will happen to Rajah, friendly but often excluded, one of her favourites. The juveniles are eager to learn and enjoy chasing fish, but will they catch enough in the wild, when it’s no longer a game? And what about Mila with her newborn calf, and pregnant Rani?
Rick’s voice booms louder, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’ve heard it’s well over a million bucks. I mean, come on! They’ll spend all this time faffing about, let them out, and they’ll probably be dead within a week. What the hell is the point?’
Desi realises he is coming inside, and rushes to close her bedroom door. But he is down the corridor too fast, and she finds they are centimetres away from one another, she with her hand on the smooth, cold wood of the door, but not daring to shut it in his face. He stops in front of her in the low-lit hallway. His shorts and T-shirt are filthy, and he smells of fish and brine. His face is sunburnt and shiny, his arms and legs solid muscle. He is staring, angry challenge in his eyes.
Desi tries to hold his gaze, but can’t. She looks down for a moment, then back at him, and he is still there, his sneering stare running the length of her, daring her to take him on. Panic makes her heart skitter and she teeters on the point of shouting to her mother. But then he stalks away, as though knowing he has harried her to the edge of control. She hardly dares move yet, so watches him walk to the bathroom. He doesn’t bother shutting the door, but stands silhouetted in the dark, unzipping his shorts and reaching inside.
Desi jumps back into her bedroom as she hears a stream of urine loudly hitting the toilet bowl. She closes the door, lies down and puts a pillow over her head so she doesn’t have to listen. She has to be up early to work in the cafe, and needs to sleep. But, much later, when she has heard the final creak of chairs and the slamming of car doors, she is still wide awake. The cold certainty in his eyes makes his words ring in her ears. They’ll probably be dead within a week. Could he be right?
The next morning, before her shift at the cafe, Desi strolls down to the marina. The sea pen has been built between two jetties, and there is often a small crowd, but security has been tightened so there are no-go areas unless you are involved. The car park behind the marina slopes up to the boundary wall of the shopping centre, and Desi sits down here, so she can keep her distance as she watches. She can already see the dolphins – they surface often, their arched backs flashing silver in the bright morning sun. She tries to spot who’s who, but she is too far away to make out any identifying marks on their bodies. The only one she can be sure of is Mila, because her small calf echoes her movements.
To the south of the marina, the two rocks after which the town was named jut stolidly out of the sea. This morning, each one is lined with a crowded row of jostling seagulls, as though the dolphins have found a new audience. There aren’t many other people around yet, but it is still early. As Desi looks on, three of the dolphins break the surface in unison, their bodies rising from the water until they are dancing on their tails. They shimmy backward, waving their pectoral fins at a trainer standing to one side. Desi bursts out laughing, and hears a few onlookers clapping in delight, but the trainer glances down and scribbles furiously on his notes.
There is a man standing next to him, saying something to the trainer, who now has his eyes back on the water. It takes Desi a moment to place him, then she realises – it is the man who spoke to her briefly on the beach as the sun disappeared, what, six months ago now? She remembers his name: Connor. He can’t have stayed around the town, she would surely have seen him. Why is he here again now?
As she watches, Connor says something else to the trainer, who doesn’t respond. Then he turns, and now he is walking up the hill towards her, squinting in her direction. Desi remembers how unsettled she felt by him last time, and jumps down off