Breathing Underwater (22 page)

‘Are you still worried about your mum and dad?' he asks.

‘Not so much now, not after the letter. But it will be a bit weird, seeing them again.'

‘I can't imagine it,' Danny says.

‘You don't need to. Your parents are, like, rock solid. Anyone can see that.'

‘We haven't had anything . . . anything really bad happen, though, in our family. Like you, I mean. You don't know what would happen, then,' Danny says.

‘I reckon they'd still be rock solid. They care too much about you and Hattie. It's obvious.'

‘Your parents care about you, Freya! The two things don't go together, silly!'

‘It was the silences I couldn't stand,' I say. ‘The not knowing.'

‘Maybe they didn't know either. Maybe there wasn't anything they could tell you, before.'

I slide off the wall and hunt around for an old can or something for us to aim at, like we always used to do, last summer, waiting here. We each collect a pile of stones.

Danny's first shot goes way off.

‘Rubbish throw!'

‘You do better, then.'

My stone falls short. I try again, a near miss. I've got better at aiming, since last year. Next go, though, Danny hits the can clean off the rock. He goes over to put it back.

‘Hey! Boat's coming,' he calls back.

My belly gives a lurch. Any minute now.

The farm tractor-trailer trundles down the lane towards the jetty, Huw at the wheel, ready to take bags and gear back to the farm. He doesn't seem to notice us.

‘Can you see them yet?' Danny says.

The
Spirit
chugs across the grey-blue water of the Sound, leaving a spiral of white wake and a cloud of gulls behind.

I've a lump in my throat.

‘I'll leave you to it,' Danny says. ‘You won't want me hanging around.'

Dear, thoughtful Danny. How could I ever have thought he looked so much like Joe? OK, he's got the same sort of hair, same sort of clothes, but that's about it. Now I've got to know him, I can see how different to Joe he really is. How much he is himself.

 

I hang back, waiting for everyone to get off the boat, and for Huw and Matt to load the bags on to the trailers. Izzy sees me and waves. Mum and Dad are the last to get off. They carry their own small bags. They stand on the steps where the boat has tied up, waiting. Huw and Matt change places: Huw goes down into the boat to help Dave, and Matt climbs up into the driver's seat on the tractor. Izzy squashes in next to him, already laughing. Matt starts the tractor engine. Huw and Dave untie the boat and cast off, chugging away again over the water.

I watch it all unfolding, waiting for the moment when everyone will have gone but us.

Every arrival on the island is like a kind of new beginning.

Mum and Dad, side by side, stand on an empty quay.

I walk slowly down to meet them.

 

Gramps comes downstairs for supper. There's roast lamb, and summer pudding made with raspberries and redcurrants from the garden and the handfuls of blackberries we picked from the hedge next to the lighthouse garden, on our way back from the jetty. It's a family meal, a kind of muted celebration.

We talk about what to do, for Joe's day. One year since his accident. We are beginning to talk about him, all of us, at last.

‘What about something in the church?' Evie says, as she passes round the potatoes. ‘Not religious, but a sort of gathering where we can have readings, and talk about our memories, and have flowers and music.'

‘Too like a funeral,' Mum says. ‘We don't want all that again.'

Gramps and Dad are quiet while Mum and Evie bat ideas back and forth.

‘No fussing,' Gramps says, eventually. His hand shakes, spilling peas from his fork on to the tablecloth. ‘No arrangements and busyness.'

‘Perhaps we shouldn't do anything, after all,' Mum says. ‘Joe's in our hearts all the time, anyway. We think about him every day, all of us. It's not as if we need anything special to remind us of him.'

‘Sometimes it helps,' Evie says, ‘to mark the stages. The passing of time.'

‘I think it should be outside,' I say. ‘At the beach. Candles, floating out on the sea, and we each just think about Joe, in our own way.'

Mum nods, and then Evie.

‘Sounds lovely. Simple.'

‘That's decided, then.'

 

The house feels full again. Mum and Dad tramp up and downstairs. They put their bags and coats and shoes in Joe's room. From the doorway I see Evie has moved things round: there's a cream cover on the bed; the shells and things have been cleared off the shelf. It smells different, already.

Later, Mum comes and sits on the edge of my bed. I've been lying there, writing in my notebook about the day. It's just beginning to get dark.

‘Don't you want the light on?' she says.

‘Not yet.'

‘You look amazing, you know?' she says. ‘I can't stop looking at you! You've grown up, these few weeks of summer.'

She fiddles with the edge of my blue skirt. ‘Where did this come from? It's so pretty. It's not one of Evie's, is it?'

‘No. Izzy gave me a pile of clothes she didn't want any more. But this is the only thing I really like.'

‘Izzy who we met earlier, on the boat?'

‘Her. Yes.'

I show Mum the other clothes, hanging on the hook on the back of my door. Mum takes the orangey-pink dress off its hanger and holds it against herself. Her face is pale above the bright colour, her hair a faded brown, shorter than before.

‘Have it,' I say. ‘It looks nice. They are magic clothes, anyway. You should see what happens if you put it on.'

