Lucas (11 page)

He was sitting quite close to me. Close enough to talk but not
too
close … and I wondered if he'd done it on purpose. So the smoke wouldn't bother me. Or just because it was the right thing to do.

Deefer ambled over and lay down beside him. Lucas had a casual way of ignoring him without being dismissive. It was if they'd known each other for years and didn't need the constant reassurance of contact.

It was astonishing, really.

I capped the water bottle and stood it in the sand.

Lucas was looking thoughtfully at me. ‘The girl in the white dress,' he said. ‘The one with the cold eyes …?'

‘Angel,' I said. ‘Her name's Angel Dean.'

He nodded. ‘Is she the speed-freak's sister?'

‘Speed-freak? You mean Robbie?'

‘The stone-thrower.'

‘Yes, Angel's his sister.' I was puzzled. ‘What do you know about Robbie?'

‘Robbie's not the one you have to worry about,' he said distantly. ‘Angel's the one.'

As he spoke I felt a strange feeling in the back of my throat, a cold, coppery taste, like old coins. It reminded me of when I was young. Dad used to keep a jar of old pennies on his desk, those big old pennies from years ago, and
for some reason I used to find them irresistible. I was always dipping into the jar and taking them out and sucking them. I don't know why. That's what kids do, I suppose. They put things in their mouths. Dad was always telling me off –
take it out of your mouth, Cait, it's dirty, you don't know where it's been
…

That's what the taste in the back of my throat reminded me of – dirty old pennies.

I swallowed, but the taste remained.

Angel's the one?

I looked at Lucas. ‘What do you mean?'

He didn't answer for a moment. He took a final puff from his cigarette then carefully pinched it out and buried it in the sand. He brushed the sand from his hands and looked up. ‘Is she ill, do you know?'

‘Ill? What do you mean?'

‘Is there anything wrong with her?'

I laughed. ‘Not physically, no. Why?'

He picked up a small stone and tossed it in his hand. ‘I thought I noticed something when she was on the bridge.'

‘What?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Tell me,' I said. ‘Tell me what you saw.'

He lowered his eyes. ‘That's it – nothing. That's what I saw.' He looked up. ‘She didn't have a face.'

I don't think he was trying to frighten me, or impress me, or spook me … I don't think he was trying to do anything except tell me what he'd seen, or what he thought he'd seen. It was a feeling. He'd had a feeling about something, and he'd learned over the years not to ignore his feelings, whether he understood them or not. I've come to think of it since as the same kind of feeling that animals have –
when birds know it's time to migrate, when dogs know a thunderstorm is coming, when ants know it's the right time to fly. They don't know
how
they know these things, and they don't know what they mean. All they know is that when you get the feeling you have to act upon it.

Lucas was just trying to warn me, that's all.

But I think he knew it wouldn't make any difference. The future's already there, it can't be changed.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘I shouldn't have told you that.'

‘Why not?'

‘Some things are best left unsaid. I'm sorry.'

A sadness had darkened his face, a look that reminded me of Dad. It was that unmasked look of sadness, the look of someone who thinks they're alone. I didn't like it – it fit him too well.

‘What about me?' I said. ‘Did I have a face?'

He looked at me. ‘Oh, yes. Yours was angry and miserable. And confused.'

‘Yeah?' I grinned. I don't know why I grinned. What he'd told me about Angel was genuinely scary, scary enough to sadden him to hell and back, and there I was grinning like a fool.

Very mature.

Lucas didn't seem to mind, though. At least he didn't seem so sad any more.

‘So,' I said lightly, ‘what else do you know, Mystery Man? What did I have for breakfast that day?'

‘From where I was, it smelled like cider.'

I stared at him. ‘You're just guessing, aren't you? You probably saw Bill being sick – yeah, that's it. You saw Bill throwing up, you guessed she was drunk and you assumed I must have had a drink as well. That's it, isn't it?'

He smiled. ‘Ah, but how did I know you'd been drinking
cider?'

