“You really made this?” The awe in her voice makes me feel proud.
The sails curve out as though the wind is pushing against them, and a tiny model of me is gazing out over the steering wheel. I show her how the sails have string so they can be cast up and down, and she continues to coo over it.
“It’s even waterproof,” I tell her.
“You should test it out, Elsie. See if it floats!”
Her cheeks are flushed. She leans across the sink to open the windows and tries to waft air inside.
“I have an idea,” I say, placing the boat on the sideboard. “The wading pool.”
She sucks in a breath and I think she’s going to cry, but then she smiles.
“That’s a great idea,” she says softly. The smile stays on her face, but I notice the tiny tremble in her jaw.
The three of us drag the wading pool into the garden. It hasn’t been used for years, and Dillon is convinced it’s got a hole in it. He gets his bicycle repair kit and puts his head to the rubber, listening for air. Mum unravels the hose and starts filling the pool as Dillon and I take turns blowing air into the valves. It takes ages because Dillon keeps stopping to check for punctures. At least that’s what he says. I keep a close eye on him, hoping that I don’t have to call an ambulance at any point. I don’t know how much longer I can keep his illness a secret.
Eventually, the pool is full of water and not leaking. Somehow it already has grass and dead leaves floating in it. The bottom is creased from its years of scrunched-up storage, but it still looks inviting in this heat.
Mum disappears upstairs and comes back wearing her swimming suit with a pair of white denim shorts. Her skinny legs look silky, like she’s just moisturized them.
“Come on, Els, in you get.”
I roll my trousers up above my knees and climb over the side, then place the boat down carefully and wait for it to settle.
“It works!” she squeals.
Even Dillon is impressed. He suggests that I put a motor on it and see how fast it can go, but I tell him it wouldn’t be a sailboat then.
“It’s tremendous,” Mum says. She kisses me on the cheek, and I see Dillon wrinkling his nose at us, but I’m beaming. I don’t even mind that she’s wearing my lipstick. We watch the boat whirl around the pool for a while, its sails billowing gently in the hot breeze, and then I take it inside to dry it off and keep it safe.
When I get back outside, Mum is lying in the pool, still wearing her shorts. She stretches her arm out and motions for me to join her. Dillon trips me up with his foot, and I fall in face first, just missing her legs. I turn to her, afraid that I’ve hurt her, but she’s laughing.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She lifts her head to the sun. “We should do this more often.”
“Maybe we could go to Fairy Glen one day this week,” I say. “And swim in the waterfall.”
Mum nods and strokes my hair. “We do all right, don’t we?”
Dillon lies down in the shade under the apple tree, pretending to be asleep. When Lara rings the doorbell, he jumps up.
“I’m not here,” he says, running for the stairs, wheezing.
8
FORTROSE IS BUSY NOW THAT IT’S HOLIDAY SEASON. Most visitors stay near Chanonry Point to see the dolphins or play golf, so we head to Rosemarkie beach instead. We keep walking until we find an empty cove that has enough rock pools for the crabs to hide in.
Frankie runs ahead and shouts back to us when he finds a nest of crabs. Lara and I climb over the rocks slowly behind him, Lara afraid of ruining her white espadrilles, and me afraid that if I twist my ankle, I won’t be able to dive.
“Was Dillon hiding from me?” Lara asks as we stand high up on the rocks, looking down at the water as it splashes into the rock pools.
“No,” I say, a bit too quickly.
“I thought I saw him running up the stairs as I came to the door.”
“He was running to the bathroom. Hangover,” I lie. “He went to town last night to celebrate finishing school.” Dillon should be pleased that I’m so good at lying.
Lara scrapes the rock with her foot and it breaks away, covering her shoes in red dust.
She tries to rub the dust from her shoe with her finger, but it smudges and stains. I look around for Frankie so we can talk about something else. Even crabs and shrimps would be better than discussing Dillon.
“Maybe we should go into Inverness on Friday,” Lara suggests.
“Dillon would hate that.”
“No, I meant just you and me.”
“Got no way of getting there,” I say, coming up with a flaw in the plan. I can’t think of anything worse than a crowded bar full of drunk kids from our school.
“Bus,” Lara suggests.
“How would we get home?”
“Um, taxi?”
“Haven’t got any money.” It’s a good excuse, and it’s true.
“I could borrow some money from my mum,” she says, twiddling her earring stud. “I can’t wait to drive. Are you going to have lessons next year?”