‘You don’t need that flip-flop any more,’ he says. We both look at my single flip-flop, which is dangling on my foot.
‘I suppose I don’t.’ I take it off.
‘Why don’t you get rid of it?’ Leo takes it out of my hands, leans back and throws it towards the sea. It windmills high over the rocks and lands on the branch of a pine tree.
I look at him, surprised. ‘Hey, you just threw my flip-flop off a cliff!’
‘Sorry.’ He looks alarmed.
‘I don’t care,’ I say, laughing, ‘but isn’t it against some Swedish nature law? A racoon might get its nose caught in it … or a white-tailed eagle.’
‘It won’t bother anyone up there.’
‘What about an owl? An owl could get its wing tangled in the thong.’
‘One day you can come back, and it will still be there.’
‘With an owl skeleton attached to it.’
‘The only owls we really get here are eagle owls. They’re very big. Its wing couldn’t fit in the thong.’
‘A baby owl skeleton might be attached to it.’
‘Seriously, it’s fine,’ he says, ‘but if an island ecology ranger turns up – they won’t, they don’t exist – then I’ll take the blame and go to prison. Come on,’ he says, turning round. ‘Let’s eat. I’m hungry.’
Back at the kayak, Leo does something very surprising. He opens one of his waterproof bags, pulls out an embroidered tablecloth and sets up a picnic. I didn’t even think about food today, but obviously Leo has. He opens Tupperware boxes and arranges two plastic plates and cups on the cloth.
‘There,’ he says, sitting back. ‘I think that’s everything.’
‘What about flowers?’
‘Flowers?’
‘I’m joking. It looks great, really.’ And it does. It looks so great I’m almost embarrassed.
‘This is what Mum brings when we have a picnic.’ He frowns and stares at the slices of cheese, ham and bread and the tub of boiled potatoes. He’s even made sour cream and dill sauce and has brought a tiny tub of pickled juniper berries. Honestly? I’m not that keen on cold potatoes and rubbery Swedish cheese – I’m more of a McDonald’s girl – but this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen a hench boy do. ‘Cranberry juice?’ he asks.
Even cuter!
After we’ve had our picnic, which is lovely, but could really do with a Twix or brownie to round it off, we lie back on the warm rock. ‘Are you entering Tuff Troll?’ I ask, staring at the sky.
‘Yes. I’ve entered for the past few years, but never won it.’
‘Maybe you will this year.’
‘Maybe,’ he says, then neither of us speaks. A bird circles over our heads. ‘This year I’m entering with my friend Peter.’ Again, we fall quiet. Leo studies the bird and I imagine what Peter looks like. Fingers crossed for a slightly taller, blonder, funnier version of Leo.
‘OK,’ Leo says, interrupting my naughty thoughts. ‘We’re going to swim to that headland.’ He points across the bay to a bit of land that sticks out like a finger. ‘Can you do that?’
‘Yeah, probably,’ I say. Oh my God. It’s miles and I ate so many potatoes.
‘Right. Let’s go.’ Leo stands up, pulls his T-shirt over his head, kicks off his Converse and strides towards the sea. ‘Come on,’ he says, over his shoulder. He stops at the water’s edge when he realises that I’m still sitting on the rock, staring at him. ‘What’s the matter?’
I blink. ‘Nothing. Just … not sure what stroke to do.’ And checking out your muscles! Wow. Congrats on the good shoulders, Leo. They’ve just pushed you to a seven.
‘Any stroke,’ he says, then he nimbly jumps off the rock, wades out a few metres, dives into the sea, surfaces and breaks into a powerful front crawl, taking him to an impressive seven point five.
By contrast, I spend a few minutes taking off my clothes (behind a tree), crawl backwards down the rock on my hands and knees because it’s covered in slippery weed, slip on the slippery weed, scream, shoot into the cold water and scream again (because I’ve trodden in something squidgy – hopefully slippery weed).
Leo has stopped swimming and is treading water, watching the show. I stand in the sea, splashing my arms and chest, saying, ‘Oh … ow … oh … cold!’ Leo’s baffled face forces me into the freezing Baltic. I allow myself one final scream. Then, taking care to keep my nicely made-up face out of the water, I breaststroke towards him. Leo switches to breaststroke too and we swim side by side towards the rock.
‘I thought you hated sport,’ Leo says.
‘I do. PE is my worst lesson at school.’
‘You’ve got a good stroke.’