‘That's what girls drink. It's obvious. Everyone knows that.'

He laughed. It was a soft, easy laugh.

The sadness had gone.

I reached for the water bottle and took another drink. The coppery taste in the back of my throat had gone, too. It was hard to believe it had ever been there.

Lucas put his boots on, then got up and walked over to a sand bank on the other side of the pool. He stepped up and looked out over the beach, his arms crossed loosely behind his back. A light breeze ruffled his hair. The evening was beginning to cool. One or two pale clouds had appeared in the distance, scudding along the skyline like white tumbleweed.

‘This thing about Angel,' I said. ‘What do you think it means?'

‘Probably nothing,' he said, stepping down from the bank. ‘It might be an idea to be careful, that's all. Keep your distance, keep your eyes open.' He crossed over to the tide pool and picked up his bag. ‘You don't like her, do you?'

‘Who – Angel?'

He nodded.

‘I can't stand her,' I said.

‘So it wouldn't be a problem to keep away from her?'

‘Not at all.'

He shouldered his bag. ‘Right,' he said. ‘Well, that's OK.'

I stood up. ‘Are you going?'

‘I have some things to do.'

Deefer was sitting by the pool. He looked at Lucas.
Lucas made a tiny sideways movement with his head and Deefer stood up and padded over to me, wagging his tail as if he hadn't seen me for a week.

‘Hello, stranger,' I said.

He gave me a baleful look.

Lucas said, ‘Well, it was nice meeting you, Cait.'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Yes … thanks.'

With a final nod and a smile he started off along a track I didn't even know existed.

I should have just left it at that. I should have kept my mouth shut and watched him go, but of course I couldn't.

I called out after him. ‘Are you staying long?'

He stopped and looked back at me.

I felt myself blushing. ‘Here on the island, I mean … are you staying …?'

‘I hadn't really thought about it.'

‘Well, if you're still around tomorrow … and if you've nothing else to do … there's always the regatta …'

‘Regatta?'

I smiled. ‘The West Hale Regatta. Fun for all the family. Yachting, raft races, tea and scones … it's all free. Apart from the tea and scones, of course.'

‘It sounds unmissable.'

‘It is!'

‘Well, if I'm still around … and I've nothing else to do …'

‘There's a little cliff above the bay,' I told him. ‘It's got steps cut into the side … we usually watch the boats from there. Me and my dad …' I suddenly realised I was probably making a fool of myself, yammering away like an overexcited child. I took a breath and calmed myself, thinking cool thoughts, thinking cool …

‘So, you know,' I said – cool as hell. ‘If you're around …'

He smiled again. ‘I'll look out for you.'

‘OK.'

He waved and turned down the path, and this time I let him go.

There are all kinds of feelings. There's the feeling you get when you're walking home in the evening sun with your head in the clouds and your feet floating over the ground, and your stomach is fluttering so hard you don't think you can stand it any more. When everything looks bright and clear and everything smells brand new. When the freshness of the air tingles on your skin and it feels like something alive, and you can't stop smiling, and the sand beneath your feet is so soft you want to take off your shoes and spin round and round and round … and you know you look like a fool but you don't care …

There's that.

And there's also the feeling you get when you take a moment to pause, to sit down beside a creek and think about things.

I sat down.

The creek was quiet, just the soft ripple of the water flowing under the bridge and the faint rustle of the wind in the grass. The water looked cool and dark in the evening light. It flowed slowly, rich with peat and sediment carried down from the rise of woodland hills at the heart of the island. Rain, wood, rotting leaves, long-dead animals, minerals, soil … I imagined the elements working their way down from the hills into the creek and finally out into the open sea, where eventually they'd merge with the ocean or evaporate into the clouds, to fall again as rain on some other woodland hills …

And what about me?

What was I?

