The Art of Not Breathing(43)

Mum disappears upstairs and comes back wearing her swimming suit with a pair of white denim shorts. Her skinny legs look silky, like she’s just moisturized them.

“Come on, Els, in you get.”

I roll my trousers up above my knees and climb over the side, then place the boat down carefully and wait for it to settle.

“It works!” she squeals.

Even Dillon is impressed. He suggests that I put a motor on it and see how fast it can go, but I tell him it wouldn’t be a sailboat then.

“It’s tremendous,” Mum says. She kisses me on the cheek, and I see Dillon wrinkling his nose at us, but I’m beaming. I don’t even mind that she’s wearing my lipstick. We watch the boat whirl around the pool for a while, its sails billowing gently in the hot breeze, and then I take it inside to dry it off and keep it safe.

When I get back outside, Mum is lying in the pool, still wearing her shorts. She stretches her arm out and motions for me to join her. Dillon trips me up with his foot, and I fall in face first, just missing her legs. I turn to her, afraid that I’ve hurt her, but she’s laughing.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She lifts her head to the sun. “We should do this more often.”

“Maybe we could go to Fairy Glen one day this week,” I say. “And swim in the waterfall.”

Mum nods and strokes my hair. “We do all right, don’t we?”

Dillon lies down in the shade under the apple tree, pretending to be asleep. When Lara rings the doorbell, he jumps up.

“I’m not here,” he says, running for the stairs, wheezing.





8



FORTROSE IS BUSY NOW THAT IT’S HOLIDAY SEASON. Most visitors stay near Chanonry Point to see the dolphins or play golf, so we head to Rosemarkie beach instead. We keep walking until we find an empty cove that has enough rock pools for the crabs to hide in.

Frankie runs ahead and shouts back to us when he finds a nest of crabs. Lara and I climb over the rocks slowly behind him, Lara afraid of ruining her white espadrilles, and me afraid that if I twist my ankle, I won’t be able to dive.

“Was Dillon hiding from me?” Lara asks as we stand high up on the rocks, looking down at the water as it splashes into the rock pools.

“No,” I say, a bit too quickly.

“I thought I saw him running up the stairs as I came to the door.”

“He was running to the bathroom. Hangover,” I lie. “He went to town last night to celebrate finishing school.” Dillon should be pleased that I’m so good at lying.

Lara scrapes the rock with her foot and it breaks away, covering her shoes in red dust.

She tries to rub the dust from her shoe with her finger, but it smudges and stains. I look around for Frankie so we can talk about something else. Even crabs and shrimps would be better than discussing Dillon.

“Maybe we should go into Inverness on Friday,” Lara suggests.

“Dillon would hate that.”

“No, I meant just you and me.”

“Got no way of getting there,” I say, coming up with a flaw in the plan. I can’t think of anything worse than a crowded bar full of drunk kids from our school.

“Bus,” Lara suggests.

“How would we get home?”

“Um, taxi?”

“Haven’t got any money.” It’s a good excuse, and it’s true.

“I could borrow some money from my mum,” she says, twiddling her earring stud. “I can’t wait to drive. Are you going to have lessons next year?”

“What for? I can walk everywhere.”

“You’re so funny. I don’t mean drive around here. I mean drive into town. Go places.”

“I don’t want to go places,” I tell her. I do want to go places, though, but not anywhere that you can take a car.

“Please, just come into town with me. Everyone goes. If you’re worried about Ailsa, she won’t be there. She’s gone up north.”

I cringe when she mentions Ailsa. I wonder if they’ve fallen out and that’s why she wants to hang out with me. Maybe Ailsa has been nasty to her, too. I wonder where Tay is. I imagine him swimming with dolphins. Then I imagine him kissing another girl.

I nod toward Frankie. “Is he coming with us?”

Lara scrunches her nose up. “No offense, but I’d rather it was just us. He really smells.”

Frankie waves frantically at us. He’s holding a large crab with several legs missing. I wave back, but he shakes his head and beckons us down.

“We can see from here,” I yell.

Frankie holds a finger to his lips and shushes us, then points to behind the rocks. He looks as though he’s about to pee himself.

I scramble down the rock, and Lara carefully follows, reaching for my arm for balance.

“Otters,” Frankie whispers loudly when we get to the bottom.

My stomach flutters. I have never seen them this far up the coast. I half expect Frankie to have mistaken seals for otters, but when I peer around the rock, there they are. Three of them. Two bigger ones nuzzling a smaller one. The baby’s fur is slick and looks almost black. Its face is tiny and round, and its whiskers are nearly as long as its body. I wish I had a camera so I could show Dillon later. We perch on the boulders and watch as the waves gently wash over them.