Staverton by Caidan Trubel Page B

“It was Gwen. She screamed, not me.”
    “Gwen?” Caroline put down the salt she was about to sprinkle over her plate. “Why would Gwen have screamed? And why would she have still been here? What time was it?”
    “About an hour after we’d gone to bed,” I said. “Your mother thought I’d been dreaming.”
    Caroline thought for a moment, then sprinkled salt over her breakfast and picked up her knife and fork. “Why would Gwen scream?”
    “Because I walked in on her and Jake, you know.” I raised my eyebrows meaningfully.
    Caroline’s eyes widened. “Gwen and Jake? Ew, that is not a pretty picture. I think we can safely say it was a dream.”
    “But –”
    “Did Mother see them?”
    “No, but... Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was a dream.”
    “Nightmare more like.” Caroline gave a theatrical shudder.
    As the weather forecast was fine, Caroline and I planned a picnic on the beach for lunch. Magdalena packed a hamper for us, with sandwiches, cold chicken and ripe peaches, and Caroline took a bottle of lemonade and added a hefty dash of vodka to it.
    We each took a handle of the wicker hamper and carefully made our way down the cliff path to the beach. I carried the lemonade, and Caroline had a selection of her mother’s magazines clasped under one arm.
    When we had nearly reached the beach, I heard Caroline mutter a curse.
    “What is it?” I asked.
    “Local boys. On the beach.”
    “Is it a private beach?” I squinted at the four figures below us, messing about in the shallows.
    “No. The cove isn’t private, but the only way to get to it by land is our cliff path. But it looks as though they came by boat.” Caroline pointed to the far end of the beach, where a dinghy had been pulled up on the sand. “Now we’ll have silly schoolboys gawping at us.”
    We continued our way down the cliff path and set the towels as far away from the local boys as possible.
    The morning breeze was still cool, so we both lay back enjoying the warmth of the sun, rather than go for a dip in the sea.
    Shrieks of laughter and name-calling grew louder as the boys made their way along the beach towards us. They had a ball they threw back and forth. Apparently, the main aim of the game was to hit each other as hard as possible with the ball.
    I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the noise. My mind was still full of the events of last night. It hadn’t been a dream. I was certain of that.
    I hadn’t seen Angela yet today. I didn’t think Angela wanted me to leave, but Lawrence had sounded adamant last night. This could be my last day on the beach this summer.
    I heard a thud as the heavy ball landed on the sand, a few inches from my head. I sat up. One of the boys swaggered up, his skinny body covered with red circles, marks made by the ball hitting him.
    I put a hand on the ball and curled my fingers, wishing my nails were sharp enough to puncture it.
    “Sorry about that, sweetheart. Chuck it back, will you?” he asked, not looking in the least bit sorry.
    I was about to reply when Caroline, stood up, picked up the ball and drop kicked it into the sea.
    “If you want it so much, go and get it.”
    I looked at her in admiration. That was an amazing kick. The ball cleared the beach and most of the rocks, and now it bobbed up and down a few metres out to sea. If I had made the kick, it would have probably travelled less than a quarter of the distance.
    The red-skinned boy’s face fell, and I felt sorry for him. I guessed he was a few years younger than us, and he and his friends were only messing about.
    He swore at us, turned and ran toward his friends. They shouted amongst themselves, arms waving in anger before they set off for their dinghy.
    “I need a drink after that,” Caroline said, reaching for the bottle of lemonade.
    I picked up a magazine, planning to leaf through it, when a figure on the cliff caught my attention. I raised a hand to shadow my eyes from the sun. “Is that Michael?”
    “Hmm?” Caroline