In a Kingdom by the Sea. Sara MacDonald
Twenty-Nine
Cornwall, 1971
Maman is not waiting for me by the front door as I walk up the hill from school. The door is open and slices of apricot sun slant across the coloured tiles in the hall. Inside, the house is unnaturally quiet. I hesitate on the front step, turn to look at the curve of sea glittering below me. I do not want to step inside.
There has been a tight band round my chest all day. It started last night on my sleepover with Morwenna. I had woken suddenly in the night with my heart skittering inside me, making me want to leap out of bed and run home.
In front of me the narrow passageway to the back of the house yawns beyond the reach of the sun. The kitchen door is shut. It is never shut.
‘Maman?’ I call, but no one answers.
I step inside and the air plucks and pulls at me in cold little gusts.
‘Papa?’ I call. ‘Dominique?’ But I know my father will be working and my sister won’t be back from school yet.
I run down the dark hall and push the kitchen door hard. It opens with a bang and I jump when I see Maman leaning, silent, against the battered cream Aga. She does not look like Maman. Her face is an angry, grey mask.
‘It is no good calling Dominique,’ Maman says. ‘She’s gone …’
I stare at her. ‘What do you mean … gone?’
Maman is clinging to the rail of the Aga. She looks ill and old. She is scaring me.