As I mindlessly scrolled through my feed another familiar redhead appeared – Louisa’s brother, Josh. He’d uploaded a photo of himself drinking a coffee; below it was the caption ‘Am I doing the fake candid thing right?’
I was curious. Josh never posted photos like that. But a quick search of his profile suggested that he’d recently broken it off with his girlfriend, for up until a week ago every photo was of the two of them. Now it seemed as if she had been all but eliminated from his life.
There was a part of me that was satisfied about the apparent break-up. The night Louisa left for Australia Josh and I got drunk together and he admitted he’d always liked me as more than a friend, but because he was five years my senior and my best friend’s brother he hadn’t wanted to push his feelings on me.
He was already seeing his girlfriend at the time. When I’d brought her up, though, Josh said that their relationship was casual. Convenient. They both needed something to satisfy their physical urges whilst working full-time in a demanding job. I could never imagine being in such an emotionless relationship when in every other respect you were closer to them than anyone else.
But, like I said, I was drunk and I was lonely, and so was Josh. We slept together several times that night and, when we were too exhausted to continue, I cried against his shoulder about Louisa leaving. He’d stroked my hair and told me everything was going to be okay; all I had to do was go to sleep.
In the morning, through the pounding of a hangover-induced migraine, I watched Josh get out of bed and collect his clothes. “I’ll call you during the week,” he’d said, but then he never did.
A week later he set his status on Facebook to ‘in a relationship’, and that was that. It had taken some time for us to get on somewhat easy ground again, knowing that things would never be the same between us. Our common link was gone and, with it, most of our reasons to see each other. I never mentioned what happened between us, and neither did Josh. We were friends, nothing more.
I didn’t know back then if I’d wanted things to change between us. Even now I still didn’t. But friends checked in with each other so, though part of me still felt weird about doing it, I sent Josh a message asking if he was okay. I didn’t mention his girlfriend. I didn’t mention the fact he told me he’d liked me for years, or what had happened between us after that, or that it hurt when he didn’t call.
No, it was a nice, simple message making sure he was in good health, with no indication whatsoever that I wanted things between us to be complicated, because I didn’t.
Very quickly the passenger cabin became full of students who had grown tired of recreating the scene from Titanic where Jack and Rose stand at the bow of the ship. With so many people inside the small compartment the air grew suffocatingly hot. I found it difficult to breathe, resulting in me putting my phone away and deciding to head back outside.
“You're insane if this rocking doesn’t bother you,” David muttered just as I reached the door. He was sitting at a tiny table, nursing his head in his hands. There was a distinctly green tinge to his pale skin. I could only laugh at the comment, though I knew doing so was kind of cruel. David was a born-and-bred city boy with limited experience of boats and ferries. But I wasn’t.
I grew up on them.
When I reached the bow of the ferry my heart began to soar. It was a giddy feeling, to have the floor beneath you shiver and shake as the waves tried their level best to unbalance you. I lived for this. No concrete. No sky-high blocks of flats shielding me from the weather. The wind eagerly whipped my hair across my face, and the sun reflecting off the waves back onto my skin threatened to burn me even in March.
Above me seagulls followed the path of the ferry in wide, lazy circles, cawing and screaming obnoxiously loud. I smiled up at them then breathed in deeply, savouring the tang of seawater overwhelming my senses until I could almost taste it. There were lots of people I knew who hated the smell. They couldn’t stand the brine, the fish, the salt. I couldn't get enough of it.
Then, just as the ferry slowed as it neared the pier on Millport, a large wave sent the vessel veering to the left. Water came crashing over the side, soaking me down to the skin in an instant. I hadn’t been at all prepared; it filled my lungs and blocked my ears and stung my eyes into blindness. I could feel my body shivering against the freezing water, though my brain hadn’t yet caught up with my nerves telling me I was cold.
