Eden by Joanna Nadin Page B

all that I have forgotten to listen out for the tick-tock of the crocodile.
    “Woah!”
    I yelp in shock and feel the worn rubber of my shoe slip on the gravel. Then two hands grasp my arms as I pitch forward. I don’t have to look up to know who it is. I can feel it in the callouses of his fingers, in the surety of his grip: Tom.
    “I’m fine.” I shrug his arms away and right the pack on my bag.
    “Are you running away?” he asks.
    “Yes,” I lie. To Neverland, I think.
    “Can I come?”
    I panic, blurt out a staccato “No”. Then I panic again at this betrayal of my secret – Penn’s secret. “I— I’m just going to the creek. On my own.” I add. “I need to be alone.”
    He nods, understanding. “Well, I’m glad you’re out.”
    I change the subject. “I thought you’d gone to Liskeard.”
    “I did,” he smiles. “But the market’s over,” he says. “It’s gone one.”
    “Really?” Have I been at the house for over an hour? I feel panic rise in me, a swarming in my fingers and toes willing me to move, to run.
    “Why? What’s the hurry?”
    “Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just, time flies and all that.”
    “When you’re having fun?”
    I stare at him, incredulous. “This isn’t about ‘fun’. This is so far from fun.”
    This is about something else, something more. It’s about death, and life – keeping Bea alive. Penn has memories of Bea I must dig out, gather up like cowrie shells or sea glass. For my own are clouded with time and dust now, and distorted by cruel words and selfishness. Whereas Penn’s, Penn’s will be clean, true, new. He can tell me new thoughts, new hopes, new fears. He can explain why she was coming, and why she never arrived. Maybe, maybe.
    “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” His hand covers his mouth as if to keep him from saying anything else.
    But it’s me who’s gone too far. I don’t want him worrying about me, following me.
    “No, I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just…”
    “It’s OK,” he says. “I understand. More than you think.”
    He’s going to say he feels the way I feel. He’s going to say he loved her too. But I don’t want to hear it. Not now. I don’t have time to listen, or think about what that word does or doesn’t mean. I need to get back to Penn, before he changes his mind. Before I lose him too.
    “I have to go. Before the tide goes out,” I add. “I want to swim.”
    “Sure,” he shrugs. “But … if you need me … I mean, if you need something, anything. You know where I am.”
    I nod. “Thanks,” I murmur. “I’ll see you soon,” I promise.
    “Sure,” he mumbles.
    And I am gone. Stumbling, running, as fast as I can. As fast as I dare with my precious cargo strapped to my back. “Please be there, please be there,” I repeat to myself as each footstep hits the earth. “Please be there.” Until at last I burst out of the enchanted forest, a desperate, drunken Tinkerbell staggering into the bright lotus-land of the creek.
    The deck is deserted, the boathouse silent now, empty. I swing round, desperately scanning the horizon. For what? For a boat sailing into the sunset? But the sun is high in the sky, and I don’t even know if he can row. I feel dizzy again, my legs trembling from the run, from the weight, from the disappointment. And then I hear it.
    “Evie,” a voice says. “Evie. I’m here.”
    And I look, not out to the sea, but back into the inky green stillness of the creek. And I see him. Waist-deep in the water and half naked. Not the strong, oat-fed boy I imagined, but fragile, his skin paler. As if he is half ghost, half boy. But he is beautiful.
    And he is Bea’s.
    I feel heat flush my cheeks with embarrassment. And I look away as he wades out of the water and takes the towel I have brought.
    “Thanks.” As he wraps it round his waist, I catch a glimpse of his shorts. Faded blue, like school swimming trunks. And I hate myself for liking him even more, for feeling what Bea