Breathing Underwater by Julia Green

doing today?’
    She doesn’t answer.
    Rosie pipes up instead. ‘She’s sleeping. In her tent. Then she’s going to the pub like she always does.’
    â€˜She doesn’t,’ Coral says.
    â€˜Where, then?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ Coral says. ‘She doesn’t tell me.’
    â€˜You should follow her,’ Rosie says. ‘That’s what I’d do.’
    Maddie laughs. She throws a pebble against Rosie’s lumpy castle and it makes a big dent in one of the walls. ‘You’re such a nosy parker!’
    â€˜She’s got a boyfriend,’ Rosie says.
    â€˜We all know that,’ Maddie says.
    I lean over to help Rosie patch up the sand wall, so no one can see my blushing face.
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    I go back home the long way, via Periglis. The dinghy has been pulled up the beach, the sail rolled loosely round the mast, still dripping. That’s where Joe must have been, then. It looks as if he was in a bit of a hurry. Gramps normally takes the sail right down, and brings the spare oars and all the gear back to the shed to dry off. I notice Joe’s left the two bungs on the edge of the wall. He’ll be mad if they got lost, or nicked, so I jump down on the shingle and go and pick them up, to take back with me. I find a washed-up sea-urchin too: pale purple and white stripes, almost perfectly round and whole. I start walking back along the path to the campsite.
    Then I see them: two figures crossing the field. They go past the washrooms, through the gateway, up the lane past the farmhouse. I follow a safe distance behind. Sam has a bottle in one hand. Her feet are bare, she’s carrying flip-flops in her other hand. She’s wearing a short white skirt, and a black sleeveless T-shirt, and a black leather belt. Her hair hangs down her back like a glossy curtain; she could be a model, a girl in an advert. They stop outside the farm, and Huw goes into the house. Sam waits for him in the lane, so I have to go on, past her. She doesn’t say anything and neither do I.
    I push our gate open and stop, hidden in the garden behind the hedge. I hear Huw and Sam come past, on up the lane. I know where they’re going now. I want to stop them right there, but I can’t think how. All the time, I’m thinking about Joe. Imagining the hurt look on his face. The pain in his heart.
    I go round the side of our house to the back garden. Voices drift from the downstairs bathroom: it’s Evie and Gramps, now laughing softly together. I fetch the green rug from the sofa, take it back out to the grass under the apple tree and wait for Joe.
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    I look up when I hear his feet coming down the stairs: I know it’s him, because of the way he always jumps the last three steps. He’s been in his room.
    â€˜Are you going down the field?’ I ask.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜I’m not going there,’ he says.
    â€˜Where, then?’
    â€˜Out.’
    So I follow him. Like Rosie said.
    Up the lane.
    My heart skips a beat.
    Now all I can think of is that somehow I’ve got to stop him finding Huw and Sam. I can’t bear the thought of him seeing what I saw.
    He’s almost there. He’s lifting the stuck gate at the hinge end, to open it.
    I sprint to catch him up.
    He turns. ‘What are you doing, following me?’ He’s angry. He grabs my arm and it hurts. I twist away.
    â€˜Go on. Scram.’ He shoves me away.
    I feel so stupid and helpless. There’s nothing I can do. I watch him walk towards the peeling front door. For a second I’m paralysed: a rabbit caught in headlights, crouched behind the hedge. Blood thrums up the back of my legs.
    More voices. Shouting. Joe comes skidding out of the gate and he bumps straight into me. He swears at me, shouts. He’s nothing like my brother Joe. He hauls me up. His words spit into my face. ‘You knew. You’ve known for ages, you deceitful little spy.