“You look like homemade sin,” I tell him. “What are you doing?”
Instead of heading to the bathroom to clean up, he’s fetching his coat, which has fallen onto the floor behind Dad’s sitting chair by the fire.
Finn rubs his forehead, leaving a black smear. “I’m afraid to turn the Morris off or it might not start again.”
“You can’t let it run all night.”
My brother puts on his lumpy hat. “I can’t believe Mum called you the clever one.”
“She didn’t. She called Gabe that,” I say. As he puts his hand on the door, I realize where he thinks he’s going. “Wait — you think you’re going to the festival?”
Finn just turns and gives me a look.
“Gabe’s not even here. Why do you think we’re going? I have to be up early.”
“Because you have to go finalize your registration,” Finn says. “That’s what your rule sheet says.”
Of course he’s right. I feel foolish for not remembering it, and then I feel my stomach drop to my feet. Before, I had a few yards of seawater between me and everyone who might say something about me being in the races. Now the only thing between me and everyone else will be a few pints of beer.
But there’s no way around it. And maybe, just maybe, Gabe will be there. The rest of the island will be.
Unreluctantly, I abandon the dish washing, and reluctantly, I find my ratty green coat and get my hat as Finn flings open the door. Now that I know to look for it, I can see that he’s crawling out of his skin with excitement. Finn never looks more excited — he just gets faster. Finns are generally slow-moving creatures.
The Morris looks ominous under the darkening pink sky, the widening black hands of clouds stretching across the sunset, but Finn’s face is a shining beacon in the driver’s seat as he waits for me. I think of him behind Dory Maud’s fearsome curse mask and imagine him that happy again, his fingers sticky for days.
“Wait —” I say, and run back inside to pull a few slender coins from the increasingly shallow collection in the biscuit tin on the counter. I will find a way to earn it back. Even if we eat nothing but November cakes for this week. I run back out into the car and sit. Finn’s repair of the seat digs into my thigh. “Is this thing going to stop on us? I don’t want to be stuck in the middle of some field after dark with a horse looking in.”
“Just don’t turn on the heater,” Finn says.
I don’t want to know how he got it started. Last time it required two men pushing it at a run while Finn steered. As we bump along the roads, he adds, “I’ll bet that’s where Gabe is. I’ll bet he’s at the festival.”
And at that, I get an even more severe prickle of nerves, because the idea of confronting Gabe over Malvern’s eviction threat is one that has been dogging me. If he’s at the festival, he won’t be able to avoid me.
“Ho!”
At first I think it’s Finn who’s said it, even though it’s not his voice and I don’t think Finn has ever said “Ho!” in his life. Then I see that it’s the Carroll brothers. They’re both stumping along like black guillemots in the twilight, and Jonathan’s shouted to get our attention.
Finn lets the Morris sway to a halt. I slide the window open.
“Give us a ride into town?” Jonathan asks.
In response, Finn drags up the parking brake. I’m shocked, somewhat, by his boldness. I would’ve let the Carrolls ride with us, of course, but in my head, Finn is more shy than that. He keeps getting older while I’m not paying attention.
I have to get out to let the two boys in. Jonathan climbs in first and kicks the back of Finn’s seat, and Finn looks affably in the rearview mirror. Brian says thanks to me. Whether for the ride or for getting out to let him in, I don’t know. The car feels full of people, like we’ve increased our number by five instead of two.
As we pull off again, Jonathan leans forward and clutches the shoulders of the driver’s seat to ask, “When’s the bonfire go up, do you know?”
“I dunno,” Finn replies.
I twitch as a hand grips the back of my seat. A fishy smell accompanies it. I hear, “Evening, Kate.”
I glance back at the hand; it’s a nice, square hand, even if it smells like fish. “Evening.”
Jonathan shakes Finn’s seat. “I think I’m legit to bet this year. Do you know if it’s sixteen or seventeen? The age to bet?”
“I dunno,” Finn replies.
“Well,” Jonathan says cheerfully, “you’re useless as tits on a boar. Saw you setting up Dory Maud’s booth yesterday morning, Puck. What’s she selling these days? Stuff.”
I don’t know why he asked the question if he was just going to answer it for himself anyway.
Brian leans toward the window and me and his voice gets a little closer. It’s nice and square, like his hand, one of those old island accents that sounds good talking about the weather or how many gannets there were on the rocks the other day. When I was younger, I used to stand in the bath where it was echoey and try to mimic it. It’s something about the r’s that’s quite different from how my parents spoke. “I hear you’re going to ride. Is that true?”
Finn flicks on the headlights as Jonathan keeps chattering at him. Night’s coming fast under the thin gauze of clouds. Something smells of burning. I hope it’s not the Morris.
I say, “It’s true.”
He doesn’t say anything, just makes this sort of low, tuneless whistle to indicate surprise or awe, and then leans back in his seat. Meanwhile, Jonathan Carroll keeps up a running commentary with himself. He only needs to see Finn’s head incline slightly to encourage him to start up again. I’m not sure Finn’s even nodding his head; I think it’s just the pits in the road. As we come along the high part of the road, though, even Jonathan falls silent. From here, you can see the ocean for just a few moments. It’s gray and vast under an equally vast sky and even from this distance, I can see how the waves tear each other apart. We get plenty of rain, and storms often enough, but our weather is not given to extremes. Still, something about the white churning against the rocks is not comforting.
“Ho!” Jonathan says again. “Look! Look there! A head!”
And despite ourselves, we all look. The water shifts, black then gray-blue then black again, the froth a white ruffled collar, and then, out of the froth, we all see it. A dark horse’s head surges above the water, jaw wide open. And then, before the sea swallows the first, we see a chestnut mane break the surface, along with a brief glimpse of a brown spine curving in the water alongside it. Then they’re all gone beneath the water and I have goose bumps creeping up my arms.