed square of sea, rock, grass, sky. Gradually I calm down.

I know a bit about what Dad’s dreams used to be because of what Mum told me the other day when we were on the beach. And Mum? She wanted lots of children: the family she didn’t have as a child. I remember her telling me ages ago that for a while she’d thought of having her own business . . . something like a community family centre, where people could come together to play and meet each other, with a café and a toys and books library, and classes for children and adults to learn how to make things, or dance or play music. Only she couldn’t work out how to earn money that way.

And what about me, and my dreams?

All I ever wanted was for Mum and Dad to sort things out and stay together. Us be a family. Just for things to be OK. It didn’t seem much to ask.

I did have this silly fantasy about Sam and me, once upon a time, going off together on some kind of adventure: travelling, I suppose, seeing the world and meeting different kinds of people – I was a bit vague about the details. Sam was always talking about getting away – being
free
. I didn’t think about
how
you get to do those things, about how you pay for them, or any of the practical stuff. I didn’t ever tell Sam about it even. It seems ridiculous now.

Thirteen

I’ve just finished breakfast when I see Finn through the front window, riding his bike up the track towards our house, one hand on the saddle of a second bike. The spare bike. I’m touched he remembered.

I open the front door and step out on to the grass. It’s sunny, the air not warm exactly, but sweet and delicious.

‘Delivery of one bike.’ He smiles as he dismounts and wheels both bikes across the grass.

‘Doesn’t anyone else want to use it? You’ve got all those visitors now,’ I say.

‘Your need is as great as theirs. Greater even,’ Finn says.

I frown slightly. ‘Why’s that?’

‘No car at your disposal. All alone with no friends at your house for instant entertainment . . .’

‘Yeah, all right. No need to rub it in! Billy-no-mates, you mean!’

Finn smiles. ‘Why don’t you get your stuff and come with me for a bike ride right now?’

‘OK!’ I grab my jacket from the hooks by the door, shove my feet into trainers. ‘Where, exactly? Mum will want to know. I keep getting into trouble for not telling them.’

‘To the beaches on the west coast. So bring your swimming things. We’ll go via Isla’s house and see if she wants to come too.’

That changes everything. I’m disappointed, and cross with myself that I am, both at the same time. It’s not as if I fancy Finn, is it?

Do I?

I run back upstairs to find my swimming things. I hesitate, put back the sensible black costume and pick up my peacock blue bikini.

By the time I’ve got back outside, Mum’s there chatting to Finn. Of course she likes him. She’s probably relieved I’m spending time with a boy like that instead of moping over Sam. But does she have to be so obvious about it?

‘I’m ready. Shall we go?’ I say to Finn.

‘Have a lovely time,’ Mum says. ‘It’s a perfect day for the beach. I’m almost tempted to join you.’

I get on the bike quickly before Finn gets any ideas about inviting her along too.

Finn cycles next to me so we can talk as we bowl along. ‘She’s nice, your mum. She seems happy enough. Are things going better with her and your dad?’

‘It’s hard to tell. They are speaking, and doing walks and things together.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know. I think it’s maybe too late.’

Dad, at the phone box.

We cycle on another three miles or so, round the big curve of the bay, as far as the turning to Isla’s house. ‘I’ll wait here,’ I tell Finn. ‘Catch my breath.’

‘She might not be in,’ Finn says. ‘I’ll go and see.’

He takes ages. I sit on the top of a wooden field gate to wait. The sky’s a thin, transparent blue with streaks of fine white cloud. The wind’s blowing as usual, rustling the tall grasses. The sound of the sea has become so familiar to me I hardly notice it now, but it’s there all the time, more of a murmur than a roar today. A flock of little birds take off, windblown as they get higher: you can see them struggling and then giving in, going where the wind takes them, and dropping down into another area of thistles in the field of barley.

It’s beginning to look so much more beautiful to me, this island landscape, than it did when we first arrived. The wide expanses of sky. How wild and untamed it seems, even though I know people have lived and farmed here for hundreds of years. Thousands, even. I can understand better why Finn wants it all to stay this way for ever. Why he’s so opposed to change, to the wind farm . . .

Voices. Two bikes come into view. Finn’s face is flushed with happiness.

‘Hello, Kate,’ Isla says in her soft, lilting voice as they get nearer. ‘It’s a beautiful day. I’m glad you’re getting to see the island at its best.’

The three of us cycle together, Isla in the middle. We go quite fast: I’m pleased I can keep up despite not having had much practice. No doubt Isla cycles everywhere all the time. Her bike is old and she doesn’t have gears, but you hardly need them. We only see two cars the whole way.

The road peters out and becomes a track. It gets narrower and goes uphill, then stops altogether. The wind’s stronger: a westerly blowing in across the Atlantic. We park up the bikes. Finn padlocks them together.

‘Why?’ Isla says. ‘There’s absolutely no need, Finn. No one’s going to steal a bike!’

‘Better to be sure,’ he says. ‘It’s not just islanders here in the summer. There are tourists, visitors. So you can’t really know.’

