by Liz Kessler
“Mitch, stop barking!” the boy said.
“Flake, give Mitch his stick back!” I added.
The dogs ignored both of us.
After a while, Flake seemed to get bored of the game and he dropped the stick, came over to me, and sat at my feet, wagging his tail.
I turned to the boy as I patted Flake. “I guess that’s my cue to go,” I said.
“See you around, then,” he replied, and I turned to leave. “My name’s Peter, by the way,” he called, and I turned back around. “We got here on Friday. We’re on a fishing vacation.”
“A fishing vacation? I didn’t know they did those here.”
I didn’t know they did anything here, actually.
“Apparently, it’s the first one they’ve done,” Peter said.
“Sounds thrilling,” I told him. “Poor you!”
Peter grinned. “No, it’s great. I’m loving it. I caught six mackerel yesterday!”
If it weren’t for the way Peter’s eyes were shining, I’d have sworn he was being sarcastic. Could catching a bunch of fish really make someone smile that much? Could he honestly think that a fishing vacation in the back end of nowhere was great?
“Look — that’s our boat,” he said. He was pointing at a small boat in the harbor with fenders dangling all the way along the sides and a small wheelhouse in the middle. It looked just like Dee’s dad’s boat. For a moment, I actually wondered if it was the same one, but this one had a big outboard motor on it, and the registration number was SZ2965. Dee’s boat was PN something.
The boat was lying slightly tilted in the sand. The harbor was half filled with water, but not enough to get the boat afloat yet.
“We’re just waiting for the tide to come in, and then we’re off,” Peter said. He looked at his watch. “It’s high tide at one twenty-seven today, so we should get afloat by about ten thirty.”
I looked at him. He sounded like the fishermen around here. They were all obsessed with things like the tides. My grandad was the worst. He always had a tide table with him. He even had a clock in the pub that told you how far in or out the tide was, rather than telling you the actual time.
I couldn’t see what there was to get all that excited about, to be honest. I was about to say so when Peter continued on. “They said we could try for sea bass today.”
He looked at me, eyes all shiny and excited. I was probably supposed to say something that showed I was equally excited. I opened my mouth to reply, but couldn’t think of anything. I mean, if he’d said, “They’re opening a new multiplex theater on the edge of town, and some friends and I are planning to see a movie and go bowling,” I would have understood why he looked so pleased. But fishing for sea bass? Really?
“Good luck with it,” I managed eventually. I smiled as warmly as I could. I didn’t want to put him off. He seemed really friendly and nice.
It was weird; he wasn’t like the boys I knew back home. For one thing, none of the boys in my class would have known a mackerel from a sea bass if they’d been slapped across the face with the pair of them. But it was more than that. Whenever I talked to a boy back home — especially one a couple of years older than me, as Peter clearly was — I always clammed up and went all red in the face and felt like a complete and utter klutz. But I didn’t feel like that with Peter. I felt — I don’t know — comfortable, I guess.
Which was probably why I said what I said next.
“I’d love to go out on one of those boats sometime.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to chase after them and shove them back in. First of all, I instantly realized that it must have sounded like I was flirting with him, and I really wasn’t. I mean, he wasn’t bad looking or anything, and like I said, he seemed really nice — but nice in a big brother kind of way. The nice big brother I never had, as opposed to the grumpy, sullen one I did.
And secondly, because I could honestly say that I had never, not once, ever, in my entire life had the tiniest, remotest, incy-winciest desire to go out on the sea in a little fishing boat.
“Cool! Hey, I can ask if you could join us one day if you like?” Peter said with a wide smile.
“Awesome!” my mouth replied, without asking permission from my brain. But then, when I thought about it, why not? What else was there to do? His strange enthusiasm must have been infectious, because I actually had a moment of thinking that maybe it could be fun, in a sickly, wobbly, scary, fish-smelly kind of way.
Flake and Mitch were running around in circles again. “I’d better be getting back, then,” Peter said. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Well, my real name’s Amelia, but my friends call me Mia.”
“Cool! I’d love to have a real name and another one that everyone called me!” He grinned. “I’ll call you Mia, then. Have a good day — and I’ll ask about the fishing trip.”
“Great, yes, do that!” I replied. And even though I could hardly believe it, I actually meant it!
I headed back to the pub, Flake trotting along beside me, his tail wagging happily as he walked — and for the first time since we’d arrived, I understood how he felt.
* * *
Except, that all changed when we got back to the pub.
“Mom? Gran?” I called, and my voice echoed around the kitchen. I hung up Flake’s leash and went through to the lounge.
They were sitting at a table. Gran had her head in her hands; Mom had an arm around her shoulders.
“Gran, what is it? Has something happened?” I asked, rushing over to join them.
Instantly, Gran lifted her head up, pulled back her hair, and sat up a bit straighter. Then she did this weird thing with her face, which I was fairly certain was supposed to be a smile, but looked more like the kind of expression you make when you’re trying to eat something that tastes disgusting, but you don’t want to offend the person who cooked it.
“Nothing’s happened, dear. I’m fine,” she said, reaching out to pat my hand. Then she did the smiling-through-gritted-teeth thing again, and added, “Did you have a nice walk?”
