Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I shook my head because Mrs. McQuarrie had been looking after us. She and Mum were good friends.
“No? I bet you dinnae even know how to make your own bed or a wash a dish. I bet you let your poor mither do everything for you …”
As she ranted in my face, I could feel my skin flushing as I started to get mad. It was like when Laird threw my old baby dolls out without asking me because he needed space in the shed to store his new bike.
Why was this old woman angry at me about making my own bed?
Didn’t she know my dad was dead?
Didn’t she know he’d never hug me again or kiss my forehead and tell me I was the prettiest lass in the world? Didn’t she know he couldn’t save me from the lady ghost Laird said haunted our house at night? Didn’t she know he couldn’t wipe my tears and cuddle me close and make me feel safe anymore? I wanted Dad! Dad would yell at Ms. Crookshaw for being mean. He’d take my hand and pull me away.
I didn’t understand why I’d never see him again.
“Ms. Crookshaw.” Mrs. McQuarrie suddenly appeared. She scowled at my neighbor. “Why don’t we get you a slice of Madeira cake and a cup of tea?”
“Well, I—”
“Taran.” Quinn, Mrs. McQuarrie’s son, stepped around his mum and took my arm. “Come with me.”
Surprised, I let him lead me across the living room and into the hallway. He opened the front door, and the next thing I knew, we were outside. I stared at him as he frowned out at the street.
Quinn McQuarrie was in primary five while I was in P4. Our school was wee. We knew each other because our mums liked each other. His younger sister Cammie was in P2 and sometimes I walked her to school when Quinn wanted to run off in front with his friends.
He used to be louder, the boy his friends all looked up to. He still kind of was. But I thought he was quieter. Ever since his dad left. Everyone talked about it last year. Mr. McQuarrie left his family behind. I heard Mum telling Dad that Mrs. McQuarrie hadn’t heard from him since. Dad had called him a bad word. Dad would never have left us if it was up to him.
That hot ugly feeling was happening again.
Quinn looked at me. “Ms. Crookshaw is an auld cow.”
I nodded. Because she was.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
“Come with me.” He jerked his head toward the street and then ran down the steps to where his bike leaned against the garden fence.
I glanced back at the house, thinking I should tell Mum if I was going somewhere.
But then … would she notice?
That heat shot through me again, and I hurried after Quinn. He was already on the bike but not on the saddle. He’d left that for me. “On the back.”
I climbed on, holding on to him as he rode down the street. I held my legs straight out on either side so my feet didn’t hit the ground.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
We rode down the street and onto the main road that led farther into the island. Then Quinn cut off down a narrow track I knew led to a cove. Just as my legs started to get tired, Quinn slowed the bike as we bumped down hill. The beach here was tiny, so only islanders really knew about it. We got off the bike and Quinn dumped it before grabbing my arm. He led me down the steep grassy dune, helping me when I skidded in the shiny black shoes Mrs. McQuarrie helped pick out for today. Finally, we reached the flat of the white sand beach.
The water here was pretty. Turquoise bleeding into blue as it hit the small shore. The cove was hugged on either side by the tall cliffs of the island coastline.
I looked to Quinn.
He looked back. He had really blue eyes. “I came here when my dad left.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling strange for him.
“I know it’s different. My dad left because he wanted to.” Quinn kicked angrily at a large pebble, and it bounced into the water. “But I know what it’s like to … you know … not to have my dad.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“Don’t listen to Ms. Crookshaw. Cry as much as you want.” He shrugged.
I stared at my feet, embarrassed as the tears fell down my cheeks.
“I was angry my dad left. And, like, I know your dad didn’t mean to leave … but I was thinking maybe you’re angry too.”
My head jerked up with surprise.
I was mad.
But I felt really bad about being mad.
The right side of Quinn’s mouth lifted. He shrugged again. “It’s okay if you’re mad. Even if Dad didn’t mean to leave me, I’d still be mad.”