Shine, page 15
Then a cloud dangles low and you look up at the sky, your eyes half closed against the soft wetness falling loosely from above.
Remember when Father used to take us to the beach? He waited until it was deserted, until all the holiday-makers had left, and then he would fetch us. And then we could dance and run and play on the sand to our heart’s content.
You march to the far end of the promenade, with that old weather-beaten sign. Remember how Mother used to point it out to us, read it aloud in her most serious voice, remind us time and again. Warning: Do not go far into the water.
And how we laughed and teased, daring each other to go in, pushing one another towards the surf’s froth.
You laugh out loud and stretch your arms wide as if you would embrace the entire width of the horizon.
And then you look straight at me.
Oh no, Kat. You mustn’t.
I try to look away, try to break your gaze, but you wouldn’t let me. You hold me with your eyes as you step quickly into the wet sand, hurrying, hurrying . . . striding into the water, deeper and deeper, the water washing gently around you.
No, Kat. Don’t do it.
But you hold me tight with those eyes, determined and defiant.
No. Please.
Deeper and deeper you go. And soon you are beyond the line of safety, where the water loses its gentility and wraps itself around you, grasping, pulling, tugging.
You reach out.
No, I won’t! I won’t let you, Kat!
But when I feel your touch I can’t help it.
I pull you close and we stand there with the sea tightening around us, your cheek against mine.
I pull back to stare into your dark eyes, afraid for you. But you just smile. And you reach round me to tug at my hair the way you used to when we were children.
It’s OK, you whisper. It’s going to be OK.
36
WHEN FATHER ANNOUNCED over dinner one night that we were moving to London, Yaya gave a whoop and I swear she almost kissed Father she was so excited. It was her wish come true. How many times had she nagged Father to get me off Mirasol? How many times did Father and I have to sit through one of Yaya’s ‘what’s best for Rosa’ lectures?
Then she whirled round and ran up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. I could hear things banging and her feet clattering back and forth on the wooden floor above our head.
‘Doc, where is your old blue suitcase?’ she yelled down the stairs.
She was packing?
But there was guilt in the look Father gave me.
‘We should have done it a long time ago,’ he said, his voice full of apology.
I just smiled. The truth was, I was expecting it. After everything that had happened, leaving Mirasol was inevitable.
I climbed up to the attic, pushed the window open and knelt at the sill, my chin on my folded arms. The salty breeze blew gently, cooling the heat behind my eyelids.
It was already dark, of course, I could hear the sea panting on the shore and the hissing of the rain. A full moon coasted in and out of black cloud. Banawa’s silhouette stared sightlessly at the heavens.
The rain stopped hissing.
I sat up. The yellow circle of moon hovered in the black sky, untroubled by cloud suddenly. It turned the sea from a black thing to a soft, glowing swell.
I half closed my eyes so that the shining lines of the ocean became a blur of glittery twinkles. The blur resolved into a wave of soft light. I squinted until the wave gathered itself into a pale oval face, with dark hints of eyes and gleaming lips that moved in soundless whispers.
Mother, it was you, wasn’t it? It was you on the beach.
The lips seemed to smile.
Mother, I’m sorry I ran from you. I was suddenly afraid. I wasn’t ready. I guess it’s one thing to want something and another to have it.
And now . . . well, we’re leaving Mirasol. And I guess I should say goodbye but I can’t.
I mean, goodbye means never being with you again, doesn’t it? But how can that be? You’re in every cell of my body. I can feel it. You are everywhere and in everything.
I can’t do goodbye, sorry.
37
EVERY SEAT HAD a small monitor and we could watch the plane’s progress as it set off, slowly lumbering towards the start of the runway. When we got there, I stared in disbelief at the airstrip stretching down, down into the ocean.
The plane seemed far too bulky to float in the sky. Inside, it felt cramped, everyone shuffling up against each other as we took our seats, bumping elbows and knees. I had that feeling again, of sitting in a swarming ant’s nest. Will I ever get used to being around so many people?
Danny had been totally unsympathetic, of course.
It was just like Danny to dismiss something as momentous as his best friend vanishing for ever. He was too busy being a comedian to realize the enormity of what was about to happen.
I folded my arms across my chest. Poke fun at that, idiot boy.
I was so tired and so fed up I got up to go. But before I could snap the laptop closed, Danny sent a bubble flashing up on the screen.
I sat down again.
I stared at the screen, my heart beating painfully in my chest. So he wanted me to just go?