‘Oh, I used to do loads of swimming.’ I think back to all the Saturdays I spent at the swimming club at our local pool, and the badges I made Mum sew all over my bag.
‘So, let’s race,’ he says, then he starts doing front crawl and shoots ahead of me. No fair: he had a head start! Before I know what I’m doing, my face is down in the water and I’m swimming as fast as I possibly can. I keep my head steady and let my hips roll, just like my coach taught me. Soon my fingertips are level with Leo’s feet. My chest feels like it might burst, but I get my breathing under control and push myself on, faster and faster.
But I can’t catch him, and soon he moves ahead of me. I don’t give up. It’s been a long time since I swam fast, felt my body slip through the water and my heart race. As adrenalin floods my body, I remember how I loved Saturday mornings, the smell of chlorine and the pool, empty and still. I reach the bottom of the cliff a few seconds after Leo and cling on to a rock, gasping for breath, the sky spinning.
‘Right,’ says Leo, his voice perfectly steady. ‘Now we climb.’
I look up. It’s a small cliff, but essentially, it’s a cliff. ‘No way,’ I pant. ‘Too high.’
Leo shrugs. ‘I just wanted to show you something. It doesn’t matter.’
After a bit more panting, I say, ‘What do you want to show me? I bet it’s a view or a fern or something.’
‘It’s a Starbucks,’ he says, straight-faced.
I stare at him for a moment then I look up. There are a lot of footholds and it isn’t that high. ‘Alright. I’ll do it. But only because you made a joke.’
‘You go first. I’ll spot you.’
‘Spot me?’
‘I watch you from below and tell you where the grips are. If you fall, I’ll make sure you do it safely.’
No way am I climbing a cliff in this bikini with Leo ‘spotting me’. I bought it a size too small because it was the only one left in the sale. Let’s just say the bottoms have a tendency to wedge. ‘You go first,’ I say. ‘If I fall, I’ll land in the sea. I’ll get wet but I’ll be fine.’
‘But I can help you climb.’
‘You go first.’
And, of course, Leo is up the cliff in seconds, like a mountain goat. I take it slowly, like a lazy, fifteen-year-old girl called Kat who has already pushed her body to the edge once today. Leo leans over the top giving me encouragement. ‘Can you move your hand a few centimetres to the left? Well done! How about stretching yourself for this rock?’
‘How about you shut up?’ I yell. Sweat is pouring off me and my arm muscles are burning, but somehow I manage to haul myself up and over the final few feet of rock. I flop face down on dry scratchy grass, acutely aware of a wedge sensation but feeling too weak to do much about it. Never mind. He’s seen it all before. ‘Where’s Starbucks?’ I mutter. ‘I need a Caramel Frappuccino.’
‘No Starbucks,’ he says. I force my head up. ‘Just this.’ He is standing on the other side of the platform staring over the edge.
Arms and legs wobbling, I get to my feet and join him. Together we peer down a wall of rock into a circular pool. The water is turquoise and sparkling.
‘That looks so tempting,’ I say. The sun is burning my shoulders and I’m sweaty from climbing. ‘I’d like to just jump in.’
‘Like this?’ he asks. Then,
with a huge leap, he launches himself off the cliff, flies through the air and lands in the centre of the pool. He disappears, then shoots to the surface with a massive ‘Whoop!’
‘Great,’ I call down to him, legs still shaking from the climb. ‘Now I’m stuck up here on my own!’
‘You have to jump,’ he says, pushing his hair back, ‘… or climb back down the way you came, but I wouldn’t do that. It’s dangerous.’
‘It’s too high for me. Seriously, Leo, I’m scared.’ And I am. And annoyed. I can’t tell if my pounding heart is from fear, the swim or anger that he’s abandoned me up here.
‘Don’t be scared.’
‘There might be rocks. Dad’s always telling me never to jump into water unless I know how deep it is.’
‘It’s safe. I know these waters really well, but I’ll check again.’ Leo dives down. I can see him swimming a circuit of the pool. ‘Definitely safe,’ he says, when he comes up. ‘You have nothing to be scared of.’
I stand on the edge of the rock, my toes dangling above the drop. I feel sick, and miles and miles away from Mum and Dad. ‘Jump into the middle,’ Leo shouts. I take a step back. He’s at the side, looking up at me and treading water. He smiles. He should smile more often. It’s a good smile. Definitely worth another half point.
