Read Online This Northern Sky by Julia Green - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julia Green
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already.’
‘Shut up, Mum!’
It takes me a while to work out why I suddenly feel so cross.
Island girl. Of course. The pretty girl at the lobster house. Will she be coming too?
The morning drags. I don’t dare go anywhere in case they come for me earlier than I expect. Mum and Dad make a picnic and set off on a walk together. ‘Be sure to leave us a note,’ Mum says, ‘with all the details. Where you are going and when you are coming back.’
I watch them go off, side by side, but not holding hands or anything. The sun’s out. Mum’s wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and jeans. Her hair’s loose. She looks younger. I hear her laugh at something Dad says.
I’m watching from the window when the jeep turns up. Piers is driving; Thea opens her door and jumps down from the front passenger seat.
I pull on my boots and grab my bag and open the front door. ‘Coming!’ I call.
Thea pushes the seat down so I can scramble into the back.
And there she is. But no sign of Finn.
Thea introduces us. ‘Isla, Kate.’
‘Hello,’ the girl says. A soft, island accent. Auburn hair, pale, flawless skin, shiny blue-green eyes.
‘Well, we’ve got our perfect day at last,’ Thea says. ‘It’s been awful the last few days, hasn’t it? The worst summer storm I can remember!’ She and Piers chatter away in the front. Isla and I sit quietly in the back. The jeep bumps and jolts and I have to concentrate on not falling against her when the road bends or Piers swerves to avoid a sheep.
I pluck up courage to ask about Finn. ‘Is he ill?’
Thea laughs. ‘No! Sorry. Assumed you would know. We’re meeting Finn at the boat, just to save time. He’s getting everything ready. Like he usually does.’
Isla smiles. Of course, she’d know.
‘What’s the name of the place we’re going?’ I ask.
‘The island’s called Collay. No one lives there now. Only sheep.’
Too late, I remember about leaving a note for Mum.
We have to wade out to get into the boat. Water slops over the top of my boots, so from the start I’ve got soggy feet. Finn holds the rope (the painter , he calls it) with one hand, and with the other, helps each of us to balance as we clamber in. He wades out, pushing the boat and at the last minute he climbs in. The boat wobbles and I squeal. Can’t stop myself.
Piers and Finn take an oar each. They sit on the seat in the middle; Isla goes forward to the front with the buckets and rake, and Thea and I sit in the back. It’s a squash. We seem to be horribly low in the water. Every time the oars lift they send drips of water flicking back over me and Thea.
The sea is like a millpond. Pale blue, and the sky a milky kind of blue too. Birds fly low over the water ahead of us. It’s unbelievably beautiful in the stillness and quiet. The movement is mesmerising; the rhythmic stroke of the oars, the gentle movement over small waves. Already the beach looks a long way behind us. Further out there’s more breeze, but not much, not enough to whip up waves or anything scary. It’s hazy ahead. Gradually the shape of the island comes into view, and Finn and Piers row harder, pulling across the current, to get to the flat beach where we’ll land. No one speaks. It’s as if we are all under some kind of spell.
The pale strip of sand becomes wider as we get nearer, the tide ebbing fast. I trail my hand in the clear sea. I can see the bottom as clearly as looking through glass. Green weed like flowing grass, and thicker brown flat weed: the kelp the seals love, Finn says. Small silvery fish in shoals dart away from my hand. A bright orange starfish moves slowly along the seabed. The water gets shallower: nearly there. Isla gets ready with the rope, and when Finn calls out she slides herself off the boat and wades through the shallows, pulling us in. She knows exactly what to do. I guess she’s done it hundreds of times before.
We all pile out of the boat. Finn and Piers haul it in, up the beach and fasten
‘Shut up, Mum!’
It takes me a while to work out why I suddenly feel so cross.
Island girl. Of course. The pretty girl at the lobster house. Will she be coming too?
The morning drags. I don’t dare go anywhere in case they come for me earlier than I expect. Mum and Dad make a picnic and set off on a walk together. ‘Be sure to leave us a note,’ Mum says, ‘with all the details. Where you are going and when you are coming back.’
I watch them go off, side by side, but not holding hands or anything. The sun’s out. Mum’s wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and jeans. Her hair’s loose. She looks younger. I hear her laugh at something Dad says.
I’m watching from the window when the jeep turns up. Piers is driving; Thea opens her door and jumps down from the front passenger seat.
I pull on my boots and grab my bag and open the front door. ‘Coming!’ I call.
Thea pushes the seat down so I can scramble into the back.
And there she is. But no sign of Finn.
Thea introduces us. ‘Isla, Kate.’
‘Hello,’ the girl says. A soft, island accent. Auburn hair, pale, flawless skin, shiny blue-green eyes.
‘Well, we’ve got our perfect day at last,’ Thea says. ‘It’s been awful the last few days, hasn’t it? The worst summer storm I can remember!’ She and Piers chatter away in the front. Isla and I sit quietly in the back. The jeep bumps and jolts and I have to concentrate on not falling against her when the road bends or Piers swerves to avoid a sheep.
I pluck up courage to ask about Finn. ‘Is he ill?’
Thea laughs. ‘No! Sorry. Assumed you would know. We’re meeting Finn at the boat, just to save time. He’s getting everything ready. Like he usually does.’
Isla smiles. Of course, she’d know.
‘What’s the name of the place we’re going?’ I ask.
‘The island’s called Collay. No one lives there now. Only sheep.’
Too late, I remember about leaving a note for Mum.
We have to wade out to get into the boat. Water slops over the top of my boots, so from the start I’ve got soggy feet. Finn holds the rope (the painter , he calls it) with one hand, and with the other, helps each of us to balance as we clamber in. He wades out, pushing the boat and at the last minute he climbs in. The boat wobbles and I squeal. Can’t stop myself.
Piers and Finn take an oar each. They sit on the seat in the middle; Isla goes forward to the front with the buckets and rake, and Thea and I sit in the back. It’s a squash. We seem to be horribly low in the water. Every time the oars lift they send drips of water flicking back over me and Thea.
The sea is like a millpond. Pale blue, and the sky a milky kind of blue too. Birds fly low over the water ahead of us. It’s unbelievably beautiful in the stillness and quiet. The movement is mesmerising; the rhythmic stroke of the oars, the gentle movement over small waves. Already the beach looks a long way behind us. Further out there’s more breeze, but not much, not enough to whip up waves or anything scary. It’s hazy ahead. Gradually the shape of the island comes into view, and Finn and Piers row harder, pulling across the current, to get to the flat beach where we’ll land. No one speaks. It’s as if we are all under some kind of spell.
The pale strip of sand becomes wider as we get nearer, the tide ebbing fast. I trail my hand in the clear sea. I can see the bottom as clearly as looking through glass. Green weed like flowing grass, and thicker brown flat weed: the kelp the seals love, Finn says. Small silvery fish in shoals dart away from my hand. A bright orange starfish moves slowly along the seabed. The water gets shallower: nearly there. Isla gets ready with the rope, and when Finn calls out she slides herself off the boat and wades through the shallows, pulling us in. She knows exactly what to do. I guess she’s done it hundreds of times before.
We all pile out of the boat. Finn and Piers haul it in, up the beach and fasten
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