was still sitting hip to hip with Sam Deevey, her lovely neck bent so she could whisper into his ear. The shifting of her favours was obvious, but no one had audibly remarked on it. John frowned a warning at her but she ignored him and Marian’s displeasure was only revealed in sharp glances. Lucas merely looked on in silence and tipped his head back to swallow another drink.
Leonie had reorganised the plate of food Marian had pressed on her, but had eaten none of it. She could only think how her way ahead had narrowed to the vanishing point where there was no possibility but to leave. She wrestled in her mind with the question of where to go. Not back to the apartment in Boston, filled with the possessions Tom and she had accumulated together over the years.
But if not there, then where else? To rent somewhere, that would be the answer, but the practical difficulties of doing even that seemed all but insurmountable. Leonie knew it was unhappiness that was disabling her. She must move, before the paralysis became complete.
Tom was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, with Judith Stiegel and Spencer and Alexander. They were talking, but Leonie couldn’t hear what they were saying because the low murmur of the sea amplified itself in her ears. The firelight shone on her husband’s face, casting unexpected shadows, turning him into a stranger.
Marian’s bulk interposed itself. ‘Do you suppose anyone would like more blueberry pie?’
There was a surplus from the bake stall.
In translation the question meant Get up and offer second helpings, but Leonie disregarded it. ‘If they do I expect they’ll manage to help themselves.’
A corner of gipsy skirt whipped her knee as Marian swept on by. I’ll pay for that, Leonie told herself, then remembered that she wouldn’t have to because she would be gone. The idea of such an upside made her mouth curve in a sudden smile and she saw that John was watching her.
Aaron and Hannah had not come down to the beach and their house at the end of the bluff was in darkness. Elizabeth had joined the party only for an hour. Spencer jumped up to escort her when she stood up to leave. She was relieved that Pittsharbor Day was at last over and she had done all that could possibly have been expected of her. On her way around the circle she thanked Marian, although there was no reason for Marian to have appointed herself hostess of the evening.
The last person Elizabeth came to in her circuit was May. She was attached to the group of teenagers without in any way being a part of it. Elizabeth patted her shoulder and wordlessly May took hold of her wrist. Her hand was burning. For a moment Elizabeth felt that there were wires criss-crossed tight between too many people in this circle, red-hot where they passed through the heart of the fire, cold and invisible on the margins.
May’s fingers dropped away. ‘Good-night,’ she said.
Ivy and Sam and Gail and the others were also making ready to go. The boy stopped strumming his guitar and pulled Gail to her feet. She gave a mock stagger and almost fell into his arms.
Ivy stood in front of Lucas. ‘You coming?’
‘Nope.’
‘Right.’ She walked off without a backward glance, with Sam close behind her.
The rest of them stood up too, hoisting bags on their shoulders and murmuring their thanks in Marian’s direction, before melting away across the crescent of sand. May knew they were making for a more secluded part of the beach, or maybe someone’s bedroom where they would not be interrupted. They would drink and smoke some more draw, and talk and snigger, and while she longed to be included she despised them at the same time for the repetitive dullness of their pleasures.
The young people moved away in a dark mass. The diminished group of eleven adults remained, plus Lucas, sitting alone. May shot a glance at him. His arms were wrapped around his knees and he stared into the fire. Now, May thought, if I am ever going to.
She had drunk two bottles of beer and she couldn’t remember how much red wine, covertly, while her father’s attention was turned elsewhere. The mixture lay uneasily in her stomach, but it had the effect of dividing her thoughts from the rest of her weighty self. She felt clear in the head and quite untroubled, with the knowledge that whatever she did or whatever happened wouldn’t matter much. Not enough to worry about. Not enough to care about.
She slid across the sand to Lucas’s side. ‘Hi.’
He rolled his head on his knees to look at her. ‘Oh. Hi.’
She waited a minute or two, giving him a chance to get used to her being there. No one else was looking at them. ‘She can be like that you know. She doesn’t mean to hurt people, not really. It’s like just sometimes she has to be a bitch. Kind of a power thing.’
The fire was dying into dull crimson embers. Flakes of ash twirled like snowflakes and settled on the sand. May raked and sifted sand through her fingers, looking anywhere but at his face.
At last Lucas sniffed and rubbed his cheek with the flat of one hand. ‘You want to come for a walk or something?’ he asked. ‘I feel like getting away from here.’
May waited a decent interval before she said, ‘Okay. If you like.’
They skirted the edge of the water where ink-black ripples subsided into the shingle. May walked boldly at Lucas’s side instead of drifting in his wake. They passed the Captain’s House and climbed northwards on to the headland. When she looked back she saw her father making his way towards the beach steps and felt a mean little beat of relief that he was alone.
It was difficult climbing upwards in the dark. Roots and brambles snagged May’s bare ankles but she let them tear at her because she was too conscious that a swerve might bring her into contact with Lucas’s arm and shoulder. A prickle of heat ran down her side at the thought and her scalp tightened over her skull.
Then Lucas tripped over a branch, and he stumbled and swore. ‘I can’t see a thing. Let’s stop.’
The headland rose on one side, a black sweep of trees. On the other was the sea, invisible but always audible. Tonight it made a low murmur like a chorus of close-matched voices. There was a dip in the ground, not much more than a shallow saucer but still a shelter of sorts, on the landward side of the path. Lucas sat down with his back against a tree stump and with only a second’s hesitation May took her place beside him. There was a lightness inside her head now that allowed her to do what would have seemed impossible a day ago. She eased herself back against the stump, stretched out her legs next to his. They sat and listened to the sea.
A year ago, May thought. The last night of Doone’s life. She had drowned the morning after Pittsharbor Day. All the other people gathered on the beach this evening must have remembered it, even though none of them had spoken her name. But she was always there, she must be, on the other side of the invisible membrane.
‘You okay?’ Lucas asked and she nodded wordlessly. She put her head on his shoulder and he shifted his position to fold his arm around her. She felt a jolt when he touched her and she had to look down dizzily at her folded hands, at the thickness of her own thighs, to assure herself that she was still May – that she hadn’t slipped sideways through the same membrane that seemed to grow thinner, almost to have dissolved into nothingness.
The hands were hers. But Doone was close, it was her breath in May’s hair, not the breeze off the sea. The sea’s voices were louder.
Time and space were shifting.
