the telling,’ he says with a wink, then saunters over to the boot rack.
‘Hurry up, hurry up,’ snaps Mr Bradley who is waiting by the front door.
There is just time to tug on our boots before Mr Bradley chivvies us outside and sets off at a brisk pace. It’s still chilly and misty outside, though the sun is already burning through
the clouds. But we’re walking too fast to feel cold. Even Kit is almost jogging in order to keep up with Mr Bradley, while Samuel is running flat out. Before we are over the first hillock, he
starts panting for breath, falling behind the rest of us.
‘Mr Bradley,’ I call out. ‘Please could we slow down?’
‘No,’ Mr Bradley barks, barely glancing over his shoulder. ‘The pace is not excessive. You should all be able to keep up!’
We keep going for nearly ten minutes before Mr Bradley steers us up the hill that dominates the south-west tip of the island. We’re all out of breath by the time we reach the top.
It’s an amazing spot, especially now the mist has rolled back from the shore. From where we stand, you can see the oval shape of the island and the sea on all sides.
‘Orienteering session,’ Mr Bradley shouts over the wind. ‘That way is north-east.’ He points towards the trees and rocks where I saw the dark figure in the red hat
yesterday. ‘High rocks run along much of the coast. The very tip of the eastern part of the island, opposite where we are now, is Easter Rock.’
I shiver at the mention of the place where the woman in the article was killed.
‘The rocks in the sea around that part of the island are particularly dangerous.’
‘Yeah, we know.’ Josh catches my eye as if to ask:
How many more times are they going to mention it?
I nod to show I understand.
‘Lightsea House is over there.’ Mr Bradley points in the direction we’ve just come from. The roof of the house is just visible beyond another copse of trees. ‘The
boathouse, jetty and Boater’s Cove are along the coast to the south-east. There are many caves dotted around the island that run underground from the sea to the interior of the island. They
flood when the tide rises, making them a drowning risk. It’s also easy to get trapped in one of the many bays and coves. Water rises, cutting off all routes out and in. Result again:
drowning. Understand?’
‘Yeah, we get it,’ Josh grumbles.
Kit crosses his arms. ‘Well, I think it makes sense to keep explaining how dangerous the water can be.’
Everyone except Samuel, currently preoccupied with a nearby tree, stares at him. Even Mr Bradley looks slightly bemused.
‘Quite,’ he says. ‘Good. Anyway, time to go back down the hill.’
As we jog down the slope, Josh moves closer to Kit.
‘Nice job on the sucking-up front, man,’ he says with a grin.
I suppress a smile. Kit ignores him.
We reach level ground a few moments later. Mr Bradley directs Josh and Samuel to a patch of trees to gather wood, then turns to Kit and me. ‘You two can help me with the boat
repairs.’
My stomach cartwheels as we say goodbye to the others and follow Mr Bradley along a winding path. I’m about to spend at least the next hour with Kit. We emerge on to Boater’s Cove
after about ten minutes. It’s a pebble-strewn, horseshoe-shaped beach bounded by high rocks, with a wooden boathouse right on the shore and a huge, covered woodpile lined up against a low
fence leading round to the trees. The jetty where Andrew and I were dropped off yesterday is visible in the distance.
‘What would you like us to do, sir?’ Kit asks.
‘Today, varnishing,’ Mr Bradley says.
He leads us into the boathouse. I’ve never been anywhere like this before: a large, square, wooden shed full of boating gear, with one wall open to the sea. A small boat with the name
Aurora
painted along the side bobs on the water inside. Waves from the sea smack gently against its hull.
Mr Bradley hands out tins of varnish and brushes, then shows us how to apply
‘Hurry up, hurry up,’ snaps Mr Bradley who is waiting by the front door.
There is just time to tug on our boots before Mr Bradley chivvies us outside and sets off at a brisk pace. It’s still chilly and misty outside, though the sun is already burning through
the clouds. But we’re walking too fast to feel cold. Even Kit is almost jogging in order to keep up with Mr Bradley, while Samuel is running flat out. Before we are over the first hillock, he
starts panting for breath, falling behind the rest of us.
‘Mr Bradley,’ I call out. ‘Please could we slow down?’
‘No,’ Mr Bradley barks, barely glancing over his shoulder. ‘The pace is not excessive. You should all be able to keep up!’
We keep going for nearly ten minutes before Mr Bradley steers us up the hill that dominates the south-west tip of the island. We’re all out of breath by the time we reach the top.
It’s an amazing spot, especially now the mist has rolled back from the shore. From where we stand, you can see the oval shape of the island and the sea on all sides.
‘Orienteering session,’ Mr Bradley shouts over the wind. ‘That way is north-east.’ He points towards the trees and rocks where I saw the dark figure in the red hat
yesterday. ‘High rocks run along much of the coast. The very tip of the eastern part of the island, opposite where we are now, is Easter Rock.’
I shiver at the mention of the place where the woman in the article was killed.
‘The rocks in the sea around that part of the island are particularly dangerous.’
‘Yeah, we know.’ Josh catches my eye as if to ask:
How many more times are they going to mention it?
I nod to show I understand.
‘Lightsea House is over there.’ Mr Bradley points in the direction we’ve just come from. The roof of the house is just visible beyond another copse of trees. ‘The
boathouse, jetty and Boater’s Cove are along the coast to the south-east. There are many caves dotted around the island that run underground from the sea to the interior of the island. They
flood when the tide rises, making them a drowning risk. It’s also easy to get trapped in one of the many bays and coves. Water rises, cutting off all routes out and in. Result again:
drowning. Understand?’
‘Yeah, we get it,’ Josh grumbles.
Kit crosses his arms. ‘Well, I think it makes sense to keep explaining how dangerous the water can be.’
Everyone except Samuel, currently preoccupied with a nearby tree, stares at him. Even Mr Bradley looks slightly bemused.
‘Quite,’ he says. ‘Good. Anyway, time to go back down the hill.’
As we jog down the slope, Josh moves closer to Kit.
‘Nice job on the sucking-up front, man,’ he says with a grin.
I suppress a smile. Kit ignores him.
We reach level ground a few moments later. Mr Bradley directs Josh and Samuel to a patch of trees to gather wood, then turns to Kit and me. ‘You two can help me with the boat
repairs.’
My stomach cartwheels as we say goodbye to the others and follow Mr Bradley along a winding path. I’m about to spend at least the next hour with Kit. We emerge on to Boater’s Cove
after about ten minutes. It’s a pebble-strewn, horseshoe-shaped beach bounded by high rocks, with a wooden boathouse right on the shore and a huge, covered woodpile lined up against a low
fence leading round to the trees. The jetty where Andrew and I were dropped off yesterday is visible in the distance.
‘What would you like us to do, sir?’ Kit asks.
‘Today, varnishing,’ Mr Bradley says.
He leads us into the boathouse. I’ve never been anywhere like this before: a large, square, wooden shed full of boating gear, with one wall open to the sea. A small boat with the name
Aurora
painted along the side bobs on the water inside. Waves from the sea smack gently against its hull.
Mr Bradley hands out tins of varnish and brushes, then shows us how to apply
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