Skylarking by Kate Mildenhall Page A

waves to thump her tail, and we all stared. Harriet’s hand flew out and gripped my wrist, and we watched in awe as the water gushed in and around the whale and her huge head lifted a little from where it was resting in the rocks and ever so slightly she slid backwards a foot, maybe, at most.
    â€˜Fer Christ’s sake!’ cursed Blackwell, and he moved towards the whale.
    But my Father called ‘Wait!’ and held out his arm to block Blackwell’s path.
    And in that moment the water rushed in, and the whale pushed and lifted and slid out from her holding place into the waves. She listed there for a few seconds so that we saw the ridged pale skin of her belly before she went down and under, and headed out to her calf.
    Harriet and I jumped in the air and cheered. We wrapped our arms around each other.
    â€˜Hoorah, hoorah!’ we yelled – for the whale, for the getting away.

SEVENTEEN
    B Y THE TIME WE ALL MADE IT BACK UP THE TRACK TO the station, it was time for dinner.
    Mother and Emmaline had spent the whole day baking pies. I suspected that swimming in the gravy were more potatoes and flour than meat, as the lamb stocks were running low, but what did it matter when the pies sat in the centre of the table, all golden pastry and steam curling from the slits in the top? There were four of them to be sliced and shared, and some carrots and mash to go alongside. Mother had not been sure of how many might come back to eat, so she and I hastily set up a table in the kitchen for the younger children and then pulled in some chairs from the verandah so we could all crowd around.
    We ate with gusto. Blackwell’s behaviour on the beach had not stopped him from availing himself of a free meal at our table. He ate with an aggrieved churlishness.
    I nudged Harriet, who sat beside me. ‘Look at him,’ I whispered. ‘What a brute.’
    â€˜Shush, Kate,’ she said, and smothered a giggle in her napkin. Her cheeks were flushed, and she seemed to be bursting with all the emotion of the day.
    Father sat back in his chair and declared that it was the tastiest meal he had shared in some time, and that Mother and Emmaline had done themselves proud.
    â€˜Let us share in each other’s company a little longer,’ he said. ‘Shall we sing?’
    â€˜Oh yes, let’s!’ cried Harriet for she, of course, had the sweetest voice of any of us.
    We retired to the sitting room, which Mother hurried to make habitable. She asked me to fetch a bottle of sherry and the small glasses from the cabinet, and I placed them on a tray on the sideboard and offered round the glasses to the men.
    Father told the children to run off and play or sit and listen, and it was only little Lucy and Albert who joined the party in the end.
    â€˜Well, then, Harriet, a song if you will?’ said Father.
    Blackwell muttered, and while I could not hear the words, I guessed at their meaning. I glared at him.
    Harriet lowered her eyes as was proper, I suppose, in showing a degree of modesty about the whole affair, but at her mother’s urging she went to sit at the piano. Mrs Walker had tried to teach us both when we were younger, but Harriet had the greater propensity. I, on the other hand, was all thumbs and could neither master the black and white keys before me, nor the complicated sheets of music; they would not speak to me like the lines of text I raced through in books.
    Harriet settled herself on the piano stool and lifted her hands to the keys. The piano was in a poor condition generally – it was too expensive to get someone out to tune it. We tended to make do by covering the clanking discordant notes with hearty singing whenever we had such an evening.
    Harriet’s wrists were long and slender with the neat button of her sleeve pulled back a little so she might play. With all eyes on her, I was free to observe her as the others did, and she seemed somehow distant from me. Her face, the