Page 25 of Strawberry Moon
“The one you made up?”
I nod.
He shrugs. “Nah, I didn’t like that one. I prefer my own version.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
He grins at me and leaves me standing in a patch of sunshine with my brain addled. Did he just say he’d had feelings for me from the beginning?
I realise I’ve lost sight of them and race forwards. When I catch him up, I whisper, “Wewilltalk about this.”
“I look forward to it.”
I abandon the subject for now, but the warmth it inspired kindles in my chest like a baby dragon.
The beach is small and surrounded by cliffs. The sand is still damp, so the tide obviously just went out and I’m charmed by the little row of beach huts painted in bright colours. Graham is unlocking a sunny yellow one.
I look at Harry. “Yours?”
He nods. “They’ve had it since we were children. We used to come here all the time. My mum said it gave us the chance to run off the demonic spirits we’d obviously been infected with at birth.”
I laugh and look around, picturing a young Harry racing over the sand with his brothers and sisters.
“What was Harry like as a child?” I ask Holly as she comes out of the beach hut. She’s taken off her outer gear and is now wearing a red swimsuit and carrying what looks like a pair of boots. She’s made a half-hearted attempt to shove her hair into a bathing cap, but her hair is winning the fight, and already half of it has fallen out, so the cap is perched on her head like a deflated balloon.
“Harry? Very charming, darling, andcompletelyunable to lie.”
“Really?” I wince inside.
I have a feeling that Harry wouldnothave embraced my grandad’s plan. He certainly wouldn’t have chosen Fiona as a role model, or even Jared, who in my opinion is useless for little else other than pouting and running his hands through his hair. He does that so much I’m surprised his hair hasn’t fallen out.
“Oh yes.” She pats Harry’s cheek. “Even the smallest fibs were beyond him.”
My heart sinks. I’d forgotten this about him when I went along with the plan.
“I can lie with the best of them,” he protests.
She shakes her head dismissively. “Only if the best of them were all dead. You have a tell, darling.”
“I do?”
I chuckle as she grins at him. “Yes, but I’ll never tell. A mother needs all the ammunition she can get. You can get changed in the hut, Harry. Your father and I are going in.”
She takes his dad’s hand, and they stride towards the waves that are washing onto the shore.
I walk into the hut and look around curiously. I’ve always wondered what they looked like inside. This one is charming with a scratched wooden floor and walls painted white. A small stove and cupboard are in one corner along with a portable barbecue. There’s an old two-seater sofa covered in blue cotton and with bright cushions set against one wall and a neat pile of striped deckchairs stacked by the door. Their faded colours remind me of being little when my brother had a job as a deckchair attendant in a nearby seaside town.
On the walls are several beautiful watercolours, and when I look closer I recognise the beach. On one of them children are playing cricket.
“Your mum’s?” I ask.
Harry nods. “I think that was the game when Ma decided my grandfather couldn’t play cricket with us anymore. He was supposed to be teaching us the rules of the game, but he’s far too competitive, and when my brother Jimmy bowled him out, he taught us loads of new swear words.”
I laugh and look closer at the picture. I’m betting Harry is the serious one who’s bowling.
“She’s very famous locally,” he continues. “She works on a lot of commissions. One of her pictures is hanging in Sandringham.”
