North of Nowhere

by Liz Kessler

  It’s not fair. I’m thinking of going on strike. Or running away.

  Exactly. Thinking of. That’s all I ever do. Think. Dream. Imagine a different life.

  Oh, well. Mother’s calling. Better go.

  See you later,

  D

  I stared at the page — and suddenly I felt worse than a thief. I shouldn’t read more — I knew I shouldn’t pry — but this “D” person sounded just like me! I felt as if I understood her completely. She was the first person I’d ever come across in Porthaven who seemed to speak my language. And the first one who sounded as fed up as I was. Maybe she’d want to share her thoughts with me.

  I turned to the next page.

  Dear Diary,

  First of all, I must apologize for yesterday. I was in such a foul mood. I feel sorry for you sometimes. You get all of my tempers and grumps. I hope you forgive me!

  As it happened, the day turned out wonderfully after all. When I went out to bring in the laundry, I noticed some activity down in the bay. I pulled the clothes down quickly as I could, and I called to Mother. She came to look, and we both agreed it was probably the seals — but neither of us could see what they were getting so excited about.

  I left Mother with the laundry and ran down to the cove, to get a better look. And guess what! Seal pups! Right there in our bay. Oh, they were the sweetest things! A whole crowd of them, maybe twenty or more, with their mothers. All of them splashing around, popping their little heads up and then diving back down, while their mothers chased after them to feed and clean them.

  I love my life so much. I never ever want to live anywhere but Luffsands!

  Lots of love,

  D

  She loved animals as much as I did! She sounded even more like me! I thumbed through the diary and flicked open another random page.

  It’s raining and I’m stuck inside. I can’t go out and look for interesting wildlife, or pick some early snowdrops. I’m bored. Lonely. Fed up. Sometimes I feel that there isn’t a single person in the world who I can talk to, or who understands me. I have friends, of course. But we never really talk about anything that matters, and they don’t really understand my life. They don’t have to depend on the weather and the elements and their parents just to get back and forth.

  It’s not fair. I said as much to Mother the other day, but she replied that I was a lucky girl and should be grateful for the life we have. Father just laughed and shook his head. He wouldn’t want another life even if it came with a million dollars!

  I wish I had a true friend here in our funny little village — and more things to do so I wouldn’t get so bored. Maybe I should write more than just a diary. Perhaps I could pretend that this room is my secret turret in a castle and that these pages are my very own novel. Then I could hide from the world and write night and day, and I wouldn’t mind so much. With this beautiful book, I feel I could write anything.

  That was what I’d just thought — almost word for word! She was exactly like me! Only, she didn’t have a best friend. That was really sad. Maybe I could be her best friend, at least for the week. I didn’t have any friends here!

  I turned to the final entry. It had today’s date on it.

  So here I am, sitting in the boat in Porthaven harbor, waiting for Father again. He always takes SO long. He told me to be back promptly, so I abandoned my friends and came to meet him. Now I’m thinking I could have had another half an hour with them, as I’ve been sitting on my own waiting all that time. I’ll give him a few more minutes and then I’m going to look for him. He said he’d be back right after the auction, but I know what he’s like. He’s probably in the pub with his friends.

  The pub! D’s dad was one of the men from Gran and Grandad’s pub. Maybe we knew him. Maybe I’d even seen her!

  I read on.

  I’m looking forward to tomorrow. Father has promised I can help him at the auction. Not that that kind of thing usually excites me, but the auction at the Sunday market is always a bit different, and my friends will be there with their families too. With any luck, we can all give our parents the slip and have some fun while they do their boring business!

  OK. He should definitely be here by now. I’m going to go and look for him.

  See you later, diary,

  D

  I closed the diary and placed it back in the locker. Suddenly, I was torn between feeling guilty for reading someone else’s private diary and being excited at the thought that I might actually have found someone in this town who I could be friends with.

  “What do you think, Flake? Shall we try to find the mysterious ‘D’? Hey, that’s almost a name! I’m going to call her ‘Dee’ from now on!”

  Flake looked up at me and wagged his tail. I laughed and reached down to give him a hug.

  Whatever I decided to do, I had to go back to the pub first. It was starting to get dark. I must have been out for at least an hour, and Mom and Gran would be wondering where we were.

  Flake and I jumped off the boat and walked back up to the beach. Flake chased seagulls and barked at seaweed while I hurried back toward town, wondering if my new friend might even be waiting for us in the pub.

  “There you are! Get Flake in the back and dry him off, and then you can help us collect some glasses,” Gran said as she offered me a grateful nod and a tight smile.

  I decided that Gran’s welcome was really her way of saying, “Oh, you darling girl, you’ve been gone ages. We really missed you, as we love your company more than anything and hate it when you’re not here,” and I went in the back to do as she said.

  I dried Flake with an old towel that hung on the back door. I was more than happy to help collect glasses, as it gave me a chance to check out everyone in the pub and see if I could find Dee’s dad — and maybe even Dee herself.

  Only, there was no one within about fifty years of my age, and I was pretty sure that none of the men were Dee’s dad, either. For one thing, they all looked too old, and for another — well, they just didn’t look how I imagined her dad to look.

