gone.
Dad comes back first, freewheeling down the last bit of road before the village. He gets off and wheels the bike over the grass to the gate. He waves at me at the window as he goes past and I wave back. He’s dripping wet. He stamps his feet in the porch and swears under his breath.
‘What happened to Mum?’ I ask him.
‘Stopped to shelter. Put the kettle on, Kate.’
He tells me about the bike ride while I make us tea. Four seals in the bay over the other side from here; they met someone who’d seen basking sharks.
‘Why didn’t you wait for Mum?’
‘You know what she’s like. She wanted me to go on; she’s so much slower than I am.’
‘Honestly, Dad!’
He shrugs.
I still don’t understand why he wouldn’t want to slow down and go along beside her. It’s what most people would do, wouldn’t they? Even with someone who was just a friend. It’s not as if there’s any rush. The whole point is doing something together .
When she finally gets back, Mum’s in a foul mood. There was something wrong with the bike. She had to push the last two miles. She’s practically in tears.
Dad doesn’t say anything.
‘Tea, Mum?’ I ask. ‘Shall I run you a bath?’
She nods. ‘Thanks. You made the right choice, staying here. I’m completely soaked. And the bike was rubbish.’
‘It was you who said we didn’t need to bring the car over,’ Dad says.
Mum glares at him. ‘I said I didn’t want to drive on the island. What’s that got to do with anything?’
I leave them to it.
From the bathroom I can hear their voices: Dad’s horribly level, rational tone of voice going on at Mum, while she gets more and more upset and angry . . .
The downstairs bedroom door slams.
I can’t stand this any longer. I find my jacket, and pull on boots, and go out.
I walk fast. My heart’s racing, my stomach twisted with worry. By the time I’ve been walking for half an hour I’ve calmed down a bit. The rain’s stopped; the wind’s dropped too, so the air is filled with different sounds: birds, and the waves, and the hum of bees on the machair. I walk past an old man and a boy herding three shaggy black cows out of a field and down the road, and the man raises his hand to me and says hello. It’s like a scene in a film, or a book, or something. It could be happening a hundred years ago. Perhaps it is. I glance back: they’re walking slowly, man and boy: the man’s holding the last cow’s tail in one hand as if he is steering it along. The boy’s dressed the same as the man: waterproof jacket, cords, boots. But they are real, and it is now.
I remember what Finn said about that stone. Places where time collapses . That would be weird, wouldn’t it, if you could be somewhere and just walk into the past like that? Not time travel exactly but to do with the way things go on happening in one place . . . like stepping through a gap in time, or because of some sort of emotional connection . . . when you are feeling something very strongly . . .
I realise there are tears on my face; I’m actually crying as I walk along. What’s happening with Mum and Dad . . . watching everything unravel . . . and there’s nothing I can do about it . . . I know it happens to lots of people, their parents split, and I’ve always thought it was the worst possible thing to happen and now it is going to happen to me.
Bonnie says all couples argue; it’s perfectly fine and healthy and normal in a relationship. Arguing doesn’t mean everything’s wrong. But she’s hardly ever around these days. She doesn’t hear what I hear. I never see them make up after they’ve argued. Dad’s so distant and cold. And Mum doesn’t even try to make things fun any more. It’s as if she’s given up. They seem more and more different from each other. They don’t even want to do the same things on holiday.
Luckily no cars pass me and there’s no one to see me crying. Eventually I stop.
I have never been anywhere where
Dad comes back first, freewheeling down the last bit of road before the village. He gets off and wheels the bike over the grass to the gate. He waves at me at the window as he goes past and I wave back. He’s dripping wet. He stamps his feet in the porch and swears under his breath.
‘What happened to Mum?’ I ask him.
‘Stopped to shelter. Put the kettle on, Kate.’
He tells me about the bike ride while I make us tea. Four seals in the bay over the other side from here; they met someone who’d seen basking sharks.
‘Why didn’t you wait for Mum?’
‘You know what she’s like. She wanted me to go on; she’s so much slower than I am.’
‘Honestly, Dad!’
He shrugs.
I still don’t understand why he wouldn’t want to slow down and go along beside her. It’s what most people would do, wouldn’t they? Even with someone who was just a friend. It’s not as if there’s any rush. The whole point is doing something together .
When she finally gets back, Mum’s in a foul mood. There was something wrong with the bike. She had to push the last two miles. She’s practically in tears.
Dad doesn’t say anything.
‘Tea, Mum?’ I ask. ‘Shall I run you a bath?’
She nods. ‘Thanks. You made the right choice, staying here. I’m completely soaked. And the bike was rubbish.’
‘It was you who said we didn’t need to bring the car over,’ Dad says.
Mum glares at him. ‘I said I didn’t want to drive on the island. What’s that got to do with anything?’
I leave them to it.
From the bathroom I can hear their voices: Dad’s horribly level, rational tone of voice going on at Mum, while she gets more and more upset and angry . . .
The downstairs bedroom door slams.
I can’t stand this any longer. I find my jacket, and pull on boots, and go out.
I walk fast. My heart’s racing, my stomach twisted with worry. By the time I’ve been walking for half an hour I’ve calmed down a bit. The rain’s stopped; the wind’s dropped too, so the air is filled with different sounds: birds, and the waves, and the hum of bees on the machair. I walk past an old man and a boy herding three shaggy black cows out of a field and down the road, and the man raises his hand to me and says hello. It’s like a scene in a film, or a book, or something. It could be happening a hundred years ago. Perhaps it is. I glance back: they’re walking slowly, man and boy: the man’s holding the last cow’s tail in one hand as if he is steering it along. The boy’s dressed the same as the man: waterproof jacket, cords, boots. But they are real, and it is now.
I remember what Finn said about that stone. Places where time collapses . That would be weird, wouldn’t it, if you could be somewhere and just walk into the past like that? Not time travel exactly but to do with the way things go on happening in one place . . . like stepping through a gap in time, or because of some sort of emotional connection . . . when you are feeling something very strongly . . .
I realise there are tears on my face; I’m actually crying as I walk along. What’s happening with Mum and Dad . . . watching everything unravel . . . and there’s nothing I can do about it . . . I know it happens to lots of people, their parents split, and I’ve always thought it was the worst possible thing to happen and now it is going to happen to me.
Bonnie says all couples argue; it’s perfectly fine and healthy and normal in a relationship. Arguing doesn’t mean everything’s wrong. But she’s hardly ever around these days. She doesn’t hear what I hear. I never see them make up after they’ve argued. Dad’s so distant and cold. And Mum doesn’t even try to make things fun any more. It’s as if she’s given up. They seem more and more different from each other. They don’t even want to do the same things on holiday.
Luckily no cars pass me and there’s no one to see me crying. Eventually I stop.
I have never been anywhere where
Similar Books
