We cycled north along the coast road and then followed the estuary for miles and miles until we arrived here in this tiny, remote village, a world away from the bustle of Portstrand. Liam signals and I follow him up a steep single-track lane.
‘Where are you taking me?’ I shout up at him.
He steers left into a gravel drive. ‘We’re here!’ he says, freewheeling over to a couple of cars parked on the hill. I follow him, staring at the back of his neck, which is now sunburnt between his hairline and the top of his T-shirt. I have an urge to place something cool against it. He hops off the bike and reaches for mine and props them against a wooden fence.
I look around, catching my breath. ‘OK, still no idea.’
He nods to a break in the bushes. ‘This way,’ he says, moving in front and pulling back the branches so I can pass through. And then I see it: acres of rolling green countryside. The village we just passed is nestled into the hills behind and the church steeple towers in the distance. It’s beyond beautiful. Looking around, I notice that the sloping hills are covered in row after row of perfectly spaced bushes.
‘C’mon,’ he says, heading towards a tiny, white, single-storey house. A hand-painted sign above the door reads Kelly’s Berry Farm.
‘We came in the back. I wanted you to see it from the hill.’ He smiles and takes my hand. ‘Wait till you taste the strawberries – they’re around here.’
‘I prefer raspberries.’
‘You’re for turning, you’ll see.’
We walk into the sparse little shop. With its bare walls and concrete floor it feels deliciously cool. A portly woman in a flowery apron sticks labels on to large punnets loaded with perfectly ripe berries.
‘Scorchin’ out there today,’ the lady says, without looking up.
I’m watching her methodically peel and stick each label when my pocket starts to vibrate. I glance over at Liam, gesturing towards my phone as I reverse out into the warm sunshine. Leaning against a fence, I close my eyes from the strong sun. ‘Dad!’ I say, sliding down it to the dusty ground beneath me.
‘Hey, what’s up?’
‘Did you know Grandma’s going in to hospital for tests?’
‘Yes. It’s nothing to worry about,’ he says calmly. ‘Should have told you. I’ve been so up against it, it completely slipped my mind.’
I stretch my legs out in front. ‘Oh, OK, cool. Actually, Dad, can you talk?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘It’s just … she doesn’t seem herself sometimes. I mean, her old self. D’you know?’
‘In what way?’
‘It’s like she’s nervous around me, like she’s afraid –’
‘C’mon!’ He sounds almost cross, as if I’ve said something crazy.
‘I’m serious, Dad! I’ve been meaning to tell you stuff, like the night I first arrived she was saying things, mad things …’
‘Darling, she’s seventy-six!’
‘But this other time, after she baked me this banana loaf …’ I stop here. I can’t hear his breathing and I wonder if he’s still listening and whether I should go on. I hold the phone away from my ear and check whether I’ve hit mute.
‘Yes?’ he says suddenly. I sense irritation and picture him checking his watch.
‘Also, she treats me like a child. Could you, you know … talk to her? I honestly think it’s because she’s afraid. You know, that we won’t come back. I’ve been thinking about all those Christmases –’
‘OK, honey, that’s enough!’ He sighs. ‘She’s been having digestive issues. That’s all.’ I can hear him say something to someone who’s walked into his office. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘But –’
‘I promise, Em. It’s all fine. I’m going to call her now.’ Neither of us says anything for a minute. ‘How are you getting on anyway?’ he asks, but not in such a way that he wants an answer, at least not a long one. I don’t let this stop me; I’m dying to tell him.
‘Good, actually. I’ve made a friend, well, more of a –’
‘That’s great, sweetheart,’ he cuts in. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go now but you can tell me all about her soon.’
Her? Aghh, it’s maddening how he does this. ‘Sure.’ I harrumph through gritted teeth.
‘Love you, Scout.’
‘Yeah. Love you too, Dad.’
I hang up and blink into the bright sunshine. Liam is standing before me holding an empty punnet. It takes a second for my kaleidoscope eyes to focus. He holds out his hand. ‘Your da?’