  I spent the next half hour helping to clear tables and wash glasses, and trying not to think too much about how slowly time passed in Porthaven.

  I was just starting to feel in desperate need of an escape when Gran gave me one.

  “Amelia, dear, would you empty the trash, please?” she said. “Put it in the big green garbage can at the end of the path.”

  Normally, taking a bag of trash out would have been fairly near the bottom of any list of things I would be likely to get excited about, beaten only by chewing off my own toes and eating them for dinner. But on this occasion I didn’t mind.

  I pulled on my coat, grabbed the smelly trash bag, and took it outside to the green waste bin.

  Then I glanced down the road toward the harbor.

  Maybe the boat was still there. Perhaps I’d just missed Dee and her dad leaving the pub.

  I could be there and back in less than ten minutes. Gran wouldn’t even notice how long I’d been gone. And if she did, I could always say the bag split and I had to scrabble around picking up all the trash or something.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I was running back to the beach.

  Dee wasn’t there — and neither was the boat. I’d missed them. I’d have to wait till the next day. Grandad had told me about the Sunday market, but we’d never been here when it was on before.

  I consoled myself with the thought that we could probably go along, and with the hope that, by this time tomorrow, Grandad might have turned up and I might have found a new friend.

  Surely something good had to happen at some point this week — didn’t it?

  For once, I was up and dressed before Mom called me. She knocked softly and poked her head around the door.

  “Good grief,” she said, looking at her watch. “Has my watch stopped? Or am I still asleep and dreaming?”

  Yes, ha-ha, Mom. Very funny.

  “It’s a nice day and I thought I’d get up early a
nd walk the dog,” I replied.

  Mom glanced at the window. Rain ran down the glass in long, wiggly streaks.

  “OK, maybe it’s not a nice day. But I thought I’d get up anyway. It’s not a crime, is it?”

  “I suppose, strictly speaking, it wouldn’t be classified as an actual crime,” she said. “But I’m fairly certain it would be listed under Highly Unusual Activity.” Then she smiled and held out her hand. “Come on, Mia, love. Let’s go and get some breakfast before you go out.”

  And because she called me Mia, I decided to forgive her sarcasm.

  I scarfed down my breakfast as fast as politeness and the risk of indigestion would allow, and then I took my plate to the sink and grabbed Flake’s leash from the back door. “Can I take Flake out now?” I asked.

  “That would be lovely,” Gran replied, with another of her tight smiles. Actually, this one was even tighter than the ones she’d managed to squeeze out so far. She still hadn’t heard anything from Grandad.

  It had been two days now.

  I kept telling myself there must be a totally logical explanation for his disappearance. He couldn’t have left her. He wouldn’t have just gone like that. Not without explaining. He wouldn’t leave her, and I knew he wouldn’t leave me.

  I didn’t want to think about it. It made my stomach tighten up and growl painfully when I did, so instead I concentrated as hard as I could on putting Flake’s leash on and grabbing a ball from his box of toys.

  “See you soon,” I called over my shoulder. I shut the door behind me and turned to Flake. “OK, boy, shall we go to the harbor and see if Dee’s boat’s there? We’re going to make a new friend today!”

  Flake flapped his tail excitedly on the ground. You’d really only have to look at Flake or throw a tiny piece of debris across a beach to make his day. Shame it wasn’t so easy for humans.

  I threw the ball a few times for Flake. Each time he brought it back to me, he’d drop the ball, then turn and snuggle into my legs for a cuddle.

  “Flake, you are definitely the best thing about this place,” I whispered into his fur as I squeezed him tightly and kissed his head. Then I put his leash on and crossed to the other side of the harbor, where the fish auction was held.

  But when we arrived at the auction hall, the doors were closed. I tried to push them open, but there was a bar across them with a padlock dangling from it.

  I walked all around the building, looking for another way in. There wasn’t one.

  Around the back, there was a man in a canvas jacket and rain boots, sitting on a wooden container untangling a knotted-up mass of green rope. He looked up as Flake and I appeared in front of him.

  “All right there? Need some help?” he asked.

  “I — um, I was looking for the auction,” I said awkwardly. “I thought it was today.”

  “Auction’s Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

  “But the one that’s part of the Sunday market. Isn’t that here, too?”

  The man shook his head. “Not this week, my dear. Auctioneer’s sick. It’ll be back on next week.”

  I turned to leave. “Oh. Sorry. Thanks.”

  Flake and I tromped back around to the beach. Dee had probably heard that the market was off and hadn’t bothered coming. So much for my new best friend. So much for the wonderful day I was going to have. All I’d managed to do was wake up so early that there was even more day to get through!

  I moped along the beach while Flake picked up every bit of wood he could find and dropped each piece at my feet. I threw them for him, but my heart wasn’t in it anymore. Soon, we were back at the arches. The tide was a bit higher than the last time I’d been down, and there were pools of water under the arch. I rolled up my pant legs over my boots and waded through to the other side. I wasn’t even sure why I was bothering, as the boat obviously wasn’t going to be there. But I couldn’t resist having a look, just in case.

