Tide - By Daniela Sacerdoti Page 0,7

shoulder. Sarah turned to see Aunt Juliet waving back, a smile on her face. Her stomach knotted all of a sudden, and a feeling of sorrow, of loss, overcame her for a moment. She watched Juliet drive away as if you’d watch a drowning person sink underwater. She closed her eyes for a second, astonished at the intensity of the grief, wondering where it’d come from.

“Sarah?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a million miles away. I said ‘well done’.”

“Thanks. Thanks.” Sarah stretched her mouth into a smile, but the dreadful feeling of loss was still gripping her. “But I don’t know how it went yet. I won’t know until March.”

Nicholas took her cello from her as she unlocked the door. “I know,” he told her. “I’ve got a feeling your performance today knocked them all out.”

“I hope so. Come on in.” She opened the door and removed her shoes before walking in to the hallway. Nicholas knew by now of her rituals. He stood back as she hung up their coats, trying in vain to make them sit straight. Sarah’s obsessions amused him, like a charming eccentricity

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked.

“I’m not hungry, thanks.” He slipped his arms around her waist. Sarah tensed for a moment – she had never enjoyed being touched. But shouldn’t it be different, with your boyfriend? Nicholas kissed the top of her head and she breathed in his signature scent of soil and woodsmoke.

“Actually, I need to talk to you,” she began.

“Talking is not what I had in mind!” he laughed. “But sure, let’s go.”

Sarah ignored the pang of hunger in her stomach. She was ravenous after her long day, and she would have loved to cook something. But it was somehow easier to take Nicholas’s lead. That was the way things seemed to work between them.

Nicholas had appeared in her dreams over and over again, before they ever met in real life. She used to call him “Leaf”, because he’d leave autumn leaves on her pillow, on her doorstep, among her books, for her to find. She treasured them, pressing them into the silver photo album Juliet had given her for Christmas. Nine transparent pockets, nine leaves – red, gold and yellow. She’d kept them hidden under her bed so that Sean wouldn’t find them. Sean was always wary of him.

Nicholas hunkered down in front of the fireplace, fuel briquettes and little twigs piled up, ready to light. He touched them with his long, pale fingers, and blue flames started burning at once, silently. Sarah wasn’t sure if she loved those blue flames or if they spooked her, dancing blue in place of a hot, red fire.

“Nicholas.”

“Yes? What’s on your mind?”

“It’s not over, is it?”

“Between us? It’s just started, are you ditching me already?” he said in mock alarm.

“Please, be serious. You know what I mean. You said you’d tell me everything, but there’s still so much I don’t understand.”

“OK, OK. Sorry. No, of course it’s not over. But I’m here to protect you, so what’s the problem?”

“Cathy’s Valaya … you said it’s not the only one.”

“No. There are many of them.”

“Why now? What has happened to … to organize the Surari in this way?”

Nicholas hesitated for a second. “I see no point worrying about that. All we need to do is stay alive, and with me here, nothing can hurt you, Sarah.”

She tried to read his expression. His black eyes were very lucid, very bright – but impenetrable, like the surface of a still, dark loch – it was impossible to gauge what lay underneath. He took her in his arms and she rested her head on his chest, thinking she’d only stay there a minute, time for the world to stop swirling.

An hour later, she was still curled into him, as Nicholas stroked her hair slowly, hypnotically.

“Nicholas …”

“Yes?”

“There was something else.” Sarah tried to feel her way out of the fog that enveloped her thoughts.

“Tell me.”

“I need … I need something to eat first.”

“Is that what you wanted to say?” he laughed.

“No, no. Just, I haven’t eaten since last night. Come on.” Nicholas followed her into the kitchen, where she stood in front of her cupboards, and sighed. When Nicholas was around, cooking seemed a huge effort somehow. And to get her kitchen dirty filled her with dread. She’d have to wipe each surface a million times over.

“Nicholas,” she began.

While she was trying to decide how to ask him to go to Islay with her – so difficult, when her brain felt as if