Chapter 1
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The stones are cold.
Heavy, she thinks.
She lifts each one and places them into the cardboard box so carefully it's as if she was afraid they will shatter. But how can they, she wonders, when they're stones – solid, dense, unbreakable. It makes sense, she thinks for a second, that her Mum should have turned to them, in all their reassuring permanence, when she was so close to death. She wonders how they could be on the same earth, be made of the same molecules, if hers were just going to collapse whilst the stones would endure even as the sea rubbed them into sand.
She runs the tips of her fingers along the bumpy ridge of the stone she is setting down – it feels like she is touching infinity.
She folds the wings of the box towards each other, sealing it shut. The stones sit quietly in their new darkness. 'That's everything,' she says, as if it was the last rite she had to perform in the old house.
Her sister looks up from the magazine she's reading, her finger pausing on a word mid-sentence. Sophie makes fun of the way she reads – tracing the words with her fingertips like a child learning. There was always something so child-like about Rosie. 'Thank god,' Rosie says, tosses the magazine to the sofa. 'What's that you've got there?' she asks, as something presses at the boundary of her vision, squints sceptically at the box that Sophie holds so close to her body.
'Just Mum's crystals,' she says with a slight shrug. The stones slide across the base of the box at the movement, as if aware they are being addressed.
'Oh.' Rosie's expression flits between confusion and loss for a few seconds, like the beginning of an old film reel. She hasn't thought about it for a while. 'Where did you get those?'
'From Dad,' Sophie answers, pulling the box tighter against her. 'He was just going to sell them anyway.'
A cynical breath puffs through Rosie's parted lips. 'He may as well have, all the good they did.'
A ghost of a frown at Rosie's words – her fingers grip tighter.
'They must be worth quite a bit actually,' Rosie muses, stretching her arms out to reach the box.
'No Rosie!' the box is snatched away, Sophie twisting to the side and clutching it to her chest so fast that the stones bounce off the inside walls and lid. 'We can't sell 'em.'
Rosie sighs. 'I know,' she says unconvincingly. 'I just wanted a look.'
Sophie raises an eyebrow, not relinquishing her grip.
'What makes you think Dad won't just try to sell them again anyway,' Rosie says, giving up and returning her attention to the discarded magazine, flopped open ungainly at a two-page spread about underwear.
''Cos he's probably forgotten about them,' Sophie answers simply, wonders what it's like to be able to.
Rosie's finger searches for its vacated place against the page.
A loud electronic buzz suddenly fills Sophie's ears and takes up residence in her head. It feels like it lasts forever, stops abruptly, goes on after it has stopped.
Rosie springs up from the sofa. 'He's here,' an unnecessary announcement. 'You got everything?'
Sophie nods dumbly and watches her sister negotiate the piles of boxes stacked next to the door before reaching for the handle and pressing it down. The door opens towards her.
A man stands outside. An old man, hunching his shoulders, peering beyond Rosie to the inside of the house. His hands are in his pockets and he smiles with an awkward tenderness at the girl who has come to greet him. 'You ready love?' The words sound strange, hang in the air longer than they should, resonating like the door bell before them.
'Yeah. C'mon Sophie,' Rosie throws over her shoulder as she steps out of the door.
Sophie looks at the man, and he stares right back at her. The moment stretches at its boundaries, straining at its designated parameters – a lack of invitation, a prolonged silence during which they can hear each other's breath.
Sophie sets the box down gingerly on the arm of the sofa before walking towards him. His brown eyes follow her every movement until she is stood directly in front of him. She steps down from the door to his level.
'Hi Dad,' she says quietly, opening her arms and sliding them around his waist. He wraps his own arms around her delicate shoulders, and Sophie feels his chest deflate as he exhales.
He smells like engine oil, just like he used to.
But Sophie pulls away just as his hands begin to rub up and down her back, feeling her for the first time in years. Her Dad's arms drop immediately back to his sides and his hands dash self-consciously back into their pockets. 'Let's get that stuff in the car then,' he suggests, nods his head towards the boxes. But before she can move he is saying 'Don't worry love,' stilling her, moving past her. 'I'll do it.'
Sophie looks at him. He looks so much older. His hair is greying above his ears, and his face is crumpled and unshaven. She can't remember the last time she'd seen him. Two years ago maybe? Or is it more? There must have been something, she thinks. Some family gathering that they'd both attended. Since the funeral of course.
He crouches down to pick up the first box and she turns to face outside again, notices Rosie has already strapped herself into the passenger seat of his car.
'Thanks for doing this Dad,' Sophie says, twisting her head to look at him.
'No problem,' his voice strains as he rises from bent knees, his fingertips white as they curl around the base of the box. 'Can't have you girls injurin' yourselves.'
'No ... I mean about ... lettin' me and Rosie stay,' she explains, her words sticky with embarrassment.
'It's honestly no problem Phee,' he uses her childhood name. She wasn't expecting it and she doesn't know how she feels about it. 'It'll be great to have you's two around,' he adds, stepping back outside and moving toward the car, legs bandy and brisk beneath the weight of the box.
Sophie trails after him, remembering the mix of nerves and excitement watching this process before from lower down, the stacking of buckets with spades, hats, sunglasses, the oily residue of sun cream on her pale skin, imagining all the shells she'd collect. But this time she is tall enough to open the car boot for him. Its hydraulic arms hiss as it springs open. 'Jack has been really excited about it ever since I told him,' he says, heaving the box into the boot and sliding it back to make more room.
'Great,' Sophie answers, pauses, bites lightly on one side of her bottom lip as she realises she doesn't even know how old Jack is. 'It'll be nice to spend some time with him,' she says.
Her Dad doesn't answer. He just collects more boxes from the house and stacks them into the car. It all fits in so neatly.
...