Beyond the Horizon

by Bea Paige

  “Morning, sweet child,” she says, the fine lines around her eyes crinkling as she smiles.

  “Morning, Grandma,” I respond, smiling brightly, thankful that I’m not completely alone and that I still have Grandma Silva who I love as much as I loved my parents. She’s all I have left in the world now.

  “Can I expect you back for lunch?” she asks.

  “Absolutely, I won’t be long. I’m just waving off my friends at the harbour. I’ll be back in an hour or so,” I reply, grabbing my rucksack and yanking open the front door.

  “Make sure you tell Jack to drive carefully!” Grandma Silva calls, her laughing voice following me out of the door only to be tugged away in the warm breeze as it slams shut behind me.

  “You’re particularly happy this morning. Have you changed your mind and decided to come with us instead of staying behind on this dump?” Jack remarks, his auburn hair flopping into his pale amber eyes as he grins at me.

  He’s always moaning about our little island. He hates the ocean, doesn’t like cows and sheep and pretty much lives for the day he gets to go to university and finally leaves this place permanently.

  “I happen to like this dump,” I retort, winding my hand though Alice and Georgia’s arm, and winking at him. He rolls his eyes.

  “You’re about the only one, Connie…”

  Alice gives him a playful shove, pushing him forward down the path and back towards his second-hand Fiat. It’s nothing more than a dark green rust-bucket that continually breaks down, but is his pride and joy, nonetheless. There are some bonuses growing up on an island like this, plenty of fields to practice your driving skills. All of us could drive a car by the time we were fifteen, though of course Jack was the first to pass. Alice and Georgia are going to be taking their test the day after tomorrow, which is another reason for their trip, and whilst they’re more than happy to leave the island to do that, I’m not ready just yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. Besides, on the island I don’t really need to be able to drive. I can walk from either end in a couple hours, and I have my bicycle to get me about when I’m feeling too lazy to walk.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us to the mainland?” Georgia wheedles, pulling a face at the enthusiastic shaking of my head. “I feel bad that you’re just coming to wave us off at the harbour.”

  “I’m all good. Promise. Besides, you know I love living here. I don’t crave the big city like you all do.”

  “You’re weird, do you know that?” Jack laughs as he opens the passenger door and flips the seat forward so Georgia and I can climb onto the backseat. Alice always gets to sit up front given she’s the one who gets car sick. Though, honestly, I’ve never seen her throw up. Georgia and I are convinced the pair are secretly in love. Not that it matters to me either way. I’m just glad to get to ride around in a car that moves quicker than the ten miles an hour speed limit my grandma insists on me going during the rare occasions she allows me to drive.

  “Come on then, let’s do this,” Georgia says, slamming the flat of her hand against the back of Jack’s seat.

  “Yes, ladies! Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

  He puts the car into first gear and rams his foot down on the gas. The car jolts forward and we all cheer. I get lost in their excitement, feeling the thrill of good things to come. The last time I felt this kind of… energy was when Grandma Silva came home one afternoon, a few years back, with an acoustic guitar. That’s when I’d first discovered my love for music. I’ve several more guitars now and a couple ukuleles, but that first Blueridge is my favourite and most well-used.

  A quick ten-minute drive later, we arrive at the tiny harbour where the small ferry awaits. Jack pulls into the carpark and we all climb out. There’s no road that links our island to the mainland, and that’s just the way most of us islanders like it. Except of course, Jack, Alice and Georgia.

  “Ugh, not looking forward to the crossing today,” Alice complains, swallowing a sickness pill with a gulp of water as she eyes the ferry and the ocean beyond with wary eyes.

  “You’ll be fine. By the time you feel like you’re going to throw up you’ll be on dry land,” Georgia reassures her.

  “Easy for you to say, but you’re not the one trying to hold down your breakfast the entire journey. Forty minutes may as well be twenty hours.”