I paused for a moment before replying. It was obvious she wasn’t fine. Why would she never talk to me properly? I could handle it. I wanted to know what had happened to Grandad, too. She wasn’t the only one who was worried.
I wanted to say all these things. I even opened my mouth and felt my heart jump into it as I prepared myself to do so. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, I found myself saying, “Yeah, lovely, thanks. Should I put the teakettle on?”
Mom gave me a grateful smile that just made me even more upset. “That would be lovely, darling.”
So I went into the kitchen to make tea for three. And then we sipped our tea and pretended that everything was absolutely fine.
And for the rest of the day, that’s pretty much all we did. Pretend. Gran pretended to be OK. I pretended not to be bored out of my skull. Mom pretended to be oblivious to all the pretending that was going on. And the minutes ticked by very slowly.
Monday morning, I woke up thinking about the boat and the diary and Dee. Would she have seen my note? Would we get to meet up? Maybe we’d become really good friends and she’d come and visit us back home — and I’d be a bit happier about coming to Porthaven more often.
We’d made breakfast for the three couples who were staying in the guest rooms. Gran was doing dishes. Mom was drying the dishes and chatting about anything she could think of that didn’t involve the enormous elephant in the room that we all kept squeezing past and pretending wasn’t there — i.e., the fact that Grandad still hadn’t shown up or gotten in touch or anything.
It was time to get out of here.
“I’m just taking Flake out for a walk,” I said, unhooking his leash. At the sound of the “w” word, Flake leaped from his bed in a flash, sitting upright and wagging his tail.
“You’re very eager to walk the dog again,” Mom observed.
“What’s wrong with that?” I replied
, perhaps a bit too sharply. Why did I feel guilty? It wasn’t as if I was doing anything wrong — as long as you don’t include the minor fact of boarding a boat that wasn’t mine and reading the personal diary of someone I’d never even met.
Mom laughed. “Nothing at all. It’s nice that you want to be so helpful, isn’t it, Gran?”
Gran looked up from the dishes. She glanced vaguely at me. “Yes, it’s very kind, thank you, dear,” she said in a dull voice. And even though I totally understood that she wasn’t herself because she was so worried about Grandad, and it was mean of me to even think it, I wanted to shake her and shout, “Talk to me! Be honest with me! Tell me how you feel — it won’t kill you!” But there was too much of a gulf between us, full of all the words that we were too scared to say out loud. So I didn’t try to get across it. Instead, I buttoned up my coat and hooked Flake’s leash on to his collar.
“See you later, then,” I said, and we went out into the cold.
The boat was there. I had a little flip of nerves in my stomach as we went down the jetty. Flake leaped on board as though it were our own boat, and I felt another twinge of guilt. But the desire to see if there was a reply to my note outweighed the guilty feeling.
I clambered onto the boat and pulled the back locker open. The diary was there. Before I had time to stop and think about it, I grabbed the book and opened it up.
And then I read eleven words that made my excitement plummet like a heavy anchor dropping to the bottom of the sea.
Who are you, and why are you reading my PRIVATE diary???
I looked around to see if I was being watched. I couldn’t see anyone. I looked back at the page and read the words again. My face burned with shame. Now what?
I paused for a moment, and then I did the only thing I could think of doing.
I grabbed the pen, turned over the page, and started writing.
“One more step. Careful, now. The ground’s quite bumpy. I don’t want you to trip.”
The man shifted the weight of the baby he was carrying in a sling on his chest. Holding on tightly to his wife’s hand, he guided her as she gingerly put her left foot out and took the final step.
Vera laughed. “I hope this is going to be worth it when I open my eyes,” she said.
“It will be,” her husband replied, smiling. “You’ll see.” Then he turned her slightly to the right, and was about to undo the scarf he’d wrapped around her eyes.
Suddenly, he was nervous. What if she didn’t feel the same way as he did about it? What if she couldn’t see its potential? What if this wasn’t the life she wanted for them all?
He hesitated.
“Frank, what is it?” she asked. “Are we there yet?” She could hear the sea lapping gently toward them and then softly receding, sucking the pebbles away with it. It was so close; they must be right at the water’s edge.
At the sound of his wife’s soft, questioning voice, Frank shook himself. He undid the scarf, and then, his voice shaking and low, he said, “Open your eyes.”
Vera blinked a couple of times. The sun was bright, and her eyes had been covered with a scarf for the last twenty minutes.
She looked at the building in front of her. Two stone walls jutted forward, like arms reaching out toward her. In between them, weeds and grass and heaven knows what else was growing wild and free — almost as high as the top of the walls.
Behind the wildness was a blue door, its paint peeling from every panel, with rusty hinges and a stone arch over the top and, above that, a wooden window frame and a pointy roof with a chimney poking up from the side.
“I don’t understand,” she said. She turned to look at her husband. He was digging into his lip with a thumbnail. He always did that when he was nervous.
Vera reached out to him. She took his shaking hand and held it tight. Holding his hand tenderly against her cheek, she leaned forward to kiss their baby girl on her head. Only twenty or thirty steps from where they stood, the sea gently stroked the beach.
