‘Mags, what’s wrong? Are you OK?’ Claire placed a hand on her arm. ‘Marcus is still up at our house in his room, but I know he’s alone.’
Maggie came up close to Claire. ‘I’m a bit worried.’
‘But you said yourself she’s always going off, that she can look after herself.’
‘I just bumped into that girl they were with earlier, Marcus’s friend from the village. The one with glasses.’
‘Pip?’
‘Yes, Pip. She said that Rain didn’t come back up from the beach with them. Apparently, she’d gone off earlier. Alone.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Claire said, despite the small prick of concern she felt.
‘If it was three in the morning and I hadn’t heard from her, I wouldn’t be too concerned. She goes out at night with her sensible head on, if you know what I mean.’ Maggie frowned, checking her phone.
‘And she doesn’t have it on during the day?’
‘Not exactly. It’s just that… she seemed a bit odd this morning. A bit distracted. Did you notice?’
‘She’d been up partying all night, don’t forget. She was probably tired.’
‘That’s not what’s bothering me. There’s simply nothing for Rain to go off alone for around here. If there was a shopping mall nearby, I’d say she’d have gone there.’ Maggie gripped Claire’s arm.
‘Maybe she’s gone for a swim or a walk or taken a bus to Newquay?’
‘Rain on a bus? I don’t think so.’
‘Have you not spotted the good-looking lad who runs the surf shop yet?’ Claire said, laughing, but her concern was still growing. ‘She’s probably having a one-to-one demonstration of all the latest boards as we speak.’
Maggie offered a grateful smile and glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll give her until nine, then I’m going out to look.’
Claire swallowed and glanced at the kitchen clock. She hadn’t realised it was seven-thirty already. The mussels had taken ages to prepare. ‘Let’s make it sooner,’ Claire suggested. ‘And I’ll come with you.’ She gave her a gentle squeeze and then excused herself. She went straight up to the Old Stables and headed for Marcus’s room.
‘What?’ he called out when she knocked on his door. She went in. ‘Don’t yell, Mum, I’ll tidy it tomorrow.’ Marcus was lying on his bed texting.
‘When did you last see Rain, love?’ She leant on the door frame.
Marcus shrugged. ‘On the beach this afternoon?’ It was more a question than an answer. Claire noticed his cheeks redden. ‘She left before us.’ His phone buzzed, and he read the message.
‘What time was that?’
‘Dunno. About three. Maybe five-ish.’ He tapped a speedy reply.
‘Marcus, would you give me your attention for a moment? Rain’s not come back to the farm yet and Maggie’s getting worried.’
Marcus laughed. ‘You mean you’re getting worried, Mum.’ He looked down at his phone again, finishing his text. ‘Actually, I think she said she was going off to the shop.’ He narrowed his eyes in thought. ‘Yeah, that was it. She said she wanted an ice cream or something.’
‘An ice cream?’ The room around her suddenly flashed from light to dark. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Think so,’ Marcus said, picking up his phone again when it pinged. ‘What’s the big deal?’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Inside Out
‘We’re going out tomorrow,’ I’m told. ‘Make sure you wear these.’ There’s a plastic bag stuffed with clothes that smell funny. Of other places. Of other people. Before I can even ask where we’ll be going, I’m alone again.
I peek inside the bag and take out a T-shirt with ‘Sale ￡4.99’ written in felt pen on the sticky label. Someone else wrote that. Someone I don’t know has given me their felt-pen writing, which is more exciting than the T-shirt itself. I trace my finger over the pound sign, tracking around both nines. It looks like a girl’s writing – careful and precise with the dot in exactly the right place. She’s underlined the word ‘Sale’ with a squiggly line.
I pull off the label and grind it into the floor with my foot. I spit on it. I hate the shop girl and I hate the T-shirt with its pink pony. It’s babyish and too small but it’s clean and new and means I’m going somewhere. Maybe I won’t come back. Maybe I’ll run away. There’s a pair of pale-green shorts and some new socks too, together with a packet of jellied sweets, a hairbrush, some sanitary towels and a shopping list – even more precious than the shop girl’s writing on the label.
The items in the bag are listed on the paper. There are also things on the list that weren’t for me. My heart skips a beat. The handwriting is large and slopes down to the right… T-shirt, shorts, socks, sweets…
Then stamps, butcher, library, dentist…
I smooth out the paper. If I collect enough little things like this, maybe the inside will eventually become the same as the outside. I fold up the list carefully and put it in my secrets box – a box that used to contain tea bags. I already have a feather, a leaf, some lollipop sticks and the silver ring pull from a can of Coke. It’s already nearly the whole world in there.
* * *
The next day I put on my new clothes like I was told. I feel like a baby. Then the noises and the door is unlocked. I haven’t bothered to hide behind the chair today. We’re going out! It’s the day of all exciting days.
‘Hello,’ I say, dashing up for a hug. But I don’t get one. ‘Do I look nice?’ I stretch out my T-shirt. I would twirl but that would make me sick and then we wouldn’t go out.
‘Very smart.’
‘Can we go to the seaside?’
I get a thoughtful look back. ‘We’ll have to go in the car.’
‘Of course, of course!’ I squeal and jump about, even though I hate the car. The stuff in my tummy nearly comes up, but I hold it down. During the short journey I curl up into a ball on the back seat because I have to pretend to be invisible, like I’m not even alive. The engine growls like a horrid monster, making me shake as we swing around bends and go up and down a hill. Tears escape from my screwed-up eyes and my heart nearly stops from being so scared. When we park a few minutes later, I don’t want to go to the beach any more. I hate it. I hate the sea and I hate outside! I want to go back.
The breeze blows cool on my neck as the car door opens. ‘Come on, get out. It’s a beautiful day.’ I do as I’m told, unfurling my arms from around my head and sticking my feet out of the door. Blue sky is lashed with grey just like when my dad used to do his watercolour paintings. He’d often set up camp on the clifftop with a little folding stool and wooden case of paints that opened out like a magical kaleidoscope of colour. I know I’ll never see those paintings again.
‘I’m cold,’ I say, shivering.
‘Nonsense, the sun is shining.’ A hand pulls me out of the car, then drapes a coat over my head and shoulders as I stumble and stagger. ‘Get a move on.’ There’s no one about as we go along a path to the headland, my feet taking tiny fast steps to keep up. Below us is the most deserted beach in the world, big and wide. The wind makes it hard to breathe.
‘I want to go back.’
‘But I have a surprise,’ I’m told and, before I can protest, we are sitting on some rocks and I’m given a pair of huge black binoculars.
‘You’ll be able to see the whole world with these. Just mind it doesn’t see you back.’
I raise them to my eyes slowly, uncertain I even want to see the whole world. Nothing is in focus and all I can make out is the green-blue chop of the sea. It makes me feel sick again.
‘There’s nothing there,’ I say, disappointed, and the binoculars are snatched away.
‘Try now.’
And then it is like seeing the whole world! One tiny coin-sized piece of it explodes into an entire universe before my eyes.
‘What do you spy?’