  “The sea is flat as a pancake, Ali, how sick are you going to feel, really? Just keep your eye on the horizon, think of all the fun we’re going to have, and try not to puke on my new Converse trainers,” Jack says, wrinkling his nose as he pulls their suitcases from the boot of the car.

  “Sympathetic much,” Alice mutters, her eyebrows pulling together in a frown.

  “Not exactly boyfriend material is he, talking to you like that? He should be offering to hold back your hair and cooing sweet nothings in your ear whilst you empty your stomach into the ocean,” I say with a lowered voice, nudging her with my elbow.

  Alice’s mouth gapes as she gives me a little shove. “How many times do I have to say it, we’re just friends,” she hisses under her breath, checking that Jack hasn’t heard what I said. He hasn’t, or if he has, he doesn’t show it.

  “Yeah, and my name’s Katie Perry and I’m marrying Orlando-fucking-Bloom,” Georgia laughs, glee lighting her hazel eyes.

  “Oh, shut up,” Alice retorts, striding over to Jack and snatching her suitcase from his hand.

  He frowns, making a kind of tutting noise before turning his attention to Georgia and me. “What’s got her goat?” he asks as she strides away, her blonde curls blowing in the breeze.

  “Nothing, she’s just overexcited,” I say quickly, feeling instantly guilty. Georgia and I really should stop winding her up. It’s not fair. “Have fun, Alice!” I call to her retreating back.

  She simply lifts her hand and gives me the middle finger. I pull a face.

  “She’ll get over it,” Georgia says, pulling me in for a hug before grabbing her bag and jogging after Alice.

  “Well, have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I say to Jack, grinning.

  “Sure you don’t wanna come?” he asks me for the billionth time this week.

  “Nah, I’m good. See you in a few days?”

  He gives me a searching look, opens his mouth to say something then clamps it shut and gives me an awkward, lingering hug instead. “I really wish you were coming,” he says gently before pulling back and looking at me strangely. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I respond, laughing off the suddenly tense moment. “Like a hole in the head.”

  “Seriously, Connie…”

  From the deck of the boat, Alice calls to him and whatever he was about to say is lost to the roar of the ferry engine firing up.

  “Well, I’d better go. Don’t get into too much trouble whilst we’re gone…” He pauses, giving me a strange look before continuing. “Oh wait, of course you won’t, because on this island nothing exciting ever fucking happens.”

  “That’s just the way I like it,” I murmur, and as he jogs away from me I can’t help but feel grateful for the predictability that this island affords me.

  Two

  Connie

  Once the ferry has become a tiny spot in the distance, I make my way towards Lola’s Shack, a rustic café run by Lola Hicks, a woman in her early thirties who turned up here one day just over a year ago and never left. The café is no more than a couple of large sheds shoved together, but it sells the best crab sandwiches in all the south coast and whilst I can’t spoil my lunch by buying one, I do need to catch up with Lola and make sure that I’m still starting my new part-time job on Monday.

  “Hey, Connie, have you come for some lunch?” Lola asks me as I push open the door and traverse the half dozen tables already filled with fishermen who are back earlier than usual today.

  “Bad catch?” I ask, Rob, the captain of Rosemary II, a small fishing trawler that’s now rocking gently in the harbour, the sun glinting off her
metal cleat.

  “That’s right, not much out there this morning,” he responds with a wry grin as I pass him by, the fine lines around his eyes and mouth adding to his handsome appearance, not detracting from it. “We’ll be working extra hard tomorrow to make up for it though.”

  “Make sure you save Gran a catch,” I respond, smiling sweetly. She loves fresh fish, and we have it in abundance here on the island. Well, usually. I can’t remember a day when the trawlers haven’t returned with a hold full of fish.

  “Always, for Ma Silva.” He winks to cover his frown, then returns his attention to his crab sandwich and glass of cold beer.

