Stuck On You by Portia MacIntosh

Stuck On You by Portia MacIntosh

Author:Portia MacIntosh [MacIntosh, Portia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781800485389
Publisher: Boldwood Books
Published: 2020-09-16T16:00:00+00:00


22

The Kirke family Christmas-card-posting race is nothing if not fair. Well, fair-ish.

My mum writes the cards and then separates them into two piles: on the island and on the mainland. Everyone gets the same number of cards for each location. Rumour has it she’s been known to add or remove people from her Christmas-card list to keep the game fair, but I can’t actually verify that.

Teams are normally me and my dad, my mum and my gran, and then Selena, Mark and Ben all work together. Today things are different. My mum and gran are sitting it out, Selena and Mark are going it alone, and my mum must deem Ben old enough to be paired with my dad – although he isn’t old enough to sneak off to the pub. Maybe my mum is on to us. And there’s me and Damian.

When you grow up in a tourist town almost everything about it is totally wasted on you. None of it seems remarkable. A tidal island is a true wonder of nature but, when you grow up on one, it just makes you annoyed that you can’t just go over to play at your friend’s house because the bloody sea has cut you off from civilisation.

Now that I’m an adult though – and an adult who lives in a big city – coming home is a genuine treat. Everything captivates me. And it’s nice having Damian with me, and showing an interest. I’m having fun talking him through all the sights.

We’re over on the mainland, at the top of the main street that leads down to the coast.

Damian climbs onto a wall, looking out to sea.

‘What’s that, over on the island?’ he asks.

I follow his gaze.

‘The Hope Island abbey ruins,’ I tell him. ‘I can take you there – it’s great for taking photos.’

‘You never told me you grew up somewhere so perfect,’ he says.

‘I guess we don’t usually talk too much about our personal lives,’ I remind him. ‘And you didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who likes wholesome village-y stuff.’

‘I like you, don’t I?’ he jokes. ‘And you’re technically wholesome village-y stuff.’

‘I guess I am.’ I laugh. ‘Or maybe I used to be, before city life corrupted me.’

‘Nah, you've always seemed a little different to everyone else, to me at least.’

I’m not sure if he’s complimenting me there or if I should be offended.

Damian raises his camera to his eye to snap a picture of the scenery. I’m trying to encourage him to take loads of pictures to try and reignite his passion in the hope it will inspire the last-minute change of direction he is in desperate need of if he’s going to go ahead with his preview in February.

‘Oh, quick,’ I say, noting the couple sitting on a bench across the road. ‘We can shave ten to fifteen minutes off our time.’

Damian hops down and dutifully follows me across the road where Clara and Henry – a couple in their late sixties who I’ve known all my life – are wrapped up nice and warm, sitting on the bench.



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