I remember when I used to be fearless, when we spent our summer holidays by lakes in Sweden, and Britta and I would be in the water every day, diving, doing handstands and perfecting our synchronised swimming shows. ‘Trust me.’ This time Leo doesn’t shout, but his voice still reaches me. He watches me with his dark eyes. I take a deep breath, then another, and then I shut my eyes and I jump. I fall through the sky, my arms and legs windmilling, my mind spinning, and I hit the water hard and plunge into deep, deep, cold water.
I kick towards the light and then Leo grabs my shoulders and he pulls me to the surface, and I’m gasping for air and laughing. We face each other in the pool. The only people on the island. I realise we’re holding hands. ‘I did it,’ I say, amazed.
We tread water and Leo squeezes my fingers. Suddenly, I’m aware of everything: the drops of water hanging on Leo’s hair, the ripples in the water, my thudding heart. ‘I knew you would,’ he says.
And that’s when Leo jumps eight and hits nine.
*
Hours later, we head back to Stråla, taking even longer than we did this morning. It’s getting late. Stråla’s rocks glow orange in the evening light and the only sound is the splashing of our paddles. My hair is salty, my nails are chipped and I’m covered in sand and suntan lotion. Every muscle in my body aches. I feel amazing.
After I dive-bombed into the pool, Leo and I spent the rest of the day exploring the island. We swam in caves, jumped off rocks and climbed trees. I put my tracksuit bottoms on for that. They were prickly trees.
We ate everything Leo brought with him – dill-flavoured crisps, water warm from the sun and way too many Kex bars. As I was packing my stuff into the kayak, Leo disappeared for a few minutes. When he got back, he was carrying my flip-flop. ‘The one in the rock is definitely stuck, but I managed to get this out of the tree,’ he said. ‘I kept thinking about that baby owl.’
As we paddle, I talk about home. I tell him about how my family are all fitness freaks. ‘You’d like them,’ I say. ‘They’re into races. When I was little, I was always having to race my sister – to the end of the road, up to bed, to the swings – and I always, always lost. I spent years chasing after Britta’s bouncy ponytail. One day, I thought, what’s the point? And I just stopped running.’
We pass the rock where Nanna said you can get phone reception. It is a long way from the beach, but after today, I think I can do it, and I have so much to tell my friends. ‘What’s that?’ I ask Leo, pointing at a bird that has just popped out of the sea. So far, he’s named every bird, flower and bit of moss I’ve pointed at.
‘Sorry?’ he says. He was a million miles away. ‘Goldeneye, maybe.’ That’s it. Nothing about where it migrates to, what type of fish it prefers, why it’s got such bulgy eyes. Maybe he’s tired. It seems like the closer we get to Stråla, the quieter he gets. We paddle the last ten minutes in silence.
Back at the cabin, he holds the kayak against the jetty while I climb out. Smoke is drifting out of the sauna’s chimney and I can hear Frida singing. ‘Thank you for taking me to Vilda,’ I say. Leo nods seriously and I stand there tapping my bare foot on the rotten wood. I have to say something else. ‘It was fun,’ I blurt out.
Shading his eyes against the sun, Leo looks up at me. I start to blush. ‘I’d better go,’ he says. ‘Get this back to Otto.’ He turns the kayak round.
‘Oh, OK.’
When he’s halfway across the bay, he stops and looks back. ‘See you around?’ he says.
I wave then walk towards the cabin. It was fun. It wasn’t fun. Today I discovered a new kind of happy. I smile and hug my arms to my body. Frida sticks her head out of the sauna. ‘Good day?’ she asks. I nod. ‘Do you want to come in?’ Her cheeks are rosy pink, flushed from the heat.
‘No thanks. I’m going to crash for a while.’
Back in the cabin, I take my letter to Bea and Betty off the table and tear it into strips, then I throw them in the recycling bin. Six point five … what was I thinking? Tomorrow I’m going to swim out to Reception Rock and tell Bea and Betty all about Leo. I can’t wait.
NINE
I’m sitting on a beach Sellotaping my phone to my head. Like a seal … or a mermaid (cuter), I’m going to swim out to that rock, turn on my phone and get four massive bars of reception, followed by a tsunami of texts. Who knows, maybe I’ll even check out some celebrity hairstyles and see if the Topshop sale has started! God, I love the internet.
I just wish that rock didn’t look so dangerously far away.
It’s taken me a while to perfect my Sellotape phone harness. I shake my head vigorously. Still too wobbly. I bite off another strip of tape and wrap it round my head. Nearly there.