Well, I was thinking, for one thing. I was thinking about the creek, the hills, the woods, the water … how everything goes round and round and never really changes. How life recycles everything it uses. How the end product of one process becomes the starting point of another, how each generation of living things depends on the chemicals released by the generations that have preceded it …

Yeah, I was thinking about that.

I don't know
why
I was thinking about it. It just seemed to occur to me.

I was also thinking about crabs. I was wondering if they
did
have a memory, as Lucas had suggested. And if they did, what did they remember? Did they remember their childhood, their baby-crabhood? Did they remember themselves as tiny little things scuttling about in the sand trying to avoid being eaten by fish and other crabs and just about anything else that was bigger than them? Did they think about that, scratching their bony heads with their claws? Did they remember yesterday? Or did they just remember ten minutes ago? Five minutes ago?

And I was still wondering what it must be like to be dropped into a pot full of boiling water …

I was thinking about all these things and more, but I wasn't really thinking about them at all. They were just there, floating around in the back of my mind, thinking about themselves.

What I was
really
thinking about, of course, was Lucas.

And as I sat there gazing out over the creek, it dawned on me that I still didn't know anything about him. I knew his name, but that was about it. Even then I didn't know if it was his first or second name. He could be Lucas Grimes, Lucas Higginbotham, John Lucas, Jimmy Lucas … I smiled to myself … he could be a Wayne or a Darren for all I knew.

I didn't know where he came from or what he was doing here or how old he was. I didn't know what he kept in his canvas bag (apart from crabs and a water bottle). I didn't know where he'd gone to school, if he'd gone to school. I didn't know anything about his parents. I didn't know if he had any brothers or sisters. I didn't know what he liked or what he didn't like or what he thought about girls who wore their hair in
plumes
…

But it didn't seem to matter.

It didn't seem to matter at all.

There are all kinds of feelings. There's the feeling you get when you walk into your house and you're feeling so good you don't think anything could possibly get you down, but then your dad pops his head round his study door and says, ‘Simon was looking for you.'

Damn. I'd forgotten all about him.

Six o'clock, he'd said.

‘What's the time now,' I gasped.

Dad shrugged. ‘Seven, seven-thirty.'

‘What?'
I couldn't believe it. I'd been out for over three hours. ‘Has he gone?'

Dad nodded. ‘Left about ten minutes ago. I told him I didn't think you'd be much longer, but he'd already been waiting an hour. Where've you
been?'

I shook my head. ‘Just out for a walk with Deefer … I must have lost track of the time.'

Dad grinned. ‘Perhaps you ought to get a watch?'

‘It's not
funny.'

‘Not for Simon, it isn't.'

I sighed. ‘How was he? Was he angry?'

‘Well, it's hard to tell with Simon, isn't it? He's not the most expressive person I've ever met.'

‘Did he say anything?'

Dad shrugged. ‘Not really …'

‘Did you talk to him?'

‘He didn't come round to talk to me.'

‘You could have
talked
to him, Dad. He's shy. You could have at least made him feel welcome.'

‘I
did
. I made him a cup of tea, asked him how he was … hey, what am
I
apologising for? You're the one who stood him up, not me.'

‘I didn't stand him
up
… it wasn't a date or anything … anyway, I just forgot what the time was—'

He smiled. ‘Like I said, get a watch.'

‘Yeah, yeah …'

I rang Simon later but his mother said he was out. She said he'd gone to visit a friend. Friend? I thought. Some bloody friend.

I felt pretty bad about it, especially at first. I imagined how Simon must have felt as he sat there waiting for me – embarrassed, uncomfortable, self-conscious, humiliated …

If that was me, I thought, I'd have felt like hell.

But the funny thing was, although I felt bad about it, I didn't feel
that
bad about it. I mean, I didn't beat myself up over it or anything.

I went to sleep that night with a smile on my face.

Maybe that was wrong.

I don't know.

There are all kinds of feelings: love, hate, bitterness, joy, sadness, excitement, confusion, fear, anger, desire, guilt, shame, remorse, regret …