Phosphorescence (16 page)

The engine has started, but even so, Pansy's voice is easily heard. She sounds as if she is talking about a pet guinea pig. Josh sets his jaw and looks out to sea. His dad shoots Pansy a look of disgust that makes my toes curl. She, however, is oblivious.

‘God, how do they survive out here? No signal at all,' she shrieks. ‘I'll have to put a message in a bottle, or maybe I'll just keep him all to myself and not tell anyone how lovely he is. What did you say his name was, Lola?'

I want to catch Josh's eye, so I can wordlessly tell him I am not part of this, but he will not look at any of us.

Next to Pansy, Jessie suddenly swoops towards the water. Leaning forward to grab her, I find she is giggling.

‘Did you think I was going in? Don't worry, I just had to test the water. Its freezing, isn't it? I hope everyone has got wetsuits. I know I have.'

‘Well, we don't heat it for tourists,' says Josh coldly.

Up in the front, Harry is delving in his rucksack for gloves and a hat. Pete and Carl have got their headphones on. The only person treating Josh and his dad normally is weedy Dave, whom I can see mouthing some sort of conversation with them.

The tide is ‘out' and ‘low'. How can it come in so fast, with enough water to set off in the boat? We bounce over the waves to Salt Head, and with every breath the familiar exhilaration of being on the sea
comes back to me. The sun is over the dunes at the tip of the island now and, squinting to look at the familiar landscape, I am suddenly flooded with sadness for Jack. I wish my family was whole again.

The tide has turned when we finally reach the island, and we cannot get the boats right up.

‘Everyone out,' says Ian, cutting the motor.

‘But we're not at the edge,' objects Pansy. ‘We'll get soaked.'

Mr Lascalles has taken off his shoes. He rolls up his shorts so they are embarrassingly brief, and jumps in up to his thighs.

‘Welcome to the world of camping. We can't get right to the land because the boats can't go any shallower or they will be grounded,' he says to Pansy, and holds a hand out to help her from the boat.

‘This is so not glamorous,' she sighs, but drops into the water with no more complaints.

When we are all standing in the water, Josh passes Mr Lascalles the rope of the smaller boat.

‘You can drag this one up on that mud to get your stuff on dry land, but then you'll need to wade out a bit further than here to anchor it. It gives you more leeway with coming and going.'

‘And be quick with it or you'll end up stranded with it on the mudbank,' shouts his dad. Standing by the tiller, Josh salutes us mockingly as they depart.

Even Mr Lascalles has a slightly forlorn note to his voice as he begins to take charge.

‘OK, Carl and Pete, could you take the first bags over? Harry, anchor the boat here, will you? I don't
see a need to drag it through the mud. We can wade with the equipment.'

‘You must be mad,' mutters Freda, floundering through thick oozing mud to the shore with her rucksack. ‘Urgh, this mud smells disgusting.'

‘Oh, stop moaning.' Pete chucks a tent down next to her. ‘Here, carry this stuff up to the hut.'

Astonishingly, Pansy has made no fuss at all, but wordlessly shoulders her vast floral rucksack and wades to the edge with it.

‘I'm going up to the campsite,' she volunteers. ‘I'll start unpacking.'

The campsite is dominated by the lookout hut, a small, breezeblock house with a tiled roof, a fireplace and no loo, water or electricity. Really it is little more than a lean-to with damp, peeling brick walls. I love it. I have stayed in it every summer and sometimes at other times of the year too. It has bunk beds and a tiny loft reached by a ladder where you have a view over the sandbank and out to sea. The other windows face Staitheley. It is much more primitive than Pansy's tent, but, with a kitchen table, crockery and even a pack of slightly frilly, damp cards, it is a base I know we will be glad of.

Mr Lascalles is breathless and caked in black mud when he finally sets foot in the hut. He doesn't seem unduly bothered by the mushrooming chaos of Pansy's unpacking.

‘I'm ready for a swim before we get this place sorted for the night. Lola, take us to the best beach around if you please.'

Suddenly, I am giddy with anticipation. We are
here. None of them really knows what to expect, and it isn't raining.

