Free The Nature of Cruelty by L. H. Cosway Page A

neighbour will probably be some hermit old man with a dog who only ever leaves the house to sit on his front porch and stare suspiciously at the people who pass him by.
    Once the car stops, I get out and reluctantly help Mum pull our bags from the boot. There’s a van coming in a day or two with our furniture and the rest of our things.
    “Oh, my God, wicked!” Sasha exclaims. “Look at the beach. There’s a tonne of people on it, too.”
    I glance down to see that there is a good crowd. All the same, her excitement feels like a betrayal. If we ever want to convince Mum to move back home, then we both need to be on the same page about it.
    “It’s only like that during the summer months,” says Mum. “There’s never many around in the winter.”
    Well, there’s my suspicions about the depressing, lonely winters that are ahead of me confirmed. Mum pays the driver and he pulls away, disappearing back down the sandy path. Mum opens the front door as I carry in two large suitcases, and my immediate impression is that the place is way too small and smells kind of musty. I scrunch up my nose in distaste.
    “A bit of an airing and it will be fine,” says Mum, noticing my reaction.
    “I hope you’re right,” I reply moodily, dropping the suitcases in the hallway and going back out to retrieve the rest.
    “You can lose that tone immediately, young man,” Mum calls after me. I ignore her.
    Sasha is lingering by the front gate, still staring excitedly down at the beach.
    “Are you going to help or what, you lazy cow?” I call to her.
    She turns around and scowls, just as laughter can be heard from a group coming up the path from the beach. It looks like a family. There’s a really old woman with grey hair, wearing a dark blue swimsuit and a long sarong (eww), another redheaded woman about Mum’s age, and two redheaded girls. One of them is around five or six years old, and the other is just a little younger than me, twelve or thirteen maybe. She’s laughing at the little girl as she bounces a ball around, throwing sand up all over the place, but the main thing I notice about her is that she’s got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Dark and light all at the same time.
    “Mummy!” shouts the smaller girl. “Look! It’s the new neighbours.”
    “Okay, Alison, calm down,” says the mother, taking the ball from her so she can’t kick up any more sand.
    The girl, Alison, runs up to Sasha, thrusting her hand out in greeting. Sasha laughs and says hello, while the older girl comes up and introduces herself, too. My sister beams at her, immediately enthralled, probably by her crazy red hair and accent. It takes a particular type of person for Sasha to want to be friends with them, and by the looks of it, this girl is one of those people.
    She and Sasha immediately hit it off; they stand chatting by the gate as her mother and (I presume) her grandmother continue on with her little sister to their house. I put down the suitcase for a moment to go and get Sasha. Even though this girl has such a pretty face, I can’t help being pissed off by her. I don’t want Sasha making friends, because if she does she’ll get happy here, and then she won’t want to leave.
    She sees me approach. “Hey, Rob, come and meet Lana. She lives in the house across the way.” She turns back to Lana. “This is my twin brother, Robert.”
    Lana’s eyes drift to me, and when they do they widen and a blush colours her cheeks. Yeah, she likes me, I can tell. Lots of the girls back home like me, too.
    “Hello, Robert,” she says shyly, her voice low. I’ve never really enjoyed my mother’s Irish accent, to be honest; it’s too loud and boisterous, always nagging at me, but Lana’s accent I could get used to. It’s soft and sweet, like music. I pull myself away from these thoughts. I can’t let myself like anything about it here, especially not this girl.
    “Uh, yeah, whatever,” I reply, rolling my eyes to show her how