Soon, you and your dad will have nothing left .’
C HAPTER 13
T he small inlet is empty of our buoys, almost.
Two more orange buoys float against the rocks, trailing cut ropes across the water. I see our initials on them, and the flowers. There’s one buoy floating in the water near us. Dad hauls it in and pulls up the rope. But I can see it’s coming up too quickly. Dad pulls on the rope, hand over hand, not coiling it but spilling it in a tangled mess inside the boat. The lobster pot comes up over the side, a wreck of smashed-up wicker. The door has been wrenched off, and the curved funnel of the trap has been cut apart. It’s useless now.
Dad just stares at the mangled mess in his hands. ‘That’s all of them gone, Kara,’ he says.
I stare out to the orange rib inflatable disappearing into the distance, spumes of white spray flying in its wake.
Mr Andersen is sitting forward, his face a tight frown. ‘What happened here?’
‘Let’s call the police, Dad,’ I say.
Dad shakes his head. ‘No point. There’s no proof is there? It’s his word against mine.’
‘But, Dad . . .’
Dad shoves the remains of the pot on the seat next to me. He forces a smile to his face and turns to Mr Andersen. ‘Let’s go for lunch, shall we?’
He pushes the tiller over hard, the boom swings out and the sail snaps tight. Moana lurches forward.
I sit back and watch the cove recede into the jumble of boulders along the coastline. An empty Coke can bobs in a slick of engine oil. I hate Jake Evans. I hate him for everything he is. My eyes burn hot with tears, and this time I can’t stop them fall.
I glance at Dad, but his eyes are focused out to sea, a deep frown line on his face. He’s sailing Moana roughly through the water. She jars against the waves, each one slamming into us as we roll and pitch.
Felix is staring at his feet, his face a deeper shade of green. Each wave thumps the boat against his back. I try and warn Dad, but it’s too late. Felix lurches forward, vomits, and whacks his head against the deck.
‘Felix!’ yells Mr Andersen.
Dad turns Moana into the wind and lets her sails flap loose.
‘Take the tiller, Kara,’ orders Dad. ‘Keep up into the wind.’
I sit at the stern and watch Mr Andersen wipe Felix’s face with a towel. Dad empties the bait bucket, fills it with seawater and helps clean up Felix too. Felix is a deathly shade of white. His whole body shakes and he looks like he’ll be sick again. Mr Andersen props him up and pulls a water bottle from his bag. Dad fetches the first aid kit from the locker and kneels down to clean a cut on Felix’s face.
‘I think we should head back,’ says Dad.
Mr Andersen rinses the towel in the sea and wrings it out. ‘You’re right.’ He hangs the towel across the seat beside him. ‘Sorry, Felix, Mum was right on this one. I shouldn’t have let you come today.’
Felix leans back against the seat and glares at me. ‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘Let’s go on.’
Mr Andersen crouches next to him. ‘You don’t look great. I think it’s best if we go back.’
Felix takes a swig of water from his bottle. ‘I said I’m fine.’
Mr Andersen looks at Dad and shrugs his shoulders.
‘If you’re sure,’ says Dad. ‘We can stop off at Gull Rock and head back after that.’
Felix nods and fixes his eyes out to sea.
I watch a dark patch of wind-ruffled water sweep towards us. Moana ’s sails flap in the passing gust.
‘The wind’s not so strong now,’ says Dad. ‘We’ll let Moana have full sails.’
I lean forward, in line with Felix, as Dad and Mr Andersen take the reefs out of the sails. ‘You don’t have to go on, you know. You’ve proved your point.’
Felix takes another swig from the water bottle and doesn’t even look at me.
Dad slides around to the back of Moana and gives me a gentle shove. ‘Go up the front, Kara. I thought Felix could have a go at sailing. Would you like that, Felix? It’ll take your mind off
C HAPTER 13
T he small inlet is empty of our buoys, almost.
Two more orange buoys float against the rocks, trailing cut ropes across the water. I see our initials on them, and the flowers. There’s one buoy floating in the water near us. Dad hauls it in and pulls up the rope. But I can see it’s coming up too quickly. Dad pulls on the rope, hand over hand, not coiling it but spilling it in a tangled mess inside the boat. The lobster pot comes up over the side, a wreck of smashed-up wicker. The door has been wrenched off, and the curved funnel of the trap has been cut apart. It’s useless now.
Dad just stares at the mangled mess in his hands. ‘That’s all of them gone, Kara,’ he says.
I stare out to the orange rib inflatable disappearing into the distance, spumes of white spray flying in its wake.
Mr Andersen is sitting forward, his face a tight frown. ‘What happened here?’
‘Let’s call the police, Dad,’ I say.
Dad shakes his head. ‘No point. There’s no proof is there? It’s his word against mine.’
‘But, Dad . . .’
Dad shoves the remains of the pot on the seat next to me. He forces a smile to his face and turns to Mr Andersen. ‘Let’s go for lunch, shall we?’
He pushes the tiller over hard, the boom swings out and the sail snaps tight. Moana lurches forward.
I sit back and watch the cove recede into the jumble of boulders along the coastline. An empty Coke can bobs in a slick of engine oil. I hate Jake Evans. I hate him for everything he is. My eyes burn hot with tears, and this time I can’t stop them fall.
I glance at Dad, but his eyes are focused out to sea, a deep frown line on his face. He’s sailing Moana roughly through the water. She jars against the waves, each one slamming into us as we roll and pitch.
Felix is staring at his feet, his face a deeper shade of green. Each wave thumps the boat against his back. I try and warn Dad, but it’s too late. Felix lurches forward, vomits, and whacks his head against the deck.
‘Felix!’ yells Mr Andersen.
Dad turns Moana into the wind and lets her sails flap loose.
‘Take the tiller, Kara,’ orders Dad. ‘Keep up into the wind.’
I sit at the stern and watch Mr Andersen wipe Felix’s face with a towel. Dad empties the bait bucket, fills it with seawater and helps clean up Felix too. Felix is a deathly shade of white. His whole body shakes and he looks like he’ll be sick again. Mr Andersen props him up and pulls a water bottle from his bag. Dad fetches the first aid kit from the locker and kneels down to clean a cut on Felix’s face.
‘I think we should head back,’ says Dad.
Mr Andersen rinses the towel in the sea and wrings it out. ‘You’re right.’ He hangs the towel across the seat beside him. ‘Sorry, Felix, Mum was right on this one. I shouldn’t have let you come today.’
Felix leans back against the seat and glares at me. ‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘Let’s go on.’
Mr Andersen crouches next to him. ‘You don’t look great. I think it’s best if we go back.’
Felix takes a swig of water from his bottle. ‘I said I’m fine.’
Mr Andersen looks at Dad and shrugs his shoulders.
‘If you’re sure,’ says Dad. ‘We can stop off at Gull Rock and head back after that.’
Felix nods and fixes his eyes out to sea.
I watch a dark patch of wind-ruffled water sweep towards us. Moana ’s sails flap in the passing gust.
‘The wind’s not so strong now,’ says Dad. ‘We’ll let Moana have full sails.’
I lean forward, in line with Felix, as Dad and Mr Andersen take the reefs out of the sails. ‘You don’t have to go on, you know. You’ve proved your point.’
Felix takes another swig from the water bottle and doesn’t even look at me.
Dad slides around to the back of Moana and gives me a gentle shove. ‘Go up the front, Kara. I thought Felix could have a go at sailing. Would you like that, Felix? It’ll take your mind off
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