As my vision went from non-existent to blurry to normal, and my ears popped themselves free of water, I noticed somebody was laughing at me. I recognised the voice immediately, and in turning to look to my right I realised they weren’t laughing at me.
Lir was laughing with me, even though my mouth was still a silent o of shock.
He, too, had been hit by the wave, his arms outstretched as if welcoming the water to crash into him again. His eyes were closed, chin tilted up towards the sun. Even though his hair and clothes were plastered to his skin he didn’t seem to care in the slightest.
He looked completely and utterly mad.
Maybe I am, too, I thought, dizzy with the overwhelming urge to laugh just as Lir was. So I did, savouring the sound of my voice joining his against the roar of the wind and the waves and the ferry’s engine. Lir opened his eyes and locked his gaze on mine, a dazzling smile on his face that was for the two of us and nobody else.
We didn't talk. No, neither of us said a word.
We didn't have to.
Chapter Seven
It was Thursday, and the previous three days of working in Millport and cat-sitting had passed by in a blur. I fell into a routine that seemed to have been specifically created to destroy my brain: struggle to sleep whilst Tom yelled all night; drown my fatigue in coffee; try to look put together and not-at-all-tired; get the ferry to the Research Station; work until I’m dead on my feet and then, finally, get the ferry back and collapse on the couch in my parents’ living room and pretend to watch television.
I hadn’t spoken to Lir once. Georgia had insisted on each of the demonstrators ‘looking after’ the same students they’d been in charge of from the molecular methods lab, which Professor Reynolds thought was a good idea. I didn’t mind – I liked my lab section a lot, after all – but I’d been disappointed nonetheless.
Of course, I could have hung back when work was over to talk with the students and other teachers, but since I had to get the ferry back and Tom was keeping me up all night I was far too tired to even try and socialise. So I made do with watching Lir from afar, though I knew things were different between us compared to when I’d done the same thing back in the molecular lab.
For I knew he was, sometimes, watching me back.
The weather had gotten worse since Monday. It wasn't raining, but the air had cooled to wintry January levels, and the sun was obscured behind what felt like miles of thick, dark clouds. The stretch of coastline the students were gathering rock pool samples from was drained of almost all colour, which seemed appropriate to my current mood.
I huddled into my fluffy jacket deciding that, tomorrow, I’d throw on one of my dad’s trusty anoraks over the top of it for extra warmth and protection from the cutting wind. I tried and failed to stifle a yawn, holding a hand over my mouth when it became clear I could hold it in no longer. God, I needed coffee. And my bed.
The students themselves were largely, woefully unprepared for collecting samples outdoors. They’d been warned to bring appropriate outdoor clothing, of course – they were due to go out on boats tomorrow to collect even more samples – but most of them hadn’t listened. The ones who by and large hailed from the countryside and the coast were fine, which wasn’t surprising. They owned proper waterproof jackets and thick-soled boots that were all function over form, as opposed to the ‘fashionable’, paper-thin anoraks and ankle-high wellington boots many of the city kids were wearing.
They’d probably bought them for a festival or something, immediately throwing them into the back of a cupboard afterwards never to b
e seen again. Until their next festival, of course. That was the only reason Louisa had ever owned wellies.
“Oh my god, Dylan, are you insane?! Get out of there!” one of the girls from Lir’s bench called out, catching my attention. Lir was having a terribly great time, in stark contrast to many of the students currently shivering through the freezing cold afternoon. He had waded into one of the deeper rock pools, peering into the murky water for whatever he was searching for. Lir did not even seem to feel the bite of the water as it seeped up his jeans to his thighs; perhaps he simply didn’t care. I suspected the latter.
“Come on, get out of there,” Max said, waving a hand at his lab partner to urge him out of the rock pool. But Lir ignored him, and turned his gaze to me for half a second with the flash of a grin on his face. I almost thought I’d imagined it, though I had learned enough about him to know that I hadn’t.
He could say more with one wild, wide-eyed look than he ever could with words.
