Tide - By Daniela Sacerdoti Page 0,47

their shoulders and set off once more. Finally, they entered a long, tree-lined road, with gated villas at both sides.

“I think this must be her street,” said Mike finally. “We’re looking for an wrought-iron gate marked by two red pillars. Let’s go.”

Not even a mile on, they spotted the red pillars, and on top of a small hill, the grey sandstone villa that Sean had described: Sarah’s home. A stone wall ran around the property, high but conquerable.

“Fancy,” commented Niall with a low whistle.

They looked around, making sure no one would see them, and threw their rucksacks over the stone wall. Then they climbed over, letting themselves fall on the grass.

“What are we looking for exactly?” asked Niall, taking in the beautiful grounds around the house, the oak trees at the sides of it, the still water of the pond marked by a fountain in the middle.

“A painted S. On the north wall. Let me see, north … that one should be it,” said Mike, and started walking.

Niall followed suit. He briefly turned his head towards the house. “All the shutters are closed.”

Mike followed his gaze. “Yes. Just as well. I’m not approaching Sarah until I know.”

They walked the length of Sarah’s garden, past Anne’s vegetable patch, now wintry bare, past the pond, towards a small copse of beeches, ashes and hawthorns at the back, their black, naked branches jutting out against the sky. The northern wall ran behind the trees, covered in ivy and moss. Mike and Niall began inspecting the stones, looking for Sean’s sign.

“There!” Mike called finally, pointing at a small, spray-painted S. He started feeling every inch of the stones around the sign with stiff, frozen fingers.

“Ergh … slug.” Mike grimaced. “And random wiggling creatures.”

“Same here.” Niall muttered, kneeling on the carpet of rotten leaves to inspect the bottom section of the wall, and shivering in the chill wind.

After another few minutes of swearing and searching, Niall uttered a small cry of joy.

“And here we are!” Scrunched inside a tiny fissure in the stone was a square of transparent plastic sealed with sellotape. He passed it to Mike.

“Bingo!” Mike ripped the small package open. Inside was a piece of paper torn from a lined notebook, and on it, a series of numbers.

“What’s that?” asked Niall.

“Gamekeepers’ code. Give me a minute.” Mike took a pen from the depths of his rucksack and started scribbling.

“Can you not do it in your head? Bet Sean can do it in his head.” Niall loved irritating his friend and grinned, satisfied, when Mike gave him the usual exasperated look. Niall put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, I’ll be quiet now.”

“That’d be a first. Right, there, I’ve got it. ‘Not at the Heron’s house anymore. Midnight Hall. Eesley.’ Eesley? Where on earth …?”

“Let me see. It’s Islay – Aye-lah, my American friend! In the Hebrides, islands off the west coast of Scotland. Gorgeous place, lots of great music,” Niall explained enthusiastically. Niall was a keen fiddle player, and he could play just about anything he put his hands on. “There are some great sessions to be found there, I’m told.”

“An island? Oh God … not another boat,” groaned Mike.

“Come on, Mike, you’re in Scotland now, you need to get used to the choppy seas!” said Niall, smiling.

“Shut up, Niall.”

22

Banished

There was you, and me and them

Over a birthday cake

And a photograph, it seems

It’s all that’s left

Sarah leaned over her bed and folded her white jumper. Then she unfolded it, and folded it again. She moved it onto the chair, carefully, and smoothed her bed where the woollen jumper had left an invisible indentation.

But by then the jumper was crumpled, lying on her dressing table chair at an angle. Sarah sighed in frustration. At this rate, the packing for Islay would take the whole day.

Sean and Elodie were downstairs, spending time together in the easy way old friends do. They’d been chatting about old times, with a couple of mentions of Mary Anne, Sean’s old girlfriend. Sarah had decided then that her room was altogether a better place to be.

Once more Sarah folded the jumper and smoothed it down in the suitcase that was lying open on the floor. This time it worked. She could move on.

“Sarah! Somebody for you!” Elodie’s voice drifted upstairs.

Sarah turned away from the pile of clothes on her bed. Elodie was at the bottom of the stairs.

“Who is it? Where?”

“A man. About to knock at the door.”

“But the gate was locked! It must be Nicholas, only he can