Page 40 of Take Me Away

Yep, very satisfying.

‘You weren’t here before,’ I say, turning to Nina, who is trying to pick up a rock the size of a watermelon. ‘I don’t remember seeing you.’

‘No. My mother is from Sea Salt Bay, dad from Truro, but they moved to Hampshire years ago, when I was a baby. But when my gran died they decided to move back. I came with them even though I was sixteen and about to go to college, so I enrolled in Pencarrow Sixth Form.’

This pulls me up short. ‘And you came with them?’

She shrugs. ‘Well, yeah, why not. Beach, surfers.’ She snorts here. ‘It’s nice. I’m not planning on leaving any time soon.’ She gives me a grin. ‘I think even people who leave come back. Look at Tom here: off he went to university and back he came like a boomerang we can’t outrun.’

I turn to look at Tom, who sticks his tongue out, which seems childishly perfect.

‘Isla,’ Nina says, and I turn back to find her staring at me intently.

‘Yeah?’ I pick another small rock up. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘I just hope you know, whatever you went though, whatever the truth, women will always support you.’

I snort a laugh. ‘Yeah? Tell that to social media.’

She shakes her head. ‘Social media is toxic. Don’t let keyboard warriors who’ve never faced anything worse than a bad latte tell you what’s true.’

‘Not going to argue with you there.’ I chuck the rock, another satisfying crunch against my imaginary Marcus Vale target.

For a moment I see his face above me, his breath on my skin, the beading of sweat across his brow. I feel the ghost of the pat of his hand. That pressured spot as light as a kiss at the base of my spine. Good girl.

Then I lob another rock and it vanishes.

I’m reaching for a larger rock, thinking of the joy I’m going to experience smashing that against Marcus’s imaginary face, when Tom calls, ‘Careful with that one!’

Too late. It slips from my grip, landing with sickening impact directly on my right foot. Pain explodes up my leg, bright and immediate.

‘Fuck!’ The word tears from my throat as I crumple. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’

Nina is beside me instantly. ‘Tom!’

I’m gritting my teeth, folded over, sweat breaking out and sticking to my clothes. I might actually be sick in front of everyone. I become aware of running footsteps, then a familiar voice – deep, authoritative, and definitely not supposed to be here.

‘What happened?’ Kit demands, and I manage to glance up at him. He’s still wearing his thick fishing jumper against the wind, the scent of sea and salt clinging to him as he drops down next to where I’m sprawled in the mud.

‘Rock,’ I manage through gritted teeth. ‘Foot.’

Without hesitation, he kneels beside me, carefully removing my glove to check my fingers. ‘Can you move them?’

I flex my fingers. ‘The rock hit my foot, not my hand.’

His eyes meet mine, a flash of something almost like amusement quickly suppressed. ‘Just checking for shock. Which hand would you use to slap me if I said, “I told you so”?’

‘Both,’ I spit.

Kit is already examining my foot, his touch surprisingly gentle as he eases off Maggie’s boot. I bite my lip against another cry.

‘We need to get that elevated and iced,’ he says after careful prodding. ‘Doesn’t feel broken, but it’ll bruise badly.’

‘I can help her back to the cottage,’ Nina offers, kneeling on my other side. ‘Can you stand?’

Kit shakes his head. ‘That’s three quarters of a mile on uneven ground. She can’t put weight on this.’ He turns to me, expression unreadable. ‘I’ll have to carry you.’

‘I can hop,’ I protest.