I am the last into the sea, because I want to see everyone else go in. I feel like I used to when I was little at my birthday parties. I would sometimes just stop and stand still, smiling and looking around at everybody enjoying themselves. Mr Lascalles is so white he looks as if he is wearing a T-shirt, but he dives beneath a wave and strikes out along the shore, swimming strongly. Harry has brought a boogie board, and he and Carl muck about, trying to stand up on it. Pete wolf-whistles as Pansy edges towards the water in a searingly bright yellow bikini. Taking a puff of an inhaler, Dave runs up behind her but is pushed in by Freda and Jessie, both wearing goggles and wetsuits, which on a summer afternoon is absurd, but entertaining to look at.

The swim is an icebreaker. Afterwards, Mr Lascalles goes for a walk up to the end of the island at Seal Point and I take some of the others over to the creek side facing Hinkley Marshes to catch flatfish in the warm shallow water.

‘You stand still and watch the water. When you see the sand move, you have to shove your hands in fast and if you're quick you will catch a flatfish and we can cook it.'

Harry and Pansy, Pete, Freda and Carl look at me in amazement.

‘That is wild.' Carl begins to roll up his jeans.

‘You're saying you can catch them in your hands?' Harry wrinkles his nose in disbelief.

‘It is so
Robinson Crusoe,
' marvels Pansy. ‘I love
that lighthouse,' And she squints into the sun, pointing at the old striped tower up by Seal Point.

‘Hey, look!' Pete is already in the ankle-deep water, poised. ‘I see it. I always thought that scuttling of something along the seabed was a crab.'

I have to say I really enjoy this moment of power. All of them are so impressed by something so simple. I am the epitome of confident success. Yippee. I wade into the water to demonstrate and, shrieking, dive in pursuit of a scuttling stream of sand. Of course, I lose my balance and fall flat on my face in the shallows.

‘Missed it!' I yell, laughing, partly because they look so amazed, so clean and so timid.

‘I think I'll watch,' says Harry, tossing the little dice he keeps in his pocket. ‘I'll have a quiet bet with myself over who will catch the most.'

I raise my eyebrows at him. I am aware of a stab of disappointment, because he is only watching, because he doesn't want to risk looking foolish.

We cook sausages on the little hearth outside the hut. Pansy makes a washing line with a length of ribbon she has brought, and hangs our wet clothes above the fire. Harry is the least helpful person once again, and sits on an upturned bucket, teasing Jessie about the pile of bird and plant books she has brought.

‘Looks like you'll be up all night reading these,' he says, flipping through a pocket wild-flower guide, before chucking it on the ground. Pansy turns on him.

‘Harry, why don't you do something useful, like gather some wood?' she suggests.

He stands to attention, mocking her.

‘Yes, ma'am. Where from, ma'am?'

I roll my eyes and stretch my arm to encompass the whole island.

‘Use your common sense,' I hiss, still irritated by him.

He wanders off, and when he reappears by the fire, he has a crate of neatly stacked wood with him and a spray of rugosa roses.

‘This might be nice as a centrepiece for the table,' he suggests, giving it to me.

‘Did you find that?' I am curious. I know there is a wild rose bush on the Point, but it is way up on the other side, by James's and Jack's graves. I don't think he could have found it in the time he has been gone.

He shakes his head.

‘No, someone gave it to me.'

‘Who?' I demand.

Harry smiles and jerks his head back. ‘A mermaid. She's just getting dressed. We had a swim.'

It is irrational, I know, but I am really irritated by the news that he has just gone off on his own for a swim. Or even with someone. I am about to interrogate him on who the mermaid is when Pansy shrieks with joy. She has climbed on to the roof of the hut and has found a signal.

‘Guys, it works, it works! Does anyone want me to get a message to anyone?'

‘You should get off there. The coastguards have binoculars trained on this place, and if they see you up there you'll be kicked out.'

The voice of reason coming round the corner is Nell.

‘I didn't know you were coming!'

I rush to hug her.

‘I didn't either, but my mum was in Salt and I suddenly decided to walk up and see you, so here I am until the next tide takes me out of here.'

‘Or until you walk back.'

I am amazed that these unwelcoming words are coming from me, but instinctively I am bristling with antagonism. I don't want Nell here. This is my thing with my new school. She does not belong. Harry comes over with the rose in a jam jar.

‘Welcome to our island retreat,' he says mockingly, and it doesn't take Einstein to figure out that he fancies Nell.

‘Hey, Lola, there's a call for you.' Pansy has got all our phones balanced on the chimney of the hut and is playing at being receptionist. ‘It's that hunky guy, Josh. Shall I take a message for you?'

