[4] A Quick Spin
University did nothing to stem the flow of Sally's rushing thoughts. Day after day of seminars, protracted study sessions in the library, and a series of lectures on the deliciously intimate, candle-lit indoor playhouses of seventeenth-century England all passed her by in a haze. If Ronan or her mother had caught her slumped beneath her blanket, they would have been right to tell her off for dozing. It was not woolly sleepiness that clogged up Sally's mind, however. It was Flick.
The girl was an enigma, almost less a person than a force that swept through Sally's life. Even through the messy feelings that blazed through her body, it had not escaped Sally's notice that Flick had dodged the question about her friend back home. It may have been a simple rush of impulse that cut off her answer, or a relationship that hurtled off the rails and was now a touchy subject. Whatever it was, it contributed another thread to the shadowy weave around Flick, shrouding her past life and present thoughts from Sally's eyes. Flick was a mystery to her.
And Sally liked the mystery. It was frustrating, irrational, and unsustainable, yet it was also irresistible enough to melt all her words away whenever she thought about it, about her. Trouble or not, Sally enjoyed being at Flick's side, and she was not about to give that up to appease her parents.
It was late morning, and Sally's eyes scanned through another page of the scholarly article she had meant to finish reading last night. The piece's focus on the transformative power of wonder was right up her alley, but the words evaded her gaze, or maybe her gaze avoided the words. She checked her calendar and thanked the stars she did not have to be ready for class today.
As she knuckled down for a third attempt at reading the page, her bedroom window rattled in its frame. Sally set her printed sheet down and crawled onto her bed, another rattling sound quickening her pace. She glanced outside to see Flick bouncing on the path to her house, her hand already flapping in a fierce wave. "Were you throwing rocks at my house?" Sally cried through the window as she opened it.
"Well, you never gave me your number, sailor. What did you want me to do? Send smoke signals?" Flick was back in her red flannel shirt, making her stick out like a stoplight against the thick green lawn. She stopped rocking on her feet and shoved her hands into her back pockets. "I knew you were a cat-lover."
Sally narrowed her eyes at the girl's distant shape. "How's that?" Looking around, she spotted the trail of silhouette cats knitted into the hem of her oversized jumper, igniting tiny fires in her cheeks. "What are you doing here, Flick?"
"Checking up on my friend, that's all. I totally didn't get into a mad argument with Auntie Pol that ended with her kicking me out." Flick's fingers fiddled with her plait, her other hand set on the camera bag at her waist. "Up for a trip? I brought Miri!"
The article on Sally's desk would not read itself, but all Sally could do now was stare at it, praying the content seeped into her brain. "Let me get dressed, and I'll be down with you."
Flick saluted and smiled. "Nice one. Shout if you need a hand, yeah?"
Her friend might have been kidding, yet Sally's thumping heart was all too serious. She heard her shuddering chest through her coat and scarf, saw her wayward step onto the house path, and felt her mouth dry at the first close-up sight of Flick's face. "Where's the car?" Sally asked as she noticed the vacant spot by the fence.
Swaying to Sally's side, Flick shook her head. "We don't need it. I've got a better idea." Suddenly, she took Sally's hand and led her to the gate, laughing as Sally stumbled to keep up with her bounding pace. "Come on! We're burning daylight, sailor."
A fact of riding in a car with someone was that you both moved at the same speed and at the same time. Sally gained a deep appreciation of this fact during her and Flick's run, and she soon gave up guessing where her friend led her to focus on keeping her balance over the slipperier spots of stone pathway. As Flick skidded to a halt and squeezed her hand, Sally looked up to see they had reached the bay.
"Take your pick," Flick said, giggling as panic lit up Sally's eyes. "Just kidding! Chill, our ride's over there by the middle dock."
Sally's hands clammed up. Sea spray splashed over her shoes, and the occasional creaks of the old wooden walkway seemed more lamenting than usual. "What do you mean, 'our ride'?"
