Chapter 6 #4
As we continue walking, I catch Kit giving me a sidelong glance. ‘Don’t you need a bodyguard or something? Thought all you Hollywood types travelled with security.’
The unexpected comment catches me off guard, and I can’t help but laugh – a genuine one that bubbles up from somewhere I thought had dried up months ago.
‘Not exactly A-list enough for that,’ I say, the tension momentarily broken. ‘Besides, I came here to escape all that.’
‘Escape what?’ Maisie asks, looking up at me with curiosity.
‘Just … crowds,’ I say carefully. ‘Sometimes when people know who you are, they want to take your picture all the time.’
‘That sounds awesome,’ Maisie declares.
‘It’s not,’ Kit and I say in unison, then exchange a startled glance.
For just a moment, there’s a shift in the air – a flicker of the old connection, gone almost before I can register it.
‘It gets … overwhelming,’ I add, looking away, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. ‘That’s why Sea Salt Bay is nice. Nobody cares if I’m wearing the wrong shoes or forgot to brush my hair.’
Kit makes a noncommittal sound, but I notice his gaze lingering on me a beat longer than necessary before he turns back to the path ahead.
‘Do you swim, Isla?’ Maisie asks, looking up at me.
‘A bit. Not very well.’ I grimace, remembering the three times her dad had to pull me up from the waves when I’d gone too deep, and how it’s now possible for him to keep walking ahead, staring into the dark like the memories don’t exist because time erased them.
‘I used to drown, frequently. In fact, your dad saved me once when an enormous wave tried to take me out.’
Maisie’s eyes are saucers in the moonlight. ‘Dad! You saved Isla Quinn’s life and you don’t tell everyone you meet. I’d tell everyone. Even Daisy Reynolds and she is all snooty and thinks she knows better than everyone.’
‘Let’s not tell Daisy Reynolds anything, shall we?’ He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t even flick me a side-eye.
‘I bet you can handle the sea better than me,’ I tell her. Her curls are bouncing and they are so cute.
‘I’m learning butterfly. It’s the hardest one. Dad says I’m good at it, though.’ Maisie is still chattering.
‘She is,’ Kit says, and there’s the slightest warmth in his gruff voice, although I know it’s not aimed at me, rather his daughter. ‘Natural in the water.’
‘Like her dad,’ I say, and then wish very much that I could keep random thoughts inside my head.
Kit glances at me. ‘You remember?’
‘Of course I remember. I’ve been away. I haven’t had a lobotomy.
’ I mean, how could I forget? Kit swimming out to rescue Mr Patel’s ridiculous toy poodle when it fell out of the dinghy.
Kit teaching the nervous local kids to dive off the rocks.
Kit and me, floating on our backs under the stars, fingers loosely linked.
‘Dad’s teaching me to sail too,’ Maisie continues, oblivious to the current of memory flowing between us. ‘But only in the little boat. Not the big one for fishing.’
‘That sounds wonderful,’ I say, meaning it. Of course Kit would raise a water baby. Salt water runs in his veins.
We reach the gate to Salt Cottage. I know they have to go past to get to the house with the fish-shaped door knocker.
‘Well,’ I say. This is awkward.
‘Did you know the lady who lived in this cottage?’ Maisie asks.
‘I did, she was my grandmother.’
‘I’m sorry she died,’ Maisie says with the direct sympathy children are so good at.
‘Thank you. I miss her.’
There’s a pause, pregnant with things unsaid. Kit shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
‘We should go,’ he says finally.
‘It was nice seeing you again,’ I offer, shrugging my shoulders.
He looks at me blankly, and then seems to shake himself together. ‘Right.’
‘Bye, Isla!’ Maisie waves enthusiastically. ‘Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow!’
‘Maybe.’ I smile, not looking at Kit.
I turn down my path, feeling their eyes on my back as I walk past roses that have seen better days. I don’t look back, though every fibre of my being wants to.
It’s only when I’m safely inside Salt Cottage, door locked behind me, that I allow myself to exhale fully into the dark silence.
I pull Maisie’s drawing from my pocket and smooth it carefully on the kitchen table. The fierce dragon-mermaid stares back at me, proud and defiant, while the little stick-figure me stands ready to fight.
If only real life were so simple, so clearly divided into heroes and monsters. If only I knew which one I was supposed to be.
I look around the dark cottage – Maggie’s spice rack still organised by colour, the leak still dripping into the saucepan above the back door. There is so much of Maggie here, like she’s still living in the air that I’m breathing. If I closed my eyes she could be in the kitchen making jam.
She left me this place for a reason, whether that was forgiveness that I let her down, or her way of telling me that she was still looking after me even after she’d gone.
Whatever it was, I’m here. Surrounded by her and memories of a different time. A time when innocence was real and I knew who I was.
So no, I’m not leaving. Not yet. Not until I know what I came here for.