  “It’s already hot today,” I remark as I perch on the one and only barstool watching Lola as she makes up more lunch orders for the waiting patrons. Even with the double doors and windows wide open, it’s just as warm inside the café as it is outside. A light sheen of sweat quickly covers my skin, not helped by the fact that Lola is cooking up her signature clam chowder on the hob, the bright blue flame licking at the sides of the steel pot.

  “Looks like we’re going to push into the mid-eighties over the weekend and into next week. It’s going to get pretty warm in here. You up for that?” Lola asks me, as she sprinkles a pinch of salt into the bubbling pot of chowder.

  “I sure am. I’m saving up for another guitar so I could definitely use the extra cash. Besides, a little bit of heat doesn’t bother me so long as I have the sea to jump into at the end of the day.”

  Lola swipes her dark hair off her forehead, her grey eyes sparkling. “You know, if you want some extra shifts, you could always come and sing here some nights, might liven the place up a little. You have a beautiful voice.”

  I roll my eyes even as my cheeks heat with the compliment. “This place does not need livening up.”

  During the day this might be a café that serves the local fishermen their breakfasts and lunches, but at night it doubles up as a bar. A very rowdy bar, as it happens, and apart from the small pub that is more like a cemetery with all the old timers that sit there night after night, the only form of entertainment for us youngsters.

  “Are you an expert now that you’ve become quite the party animal?” she asks me, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

  “Ha-ha,” I smirk, refusing to be goaded. “Thanks for that hangover by the way.”

  A few weekends ago, I spent my eighteenth birthday drinking a ridiculous amount of vodka and orange juice perched on this very bar stool whilst Alice, Georgia and Jack laughed at my drunkenness. According to them I’m a lightweight, but I’m proud of the fact that I could knockback three double vodkas and oranges. Though I wasn’t so happy about the hangover that lasted the entire next day.

  “Seriously, Connie. You might’ve forgotten that you sang here, but the regulars certainly haven’t…”

  My mouth pops open. “I didn’t, did I? My friends never said anything.” I mean, I’m always singing, but in front of an audience bigger than my gran and my friends… never.

  Lola smirks. “Your friends were more drunk than you were.”

  “Urgh…” I groan, hoping I didn’t make a complete idiot of myself. That night is very hazy indeed.

  “Hey, don’t sweat it. I think half of these old boys fell a little bit more in love with you that night.”

  “Enough with the old comment,” Rob protests, throwing Lola a disgusted look. She just laughs.

  To be fair Rob isn’t old at all. He’s in his early forties and handsome, with dark brown hair and eyes that smile every time he speaks. Most of the other fishermen range from eighteen all the way up to their late seventies. Rumour has it that Lola has slept with quite a few of the men here. But, I refuse to get drawn into idle gossip. So what if she has a healthy sex life? She’s childless, single, and secure in herself and her sexuality. Not to mention a little mysterious. No one really knows where she came from or why she decided to stay here, and honestly no one’s asked. She’s as much a part of this community now as the rest of us. Lola’s a good person and aside from the delicious food, I’m pretty sure that’s also why these fishermen continue to spend their hard-earned cash here in this tiny café. It certainly isn’t for the threadbare tablecloths and rickety furniture that’s seen better days, that’s for sure.

  “Lola’s right, you’ve got a good voice, Connie,” Rob says.

  “See, they love you…” Lola whispers, looking more than a little smug.

  I’m prevented from coming back with a suitable retort by her phone ringing. She snatches it up, and answers immediately, her mouth popping open in shock. After swallowing hard, she mutters something into the mouthpiece before covering it with her hand.

  “You wouldn’t do me a huge favour would you, Connie?” she asks, peering at the clam chowder and the six bowls waiting to be filled. I can’t help but notice how her hands shake as she holds the phone.

  “Sure, sure,” I respond, waving her away as I head behind the counter and deal with the lunches whilst she walks out the back door of the café and takes the phone call.

  Ten minutes later, Lola returns wearing a scowl on her face, her eyes red-rimmed as though she’s been crying.