I grab it and pull myself up. ‘I was about to tell him about you.’ I dust off my jeans a little too roughly. ‘But he had to go.’
He slinks his arm around my neck and we set off amongst the strawberry beds. ‘Probably just as well,’ he says with a smile and together we take in the lines of the luscious green all around us.
We’ve been picking for twenty minutes now, competing with each other to select the plumpest, most succulent-looking strawberries. Liam is straddling the rows with quick-fire picks; I’ve gone for the hunched over, on the knee rummage, which I think is giving me the edge. He still hasn’t let us eat any, which in this heat is beginning to feel torturous. Our punnet is almost full. ‘OK, nearly there,’ he says eventually.
I dip my hand in. ‘Finally!’
‘Nearly!’ he says, tapping it back. I follow as he grabs the punnet and walks to the end of the row where the grass rises into a bank bathed in full sunshine. ‘OK, lie back,’ he says, smiling. He sits down beside me and gently pushes me back into the soft grass. ‘Go on!’ I do as I’m told. ‘Close your eyes.’
I know what he’s about to say next so I open my mouth slightly.
‘Wider,’ he says, placing a large berry between my lips. The smell hits me first and then I bite into the warm flesh and my mouth fills with its sweet juices. ‘Now, tell me that’s not the best taste in the world.’
I grin up at him. ‘Not bad,’ I say, reaching my hand back in. His shoulder shoves mine and he digs me gently in the ribs until we’re both laughing. Then he leans over and kisses me full on the lips: so soft and easy, like something we do all the time. Then he lies back and we eat together, listening to the chirping birds and the distant roll of the church bells. God, I want him to do that again.
We quickly devour several layers and our mouths and fingertips are stained lipstick red. ‘Everything OK, with your da?’ he asks.
I nod, taking in his new pretty lips as he expertly de-husks another berry and adds it to the pile in his lap. ‘He’s fine. Grandma’s going into hospital for some tests. I was just worried about her.’
‘But she’s OK?’
‘Apparently. She was more concerned about leaving me, you know … overnight?’ Without thinking I look up at him and his eyes examine me carefully, almost tenderly. I wonder whether he’s looked at other girls like this. What’s happening between our eyes is so intense it’s like I’ve somehow made a suggestion I hadn’t intended. I put my arm over mine to shade out the sun, which has climbed even higher in the huge, cloudless sky. I lie back and attempt to bask casually in its heat, but large drops of sweat run around the back of my neck and I’m damp between my legs. I’m terrified there’ll be wet patches on my shorts. I shift position but it’s hard to hide from the unease I’ve managed to create.
‘When does she go in for these tests?’ he asks, searching around amongst the berries.
I’m certain my face is crimson now. ‘Next Friday, until lunchtime Saturday.’
He plucks a strawberry from the basket and looks away. He’s still looking away when he starts to speak. ‘D’you know, I was thinking, even before, you know … whatcha said about your grandma and all, that maybe we could go and see those wallabies?’ He turns to me now. ‘Only if you want?’
My mouth falls silently open. I thought I’d dreamt the bit about his Australian marsupials.
‘The thing is … and I guess this is why I’m only saying it now –’ He stops. ‘We’d ha
ve to go at night.’ He sits up. ‘It’s the boat. I’d have to like, borrow it – without asking. You see, it’s not Da’s, he’s only a skipper, so I’d have to take it when it’s not being used and that’s why Fridays are best, or Tuesdays, but actually, Em …’ he says, taking a long breath and rolling on to his front again, ‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot since the night of Fiona’s party and I’ve been trying to work out how we’d do it, and …’ He takes another deep breath. ‘I’m really sorry that it took your grandma being in hospital to make it possible, but it’s just … the timing could be perfect.’
I can’t look at him now. Even eye contact feels illicit. Just the thought of the shared darkness makes me tremble inside.
‘Emerald, say something, please.’
‘Can you talk me through this plan? Is this even a plan?’
