The Sea Sisters. Lucy Clarke

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СКАЧАТЬ classmates, but complained about Mia’s disruptive behaviour and the lack of care applied to her studies. Katie became the benchmark against which Mia was measured, never the other way round.

      The comparisons other people made, however, were nothing against those Mia and Katie drew between themselves. Mia had sometimes wondered if their differences were more pronounced since, oddly, their birthdays fell on the same day – 11 June – but with three years between them. The year Mia turned 12 and Katie 15, Mia asked to celebrate with a beach barbeque, and Katie, who was nearing the end of senior school, wanted a party. Their mother offered a solution: they would have a party at the beach.

      Katie invited a dozen school friends; the boys headed straight for the water and the girls basked in the early-evening sun. Mia left to explore the next bay along with Finn, who was the only person she’d thought to invite. They spent their time digging for lugworms or chasing each other, swinging thick ropes of seaweed above their heads. They rejoined the party only when they could smell the burgers cooking, and then took their loaded plates to the rocks where they sat together eating and throwing the occasional scraps to the cocky gulls that gathered nearby.

      Mia watched Katie moving seamlessly from friend to friend, checking that they had enough food, that their drinks were full and that they were enjoying themselves. She noticed how the girls brightened as soon as Katie joined them, and the boys’ gazes would linger on her. One of the party, a diminutive girl who’d earlier been caught unawares by a wave that soaked the bottoms of her jeans, sat alone, deflated after the incident, her paper plate sagging on her knees. Noticing her, Katie slipped apart from the group she was with and sat beside the girl. She touched the damp line of the girl’s jeans, and then whispered something that made her laugh hard enough to forget the cool denim at her shins. When Katie stood and reached out her hand, the girl took it and then followed Katie as they moved to rejoin the larger crowd.

      Mia was impressed. At 15, when most teenagers were awkward and temperamental, Katie had an intuitive ability to put people at their ease. From her vantage point on the rocks, she saw Katie join their mother beside the barbeque as she heaped the last of the blackened sausages onto a spare plate. As they stood close, their blonde heads leaning towards one another, their gazes levelled at the sea, it suddenly struck Mia how similar her mother and sister were. It was more than their physical likeness, it was a likeness etched into their personalities. They shared a gregarious manner and a gift for understanding people, both able to read gestures and expressions in a way that was entirely alien to Mia.

      The realization of their similarities unsettled Mia, but it wasn’t until years later, when her mother’s cancer was moving into its final stages, that she understood precisely why. Mia was visiting home and had swung into the drive – three hours late according to the schedule Katie had emailed her. A headache thumped at her temples and alcohol fumes emanated from her pores.

      When she let herself in, Katie was coming down the stairs holding a leather weekend bag at her side. ‘Mum’s sleeping.’

      ‘Right.’

      Katie reached the bottom step and stopped. Up close, Mia could see her eyelids were pink and swollen. ‘You’re three hours late,’ Katie said.

      Mia shrugged.

      ‘An apology would be nice.’

      ‘For what?’

      Katie’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve delayed me by three hours. I had plans.’

      ‘I’m sure your boyfriend will understand,’ Mia said with an arched eyebrow.

      ‘Don’t make this about us, Mia. It’s about Mum.’ Katie lowered her voice. ‘She’s dying. I don’t want you to look back and regret anything.’

      ‘What, like the way I regret having you as a sister?’ It was a childish, dirty remark, which Mia didn’t feel proud of.

      As Katie moved past her, she said to Mia, ‘I have no idea who you are.’

      In that comment she had hit upon the very thing that had always troubled Mia: if she didn’t take after her mother the way Katie did, then it could only lead Mia in one direction – Mick. And since all she knew of him was that he had abandoned his family, the second question she had circled in her journal was: ‘Who am I?’

      Glancing up, she saw that the shadows of palm trees had clawed their way across the beach. She stood, dusting the sand from the backs of her thighs, knowing it was time to answer those questions.

      As she moved along the beach, her gaze was caught again by the lone surfer paddling for a wave. He rode the liquid mountain as gracefully as a dancer, arching his body and turning his hips to catch the right motion. Mia watched him, rapt, and still didn’t move off as he paddled back in to shore, letting a small ridge of white-water carry him almost to the beach. Then he slipped from his board and stood, hooking it beneath his arm as he waded in.

      The man, who looked to be just a few years older than her, had a closely shaven head and a dark tattoo that stretched across the underside of his forearm. He squeezed a thumb and forefinger against the corners of his eyes, flicking away the salt water and blinking. He set his board down, removed his ankle leash, and then turned back to the ocean where a final blaze of red sky fringed the horizon. He stood with his arms loosely folded over his chest, his chin raised. The posture was stoic, resolute, yet somehow contemplative, too. Mia was intrigued by the way he watched intensely as if he were in communion with the ocean.

      Minutes passed and the red sky faded to a warm orange glow, and still he did not move. Mia knew she should go but, as she stepped forwards, the man turned sharply.

      He looked directly at her and his expression was one of affront, as if she had intruded on a moment intended for him alone. There was no hint of his mouth softening into a smile, or his eyebrows rising in acknowledgement. Thick lashes shadowed dark eyes and the intensity of his gaze bore into her. His eyes held her fixed and she felt heat rising in her cheeks. For a moment, she thought he was about to say something but then he dipped his head and turned back to the horizon.

      She moved on, leaving the beach in his watch. She followed a narrow footpath, which eventually brought her out in front of a row of beach-front properties. Sprinkler systems kept trimmed lawns fresh and green, and large cars with tinted windows were parked on tarmac driveways. Mick’s house, number 11, was two storeys with a terracotta roof, stonewashed walls and blue shutters framing the windows. Bright tropical plants grew in curved flower beds that bordered the path to the front door, and she caught the sweet smell of frangipani in the air.

      She hovered awkwardly at the edge of the driveway. Her heart was beginning to pound and she shoved her hands in her pockets to stop the trembling of her fingers. For every minute she waited, her anxiety doubled. The visit wasn’t simply an exercise in curiosity; it was far more crucial to her than that. Mia had always felt like an outsider in her family, and had taken a strange comfort in the idea that somewhere in the world was her father, a man she was just like. She had come to Maui to hold up a mirror to him, wondering if she would see herself in its reflection.

      She drew in a long, steady breath, and then placed one foot in front of the other. When she reached the front door she steeled herself and pressed the bell.

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