Page 54 of Take Me Away

‘Me neither,’ she whispers.

We sit in silence, the rain a gentle backdrop. I can hear her breathing, slightly faster than normal.

‘I should let you sleep,’ she says finally, making no move to leave.

‘Probably,’ I agree, equally stationary.

Another beat of silence.

‘I meant what I said,’ she says, her voice a fragile thread in the darkness. ‘If I’d known about Jessica, I would have come. Not that it would have changed anything, but … I would have been here. For you. For Maisie. I would have still been your friend. Before everything else, before there was even a hint of an us, you, me, and Jude, we were friends.’

‘I know,’ I say quietly. ‘And I missed that.’

She stands then, blanket clutched around her shoulders. ‘Goodnight, Kit.’

‘Goodnight, Isla.’

She limps towards the stairs, blanket trailing behind her. At the bottom step, she pauses, looks back. Our eyes meet in the darkness.

A pause, just for a moment, and then she starts her way up. It takes everything in me not to jump up and help. If she wanted it, she would have asked me. This new version of Isla who’s returned to Sea Salt Bay is so different from the girl who spent her summers here. The old Isla was ferocious in her ambition for her dreams. She was wild. Dad always told me it was a kickback to her boarding school life. People still talk in Sea Salt Bay about the number of times I pulled her from the current, but that’s because she was always jumping first, impetuous and carefree.

The woman who has returned in her place… She’s trying not to let it show, but I can see the cracks, and they hurt me in ways I didn’t know I could still feel.

I sit in the silence, letting it all wash over me, the tide of words, the slow creep of her back into my psyche. But beneath the silence is a burning rage.

Hot and untempered.

What the fuck did that bastard do to her?

And why the hell isn’t her boyfriend here helping her go through it?

I don’t sleep a wink.

Just those two thoughts circling in my head.

Chapter Thirteen

ISLA

Iwake to the distinct sensation of being watched.

For a disorienting moment, I don’t recognise my surroundings – unfamiliar walls, sunlight filtering through strange curtains, a bed that isn’t mine. Then memory floods back: the cottage leak, Kit’s unexpected invitation, our midnight conversation.

The first thing I do is wiggle my toes, slowly rotating my foot. Thank God, it no longer feels like my ankle is an overripe melon that wants to explode. Don’t think I’ll be running any time soon, but I would like very much to not have to get carried through the village like an invalid again.

A soft shuffle pulls my attention and I turn my head to find Maisie standing beside the bed with the dog, Cap, approximately three inches from my face, studying me with unblinking interest.

‘Holy sh—’ I bite off the word, jerking upright. ‘Maisie. Hi.’

‘You snore,’ she informs me solemnly. ‘But only a little bit. Like this.’ She demonstrates with a delicate, kitten-like snuffling sound while the dog wags its tail and butt.

‘Thanks for the review,’ I manage, pulling the blankets higher. ‘How, um, long have you been standing there?’

She considers this, head tilted. ‘Since I finished brushing my teeth. Dad said not to wake you, but I didn’t. I was just looking.’

‘That’s…’ Creepy? Sweet? ‘…thoughtful.’

‘Dad’s making pancakes,’ she announces. ‘Because you’re a guest. He only makes pancakes for special occasions.’