This Northern Sky Read Online Free PDF Page A

of how an ecosystem works.’ He explains to me about the machair: the beach-meadows where hundreds of flowers and tiny plants grow on the calcium-rich mix of sand and peat. ‘It’s one of Europe’s rarest ecosystems,’ Dad says. ‘Created during the Ice Age, from the shells of marine animals that died when sea temperatures dropped. Now, the cattle graze the machair and fertilise it. It’s pretty unique, this place.’
    Dad points out different birds. He actually sounds cheerful.
    ‘You don’t ever talk like this at home,’ I say.
    Dad hunches his shoulders. ‘You don’t get a lot of curlews and dunlin and ringed plovers in our bit of the suburbs,’ he says. ‘Not much seaweed either. And no machair at all.’
    ‘Why do we stay living there, if you hate it so much?’ I ask.
    ‘Our jobs. Your school. Friends. My aged parents. The small practicalities of real life and earning a living.’ He looks at me. ‘I didn’t say I hated it, Kate.’
    ‘Not in so many words.’
    He doesn’t answer that.
     
    ‘Did you see anything interesting?’ Mum asks when I get back to the top of the beach. She’s spread out a picnic. ‘Want some tea?’ She pours out a cup for me from the flask.
    ‘You should have come and looked too,’ I tell her.
    ‘I can see well enough from here,’ Mum says. ‘I’ve been enjoying the sun. It’s more relaxing, up here out of the wind.’
    ‘Did you see the geese?’
    ‘Yes. The wings make a lovely sound, don’t they? Your grandma loved to see wild geese.’ She passes me a sandwich. I peel it open, pick out the cheese and bits of tomato and leave the bread. Mum frowns but she doesn’t say anything.
    Dad’s slowly making his way back up the beach. He stops every so often to look at things left by the tide. He brings us each a shell. Mine is small and grey-blue, with shiny mother-of-pearl inside. I put it in my jacket pocket. While they eat their lunch, I doodle patterns in the sand with the rib of a feather. The sound of the waves is a constant background roar, smoothing out my mind and washing it clean. I feel a long way from home, from anyone really. Today, I don’t mind. It’s strangely restful, stopping thinking for a change.
    The three of us doze in the sun: even Dad. Mum’s turned away, on her side. When I next look round, I notice Dad’s hand on the small of her back, just resting there. I close my eyes again. Maybe it is going to be all right, after all.
     
    The walk home is peaceful too, to begin with: we don’t talk much. We’re all gradually getting used to a different pace: island time , Mum calls it. Every so often a car or tractor rumbles along the road and we have to stand up on the bank at the edge of the single-track road to let it pass, but there’s hardly any traffic really.
    The sound of an engine roaring up behind us makes us stop still and stand well back. ‘Idiots!’ Dad shouts. ‘Slow down!’
    It’s the mud-splattered jeep from the ferry. It brakes suddenly, slows right down and stops. For a second I think Dad’s going to start having a go at the driver, but before he can say anything, someone’s calling my name. ‘Hey, Kate!’
    It’s Finn. He’s in the front passenger seat, leaning out to wave at me. I’m so surprised I wave back. I guess the driver is one of his older brothers: he looks a bit similar, but with longer, crazier hair. He grins. ‘Want a lift? Not much space, but we don’t mind if you don’t!’
    Dad and Mum both look confused.
    ‘No thanks,’ I say quickly. ‘We want to walk.’
    ‘OK.’ The jeep pulls forwards again. I hear someone say something: a girl’s voice. Finn turns and looks out of the window, back at me. I feel myself blush.
    ‘I met him earlier,’ I say. ‘He’s the boy we saw running near the house, Mum.’
    ‘They ought to know better,’ Dad says. ‘Driving like that on this road.’
    ‘I expect they know the road pretty well,’ Mum says. ‘They’re the lads from the Manse. The girls