‘Three men from the wind farm project arrived on the ferry yesterday,’ Isla says. ‘They’re staying at Martinstown. They are hoping to
win hearts and minds
, Dad says, with the new exhibition at the hall.’

Finn frowns. ‘Not again!’

She looks out to sea. ‘You’d see it all really clearly from here.’

‘You’d see it wherever you were on the island,’ Finn says. ‘Daytime, and even more so at night. Hear it too.’

Isla looks at him. ‘I don’t think so, not above the sound of the wind and the waves. But you would see it, you’re right about that. It would change this view for ever.’

‘Not just the view. It would change everything,’ Finn says. ‘We’ve got to do something, Isla. Make people wake up and understand what’s at stake. It’s not right that everyone with a vested interest gets a voice and we don’t.’

‘But we do. That was the whole point of the public consultation,’ Isla says. ‘And quite a lot of the islanders are in favour. They think we have to move with the times. It’ll bring jobs: the construction, and maintenance, servicing, all those sort of things. It will bring business here. It might mean young people can actually stay on the island and find work, instead of having to leave for the mainland.’

‘You sound as if you actually believe all that!’ Finn says.

‘I’m trying to be fair. We have to listen to what everyone wants. It’s easy for you to say you want things to stay exactly as they are. You don’t have to make a living here. Islanders have a long history of having to adapt and change.’

I listen to them argue, back and forth.

Isla’s good, I have to admit. Plus, she has the trump card of being born here, living here all the time.

Finn has no answer to that.

‘Shall we go down to the beach?’ I say eventually. ‘Which way?’

Isla leads. I notice how light she is on her feet; her easy, graceful way of walking. Halfway along, she stops to take off her shoes and walk barefoot over the peaty ground. ‘Try it,’ she says to me. ‘It feels delicious. The soles of your feet are as sensitive as your hands, did you know that?’

Finn waits while I take my trainers off, but he keeps his own firmly laced up. Isla has gone ahead. The wind blows her thin cotton skirt against her legs, whips her long hair sideways. She fits perfectly here, as if she’s just a part of the landscape. The same colours even: blue and gold.

Finn’s watching her too, and the expression on his face is one of longing, and pain. He’s in love with her. But she doesn’t love him back.

It’s obvious to me now.

We come down the cliff. The beaches I’ve seen already have been beautiful in a vast, windswept kind of way, but this one is totally stunning, like something in a holiday advert for a tropical paradise. This must be what Tim meant, yesterday. White sand, turquoise sea, framed by arms of rock stretching round on either side. It’s almost deserted: one small family group have made a camp at the top of the beach.

Isla’s already running across the sand, spinning round with her arms out. She looks so joyous and free and wild I can’t help joining in too. ‘Isn’t it the most beautiful beach you have ever seen?’ she says, eyes shining. ‘Let’s swim while the sun’s out.’

We undress quickly, pulling on our swimming things. We leave our clothes in a neat pile.

‘Put a big pebble on top,’ Isla says, ‘to stop the wind blowing them away.’

She is slim and pale-skinned; in her pale green swimming costume she looks amazing, but you can tell she doesn’t even think about how she looks to anyone else. It’s just not on her radar.

‘It’ll be freezing,’ she says. ‘You just have to run in and dive under straight away. But it’ll be worth it.’

Finn’s walking along the beach vaguely in our direction, but not looking at us. Every so often he bends over to pick up a pebble or a shell or something.

‘Should we wait for Finn?’ I say.

‘No!’ Isla laughs. ‘Now he’s in a mood I bet he won’t swim. Come on,’ and she grabs my hand and starts to run, pulling me with her.

The cold takes my breath away. Isla hangs on to my hand, pulling me in deeper, until we both fall, laughing and screeching into the waves. We start to swim, but the waves are breaking right over us and we end up half bouncing, half swimming until we’re through the breaking foam and out into deeper water. She swims like a seal; strong and confident. I swim parallel to the shore, not going out too far, a bit nervous of the waves. I’m exhausted and numb with cold long before she is, and I wade back out, shivering, with purple gooseflesh thighs and arms, and hair in rat’s tails.

I run up the beach to my towel. There’s no sign of Finn.

It’s too cold to stay in a wet bikini a second longer than I have to. I dry myself quickly and struggle back into my clothes and my teeth are still chattering.

Isla joins me. ‘Wasn’t that brilliant?’ she says, shaking with cold. ‘Aren’t you glad you braved it?’

‘Sort of!’ I say. ‘But it was totally freezing. I can’t imagine ever going in again.’

She pulls her jumper over her head and starts drying her hair.

‘Have a rummage in my bag,’ she says, chucking it over. ‘I brought us tea.’

I find the flask. ‘Wow. Amazing.’ It’s the sort of thing Mum would do; bring a hot drink for after swimming. We take turns to sip from the cup. My toes and hands begin to thaw. The blood rushes to my face; I’m tingling all over. ‘Now, it feels good!’ I tell Isla.