A thin black rope wrapped itself around Flick's free hand, a small key dangling from it. "What do you think Auntie Pol and I argued about?" They came to a stop by the bright white yacht beside Sally's father's vessel, and Sally flinched from the glaring green paint around the tin boat's front. "I asked to borrow that Martin guy's yacht, and she said no and told me to get lost. Little did she know that I'd already nabbed the key before I said anything!"
"Flick! We can't go joyriding in Mr Rowe's boat! He's the local councillor, we'll get in a heap of trouble!"
"Only if he finds out, and I'm sure as heck keeping my mouth shut about this." Drifting to the side of the yacht, Flick locked her fingers with Sally's and fixed her eyes on her friend's face. "Just a quick spin, Sal. The guy never uses it! Nobody's going to know."
Over Flick's shoulder, the sea rested in calm blue ripples, occasional pairs of waves playing between the rocks in the coves. Salt stung Sally's nostrils, yet the scent's familiarity made it comforting rather than off-putting. "They'd best not," she said, passing Flick's side to hop onto the yacht. "Do you even know how to handle a vessel like this?"
Following behind, Flick beamed and laid her arm across Sally's shoulders. "Beats me, bud. I was banking on my favourite navigator knowing a thing or two." Sally rolled her eyes, and Flick pulled her into a warm, tight hug. "Don't be like that! Point me where you need me, and let's get this show on the road!"
Sally resisted the urge to point back at dry land and refuse to cooperate with Flick's scheme. Martin's vessel was a simple pleasure cruiser designed to paddle around shallow bays and calm waters, so the odds of them going near anywhere risky and scratching the sides were almost zero. Plus, since her father and Ronan started fishing more often for longer, Sally could not remember the last time she sailed for fun. With Flick, she at least knew she would not be hauling in fish when they returned.
Leaving the docks unnoticed was easier than Sally anticipated. No other hands worked on their vessels, and the surrounding streets lay quiet save for fresh laundry flapping from washing lines and the rustle of scattered oak leaves. As the yacht's motor kicked into life, Sally steered them through the bustle of the bay, looking back at her father's fishing boat with a sad smile.
"Hey, hey! Way to go, sailor Sal!" Flick cried as she climbed the white metal steps to the helm, Miri's bag in her hands. Glancing up from their course, Sally saw the glee that sparkled in her friend's eyes, and she found herself smiling with her. "We'll be sailing our way around the world in no time!"
Laughing, Sally rocked the vessel towards the stretch of coves just beyond the village's strip of coastline. "Let's stick to the village bay for now, alright?"
The yacht rode over a hurtling wave, and Flick yelped as she lost her balance. Running on instinct, Sally leapt from the helm to seize Flick by her shoulders and guide her away from the stairs. They fell together on the railing, Sally's arms around Flick's neck, her gaze fixed on the girl's flashing hazel eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked, only realising as she spoke how close her face was to Flick's. Not a sliver of cool sea air passed between them, and Sally wondered if Flick had always filled the space around her with such sweet red berry notes, or whether that was a special touch for today.
Her friend cracked a smile and patted the bag at her side. "Me and Miri are both still in one piece," Flick whispered, sliding her hands inside Sally's coat to rest on her waist. Her nails marked Sally's hips with slow, looping circles. "You're a natural at this seafaring gig."
Sally slipped her fingers into Flick's hair, speechless at how her friend's dark locks were even softer than they appeared. "I try," she squeaked between her short breaths, puzzled by what she meant by that. As heat poured into her cheeks, she hid her face in Flick's neck and shut her eyes, letting the rush of the waves and the sound of her friend's breathing carry her away. Making sense was not among the things her brain was capable of doing right now. All she wanted to do was stay there in Flick's embrace, the yacht's motor purring as it took them somewhere, anywhere but back to Porthdruro.