When it became clear that he was going to continue collecting samples as if he were oblivious to the people around him, everyone slowly got back to their own work and left Lir to his madness. I wished I could be as unselfconscious as he was.
It must be so freeing, not caring about what anyone thinks, I mused on my way to the laboratory an hour later, arms stacked high with box upon box of the samples the students had collected. Georgia was supposed to have helped me but, in classic Georgia fashion, she begged me to do it so she could reply to a missed call from her mum. She didn’t see me notice her sneak off to have a cigarette, but I couldn’t be bothered calling her out on it. I had too much on my mind.
I wonder if Lir cares what I think of him?
After storing the samples in the large walk-in refrigerator I checked the time. It was only four; today’s work had ended blessedly early. I was exhausted from my lack of sleep, and a late afternoon nap sounded heavenly, but it felt like I was looking a gift horse in the mouth if I didn’t use this time to try and find Lir and…I didn’t know. ‘Talk’ to him didn’t sound like enough anymore, though in truth we had only spoken once. But I wanted more.
Needed more.
When my phone buzzed I jumped so badly that I slipped on the floor and almost fell over. Cursing aloud, I pulled out the offending device and saw that I had a text from David inviting me to join his group for coffee in the social area. I knew I should accept, not just in the hope that Lir would be around but also because it would be good for me to socialise.
I declined.
“Fucking useless,” I berated myself, choosing the coward’s option of going home early for my longed-for nap. With any luck I’d fall into such a heavy sleep I wouldn’t wake until morning, even with Tom’s yowling.
When David responded telling me to live a little and get drunk with him and his friends I no longer had the energy to feel bad about my decision, so I left his message on ‘read’ and didn’t reply.
When I finally got back to Largs I realised, with a cry of frustration, that I needed more cat food. There was literally none left which meant I couldn’t leave it until tomorrow morning. So I made a beeline for the supermarket, grabbing a couple of spicy chicken pizzas, a carton of orange juice and a bottle of prosecco for definite future use. When I passed the toiletries aisle I remembered I basically had zero mascara left so I quickly chose one Louisa liked that I’d occasionally borrowed.
Then I saw the hair dye. More specifically, turquoise hair dye.
I grazed the side of my neck with my fingertips, pulling a lock of hair over my shoulder to inspect it. Though most of my hair was its natural dark brown colour, the underside was bleached. Months and months ago it was pink – at Louisa’s behest, of course – and there was still more than enough of it left white blonde that the turquoise dye would take to my hair quite well.
Would Lir like it?
I bought the hair dye before I could stop myself, hating how obsessed I’d become but at the same time not caring one bit. So what if I wanted mermaid-coloured hair for the boy who adored the sea? My eyes were green; it would suit me.
“You’ve gone mad, Grace Ferguson,” I said in my mother’s tone of voice, paying for my shopping before gritting my teeth against the wintry air as I left the shop. It seemed to take forever to get back to my house, though in truth it was barely a quarter of an hour since the shop was right by the pier. But by the time I reached the kitchen I was dead on my feet, barely able to keep my eyes open as I put away my shopping and opened a tin of food for Tom.
“Where are you, silly cat?” I called out, banging a fork against his bowl for a few seconds until it became clear Tom wasn’t going to respond. “Don’t you dare hide from me right now.”
After searching the house I discovered that Tom hadn’t returned from his walkabout yet. But I wasn’t worried, not really. Tom spent half his time outdoors; there was more than one occasion from when I still lived with my parents where he had disappeared for an entire day.
“Come back soon, Tom,” I whispered as I wrenched off my freezing clothes and pulled on a giant t-shirt I’d left hanging on the radiator. It was gloriously hot, since I’d had enough sense to put the central heating on a timer to turn on an hour before I returned from Millport.
I barely got out a yawn before I crawled beneath the feather duvet on my bed and closed my eyes, feeling lonely without Tom’s presence but also inordinately happy that he wasn’t around to scream me awake.
