Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
DOUGLAS
Even on days I’m not fishing, I wake up early. Can’t help it—my body is in the habit. That’s why, while other folk might enjoy a lazy Saturday morning, I have the twins fed, dressed, and out the door by eight.
We head down to the waterfront, Rosie carrying the book she checked out from the library yesterday.
It’s a fine morning, cool but bright, with a light wind coming off the water.
The harbour is quiet: boats rocking at their moorings, gulls picking over something on the quayside, the familiar soundtrack of creaking ropes and the gentle knock of hulls.
Ellie is already there, sitting on the low stone wall with her camera bag beside her and a canvas tote bag on her lap. She spots us coming and raises a hand.
“Last one to Ellie is a rotten egg!” Logan shouts, running before he’s even finished speaking, his wellies slapping against the concrete.
Rosie squeals and bolts after him, complaining about his head start and the fact she’s carrying a book. She still gains on him, though, and reaches Ellie only a moment after he does. This doesn’t stop Logan from throwing his arms in the air like a champion.
Ellie laughs, and then the twins are both talking to her at once. She smiles as they bombard her with excited chatter.
I walk over to join them, thinking to myself that today is going to be a little different from our usual Saturday walk. We don’t normally have adult company. But the twins invited Ellie, and I could hardly say no.
But you know what? It might be nice not to be outnumbered by two pint-sized troublemakers for once.
“Morning!” Ellie calls as I approach.
“Morning.”
She slides off the wall and hoists the tote bag onto her shoulder. She’s in walking boots, a pair of baggy jeans, and a green waterproof jacket that looks like it’s seen a few years of use. Her hair is in its usual ponytail, loose strands already catching the breeze.
“Look what I brought!” Rosie proudly holds up the rock-pooling book.
“Oh, well remembered,” Ellie says. “I bet that’s going to come in handy.”
“Aye, but be careful with it, okay?” I pat Rosie’s head. “Don’t go dropping it in the water.” In a stage whisper I add, “I hear that kind of thing can get you banned from the library for life.”
Rosie glances at Ellie for confirmation. “Not for life,” Ellie says. “But there might be a stern look involved.”
Rosie giggles, then Logan points at the tote bag. “What’s in there?”
“Logan!” I rest a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not polite to ask what’s in a lady’s bag.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Ellie assures Logan. “In here I’ve got apples, cartons of juice, a flask of tea, and some biscuits. I thought we might get hungry.”
“Amazing!” Logan beams at her. “What kind of biscuits?”
“Well, I brought a few different kinds because I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
Logan’s grin grows even wider.
I don’t normally take food with us on our Saturday walks. It’s usually just out the door, along the coast, and back again. It’s nice of Ellie to have brought something along.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say.
“I know. But I always bring food on outings. Force of habit.”
“I’ll carry it.”
“It’s fine, I’ve got it.”
“Nah, I’m not letting you lug a bag of snacks and a camera up the path while I walk empty-handed.”
Ellie considers this, shrugs, then passes the tote bag over.
The kids know the route well, so they set off ahead of us, Ellie and I following after.
“I’m not always out of bed this early on a Saturday,” Ellie admits. “You do this every week? That’s impressive.”
“If you’d spent a Saturday morning stuck in the house with the twins, you’d understand. It’s easier to get them out and about and let them burn off some energy. At home, they’d just cause chaos.”
“They’re definitely not short on energy,” Ellie agrees. “Thanks for the prawns, by the way. I had to watch a video on how to prepare them, but they were lovely. I did them with a bit of butter and lemon.”
I shake my head. “You had to look up how to cook a prawn?”
“Yes?”
“Ellie, you’ve lived in a fishing town your whole life.”
“You’re speaking to the person who ran aground on the Sgeirean Glas, remember? I just . . . I don’t normally buy food that still has eyes. But it wasn’t so bad! It was actually pretty easy to prepare them, and they really were tasty. Even Mum agreed, and she had her doubts at first.”
“Aye, well, I caught them fresh. A lot better than something you’d get from a supermarket.”
We follow the coastal path north from the harbour, the pavement giving way to a rough track that winds above the shore. The twins run ahead, as they always do, their voices carrying back on the wind in bursts.
“Don’t go too far ahead!” I call. They ignore me, as is standard.
The path narrows as it curves around the headland, then drops towards a sheltered cove I’ve been bringing the twins to since they could walk.
The beach is more rock than sand, hemmed in by low cliffs on either side, and at low tide—like now—the rock pools stretch out like a patchwork, shining in the morning light.
Logan is first onto the rocks, Rosie following more carefully, her book tucked under one arm.
