Standing on the beach is our mother – she wraps her shawl around her body, and beckons us to shore. Harry recognises her too.
‘Anchor the ship,’ Harry says, looking at me for conformation.
‘It is our mother, and I don’t know how, but I’m home.’
I couldn’t sustain my calm exterior. Was it our mother’s plan all along. A moment of regret at running away from trouble, rather than towards it.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Not really, but let’s hear what she has to say.’
There are so many questions lollygagging around in my mind. I thought I was travelling away from home, but instead I was bringing Harry back. Had she got a glimpse of my future. Of Harry’s future.
I’m sure Harry has the same questions – but I thought I knew my mother well. My whole life had been a lie, and she was the one person I expected the truth from. Harry rowed the boat towards the beach, and I felt all the anger burst through like lava in a volcano.
Harry wasn’t angry, just dazed. He couldn’t be angry with our father because he was part of the sea now. Each time the paddle pushed through the waves, his shoulders dropped.
We stopped a few feet in front of our mother. Harry slowly climbed out of the boat, and mother and son hugged. It was only when the drew apart, I could see the obvious hurt in his eyes.