This morning I hung out with Nanna. She taught me chess and I taught her airhead slang. Oh, and I may have mentioned Leo’s name a few times. She said that spending the day with him must have been ‘totes amazingballs’.
I shake my head again. Not a single wobble. Even so, I wind one final piece of tape round my phone and hair, shuddering to think of all the split ends this must be giving me. I do a few warm-up stretches to delay getting in the sea. Could that rock be getting further away? I need some motivation. As I stretch out my hamstrings, I imagine Reception Rock is a charity shop, and Kate Moss has just dropped off four bin bags. Inside the bags is stuff she’s never even cut the labels off. The charity-shop lady hasn’t got a clue and prices each bag at a pound. I have to get to that fantasy-charity-shop-really-a-rock now!
Pumped up with thoughts of Dior and Galliano, I march into the sea, wade out to my waist, then start a strong (yet cautious) breaststroke. I keep my head stuck high out of the water. After five minutes of swimming, I turn round to check out how far I’ve come. Not bad. And I didn’t scream once getting in. Maybe Stråla’s toughening me up, or maybe I only scream when someone’s watching.
I swim on, my head stuck out of the water like a periscope. Soon my arms start to ache, but I don’t slow down. Fendi, I think … text from Betty … Chanel … Facebook … Instagram … photo of Bea’s sister doing something weird … you can do it, Kat!
By the time I touch Reception Rock, my legs feel like spaghetti. It’s hard climbing out of the sea because the rock is so slippery and the only way I can get up is by lying on my stomach and wriggling forward like a seal (definitely not like a mermaid).
When I finally haul myself out, I lie still for a few seconds, getting my breath back and enjoying the sensation of the warm rock on my body. Then I notice the rock is covered in crusty bird poo and I am so up. The rock is a metre wide, so I find a tiny poo-free space and sit in it, legs crossed. Carefully, I ease my phone out of the tape, take a deep breath and then turn it on
.
I stare at the screen.
Nothing.
Not one single bar of reception! I groan. Reception Rock? Rubbish Swedish poo rock! Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with tiredness from my swim and my chest aches with disappointment. I’m such an idiot. Why did I believe this would work? ‘Stupid phone!’ I shout. ‘You are useless and I’m going to chuck you in the sea!’ And I nearly do, but then I remember it’s an iPhone and it has an awesome case that looks like a bottle of Chanel nail varnish. It’s the only present Britta has ever given me that I like. ‘Today is your lucky day,’ I say, giving it a shake.
Then, while I’m scowling at the screen, a single, beautiful, magical bar of perfect reception flickers on to the screen and my phone goes crazy with vibrating and pinging as message after message appears. ‘Beautiful thing,’ I say, kissing the screen. ‘I’m sorry I said all those mean things to you.’ Then, before I read anything, I send a message to Bea, Betty and Pearl just in case the reception goes: Remember me? It’s Kat, your lovely friend. I just swam about half a mile so I could send this to you! xxx Kat
Almost immediately, I get one back from Pearl: What do you want? A medal?
Ignoring her, I send another message to all of them. I have met Leo. Is he a Scandi God? Send me a letter and I will tell you! X
Pearl: Don’t bother.
Even Pearl’s massive negativity can’t ruin the friend-frenzy I’m on. I spend ten blissful minutes going through all the messages I’ve missed. From Bea, I discover that she’s doing a Tango Boot Camp with her boyfriend, Ollie, and that Betty has started wearing a pastel blue furry moustache. Betty doesn’t mention the tache, but she does tell me that Bea had an argument with Ollie after he tangoed with a ‘slussy wearing white see-through jeggings’. Then Bea tells me tango ‘was a bit complicated’ so her and Ollie are sticking to jive.
Pearl’s actually sent the most messages. Usually, they are rants about girls in our year and it’s hard to keep up with who are her besties and who’s a ‘skank’. For example: In chemist’s with Tiann and she robbed an eyeshadow. Thought of you pinching smoothie!!! Ha. Gotta love Tiann cause She’s MENTAL!! X Pearl. Then, forty minutes later she sent: Tiann and me had fight in Greggs. She wouldn’t get me a sausage roll and I know she had £5. Cow. We got thrown out so HA TIANN DIDN’T GET HER DOUGHNUT HA HA HA!!! I hate her mean ass. A few hours later, Pearl sends: Tiann and me just rang Levi pretending to be YOU and asked him to meet up by the swings at the rec for ‘fun‘n’giggles’. He said ‘no thanks’ HA HA HA!!!!
SUN KISSED Page 6
