This Northern Sky by Julia Green Read Free Book Online

shop and the museum and we’re back at the house. He stops on the grass by the gate. ‘There you go. See you soon.’
    Thea leans over and kisses my cheek. ‘Yes, come again soon, Kate. It’s much more fun with lots of people.’
    ‘Thanks for everything,’ I say. ‘Say thanks to Finn for me too.’
    ‘I will.’ She smiles. ‘I don’t know why he didn’t say goodbye.’
    ‘Because he’s Finn,’ Piers says.
    I watch them drive off. Piers toots the horn and a flock of little brown speckled birds take off from the grass all together, twittering madly.
    I take a deep breath and go inside.

Seven
    ‘Where have you been all this time?’ Mum says, the moment I set foot in the door. ‘We’ve been worried sick.’
    ‘I left you a note.’
    ‘This morning, yes! It is now nearly half past seven in the evening, Kate!’
    ‘Sorry,’ I say. Though I don’t see why I should be. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind me having a nice time.’
    ‘What does that mean?’ Mum looks furious.
    ‘Nothing,’ I say innocently. ‘But you and Dad are doing your own thing . . . I thought you’d be pleased I was too.’
    She calms down a bit, recovers herself. ‘Yes, well, of course I’m pleased you’re meeting people and having fun. I was worried, that’s all.’
    ‘Well, don’t be. There’s no need to worry. Not about me, anyway.’ I go upstairs before she can say anything back, and get my things ready for a shower. Only there’s no hot water.
    I lie on my bed instead, and listen to the sound of the sea through the open skylight. I let my mind go over the day; gather all the fragments together and relive each moment. The messy, comfortable kitchen. Fishing with Finn. Making the fire. Running along the beach with Finn. Finn cooking the silver mackerel. The sweet smell of woodsmoke and charred fish. Everyone talking and laughing and drinking and eating together. The rhythmic sound of waves rolling on to the shore.
    I put my hand in my jeans’ pocket and look more closely at the pebble that Finn gave me. It was wet and shiny before; now it has dried and faded, but it’s still pretty: charcoal grey speckled with silvery sparkly bits. He made me close my eyes, and open my hand. He closed my fingers over the damp pebble, and for a second he held his hand over mine. It felt warm, and comforting.
    Sam’s face swims into my mind . . . I open my eyes abruptly.
    Dad’s calling up the stairs. ‘Kate? We thought we’d go out to the hotel for dinner tonight. Can you be ready in half an hour or so?’
    I go to the top of the stairs. ‘I’ve already eaten,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not hungry.’
    Dad frowns. ‘You sure? What did you have?’
    ‘Barbecue food,’ I say. ‘Fish and sausages and vegetable kebabs. Masses of it. I’m totally full up.’
    ‘OK,’ he says slowly. ‘Well, do you mind if we go out without you, then?’
    ‘?’Course not,’ I say. I don’t say I’m glad. In my heart I’m willing them to try harder, to be fun and nice to each other. Like they used to be.
    I imagine Finn’s family at the Manse, playing games and listening to Piers on the piano and talking intelligently about books and films and music.
    I listen to Mum getting herself ready to go out. That’s a good sign. She’s putting make-up on in the bathroom, chatting away. It will be so much better, just the two of them eating dinner together. Maybe Mum will have wine, and relax, get giggly, lighten up a bit.
    When they’ve gone, I switch the boost on the water heater, so I can have a long, hot bath. I leave a trail of fine silver sand behind me all the way down the stairs, and a bigger heap when I strip off my jeans in the bathroom.
    After my bath, I flick through the pile of leaflets about the island on the living room table. Finn would know all this sort of stuff. It says about Viking raids, and Norse settlers. Gaelic names, and Viking ones. There’s another leaflet about birds.
    I sit in the window seat, with its view of the sea,