Skins by Sarah Hay Page A

table.
    â€˜Muttonbirds.’
    â€˜Muttonbird chicks. We got them in burrows on the other side of the island,’ added Matthew.
    He laid his bundle beside the boy’s and untied the twine to reveal a mound of grey fluff. Dorothea reached across. Soft silky down covered the chick’s still-warm body. When she turned it over, its broken neck flopped sideways. Dorothea looked up at the boy. He was standing at the end of the table. He nodded and grinned. She thought he was around the same age as their middle brother Charlie who was fourteen. She liked his eyes for they were direct and unusually coloured, tawny like a cat’s. Matthew turned towards the door.
    He spoke over his shoulder. ‘Any sign of the sealers?’
    Dorothea shook her head but asked whether there was anyone else who had been left behind on the island.
    â€˜Only him.’ He nodded towards Church, who they could see through the doorway, sitting just under the verandah.
    After they had plucked and gutted the birds they put them in a blackened pot with potatoes and turnips they had found in a barrel in the storeroom and hung it from a hook above the fire. As it simmered an oily sheen appeared and a strong fishy smell filled the hut and seemed to stick to their skin.
    When she had something to do Dorothea was able to push the panic down. But as soon as she stopped and sat by the fire the sound of the waves seemed louder and stronger and the fear was harder to force down. She knew if she gave in to it, nothing would change. Suddenly the waves seemed much louder and she looked around and met Mary’s startled gaze. But it was only thunder and the rain began again. First it was just heavy drops that plopped and tingged, but then a rush of water descended on the roof, leaking onto the table and floor.
    The others returned to the kitchen. Matthew standing with his back to the fire, his hands clasped behind him, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels. Church found a chair against the wall. The boy flopped down in front of the fire, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. The rain roared. Yellow light of the fire lit their faces. Dorothea felt suspended in time and place. She found it impossible to imagine that outside their walls and over the sea were people. People living normal lives. Buying food at the store or grog at the inn.

    Jem and Manning were the first to return. Dorothea had gone around to the back of the hut to bring in a pile of firewood which was now wet. She saw them through the trees. The rain had eased a bit and the sky had lightened, but still a hazy veil surrounded them. She noticed that drops had made patterns in the sand and when her boots sunk into it, they broke through the crust to the dry powdery stuff beneath. Manning was leading the way. He pushed back the branches and when he let go she could see the raindrops spray from the leaves. But the two lads didn’t seem to notice. They sprang ahead, their feet scarcely touching the ground, stepping over the gullies of water that swept down from the rock.
    â€˜I ain’t never heard of a shark breachin’ like a whale,’ called out Jem. ‘Christ, it was a bigun.’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜See how it took that seal. I thought we was gone.’
    â€˜You thought you were gone, what about me?’
    They disappeared around the other side of the hut. The cloud lifted and the hut shimmered through the gap in the trees. Leaves sparkled and Dorothea smelt the rich earth and the wet granite.

    She looked into her brother’s face and it was almost a stranger’s. He didn’t notice her either even though he was beside her in front of the fire. The sealers weren’t far behind. Their voices filtered through the cracks in the wall and when they entered it seemed there wasn’t the space to hold them. The rain paused. But the wind had picked up and it rustled the treetops.
    The seal-oil lamp glowed dully in the smoky haze.