didn’t look at Mum when she said that, but the way she said it… it sounded like a dig.
“He’s met a girl,” said Tegan, scribbling away with the crayons.
“Excellent,” said Grandma. “Is she a looker?”
“Um, yeah, I guess so,” I said, “but we’re just mates. Not even that. I only just met her.”
“Are you going to ask her on a date?”
“I don’t think she goes on… dates. She’s a surfer.”
“Wonderful. A girl and a healthy activity.”
I thought maybe if Grandma had seen us round the campfire, she might not think it was such a great choice of ‘healthy activity’.
“Er, yeah,” I said, feeling awkward.
We changed the subject. All the time we talked, Grandma stared at me. A lot.
“You’re the spit of him at your age; it’s uncanny. It’s like the ghost of his teenage self came round for tea and scones.”
“Thanks,” I said, and spluttered some cream out of my mouth. I couldn’t help laughing. Grandma laughed too. Mum didn’t.
“Do you remember him much? Do you remember this house?” Grandma asked. I dug into my mind, tried to remember stuff, looking for something. Anything. I felt bad not giving her what she wanted.
“I helped him paint a boat once, like a sailing or maybe a row boat. I remember this dark blue paint and getting it all over my T-shirt. And he used to take me in the sea, paddling. He’d lift me up when a wave came, and say, ‘It’s only water, Sam,’ and…” But there was no “and…”. That was pretty much the total of my memories of my drowned, dead father. It didn’t upset me going through those memories. It didn’t make me happy either. I was kind of removed from them, like they were someone else’s memories.
It was different for Mum though. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes were wide and worried, darting from me to Grandma, and back again.
Then …
“That smell…” I said it before I even thought it. What was it? Leather, baking, the sea, the coal fire? All of those things together. And I remembered it. The smell of the house, and the heavy tick and tock of the clock in the hallway, with the sounds of sea and wind muffled through the walls. I wasn’t just imagining it – I did remember being there.
“I only just recognised it,” I said. “How weird is that?” I was spooked. In a good way. I was going to go on, but I clocked Mum, her eyes filling up, her hand gripping the side of the chair.
I was trying to find my memories. Maybe Mum didn’t want to find hers.
“Your mother and I need to talk,” said Grandma. “Have a look around the house. You’ll find your dad’s room up there.” She pointed at the ceiling. “There’s a few of his bits and bobs; a few things that didn’t get thrown away when you upped and left for London.”
Mum clunked her cup on the saucer and glared at a painting on the wall. She was grinding her teeth, stopping herself from saying something.
It was a good time to leave them to it. Me and Teg went upstairs. Teg was chewing her hair. I held her hand.
“This must be weird for you, Tegs. He wasn’t even your dad.”
“No, but she is my grandma,” she said, like she was totally sure it was true. I didn’t want to tell her different. We were a tight little team, me, Tegan and Mum, but there were only the three of us, and if the family got to grow, by one, that was cool. Even if it wasn’t going to be for long.
“Are we going to live here one day?” she asked. She’d clearly overheard some of what we’d talked about.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“But we live in the cottage now.”
“Look, it’s complicated. I dunno what’s going to happen.”
“Will we go back to London?”
I couldn’t blame her for asking. The situation had to be pretty freaky for her. I just didn’t know how to answer. “Reckon she’ll see how it goes down here. Mum might not decide till… later. Would you like to live here?” I said. Tegan looked around the hallway, with its big wooden doors and huge window looking over the moor. She nodded.
“Which one would be my room?” she said.
“Any one you want, but you got to bags it.” This was a game we played for slices of cake or the best place on the sofa. Now it was for something important. Her eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. She let go of my hand and ran off to explore.
Either by fluke or some old memory, I went straight to my dad’s room. I thought it would be tidy, because the rest of the house was so neat. But it wasn’t. It was a mess. The curtains were closed, but thin, letting in a strong light. There were a load of boxes with books in. In the corner was an old record player, and a chunky grey computer from the Stone Age. On the shelves were more books, all of them about the sea. And some old metal instruments, covered with dials and numbers and cogs. I guessed they were navigation instruments.
He had clearly been a total geek. Now I knew where I got it from. He’d been an oceanographer; a scientist who looked at how currents and gulf streams and storms worked.
I was a geek too. With me it was the stars. With him it had been the sea. There was a whole new world to explore. A world of water.
I wanted to sit down and start going through all the gear, all the books. But the voices downstairs started rising. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it didn’t sound friendly.
“Sam!” It was Mum’s voice, shouting up the stairs.
“Just a minute.”
Mum was waiting downstairs, with Tegan, already with their coats on. Grandma was by the door, ready to open it.
“We’re going. Now,” said Mum. There didn’t seem much point asking why.
“You can come back though, Sam. Soon,” said Grandma. “Did you find anything of interest?”
“Yes. Thanks. Loads,” I said.
I hugged her.
IF YOU’D CALLED them a gang, they would have laughed. But that’s what they were and everyone at Penwith High knew it. The Penford Crew, the Penford surfers. That’s what the other kids called them.
They didn’t really mix with anyone else, only the older lot in the sixth form over the road. The ones that surfed, that is.
If you’d said they
