Lucas Read Free

happen.
    Over the last year I’ve often wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t seen Lucas that day. If we’d crossed the Stand ten minutes earlier, or ten minutes later. If Dominic’s train had been delayed. If the tide had been high. If Dad had stopped for petrol on the way back. If Lucas had left wherever he’d come from a day earlier, or a day later …
    What would have happened? Would everything be different? Would I be a different person right now? Would I be happier? Sadder? Would I dream different dreams? And what about Lucas? What would have happened to Lucas if I hadn’t seen him that day? Would he still …
    And it’s then I realise how utterly pointless such thinking is. What if, what might have been …
    It doesn’t matter.
    I did see him, and nothing can ever change that.
    These things, these moments you take to be extraordinary, they have a way of melting back into reality, and the further we got from the Stand – the further we got from the moment – the less tingly I felt. By the time we turned into the narrow lane that leads down to our house, the buzzyfeeling in my head had just about gone and the world had returned to something like normal.
    The car lumped and shuddered down the lane and I gazed out at the familiar view: the poplar trees, with the sunlight strobing through the branches; the green fields; the pitted driveway; then the old grey house, looking restful and welcoming in the cooling sun; and beyond it all, the beach and the sea glistening in the evening distance. Aside from a lone container ship inching across the horizon, the sea was empty and still.
    Dad told me once that this part of Hale, the east side, reminded him of his childhood home in Ireland. I’ve never been to Ireland, so I wouldn’t know. But I know that I love everything about this place – the peace, the wildness, the birds, the smell of salt and seaweed, the call of the wind, the unpredictability of the sea … I even love this straggly old house, with its mouldy old roof and its uneven walls and its scattering of outhouses and tumbledown sheds. It might not be the prettiest house in the world, but it’s mine. It’s where I live. I was born here.
    I belong here.
    Dad parked the car in the yard and turned off the engine. I opened the door. Deefer bounded out and started barking at Rita Gray, our neighbour, who was walking her Labrador along the lane. I got out of the car and waved to her. As she waved back, a pair of Mute swans flew in low across the field, their wings throbbing in the breeze. The Labrador started after them, barking like a lunatic.
    â€˜She’ll never catch them,’ Dad called out.
    Rita shrugged and smiled. ‘It’ll do her good, John, she needs the exercise – oh, hello Dominic, I didn’t recognise you.’
    â€˜Yo, Mrs Gee,’ Dom replied, scuttling into the house.
    The Labrador was halfway down the lane now, its tongue hanging out, yapping at the empty sky.
    Rita shook her head and sighed. ‘Damn dog, I don’t know why she – oh, Cait, before I forget, Bill said would you give her a ring about tomorrow.’
    â€˜OK.’
    â€˜She’ll be in until nine.’
    â€˜All right, thanks.’
    She nodded at Dad, then strode off down the lane after her dog, whistling and laughing, swinging the dog lead in the air, her red hair blowing in the breeze.
    I noticed that Dad was watching her.
    â€˜What?’ he said, when he saw me looking at him.
    â€˜Nothing,’ I smiled.
    Inside, Dominic had thrown his rucksack on the floor and was stomping up the stairs. ‘Give me a shout when grub’s on,’ he called out. ‘I’m just going to have a quick kip. I’m knackered.’
    The bedroom door slammed shut.
    It felt strange having someone else in the house. It unsettled me. I suppose I’d got used to being alone with Dad. Our sounds, our quietness. I’d got