Mum smiles. ‘What kind of magic?' she asks. ‘I thought you'd grown out of all that sort of thing, these days.'

‘Change and transformation.
That
kind of magic.'

‘Did you get my letter?' Mum asks. ‘I thought you might write back.'

‘I tried. I couldn't get the words right. But I liked getting yours.'

‘Good.'

We're both quiet.

‘Were you writing, when I came in?'

‘Yes.'

‘Your notebook? With the blue cover?'

‘Yes.'

‘Do you write about Joe, ever?'

‘Sometimes. This summer, last summer.'

‘Will you show me?'

‘Sometime. Perhaps.'

The soft light outside fades to dusk.

‘It'll be better, from now on,' Mum says. She reaches out, takes my hand in hers, holds it tight.

We sit close together like that in the darkening room. I lean into her, rest my head against her. She strokes my hair, over and over, gentle as breathing.

Twenty-eight

 

 

A small procession of children winds its way down the narrow path to the beach. Above them paper lanterns in all different colours bob and sway on sticks held by each child. The lanterns glow like coloured moons: pink and orange and turquoise and purple.

I've seen it every year since I was small, but still my heart beats a little faster when I see the dancing lights against the dark hillside. Hattie and Rosie are at the front, small figures in pale dresses like people from a long time ago, from a painting.

People on the beach stop talking to watch the procession. It's a moment of magic, the whole beach enchanted for one long night, and this year, when it is midnight, we are going to take the candles down to the sea, and set them sailing on the water for Joe.

Gramps has installed himself grandly in the director's chair which Dad carried all the way for him, now placed firmly in the sand. ‘Like Canute!' Gramps keeps joking, to anyone who stops to listen. ‘Trying to turn back the tide!' He waves his glass in one hand. Lisa and Maddie are keeping it topped up with brandy. ‘Strictly medicinal,' Gramps says. He looks happier than he has done for ages. Dad sits next to him as much as he can, when he's not being hauled off to help Ben's dad and Dave with the barbecue. It's a grown-ups' party, this one, properly organised, and for once Izzy's just a guest. Sally says she doesn't have to start work till Monday.

‘It's good to be back,' Izzy says. ‘It seemed like I was away ages!' She sits cross-legged next to me on a rug on the sand.

‘How was your mum?'

‘Fine. She liked her birthday.'

‘And your exams?'

‘Oh, passed. You know. All fine.' She looks at me with her river-green eyes. ‘For what they're worth.'

Things like that don't matter to her.

‘So. How've you been, Freya? Did Matt look after you? I asked him to.'

‘You asked
me
to look after
him,
Izzy!'

‘Did I?' She turns her head, searching for Matt. He's talking to Luke, they're setting up speakers for the music. She turns back to me again.

‘And did you? Look after him?'

I laugh. ‘No. We went swimming, once. He was working, mostly. He can look after himself, anyway.'

‘And Danny boy?'

‘What about him?'

‘How's he?'

‘Just fine! This is his last night. They're going back tomorrow.'

‘Will you be sad, Freya?'

‘Kind of. I'll miss him. We're good friends now.'

Izzy laughs. ‘Just good friends. Honestly, Freya! Listen to yourself.'

‘I found something amazing,' I say. ‘I meant to show you earlier. I found it here, on this beach.'

‘A bead?'

‘How did you guess?'

‘I knew you would, if you kept looking long enough.'

‘I wasn't looking, then. It sort of found me.'

‘The best way, of course. What's it like?'

‘Green glass, with gold spirals. Really beautiful.'

‘I'll make you another necklace, if you like. With a proper chain and everything, not string, this time.'

‘It broke, the string. I lost the talisman necklace when I was swimming.'

‘You didn't need it any more.'

I laugh. ‘What
are
you, Izzy? My guardian angel, or a witch, or a fairy godmother, or something?'

Izzy stands up. She shakes out her crazy hair, the braids all combed out so it falls like a crinkly curtain round her shoulders. ‘Take your pick!' she says. ‘What would you like me to be?'

‘Just you.'

‘It's funny, isn't it,' Izzy says, ‘how everything's changing all the time. Nothing stays still. Look at you. And your mum and dad, too.'

Things get lost and things return.

The music starts up. Izzy twirls round, so her dress floats out.

‘Shall we dance?' she says, holding her arms out to me in a mock-old-fashioned way, as if we're about to waltz round a dance floor.

But Matt is already there, one arm round Izzy's waist, spiriting her away to dance with him on the silver sand.

 

It's like a dream. It's as if I'm watching everything happening, but I'm part of it too. Mum's wearing the orange dress, waiting for the magic to begin, and maybe it will: every so often Dad, talking to Gramps, goes quiet, watching her, a little smile on his face. Evie and Sally start dancing together, larking about. It's almost dark now.

Danny comes over. ‘We're off in the morning,' he says.

‘I know. I'll come and wave goodbye.'

‘Will you?'

‘Of course.'

‘Here.' He pushes a piece of paper into my hand.