In a Kingdom by the Sea. Sara MacDonald

I call, but no one answers.

       I step inside and the air plucks and pulls at me in cold little gusts.

       ‘Papa?’ I call. ‘Dominique?’ But I know my father will be working and my sister won’t be back from school yet.

       I run down the dark hall and push the kitchen door hard. It opens with a bang and I jump when I see Maman leaning, silent, against the battered cream Aga. She does not look like Maman. Her face is an angry, grey mask.

       ‘It is no good calling Dominique,’ Maman says. ‘She’s gone …’

       I stare at her. ‘What do you mean … gone?’

       Maman is clinging to the rail of the Aga. She looks ill and old. She is scaring me.

       ‘I’ve sent her away to Aunt Laura in Paris …’

       ‘Why?’ I shout. ‘What did Dominique do?’

       My mind darts to the arguments Maman and Dominique have been having about my sister’s clothes. Mostly short skirts. Every morning Dominique rolls her school skirt up to her knickers just to annoy Maman. She rolls her skirt back down to her knees before the school bus arrives, but, of course, Maman does not see that.

       ‘Your sister is out of control. I’ve sent her away before she gets herself into trouble. That’s all you need to know, Gabriella.’ Maman’s face is closed to me, her voice strange and hard.

       Fear begins to shiver inside me like a feather. I have never seen Maman like this. Her anger is like a fire inside her.

       ‘But … what did she do that was so bad? Why are you so angry, Maman? You can’t send her away. You don’t mean it. What about school? What about her friends? What about me?’

       Maman’s mouth is set in an ugly little line that changes her face.

       ‘I mean it. Dominique is a wicked little liar. Now she must live with her lies. I won’t have her in the house. Aunt Laura will find her a school in Paris. Next year she will be sixteen and an adult. She can do what she likes with her life. I wash my hands of her.’

       I cry and plead but Maman’s face remains cold and shut.

       ‘Gabriella, nothing is going to change my mind. Dominique is gone. I took her to Newquay Airport first thing this morning. Aunt Laura met her in London and they went straight back to Paris. Now, go upstairs and change out of your school uniform.’

       I run from the kitchen up to the attic where my sister sleeps. I want to throw myself on her bed and capture the smell of her but Maman has already stripped away the sheets. Dominique is gone. I grasp her pillow and bury my face in it and breathe in the last little bit of her.

       In my room, as I tear my school clothes off, I see a twist of tissue paper on my bed. Inside is Dominique’s little silver bracelet, the one I loved and wished was mine. She has left it for me. I cannot do the clasp, so I fold it deep and safe into the pocket of my jeans. Then I run away.

       Down to the bay where the sun is still warm and the tide is leaving dappled pools on the sand and the sky is reflected in the water like rippled marble.

       Our secret hiding place is in the rocks at the far end of the beach at Nearly Cave. I curl with Dominique’s pillow between the sea-smoothed granite and turn on my side and sob. I am ten and not brave enough to run away properly …

       Dom, if I close my eyes you won’t be gone. If I close my eyes I won’t see Maman’s face any more. If I close my eyes I can pretend we are surfing in through small fast waves. Or sitting at the beach café eating ice cream together after school. If I keep my eyes closed you will still be here. You will still be here.

       I am soothed by waves that slide in and out with a swoosh, rising and falling, rising and falling against the rocks in time to my breathing …

       I am asleep when Papa finds me in the dark. He gives a little cry as he lifts me up. I cling to him. There are little dots of light all over the beach and the night air is full of my name. As Papa carries me home, up the hill, I can feel his tears falling into my hair.

PART ONE

       CHAPTER ONE

       London, 2009

      It all begins with an unexpected phone call. It is early evening at the beginning of June and London is as warm as midsummer. It is Mike’s birthday and we are just about to have a party. The French windows are open onto the garden. Mike is outside placing night-lights on the small tables we have dotted about the lawn. He is humming to himself, out of tune, as I check the salads, artisan bread and the wine.

      I smile as I watch him through the kitchen window. He has only been back from Dubai for a couple of weeks and I am revelling in him being home again.

      ‘What do you think?’ he calls, switching on the white fairy lights that he has threaded through the magnolia tree.

      ‘Fantastic!’ I call back. The lights make the overgrown and neglected garden spring alive in the soft, pink haze of early evening.

      Mike is wearing an expensive shirt and shorts. His arms and legs are tanned and muscular. A sprinkling of dark hairs covers his forearms and wrists. Wrists that still give me a little frisson of desire, after all this time.

      My husband has that sleek, well-groomed look of a man who works abroad, uses the gym regularly and looks after himself. There is, as yet, no hint of middle-aged spread. Paunch is a forbidden word. He has taken a rare, long leave to decide what to do next and I wonder, as I watch him, how long it will be before he gets bored.

      Will and Matteo had scoffed when I mooted the question of a family holiday this summer. ‘Yeah, yeah, Mum, nice thought, but Dad will be off before you’ve booked the tickets …’

      I push two trays of garlic bread into the oven. When the boys were younger Mike would organize wonderful, adventurous holidays in far-flung places. Now, he spends his life flying off somewhere at a moment’s notice and my sons are almost grown up and busy with their own lives. It is much harder to get together as a family and I miss those times.

      Mike’s mobile phone rings suddenly into the silence, making us both jump. He fishes it out of his back pocket and turns in small circles on the grass as he listens. Excitement begins to radiate from him in waves.

      I go and lean against the French windows. ‘Yes, I am interested,’ Mike says. ‘It is short notice, but I can make myself available to fly out … No, my contract in Dubai finished last month. I’m on leave … in London …’

      He looks up suddenly and makes an astonished face at me.

      ‘Yes, that figure sounds … reasonable … Okay, thank you. I’ll wait to hear from you …’

      Mike gives a whoop, throws his phone on the table and whirls me round. ‘How extraordinary. That was a headhunter. A job has just come up. They’re looking for someone with experience of working for airlines in the Middle East. She wanted to know if I was free for an interview. The salary they are offering is huge, Gabby.’

      ‘Where?’ I ask, my heart sinking.

      ‘It may not come to anything, but if it does, honestly, darling … this could be an amazing opportunity …’

      ‘Stop stalling, Mike, and tell me where it is?’

      Mike reluctantly meets