Oh, you’re a funny one, aren’t you, Danny? We’ll be full circle, then. Back to just comments and likes and sharing photos and silly videos.
I had to smile.
I could picture the wink, the lopsided grin, the unruly black hair, the safety pins in one eyebrow and on the tip of one of those jug ears. Danny was right, we still had cyberspace. The thought didn’t make me feel any less lonely.
But it was a tiny comfort.
The plane revved its engine to a high-pitched whine. Just when the whine was becoming unbearable, the plane threw itself down the strip, racing towards the ocean.
I was surprised to find my teeth chattering; I was afraid to look into the monitor to watch the ocean rising to meet us.
I was also afraid to look out the window but I forced myself to look, if only to gaze into Banawa’s wet, watching eyes for the last time. But we were on the wrong side. Banawa was looking away.
There was a loud bang and I would have leaped out of my chair had I not been belted down. ‘It’s just the plane retracting its wheels,’ Father said, patting my knee.
The plane didn’t fall into the sea. Instead, it flew up towards the sky, so steeply that it felt like we were lying on our backs, looking straight up into the sinister black cloud carpet above, rain streaking horizontally across the windows.
It punctured the cloud layer like a dart. One moment we were struggling blindly through the shapeless dark mass, the next we had burst out into a red and gold world, with a fat oblong sun on the horizon, sitting on a nest of white cloud like a giant yellow egg.
I felt Father’s hand on mine and I realized I’d been clinging to the armrests so tightly that my knuckles shone white. With an effort, I let go.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked me gently.
‘I’m OK,’ Yaya said. She sat on the other side of me, her eyes shut tight, a rosary clutched to her breast.
Father looked anxiously at the tears on my cheeks but I smiled, trying to reassure him. Danny had said I would feel like this. Excited and sad at the same time.
I was looking forward to my new life, but I couldn’t help feeling bereft. Mirasol was the only place I’d ever called home and I was going to miss it.
The plane circled, the wing on my side dipping towards the earth. Suddenly we were looking down, down into Banawa’s green face. From above, the water didn’t stream from her eyes but down the side of her face. This is the last time I will see Banawa, I thought, and she isn’t weeping.
And then I couldn’t see her any more because the plane tilted up and we flew straight into a fierce light.
This must be what it’s like to be born.
First, there you are in the darkness of your mother’s womb, not knowing anything and not wanting anything to change.
And then suddenly you are out, naked and starving hungry in a shining new world.
Thank you
In the acknowledgments of my last book, I ungratefully forgot to thank Sara Grant and Sara ‘Slasher’ O’Connor, founding sisters of the Undiscovered Voices anthology, who carefully sat me in the publishing roller coaster – then pushed.
To the original Stroppy, Anne Rooney of www.stroppyauthor.com – for giving me permission to adapt her excellent screen name.
To Susan Quimpo, for telling me the original, true story of the double murder ghost.
To William Wymark Jacobs, with respect and gratitude, for writing the unforgettable scary story of my childhood, The Monkey’s Paw.
To Ray Bradbury, whose short story All Summer in a Day inspired the idea of a distant place where the rain never stops falling.
To my editors: Simon Mason who told me to focus on what’s great about my text, Bella Pearson, who sorted out my exposition of never letting go, to David Fickling, who wouldn’t publish and let me be damned and to Tilda Johnson for her meticulous care and attention.
To David Dean, for another brilliant cover.
To my agent Hilary Delamere.
To the North London cafés and their kindly staff who let me sit for hours on their premises nursing decaffeinated coffee beyond redemption. Especially Caffe Nero, probably the best decaffeinated coffee in the world.
To all my writing friends who cheered me through my ever-changing text-in-progress.
To Mia, Jack, Nick and Richard. How lucky I am.
About the Author
Marriage transplanted Candy Gourlay to North London from her native Philippines and her writing resonates with an exile’s yearning for family far away. Her heart-warming debut novel Tall Story won the Crystal Kite Prize for Europe and the National Book Award in the Philippines. It was nominated for the Carnegie Medal and shortlisted for thirteen awards including the Blue Peter, Branford Boase and Waterstone’s children’s book prizes. When she’s not blogging, Candy loves taking photographs and making videos. Shine is her second novel. www.candygourlay.com
Also by Candy Gourlay
Tall Story
SHINE
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 9781409046851
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Random House Group Company
This ebook edition published 2013
Copyright © Candy Gourlay, 2013
First Published in Great Britain by David Fickling Books, 2013
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Candy Gourlay, Shine
