Page 44 of A Sky Painted Gold

“I see,” Caitlin says. “So I have to steal it if I want to read it.”

“But you wouldn’t do such a thing.” I elbow her lightly in the ribs, noticing again how slight she feels. “Because unlike your horrid brother you have a scrap of decency left in you.”

“I love the way you and Robert bicker,” Caitlin responds, looking at me through half-closed eyes. “Especially when it’s obvious that the two of you are thick as thieves.”

“We are not,” I protest, mortified that I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Hopefully the warm weather will cover it up. “He’s hardly ever here, for one thing, and when he is we’re always finding something to argue about.”

Caitlin nods. “I know, and I think it’s wonderful.”

“Do you?” I ask, confused by her response. “Why?”

“Robert needs someone to argue with.” Caitlin grins. “Someone who doesn’t let him be so stuffy. He never used to be like that, you know … before…”

The word before hangs in the air over us, and Caitlin draws circles in the sand with her finger.

Before means before their father died, I know. The ellipsis that comes after that word is never expanded upon. The subject of their father seems to be off limits for both siblings, and whenever he is mentioned – which is not very often – something big and heavy fills the air. I know very little about his death. Aunt Irene – when she can stoop low enough to stop disapproving of me for five minutes – loves nothing better than to gossip about my new friends, but even she knows little outside of the fact that he died a little less than two years ago at their country house in Derbyshire. What I do know is that their decision to come to Cornwall now is somehow connected to it all, as well as to Caitlin’s health.

“Do you have to go back to the farm today?” Caitlin wheedles, changing the subject. She always calls my house “the farm”, never refers to it as my home. She speaks as though my trips there are visits, leaving something behind rather than returning to it.

“Yes, I do,” I say firmly, putting my notebook aside. “I haven’t been home in almost three days. I need to make sure that Freya hasn’t burnt the house down trying to hold a seance.”

Caitlin giggles. “Did she really do that?”

“Almost.” I smirk. “Fortunately Pa was on hand and he put the flames out before they reached the curtains.”

Caitlin rolls her shoulders. “I’m completely in love with your family,” she murmurs, her eyes closed.

“You haven’t met them,” I mutter, but there’s a pang of something in my chest. Guilt, perhaps? Or homesickness? Surely not. Whenever I do go home I find everything exactly as I left it, which is somehow comforting and frustrating in equal measure.

“But I feel like I know them so well.” Caitlin tips her head thoughtfully to one side. “I love hearing you talk about them. They’re like characters in a story, I can hardly believe they’re real.”

I get to my feet, brushing the sand from my legs and holding out my hand to haul Caitlin up. What she says rings in my ears. It was not so long ago that I felt that way about Robert. I frown. Now, none of them fit neatly into the character moulds I had built for them in my mind. I was a fool to think that they could be pinned down like paper dolls. It’s as silly as thinking the same of Freya or Tom or Alice.

“Tide’s out,” I say, smothering a yawn with the back of my hand. All of this late afternoon sunlight is having a soporific effect. “It’s now or never, but I’ll be back soon.”

“Tomorrow?” Caitlin asks, and her eyes are enormous, pleading.

I laugh. “Yes,” I say, the word singing from between my lips. “Tomorrow.”

I wind my way back to the farm. My limbs are weary – sun-soaked and heavy. I am looking forward to the cool embrace of the farmhouse. When I finally make my way up there, the scene playing out in the front garden stops me in my tracks.

Freya, Tom, and the triplets are having a rather slapdash game of cricket. Or, at least, they are attempting to. What really knocks the air out of my lungs is that there is someone else playing too, someone tall and dark and ordinarily much too sensible to play cricket with a group of rowdy schoolchildren.

“Thank goodness you’re back, Lou,” Tom calls, spotting me. “The triplets are supposed to be fielding but they just keep sitting down. I think they’ve been picking daisies.” The disgust is evident in his voice. “What’s the use in having brothers if they refuse to grow up?” he grumbles.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt out, eyeing Robert in alarm and ignoring my brother. I’ve been doing such a good job of keeping my two worlds completely separate that the sight of Robert here with my family is almost incomprehensible – as if the two can’t exist in the same space and time.

“Well, that’s a nice welcome,” Robert replies, but I think he looks a little sheepish.

“Sorry,” I say, and I’m still floundering, completely thrown. “I was just surprised to see you. I thought you’d gone back to London. Is everything OK?”

“Everything’s fine.” He squints at me. “You’re very red,” he says. “Are you all right?”

“I’m hot,” I snap, and suddenly I’m not quite sure what to do with my hands, so I fold my arms across my chest. “It is about a million degrees today. Hadn’t you noticed?” Although looking at him now, I realize the answer is probably not. He is wearing light trousers and a white shirt. He looks smooth and clean. I, on the other hand, am red, frizzy and covered in ink stains.

“I had to go to the mainland to sign some papers and when I bumped into your father in the village I thought I should introduce myself,” Robert is saying. “We got talking and he invited me to tea.”

I stand for a moment, processing this. Then I hear the familiar rumble of Gerald approaching. Looking over my shoulder, I see Pa come to a stop behind me.