"Martin Rowe? That you?" The radio downstairs crackled under the strain of Old Norton's heavy-set syllables. "What're you doing out when the wind's like this, you ditch-digging madman?"
Cursing under her breath, Sally raced down the stairs and snatched up the radio's handset from its control panel. "Hi, Mr Norton," she said through gritted teeth, her jaw easing when Flick stepped down to join her. "Everything's alright here, don't worry yourself."
Old Norton mused for a long moment. "You're not Martin Rowe," he eventually answered, earning an exasperated flap of Sally's arms away from the handset. "I know your voice. You're Jim Tremaine's little lass, Sandy, ain't you? What're you doing on that boat?"
"It's Sally, but yes." Sally ran a hand over her face, sighing as Flick put an arm around her. "Mr Rowe's letting us borrow it to...release some lanterns. His niece's...pet tortoise just died, you see. She got...Bertram when she was just a young thing, so it's a tough time for her."
At her side, Flick's eyes bulged from their sockets, and she mouthed the word 'Bertram' at her before shaking her head and tossing her camera bag below the console.
"Pet tortoise, you say?" Old Norton broke back in. His voice fought to be heard over the levels of static that rose to drown him out. "Well, ain't that just lovely of him? My great-grandson, Oliver, he's got one of those tortoise thingamies too. Just loves it, he does."
Sally's shoulders sank. "That's nice."
"Aye, but you won't be letting off no lanterns in this gale that's coming, lass. My knees are telling me it'll be a bad'un." Old Norton's complaints resurrected Sally's memories of her father's frustration, a feeling she now understood a little better. "Best come back in and try again tomorrow. The waves are already heaving up, they are."
"Yeah, right. This guy's nuts, Sal. Does he think a huge wave's just going to creep up on us?" Incredulity clear on her face, Flick climbed the steps back up top. Sally set the handset down and followed, trying and failing to recall any strong winds or surging waves before she came down. As she walked, however, she realised she did not recall much beyond the feel of Flick's skin against her cheek and the sound of her own heart pounding harder by the second.
As Sally's boot hit the steps, a frothing wave twice her height shot into view, showering the deck in ice-cold seawater and deafening her with a thundering crash. Sally clung onto the handrail hard enough to drain the colour from her knuckles, and it took several shakes of her head to clear the spray from her face. Something struck the deck ahead of her, and her heart froze and sank into a depthless pit. "Flick!"
Another pillar of water soared beside the yacht, yet Sally forced herself through the surge to drag herself up the steps onto the deck. Sprawled face-down by the helm, Flick lay unmoving within striking distance of the wave. Sally shut her eyes and threw herself over Flick's body, a shriek leaving her lips as the water collapsed around her. Her clothes were soaked, her vision dissolved beneath glassy streaks, but she had not swallowed any water. Most importantly, neither had Flick.
Sally tried to hoist Flick on her back, over her shoulder, and cradled in her arms, yet the impact had sapped the strength from her body. She settled for dragging the girl by her arms down the steps, making sure to keep Flick's head away from the harsh metal edges. Once down, she sat Flick in the console's chair, threw her own drenched coat and scarf into the corner, and ran back up to the helm.
They had sailed so far from the bay that returning to Porthdruro was too difficult for her to manage alone, not to mention filled with risk of damaging their borrowed vessel. Looking around, Sally spotted the coves she had steered towards earlier, the rocks announcing their entrance close enough to reach. She wiped the water from her eyes, aimed straight for them, and took a deep breath.
As soon as she crossed into the safety of the surrounding cliffs, Sally eased the yacht to a stop. Waves struck around the cove's opening behind her, yet she ignored them as she tied the vessel to a sturdy rock piercing through the water's surface. Shaking off the drizzle that formed around her, Sally headed for the steps. "Stupid idiot," she muttered, unsure who she referred to until she saw Flick's motionless shape in the chair, the sting the sight left in her gut undeniable.
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