  We came out on the other side of the arches and crossed the spit of sand to the jetty.

  It was there! The boat was there! Dee was in Porthaven after all! But where was she? And if the market wasn’t on, why had they come?

  I looked around, searching for anything that might answer my questions. A soft wind blew across the sand in reply.

  There was only one thing to do: only one way to find out what she was up to and where I might find her. I was going to have to read her diary again.

  I felt bad doing it, and I sneaked aboard the boat feeling more like a burglar than ever, but the mystery was making me even more eager to find her.

  The diary was in the locker. I opened it at the most recent entry. It was today’s date!

  Hooray! We’re going to the Sunday market today! Father gave me extra pocket money. He says I can spend it on whatever I like. I’ve been saving all this month, so I’m hoping that I’ll have enough for the dress I saw last time. I’m going to see if I can meet up with some of the girls from school.

  A whole group of them have arranged to meet. They didn’t actually invite me. I’m used to that. After letting them down so many times because of the tides or the weather doing the wrong thing, I don’t blame them for giving up on me. Hopefully they won’t mind me tagging along, though. And if I can’t find them, there’s always Richard from the year above us who works at the café at the back of the auction house. He smiled at me this week, and I’m sure he would have spoken to me if he hadn’t been with his friends. Maybe he’ll speak to me today.

  I don’t even know if I really like him. I hardly know him! But I’d rather have someone to talk to than wander around on my own all day. I’m desperate to have some fun. I can’t remember the last time I laughed. It’s been a hard month. People are saying it’s the worst February they can recall, with all the bad weather we’ve had. I’ve missed ten days of school because of it.

  I hope it will get better now. And I hope I’ll have a wonderful time at the market. I’m sure I will! See you later, diary. I’ll come back later and tell you all about my day.

  Love,

  D

  I stared at the page, tracing the date with my finger. It was definitely today’s date. And she definitely sounded like she had come to the market. Maybe she hadn’t realized it had been canceled, after all. Which meant she was around somewhere — but where? And if she was here with her friends, would I really have the nerve to butt in and introduce myself?

  I sat on the side of the boat and tried to figure out how I was going to make contact with her, while Flake ferreted around the crab pots.

  And then I had a thought. Probably a very bad thought, but once it had come into my mind I couldn’t get it out.

  There was a black pen hooked onto a thin leather ring on the spine of the book. Without stopping to think about the ins and outs of it too much, I took the pen and opened the book at the first blank page. Then I looked around.

  Should I?

  Before I had time to talk myself out of it, I started writing.

  Hi, Dee.

  I hope you don’t mind me calling you Dee. It feels like more of a name than just “D,” and I don’t know your real name.

  I really hope that you don’t mind me writing in here, but I saw the book and it’s so beautiful that I couldn’t resist taking a look. I haven’t read lots of it — I know it’s private — but I happened to notice a little tiny bit, and you seem like the kind of girl I’d like to be friends with. I’ve got no one to talk to while I’m here at my gran’s, and it sounds like you haven’t got all that many people to talk to either — so I just sort of, kind of, wondered if maybe you’d like to hang out, perhaps?

  If you do want to, you could maybe write me a note in here and we could arrange to meet up? That would be so cool! I’d love to meet up with you. It would be the first time I’ve actually made friends with someone here!

  Anyway, I’ll stop there. Once again, I’m really sorry for writing in your book. I hope you don’t mind. (I happened to notice you said you believed you could write anyth
ing in a book as special as this. I thought exactly the same thing!!!!!!!)

  Well, hope to meet up with you soon.

  Mia

  I read through what I’d written. Was it OK? Was it enough? Was it too much?

  There was nothing I could do about it now, so I closed the diary, shoved it back in the locker, and got up.

  “Come on, Flake. Let’s go and throw some sticks.”

  Flake jumped up as soon as I said his name, and we climbed off the boat and headed back through the archway.

  The second we were back on the beach, Flake stopped in his tracks. Slowly wagging his tail, he stared across the sand. I followed his gaze and spotted someone at the other end of the beach with a little white terrier.

  Flake watched the person throw something for the dog — and that was his cue. He was off.

  “Flake, come back!” I yelled, but he was already halfway across the beach, and a minute later, he and the terrier were running around, chasing each other in big yappy circles.

  I kept calling him, and he kept ignoring me. Finally, I caught up with them. The other dog’s owner was a boy in jeans and a big woolly sweater. He was tall and gangly with a mop of dark hair that flopped over his forehead. He looked a couple of years older than me.

  He glanced up as I approached. “Sorry — my dog seems to have stolen your dog,” he said with an apologetic smile.

  I smiled back and pointed to the stick in Flake’s mouth. He was trotting around in circles, teasing the terrier with his catch. “Yeah, but my dog seems to have stolen your dog’s stick!”

  The boy laughed and we watched the dogs play. The terrier was trying to get the stick from Flake. He was about half Flake’s size and kept jumping up at the stick, yapping constantly.