Page 124 of Take Me Away

Chapter Twenty-Eight

KIT

The knock comes just as Maisie’s showing Isla how to draw a proper starfish – five points, she insists, not six, that’s just wrong.

I’m watching them from the sofa. Have been for the past hour, just watching. Isla’s got purple jam stains on her fingers still, hair pulled back in a messy knot, and she’s laughing at something Maisie said. Really laughing, not a careful, forced sound that is designed to please or appease. This is real. Raw. Her.

Maisie’s sprawled on her stomach, tongue poking out in concentration as she colours. Every few minutes she looks up at Isla like she’s checking she’s still there.

I know the feeling.

The knock shatters the moment.

I know before I open the door. Know from the heaviness in my limbs as I stand. Know from the way Dad’s shoulders are set when I swing it open. Know from his eyes.

‘They found him, son.’

The world tilts. I grip the doorframe.

‘Where?’

‘Mousehole. Washed up on the rocks near the harbour.’ His voice is steady, but his eyes aren’t. They’re red-rimmed, older than they were three days ago. ‘Coastguard called Nina an hour ago.’

Peter. A body now. Not missing. Not hoped for. Not maybe-he-made-it-to-shore. Gone. Final. Dead because I couldn’t check a fucking fuel line properly.

‘Right.’ The word comes out hollow.

‘Village is gathering at the Ship tonight. Seven o’clock. To sing for him.’ Dad’s hand lands on my shoulder, heavy and sure. The same hand that steadied me when Mum left. When Isla left. When Jess died. Always there. Always solid. ‘You should come.’

I want to say no. Want to hide here with Isla and Maisie and pretend the world outside doesn’t exist. Want to stay in this cottage where I can almost believe everything’s okay.

But I owe Peter more than my cowardice.

‘We’ll be there.’

Dad nods once, squeezes my shoulder, and leaves.

When I turn back, Isla’s standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. She’s wiping her hands on a tea towel, but her eyes are on my face.

She knows.

‘They found him,’ I say.

‘Oh, Kit.’ She crosses to me, arms sliding around my waist, face pressing into my chest. I hold onto her like she’s the only thing keeping me upright. Maybe she is.

‘Dad says the village is gathering. Tonight. At the pub.’

‘Then we’ll go.’ Simple. No hesitation. My chest aches.

‘I don’t know if I can face them, Isla.’

She leans back, looks up at me. ‘Yes, you can. Because Nina needs you there. And the village needs you there. And whether you believe it or not, you need it too. You’re the deputy on that crew and they look up to you.’

‘I was the deputy on that crew.’

‘Kit, don’t. You can’t rush into decisions and choices at the moment.’ Isla’s hand finds my face, thumb brushing the scrape that’s finally starting to heal.

Maisie appears beside us, starfish drawing clutched in her hand. ‘Are we going to sing for Mr Peter?’