Free Skylarking by Kate Mildenhall

about the very same thing only moments before. I knew it from how Harriet hedged and sighed her way around the change in herself, the way she’d been snagged on the thought of McPhail and the fact that she couldn’t say it out loud.
    â€˜I suppose there was some kind of fall from grace for him to be living out here,’ I said. ‘I suppose there was money and women and brushes with danger and death. I suppose there was all of that because that’s what happens in life.’ I threw a broken shell to the side. ‘At least, that’s what I suppose happens. It’s hard to tell when one’s life has been confined to this cape.’
    Harriet said nothing, and I decided to probe a little further into her thoughts.
    â€˜Why do you worry about the truth of McPhail’s story, Harriet? It is no business of ours, surely, what lies in his past?’
    There was a long silence from Harriet, and I counted the splash of the waves as they broke over the lip of rock: one, two, three, four.
    â€˜He is our neighbour, of sorts. I only think it’s right to know the things that might help us better understand the man – that’s all.’
    â€˜Can I speak plainly, Harriet?’
    â€˜You always do.’
    I directed my words not at Harriet but out to sea, so that their impact might be tempered by the space between.
    â€˜I think that you have become quite enamoured of the fisherman. I think that maybe you harbour feelings for him that you believe are not ones that you should.’
    â€˜That’s not true.’ A brittle edge to her voice.
    â€˜Do you love him?’
    â€˜Love him?’ Harriet’s response came out in a rush. ‘Love him? How could I love him? He is at least fifteen years my senior. A fisherman! He lives in that tiny little hut and kills kangaroos with his bare hands – he is barely above a savage! Love the man – I think not.’ Her face had gone a strange shade of pink, and her words fairly flew from her mouth.
    â€˜If you say so,’ I said, leaving it, for she had told me all I needed to know, and all I wondered now was why she was refusing to discuss the maelstrom of her true feelings with me.
    I stood up then. The sounds of the waves hitting the rock seemed to be coming in a little faster and stronger. The surface of the pool was swirling with whitewater now, and the black sea slugs had all but vanished under the rising water.
    â€˜Harriet, we have to go – the tide.’ I scrambled to pack the pile of wrapped picnic things in the satchel, pulling my boots back on and shoving my shells deep into my pocket.
    Although she was sulkily quiet after my interrogation, Harriet hastened after me, knowing full well that we would be stuck or face an arduous climb and trek to get back to the station before dark if we failed to cross the gully before the tide covered our path.
    I heard the deep sloshing noise of the gully even before I peered over the edge. The surface of our rock was already submerged under two or three inches of water.
    â€˜Quick, Harriet,’ I called over my shoulder as I twisted around to shimmy down the rock face.
    I propped myself on a ledge that remained clear of the water and waited for a break in the waves. Father had taught me that they usually came in sets, enough of a pattern that I knew I could expect a smaller wave every now and then. Harriet was panting behind me, and I knew that she wouldn’t be confident crossing the gully and having to splash on to the slippery rocks.
    â€˜Harriet, I’m going to go in the next break. The pull is strong and you’ll need to move fast.’ She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. ‘Move down to this ledge when I’m gone and wait for me to tell you when to go.’ I reached up and squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll be fine.’
    The water was sucking out furiously now, and the tops of the rocks were just sticking up, glistening with water.