‘Well,’ he says, plucking at the grass with his fingers, ‘I tell my folks I’m staying at Kenny’s – that’s easy. If your grandma’s not around then that part could be easy too. The boat is moored at the marina, but I know the gate code and can get the keys. We could time our arrival just as the sun sets. I’ll check the exact times, but if we leave around half eight that should probably –’
‘Where’s the tricky part?’ I jump in.
‘We can’t be seen arriving or leaving the island.’
‘OK …’
‘And I can’t sail in the dark. So,’ he says, dropping his head into his hands, ‘we’d have to stay there, until it gets light enough to leave again.’
‘Hang on. Stay where?’
‘On the island.’
‘Is there a hotel?’
He finally looks up at me. ‘No. There’s nothing! It’s private land. Just a big old house where the lord fella sometimes lives. There’s no phone signal either. Nothing but wildlife where we’d be going. We’d need to leave again at sunrise, before Gerry gets up.’
‘Who’s Gerry?’
‘The bollix who looks after the place. He’s new,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘As long as the boat is back in good time for Da to do his ten o’clock supply run that morning –’ he stops talking just as I’m beginning to doubt whether it’s possible this trip could get any dodgier. ‘We’ll have to wade in a bit from where we anchor. You can swim?’ he asks, as though this might be the flaw in this whole crazy plan.
‘Of course I can swim. But, hold on … so we’re not even allowed on this island?’
‘Strictly speaking, no. But I know my way around like the back of my hand, every cove and every cave. I can turn off the navigation lights as we get close. If it’s not fully dark we may not even need them. There’s an amazing remote bay on the eastern side and it has a little shore and we can moor there.’
He’s clearly thought about this a lot, which feels like the kind of glorious thing that happens in someone else’s exciting life. I let him go on, but as I watch his mouth move around his Dublin words, in that way I still can’t predict, I start to wonder what would happen if I was to swoop in and land my lips back on his.
‘Em, I can’t tell you how unbelievable it would be to wake up there at sunrise,’ he says. ‘With you.’ He leans back to pull his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. I bite my cheeks so they don’t give me away. ‘I’ll check the forecast now,’ he says, busying himself with his thumbs.
‘Where will we sleep?’ It seems as good a question as any.
He’s distracted by something on his screen. ‘A tent,’ he says and rolls on to his side. ‘Weather looks OK,’ he says, tossing the phone down on the grass. ‘So tell me, are you in?’
I’m too thrilled and panicked to answer. ‘Let me get this straight – you’re suggesting that this Friday, we … as in you and I, the two of us … steal a boat and trespass on to a private island in the dead of night so you can show me some wallabies that are stranded on the wrong side of the world?’
‘Almost,’ he says, staring at me. ‘But you forgot the sunrise,’ he adds.
I suck air into my chest and hold my breath.
‘Are you in?’ he asks, leaning against me now. He takes a strand of my hair and hooks it gently behind my ear.
Oh God! I scrunch up my face and cover it with my hands. I can’t open my eyes.
‘Please tell me that’s a yes?’
There are a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t do this. Still, I peek out from behind my fingers and exhale with a slow but definite nod.
He tosses a berry high into the air, catching it cleanly in his mouth. ‘Yes!’ he shouts, lying back and folding his arms behind his head. ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he roars again at the open skies.
LIAM
Dancing in the moonlight
I’ve been creeping around all week; scheming and skulking, but mostly dreaming. Tonight’s the night and I’ve a head full of lists and a savage longing raging through me, distracting me from even the most simple task. Laura caught me talking to myself in the bathroom yesterday and I had to pretend I was on the phone and now Da’s standing in the corner of my room in a ferocious-looking hump. It’s not easy getting private thinking time in this house.
‘Who’s been on the computer?’ he says, as if being on the computer was an unusual, shocking thing to be doing. ‘There’s all these pages open on the machine below.’
It takes me a minute to cop what he’s on about, but then I remember, it was me. Last night it felt possible to dream alone in the dark as the house slept, Google throwing up results to all sorts of questions I’d never before dared to ask. I dreamt how easy it would be to sit down and talk to him and Mam rationally, and explain that I’ve found a music production course, a proper degree. But now, as he stands there in his stained overalls, holding a piece of half-eaten toast an inch from his lips, I don’t know what madness had come over me.
