Isabella: A sort of romance Page 57
"You know what to do," says her mother.
"Yes," says Bella dully. She is too tired to resist; doesn't wish to.
She slips under the rail and stands on the edge of the crumbling plating, looking down. There is a good deal of flotsam, she notices: bits of broken reed, polystyrene packaging, charred scraps of timber, all caught in the dimpled eddies between the piles. Among them are the grossly swollen remains of a cat, black, with white dicky front, white paws, peculiarly bent tail.
Somewhere behind her there's a shout. Bella ignores them, transfixed. Even as she watches, the little body is caught by the current, turns lazily once or twice and begins to float away, borne relentlessly towards the sea.
THE END