“Remember to watch your step on the dark patches,” I call. “They’re slippery.” They know this, but I say it anyway.
Ellie and I pick our way onto the rocks after them. She moves cautiously, testing each step, and soon crouches beside a pool.
“Oh, look at this one.” The pool is shallow and clear, and I can see the dark shapes of periwinkles clustered on the rock and the slow sway of a beadlet anemone.
Rosie hurries back to see what Ellie has spotted. “Oh, look, Da! It’s an anem . . . anem . . .”
“Anemone?” Ellie provides.
“That’s it! Let me see if I can find it in this book.” Rosie flicks through the pages.
“There’s an index at the back,” Ellie says. “Want me to show you how to look it up?”
“Okay.”
Soon they’ve found the right page and Rosie is reading out facts, like how they can be red, green, or brown. “That one’s red,” she adds. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a green one. Have you, Da?”
“Aye. Why don’t we see if we can spot a green one today?”
“Good idea! Logan,” she bawls, “we’re looking for green anem . . . anemones!”
We move along the rocks, searching. Every few steps Ellie crouches to photograph something: barnacles on the rock, a cluster of mussels, wet stone catching the light. She’s absorbed in it, adjusting angles, waiting for the right moment before pressing the shutter.
“Ellie! Ellie, look!” Rosie says after a while, beckoning her over to a pool near the base of the cliff.
“Did you find a green one?” Ellie asks.
“No, it’s a starfish.”
Ellie picks her way across and crouches beside Rosie. I follow, even though Rosie’s burst of excitement was directed solely at Ellie. It is indeed a starfish. A common one, orange-brown, about the size of Rosie’s hand, clinging to a rock just below the waterline.
Rosie uses the index the way Ellie showed her, finds the right page, then holds the book up, comparing the picture to the real thing. Ellie brings the camera up and takes several shots of it.
“Can you take one of me?” Rosie asks.
Ellie glances at me for permission. I nod, so she takes a picture of Rosie holding the book open next to the pool.
“Hey, me too!” Logan arrives at speed, nearly slipping on a patch of seaweed. He pulls a face—tongue out, eyes crossed.
“Very handsome,” Ellie says, and takes the picture. “One more. A nice one this time.”
“That was a nice one.”
“Logan,” I say.
He grins and puts his arm around Rosie. They both smile, red hair bright against the dark rock, and Ellie takes several shots.
The next hour passes easily. The twins explore every pool within reach. Rosie consults her book every few minutes, reading facts aloud to anyone who’ll listen. Logan finds a shore crab under a rock, picks it up with impressive confidence, then yelps when it nips his finger.
“It pinched me!”
“It’s a crab, mate. That’s what they do.”
He examines his finger, decides he’ll survive, and immediately tries to pick the crab up again. This time he’s clever enough to hold it behind the claws, and he presents it to Ellie like a trophy.
“Very brave,” she says.
“Want to hold it?”
“I’m all right, thanks.”
Logan shrugs then turns to Rosie. “Rosie, look!”
“Get that away from me!”
“It won’t hurt you.”
“Logan!”
He chases her across the rocks, crab held aloft, Rosie shrieking. Ellie lets out a little laugh and takes a sneaky photo of the scene. I chuckle too, letting it run for a few seconds before stepping in.
“Logan, put the crab back.”
“But—”
“Now.”
He sighs and returns the crab to where he found it with surprising gentleness. Rosie, from a safe distance, sticks her tongue out at him.
We find a flat stretch of rock to sit on, and Ellie unpacks the tote bag: flask of tea, cartons of orange juice, a packet of chocolate digestives, and a packet of custard creams.
The twins descend on the biscuits like seagulls on a chip, Logan finishing one before he’s even sat down. Ellie unscrews the flask and pours tea into paper cups, then hands one to me.
“Careful, it’s hot.”
I take a sip. “Perfect.”
We sit for a few moments, enjoying the food and drink and staring out at the silver-blue water. Then Logan says, “Tell us a story.”
Ellie blinks. “Who? Me?”
Logan nods. “Remember you read us stories at the festival last summer? In that giant tent with all the cushions?”
“That’s right!” Rosie chimes in. “You did!”
“I’m surprised you remember that,” Ellie says, but she looks quietly pleased. “The thing is, though, I was reading from a book then and I didn’t bring any books with me today. Unless you want me to read from Rosie’s rock-pooling book?”
Logan shakes his head. “No, a story. You sit about in the library all day. Surely you know some stories?”
Ellie bites her lip to keep from laughing. “You’re right, I do sit about in the library all day. All right then, how about a story about a selkie?”
“What’s that?” Logan cocks his head.