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The next afternoon, Skye sat at the top of the high veranda steps, arms folded and back stiff, pretending not to watch Morgan climb into the back seat of her mother’s pale blue car below or to hear the car door slam. Or see Morgan looking pointedly anywhere but at her.
Usually, Morgan’s mother Rowena’s car arriving meant the good times were about to start, not end early. Especially not after a fight. She felt embarrassed but waved back when Rowena gave her a friendly wave before carefully reversing out of the gravel driveway. She slumped when the car disappeared from sight, the angry lump in her chest turning sour and sad. Nothing felt right about today.
The grey sky was low, and the wind blew her hair across her face. She could hear the sea from here. Mermaid weather. When she used to tell her mother it was mermaid weather, Mum would look happy, and they would walk down to the beach and swim together in the waves looking for mermaids. They often saw them. It was their secret. But if she mentioned them later, Mummy told her she had pretended. That they were both just pretending.
They hardly ever seemed to swim together anymore. Again, this afternoon, her mother had refused to take her swimming, saying the weather was too rough. She didn’t use to think so.
And when Skye had complained to Morgan, Morgan said it was a good thing, because people said Ellie was crazy swimming in rough weather. Especially taking Skye with her. They’d ended up fighting about it. Morgan had called Rowena and gone home early. Skye sniffed, and it caught in her throat like a sob. She didn’t need Morgan, anyway. She angrily rubbed away the tears that welled and went inside, stamping as hard as she could across the veranda to show how much she didn’t care.
She found her parents in the lounge. “I don’t understand where it could have gone,” Skye’s mother exclaimed again. “This is a small cottage. I just don’t understand where it could have gone!”
Was she still looking for her necklace? Skye felt hot with guilt, especially hearing the distress in her mother’s voice, even though she knew she hadn’t taken it. Well, she had, but she’d never left her parent’s bedroom with it. Had she put it back wrong? Ellie had taken her shell necklace off to shower the night before, and Skye had put it on just for fun, enjoying the weight of it around her neck, the gleam of the fine gold chain, and the clink of the two shells, one light, one heavy, as they nestled together. But she’d put it straight back on the dressing table and joined Morgan in the lounge to wait for their story.
While her mother pulled all the cushions off the sofa again, and her father gave another cursory look beneath it, Skye went quickly down the hallway to her parent’s bedroom. A gust of wind rattled the old sash windows, and the sky outside was darker. From here she could see part of Bascath Bay. A storm was building on the horizon.
She switched on the light and hurriedly searched the cluttered dressing table. No, she definitely remembered. She’d put it right there. It wasn’t there anymore, but for sure, it had been. Feeling virtuous, she turned out the light and returned to the lounge.
“But why is it so important?” Her father helped put the sofa cushions back. He sounded annoyed.
“I don’t know. It just is. You gave me one shell, and I’ve just always had the other.”
“Well, we’ll find new ones. Right?” He rubbed his curly head, bemused. “I mean...it’s a shame about the chain, but... Look, I have to get going. I’ve got to pick Mike up on the way, and we’ll be home late. Like you said, Ellie, it’s a small cottage. It’ll be here somewhere. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’ll turn up.”
“I suppose so,” Ellie twisted her hands together, then pressed them to her chest. “I feel strange without it,” her voice was low. “Vulnerable. Like it was a good luck charm.” She tried to laugh.
“Well, we’re your good luck charms now. Aren’t we, Skye?” Daniel sounded jolly, but not quite right. “Don’t you have everything you want, Ellie? We’re happy, aren’t we?” He wasn’t smiling.
“Of course.” But her mother’s face didn’t match her words. As her father’s footsteps receded down the veranda steps, her mother began to pace through the house, looking out the windows at the coming storm.