I fell asleep thinking of Lir in the rock pool, and the way he’d smiled at me for but the smallest of moments.
In my dreams, that smile stretched on for ever.
Chapter Eight
“…third mugging in a week, Joe.”
“I heard nothing was taken from the victims, so are they really muggings?”
“That’s not confirmed. I think we can both agree, though, that if the attacker wasn’t after anything then these assaults are even more a cause for concern.”
I shivered out a yawn, forcing another gulp of scalding coffee down my throat. Between the torrent of rain outside, the whip-like wind battering the kitchen window and the dreary news on the radio, I felt tempted to call in sick and curl back into bed for the entire day. But I wasn’t the type to lie just because I didn’t feel like doing something, so I searched through the coat cupboard for one of my dad’s trusty anoraks to protect me from the worst of the weather once I stepped foot outside.
Millport wasn’t exactly a cesspool of crime; hearing about not one but three attacks in a week was unusual. But there was more to it than that. The so-called muggings had begun the moment the students from Glasgow had settled into the Marine Research Station, which I’m sure hadn’t escaped any of the teachers’ notice.
“It better not be anyone I know who’s responsible,” I muttered, searching through the pantry for cat food only to remember that Tom was yet to return from his outdoor adventure, so hadn’t eaten the last lot I’d put in his bowl. I wasn’t used to him being gone this long. Then again, I’d spent most of my adult life in Glasgow. Tom could spend his days roaming the streets and I’d never know unless my mum and dad told me. I resolved to call them about it when they returned from holiday.
“And now for the weather report,” Joe-from-the-radio said, interrupting my thoughts. “The occluded front moving over the west coast is expected to bring with it further unsettled weather in the afternoon that will linger until tomorrow morning. The last ferry back to the mainland is expected to leave at two.”
“God damn it!” I slammed my hand down on the kitchen counter-top, causing concentric circles to ripple across the surface of my coffee. Tomorrow morning was the final lab for the students before they spent the afternoon (and evening) drinking, returning to Glasgow no doubt hungover the following day. Which meant today was their proper final day, during which time they’d be working with their samples in the lab until close to six this evening. Georgia had already left for Glasgow, which left only me to help out as a student assistant.
; Meaning I had no choice: I had to stay in Millport at the Research Station tonight.
“It might be fun,” I reasoned, inhaling the rest of my coffee before running upstairs to hurriedly pack an overnight bag. I got on well with the students, and this way I could sleep a little longer in the morning and have more time to get ready before having drinks with them in the afternoon. My heart fluttered at the thought.
Drinks with Lir.
Okay, not drinks with Lir, but he would be there. And he would be there tonight, too. Staying over meant I doubled my chances of being able to talk to him and get to know him better.
If he let me.
If I had the nerve to.
God, I was so pathetic. If Louisa could see me now she’d probably punch me in the face and tell me to man the fuck up. But Louisa wasn’t here, and I had nobody else to push me into making a move. I had to rely on me and me alone.
After throwing more clothes than I could possibly wear in a twenty-four hour period into a bag I added in a pair of curlers, my make-up, toiletries and, perhaps against my better judgement, the box of hair dye I’d bought the other night. My dad would go mental if I used it in the bathroom and dyed the sink, anyway. Better for me to use it elsewhere or not at all.
Shrugging into his forest-green anorak on top of my own fluffy and not-at-all waterproof black jacket, I pulled the hood over my head and braced myself for the storm outside. The wind blew me down the front path the moment I left the safety of the porch, threatening to push me straight into the steel-grey, stormy sea if I wasn’t careful. I had to fight hard against it to reach my neighbour’s house and knock upon his door.
Terry Jones was a decade or two older than my parents, with a bad back and arthritis in his joints. He used to cat-sit for them before the arthritis started getting worse, but I figured one night couldn’t hurt him. And besides, if Tom didn’t show up he wouldn’t have to do anything at all.
The Boy from the Sea Page 5