  “Everything alright?” I ask her.

  “Just an unexpected phone call from an old friend, that’s all. We got cut off. I suspect he’ll call back soon enough.” She plasters on a smile that tells me she’d rather I didn’t pursue my line of questioning. I can take a hint.

  “Sure thing… I’ve taken payment from Rob’s table,” I say, changing the subject as I hand her the money, including a generous tip.

  “Thanks. I can see you’re going to do just fine here,” she remarks, noticing that not only had I served the remaining lunches and dealt with Rob’s bill but also tidied up the dishes he and his crew left behind.

  “No sweat. What time do you want me to start Monday?”

  “6am too early for you? The boats start heading back in about 7am after their morning catch, and breakfast is always busier than lunch most days.”

  “Nope, sounds good to me. I’m an early riser, so it’s really no problem.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Well, I’ll head off. I need to get back home. Gran hates it when I’m late,” I say, sliding out from behind the counter.

  Lola reaches over and hands me a five-pound note. “Your tip,” she explains when I frown at her.

  “Oh, no. I didn’t really do anything,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Take it before I change my mind,’ she retorts, waving the note in front of me.

  “Well, alright then,” I agree, pocketing it.

  As I walk away she calls after me. “Make sure you bring your guitar Monday.”

  “Really?” I ask, twisting on my feet to face her.

  She smiles warmly. “Even if we’re too busy for you to practice in the morning, it’s always quiet in here for an hour or so between breakfast and lunch. Besides, Ma Silva told me that you’re never very far from your guitar and notebook, penning the next big hit. If you become a famous singing sensation then I sure want to be able to say that I helped you to do that. ”

  “Gran is a little over enthusiastic.”

  “Proud more like. Besides, I love music. I want to hear you sing again, sober this time… Please?” she adds when she notices my hesitation.

  I shrug. “Sure, what’s the harm.”

  As I walk away, her phone rings once more and I stop at the corner of the café, peering around the side as she steps out of the kitchen door. She’s talking animatedly, her free hand waving about in the air as she speaks. I’ve never seen Lola look angry, but right now she’s furious.

  “Malakai, it’s been over a goddamn year. Where the hell have you been all this time?” Lola whisper-shouts. “I thought you were dead!”

  Immediately my skin rises in goosebumps and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up just like they did that fateful day my parents left the island. This time, no amount of rubbing at my skin gets rid of them.


  Malakai…

  The name sounds oddly familiar but for the life of me I can’t place why. Shaking off a sick sense of foreboding, I make my way back home, wondering how the day could start off feeling so good only to change so drastically with the mention of one name. Little did I know how much the man behind the name would alter my life so irrevocably.

  Three

  Connie

  Early Sunday morning I head to our private beach with my rucksack flung over my back, my iPod filled with my favourite ballads, and Grandma Silva’s voice ringing in my ears.

  “I’ll have dinner ready for 6pm. Don’t make me come fetch you, young lady. You know I hate stepping onto that beach.”

  That was almost three hours ago, and I’ve already eaten my way through my lunch even though it’s only eleven am. I like food. In fact, that’s probably why my curves have become curvier of late. Only my love of swimming prevents me from being heavier than I would probably be given the amount of food I devour on a daily basis.

  Still, in my opinion, there’s nothing wrong with having a healthy appetite. I’m not into being skinny and lithe. That’s perfectly okay, I could care less about anyone’s weight, but for me, womanly is the look I’m aiming for. Besides, I get to eat what I want without having to feel guilty about it. Food should be enjoyed, not fussed over.

  It’s a win-win in my opinion.

  Pushing up from my spot on the sand, I grab my notebook and pen and wander over to the formation of rocks situated to the left of the beach. As a little girl I would spend my summer days filling my bucket with seawater and capturing the small see-through fish in my net so that I could stare at their tiny little beating hearts as they swum around the bottom of my bucket.