“Why are we here?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
Frank hesitated. They had been here so often; they’d talked about it, shared their fantasies of the future. But maybe it wasn’t what she wanted in real life. Maybe it had been just a game.
There was only one way to find out.
“It’s our new home,” he said. He couldn’t look at her. What was he thinking? It was little more than a rundown shed. He was a fool! He was a —
“Really?” Vera was looking at him with shiny, wide eyes. “Really?”
Frank nodded.
And then her arms were around him. She was laughing, kissing him, jumping up and down. “You’ve made me the happiest girl in the world!”
All at once, the breath he felt as though he had been holding since they’d arrived on the island came out in a rush, almost a sob.
He held his wife and his daughter as tightly as he could. Wrapped them up in all the love he had, tied together with his hopes for the future. They were going to build their life here. Here in this tiny village. He’d bought them a home — and she loved it!
Vera closed her eyes and felt the happiness wash over her like a sun-kissed wave. Their life as a family had truly begun.
Monday, February 18
Dear Dee,
First of all, I need to apologize. I really am sorry for reading your private diary. You must think I’m a terrible person. Well, even if you don’t, I do. I’ve never done anything like it before. I’m the girl who doesn’t get into trouble at school because I’m too chicken to do anything really bad. I’m the girl who doesn’t get yelled at at home because I’d rather keep my mouth shut than do anything to cause trouble. Seriously — I’m a good person!
But, I suppose I’m also the girl who can’t resist a mystery, and when I saw your boat, and the book kind of almost fell out of the locker (OK, that’s not strictly true. It didn’t fall out — but I could see it really clearly when the locker door fell open. And that’s how honest I am — I can’t even lie about something like that!!!), well, I was intrigued, I admit it.
Oh, and the only reason I was on the boat in the first place was because my gran’s dog took a liking to the crab pots on the deck, and I had to get on board just to get him back. And I promise that’s true!
So what I’m saying is, basically, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Please?
I’d like to be your friend. I’m here to see my gran, who is going through a major crisis (I won’t bore you with the details, but, trust me, it’s a bad time), and I don’t know anyone in the town except for Gran and my mom. You are literally the first person I’ve come across here who I could be friends with. Well, apart from a boy I met yesterday — but boys are different. You’re the first one who seems just like me and who I think would totally understand me.
Like, the thing about the seals — I would have been SOOOOOOO excited to see that. I LOVE animals. I don’t tell many people that, because, now that I’m almost in high school, it’s not cool anymore. But I can tell you, because I know you’ll understand. I think I’d like to be a vet when I grow up. What about you? (Oh, I’ve just realized — I’ve confessed that I read the part about the seals, too. I’m really sorry — again!)
Anyway, if you don’t want to be friends, then just write another note like the last one (which was pretty scary, by the way!) and I’ll leave you alone. But if you do want to be friends, then write to me in here.
I’ll keep my fingers crossed.
Your friend (I hope),
Mia
Tuesday, February 19, 7:00 a.m.
Dear Mia,
I’d like to just get something clear before we go any further. This IS my private diary, and I DO think you were wrong for reading it. I’m not sure that I totally forgive you for that yet, but perhaps I will let it go. For now.
I can’t even believe I’ve just said that. My mother once glanced at a page of it, and I didn’t speak to her for TWO WHOLE DAYS! That’s how seriously I take it.
/> But from your note to me, well, I think that perhaps I feel differently about you reading it from how I felt when Mother did. I think what I’m saying is that I agree with you — you do sound a bit like me. You love animals, you say things the same way I do. And OK, in my heart of hearts, I admit it — if I’d seen the diary, I think I might have let my curiosity get the better of me, too.
Which DOESN’T mean that it’s OK. OK?
It just means I understand.
And yes, you’re right about the other thing, as well. The friends thing. Have you got a best friend? I have two good friends — Angela and Lydia — but I can’t honestly call either of them my best friend. They both live on the mainland, and that means they get to meet up a lot more often with each other than with me, so I end up being left out a lot.
I live in Luffsands (which you probably know already, depending on exactly how much of my diary you read!).
It’s the island that’s about two miles north of the mainland. You can see it from Porthaven on a clear day. You can’t see the village, as it’s on the opposite side of the island. The rest of the island is mainly woods and beaches. There are a few houses dotted around, but ours is the only village.
It’s a bit similar to Porthaven, only even smaller. We have a grocery store, a tiny pub, a harbor, and about seventy houses. Most of the people who live here are fishing families. The only problem is, none of them include anyone my age. There are a couple of younger children. The Moss family has four-year-old twins, Molly and Jason. They live in a house right down near the beach, which they painted bright pink earlier this year because Molly wanted them to!
There are a couple of families with babies, and a few with older children, but the children moved off the island as soon as they were old enough. And as for girls my age — not a one! So it’s pretty lonely.
Which is the ONLY reason why I have forgiven you for reading my diary!
Anyway, write back. I’m not coming across to the mainland for school this week, because it’s spring break, but I’ll sneak my diary onto the boat so my father can bring it over to you without even knowing!
