Page 34 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

Skye had taken copious pictures of the scenery en route. All right for some, with her tiny tote bag slung over her shoulder, prancing along like a dressage horse. Clare felt like one of those poor donkeys on the Greek islands, consigned to dragging heavy loads up the steep cobbled streets all day long. Her bum was already aching from pushing the buggy up and down all the hills. Not that she was complaining – well, not much, anyway – she was used to pushing Ivy everywhere.

‘Mind you, I’ve only been a few times,’ Skye continued. ‘Thanks for letting me tag along.’

‘No worries,’ Clare replied, prickling a bit. Like she had a choice. ‘Come on, let’s find a space on the sand.’

They carried on down the hill, passing the beach café and the car park, and headed towards the steps down onto the sand.

Clare was slightly irritated that Skye was with them. She’d tried to sneak out of Clemency House without her noticing, but as she’d unlocked the front door and manoeuvred the buggy over the threshold, Skye had appeared from her bedroom also ready to leave. Both had had the same idea, it transpired, to go for a walk along the coastal path to the beach.

‘I can take a different route, if you’d rather be on your own?’ Skye had offered.

She’d been so pleasant about it that Clare would have had to have been a monster to take her up on it.

‘No, no, of course not,’ she’d replied, embarrassed that Skye felt the need to suggest it. ‘We’re going to be spending the next few weeks together. We might as well try to get on.’

And so here they were.

Clare had nothing against Skye per se – other than the small matter of the years her younger half-sister had had preferential treatment over her, the nice holidays Dad and Frankie had taken her on, the new cars she’d been given, the parties, birthday presents, oh yes, and the fundamental matter of their father deciding to be a hands-on dad to Skye and a hands-off dad to her. None of these things were Skye’s fault, Clare was perfectly aware of that, but even so, it still rankled.

Also, this was her and Ivy’s first trip to the beach this summer. She wanted it to be just the two of them. A paddle in the sea, a dig in the sand with the bucket and spade Liz had bought them, maybe Ivy’s first taste of Salcombe Dairy ice cream … And now she’d have to share it with Skye.

‘Mmm, smell that fresh sea air.’ Skye inhaled and exhaled steadily. ‘I love being by the sea. There’s something about listening to waves lapping the shore that soothes the soul, isn’t there?’

‘Definitely,’ said Clare. ‘Although, strictly speaking, this is an estuary; in fact, it’s not even that, it’s a ria. A riverbed thingy.’

‘I love it. Whatever it is.’ Skye shrugged easily. ‘Shall we go over there?’ She pointed to an empty patch of sand on the right of the beach.

Clare shook her head. ‘I want to stick to the left, it’s nearer the loos. And not too close to the water.’

‘Yes, boss,’ Skye pretended to salute and, jumping down onto the sand, turned to lift the bottom of the buggy. ‘Here, let me help.’

‘I can manage,’ Clare insisted, panting as she dragged the buggy backwards across the sand. It was weighed down with beach paraphernalia, as well as the usual changing bag, snack bag and Ivy of course. She gritted her teeth at the obvious lie as Ivy let out a yell, no doubt unhappy with being tipped backwards and bumped across the beach.

Why not say yes please? Why not just accept the help? Life would be so much easier if she did.

Because I can’t, she growled to herself. Because being independent at all costs had become a badge of honour and she had to wear it at all times, even when it dug into her.

Finally she came to a stop. ‘Here will do, we’re by the rocks, so we can store our bags on them to stop everything getting sandy.’

Ivy kicked her legs impatiently and plucked at her straps.

Clare unrolled the beach blanket at speed, spread it on the sand, unclipped Ivy from the buggy and plonked her in the middle of it. ‘There! Isn’t that nice!’

‘It’s certainly huge,’ Skye remarked, looking at the blanket. ‘I’m not sure you’ll need extra storage on the rocks.’

‘It’s all right for you with your tiny bag and tiny towel,’ said Clare, finding four large pebbles to weigh down each corner of the blanket. ‘Some of us are less carefree.’

Skye shook out her own towel and spread it on the sand, next to Clare’s football-pitch-sized one. ‘Who says I’m carefree?’

Clare looked at her, trying to decipher her tone, and wondered what had brought her back to the UK. Last night, Liz had asked her about Uganda and Skye had been effusive in her praise of the place and the people, but wouldn’t be drawn on what had happened to prompt her return.

‘I’ve had hardly any time off in five years,’ Skye had said vaguely. ‘I was overdue a break.’

‘So you’ll be going back?’ Clare had asked.

‘My job is being kept open for me,’ was all she’d say on the matter before getting up and clearing the table.

‘Well, aren’t you?’ Clare prompted now.