I look at the clock – it’s only nine minutes past seven and I’m not even working today. ‘Good morning to you too, Da.’
He just scratches himself, blind to the interruption. ‘It’s taking me ages to shut them all down. Who’s been looking at all those …’ he waves his giant hand in the air dismissively, ‘music playing courses anyway?’ he says, before taking a bite and chomping away loudly.
‘You know you can open a new tab?’
‘I know that,’ he says, glaring at me. ‘But who’s planning a move to Galway, or bloody Manchester, is what I want to know?’ He’s clearly been through all the sites. There’s a horror in his voice that makes us both go silent. His face twists with confusion. ‘’Twas hardly your sister?’
For a second I genuinely consider shunting it on to Laura, but even I know this is raving. ‘I was just having a look …’
His arm falls by his side. ‘I’m not sure this family needs a deluded idler right now. D’you?’ he asks, the toast crust hanging loose, like it’s about to drop from his fingers.
‘It was … for Em,’ I stammer. ‘She’s talking about coming over here for college in a few years.’ I add this on as casually as I can.
‘Jaysus,’ he says, not even trying to hide his disgust. ‘You’ve only known the girl a couple of weeks.’
He walks out leaving the door wide open. What was I thinking, expecting a rational conversation with that man?
I’ve checked my list twice now. Everything’s packed neatly under the tarp, exactly like it is on Saturday mornings with Da, but this time instead of supplies from McCabes, the boat is packed with our own smaller cargo. Everything we need: tent, sleeping bags, torches and enough drinks and snacks to see us through the night. I’ve even got extra petrol to top-up the tank after, ’cause Da will deffo cop the drop in the gauge.
Apart from the gentle clack of the sails on the neighbouring boats, the evening is still and silent. My stomach is flipping. I couldn’t eat my sausages earlier; I swear Mam could tell something was up. I don’t remember being this nervous ever, even throughout my exams, or before I read at Grandda’s funeral.
Her shadow emerges from the dark corner by the dinghy supply shop bef
ore she does. Her silhouette is long and thin, like a cartoon. I glance at my phone: 8:29 p.m. On the button! She stops to punch in the code I gave her and I watch as the metal gate opens and she walks down the slipway towards me. All going well we’ll be pulling into the island’s eastern bay in darkness, just like I’d planned.
‘It’s eerie down here,’ she says with a little shiver.
As she stands there looking at me I’m consumed by an urge to kiss her, but I don’t. I stare back. It’s like we’re both thinking: are we really gonna do this?
‘Y’all set?’ I say, reaching for her bag and slinging it into the RIB.
She takes my hand. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
This is about the extent of our words as we follow the estuary out, into the enormous sky. The sea spreads out before us like miles of silvery tinfoil. I’m desperate to tear off into the vast horizon, but I’m careful to keep to the marina limit of four knots. I know better than to attract attention.
The half-sun that’s left is the deepest orange and I’m concentrating hard on reading the water in the waning light. I can see the black shadow of a yacht’s mast in the distance. Da says controlling the boat is like riding a horse. ‘Coax the beast.’ He says it all the time, like it should mean something, but I’ve never been on a horse in my life. I focus instead on what he calls a delicate touch and maintaining that is challenge enough right now. Em is quiet but I’m happy to leave her to her thoughts. The clanks of the pier boats and the squawking gulls are soon behind us and the only sound is the whirr of the engine and the slosh of the RIB cutting up the waves as we go.
I’ll feel better when I’ve got her there in one piece. I’ll talk then.
We start out slow and steady but in this wishy-washy half-light even fifteen knots feels fast. I’m completely focused as I steer our course, making sure we’re riding across each wave, never contouring, just like Da taught me. I look over at Em sitting in front, so beautiful and still. I notice her life jacket is open.
‘Zip it up!’
She shakes her head from behind but does it anyway. I bet all the little fishes in the Irish Sea can hear the thunderous pounding of my heart.
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