She giggles flirtatiously into the phone. Hastily I scramble up on to the roof and take the phone gingerly, not wanting to lose the signal.

‘You're an idiot to let your friends get on the roof, Lola,' is how Josh greets me.

‘You shouldn't be spying,' I respond, hurt, and feeling persecuted on all sides.

‘I'm not. Your dad asked me to keep an eye on you with the telescope.'

Oh, that's great, isn't it? Dad asks Josh to look out for us. Josh, of all people. He doesn't even like him.

‘Well, there's no need for you to go on watching us. We're fine.'

From up here I have a bird's-eye view of Carl, natty in his yellow billowing shorts, dragging one of the canoes that are kept by the hut right through the oystercatchers' nesting area towards the sea. I pray Josh doesn't see that.

‘Um, I'd better go,' I mutter. But not quick enough.

‘Tell that idiot with the really sad shorts to get away from the birds, Lola.' Josh pauses, then adds, ‘Oh, and be careful of fires. There could be one starting behind you right now.'

I swivel in time to see Pete approaching with a lit cigarette. God, they are all so lawless. I wish Mr Lascalles had brought a sidekick to keep control when he wanders off to commune with nature.

‘Oh, leave us alone,' I snap at Josh. ‘God, we're supposed to be on holiday, not in a sodding military camp.'

I hurl my phone off the roof and it thuds on the ground next to Freda. The sausages are done. Harry builds up the fire and we sit round it, waiting for Mr Lascalles, thawing out privacy and self-consciousness. I remain silent and inhibited until Nell, with a sigh, stands up and announces that she must go.

‘I thought you were waiting for the next tide.' Harry jumps up too.

‘I can't, I've got stuff to do. I'll swim if I have to.'

Her hair is piled in a high knot, with curls escaping. She is thinner than when I last saw her, and she moves with a luxurious confidence that is
mesmerizing. Or so Harry seems to think. A flame of loathing for my best friend shoots through me. She's showing off – she knows it's too dangerous to swim.

‘Bye, Nell,' I shout, busying myself with the washing-up Jessie is piling in the biggest saucepan. ‘Thanks for coming.'

Nell looks anxious for a minute, then turns away.

‘I'll see you soon,' she calls.

‘I'll walk you part of the way,' offers Harry.

My choked fury is interrupted by Pansy, still on her own mission.

‘Is there a mirror anywhere? I desperately need to pluck my eyebrows,' she says, brandishing a torch.

Jessie and I subside, giggling, on the sleeping bags we have hurled in a heap by the fire, ready to sort for sleeping out on later. It is dark now, and Mr Lascalles finally comes to from his reverie to take charge. He has been reading the comment book from the hut, and now he slaps it shut.

‘No mirrors. But could everyone make their beds up now and start thinking about putting the camp to bed,' he says, and is interrupted by weedy Dave, whom I suspect has been knocking back the vodka.

‘Mr Lascalles, it's only ten o'clock. What about a dune expedition now? We could reconnoitre for the morning mission.'

‘You may do as you please as long as you are careful,' says Mr Lascalles, who has become so relaxed and benign it is creepy. ‘I am going to turn in now.' He continues, ‘I want to be up at dawn to observe the birdlife here. I cannot bear to miss a moment of
daylight. I'd like you all to stay within hearing of the camp.'

Then he makes his big mistake. He drops his box of earplugs and we all watch the little wax balls spill on the ground, rolling out into the beam of his torch as he bends to pick it up. If I wasn't so cross about Nell and Josh spying, I'd be thrilled. The teacher, who seems to have abdicated any responsibility because he is so entranced by nature, is putting earplugs in and going to bed. There is a full moon, the night is young, and we are eight teenagers alone on an island.

‘Hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
they danced by the light of the moon,
     the moon,
they danced by the light of the moon.'

‘Come on, let's go skinny-dipping,' squeaks Jessie, who, along with Dave, has been drinking vodka with a straw out of his rucksack pocket and giggling over the washing up. They skip ahead towards the sea singing ‘The Owl and the Pussy-Cat' and in a moment are invisible, swallowed by the inky late evening light, although their voices are still audible. Mr Lascalles is in his tent, the light from his tilley lamp creating a warm red glow so the tent is a tiny echo of the sunset before the last glimpse sinks beneath the horizon.