I
THE SEA ROLLED MAJESTICALLY ON TO THE BROAD, FLAT sands, and the breeze blew a sharp salty tang into Karen's face. She felt a burst of energy drive through her, and started to run through the shallows with the wind behind her. The cold water splashed her bare legs and made dark splotches on her shorts, but she didn't care. How could she bother with boring things like wet shorts when she was on holiday by the sea with nobody else at all on the beach, except a few people collecting shells half a mile away?
She ran faster and looked down, seeing her own bare feet striking the clear, rippled water and sending silver drops to right and left.
At last she slowed to a walk and looked about her. She was down at the far end of the bay now, where the picnickers rarely came, and the dunes, crowned with long grass like tufts of hair, rose on her right. She went towards them and struggled up the soft, dry sand, and lay on her stomach to see over the top.
Inland the ground was flat, rising gradually to hills in the distance. Tiny, white-walled farms stood out clearly in the early-morning light. Grey, twisted roads wound between them, and here and there were areas of dotted woodland. Away on the headland rose the ruins of an old Norman castle.
Karen snuggled deeper into the sand and watched the postman ride past on the road below, steadily pedalling his old red bicycle. In her imagination he turned into a Turkish troop-train, and she was Lawrence of Arabia waiting to blow him up. Behind her lay the wild tribesmen of the desert,
their Arab horses tethered at the bottom of the dune this was a dangerous venture. Just a little bit farther ... now! Boom! The wrecked train heeled on to its side and she raised her arm to start the charge.
'Karen! Kaa-ren!' Her sister came running along the seashore, yelling at the top of her voice. She flung herself down on the dune, panting.
Anne was ten, five years younger than Karen. She had light brown hair in two short plaits and a freckled snub nose. She was a pleasant child, and Karen was fond of her, but like most younger sisters she could be irritating when she was not wanted.
She was not particularly wanted now.
'You spoiled my daydream,' said Karen with mock sorrow.
'Oh dear! Was it a nice one?' Anne laughed. 'So this is where you were. I've been looking all over for you. What are you doing down here by yourself?'
‘Just running about. I like being by myself. When will you learn that?'
Anne ignored the last remark. 'I'm going to the shops to get a postcard for Gran. Coming?'
'No thanks. I hate those ghastly little trinket-places. It's so much nicer here-good and lonely.'
'I'd rather be with people. It's nine-thirty, you know. Mum'll be wondering where you are.'
'Is it really? I still don't think I'll go back yet, though. Goodbye.'
Anne ran off, dismissed.
There was no point in continuing the daydream now. The postman, alias Turkish troop-train, had long since vanished. Karen got up and stretched. The hair blew into her eyes and she turned round so that it trailed behind. It was too long, she thought; it needed cutting.
She went slowly down to the sea again, and finding a piece of wood brought in by the tide, she drew a horse in the firm wet sand; a good horse, because she'd been drawing them a long time, galloping along the ground with its legs in an interesting position. The position was correct, though; she had studied photographs and knew just how a horse's legs behaved when it galloped.
There was a sort of science in it.
Looking at the horse-drawing, she felt an itch to gallop herself, and turned to go farther along the beach.
About a hundred yards away she saw that there was a large section of sand cut off from the rest by a deep channel. Along this the sea water flowed fast, pushed through by the current from the other side of the bay.
Smiling to herself and wondering which would be the best place to cross, Karen walked along one bank, but as the channel didn't seem to get any shallower she waded in. The water soon came up to the hem of her shorts, and she had vague ideas of turning back, but it came no higher so she continued. The current pushed hard at her legs, and the water didn't look or smell too nice. She thought of sewage, especially as it was a pale yellow colour; then decided that as she was two-thirds of the way across it was silly to go back.
Although the other bank shelved steeply and smoothly, she scrambled up easily enough, and now the whole island was hers!
It was wide and flat, marvellously lonely and beautiful in its solitude, and well suited to the mood she was in. There was absolutely nothing on it except a few gulls standing by the distant gleam of sea. The sky overhead was a sweep of wind-driven clouds, accenting the loneliness, and high up a lapwing mewed plaintively.
Karen's feet sank slightly into the sand, leaving wet puddles when she moved them; it was not as hard as it looked. Hoping there was no chance of its being quicksand, she started to run. The brisk sea air seemed to give her boundless energy, and she sped on, leaving silvery tracks behind her that gradually filled with water, and then sand again. The gulls standing by the sea saw her from a long distance, and flapped heavily away. When she reached their former stance, all that was left were a few triangular prints and some bird droppings.
But there was something else, Karen soon realized, something almost buried in the sand. It was a greenish colour, and looked like the handle of some object. Karen stooped and touched it out of curiosity. It seemed to be made of metal, and she knelt down to dig it out of the sand.
It was an old mirror- a flat disc of metal about six inches across, set on to a decorated handle. The whole surface was covered in grit, and the handle was eroded, as though it had been there a very long time. Karen stared and wondered and then went and washed the object in the sea. Under the sand and the dirt the metal turned out to be bronze, a beautiful green, presumably owing to age. Strangely, the flat mirror part was completely smooth and untouched, whereas the handle was pitted and partially eaten away, although the design of delicately twining leaves was still visible.
Karen wondered who had dropped it, and then the idea came to her that it might be an ancient relic-Norman, Saxon, or perhaps even Roman. Suppose she had found something of real historical interest!
'I wonder if I could still see myself in it?' she said aloud, and took out her handkerchief to rub it. It took time, but gradually she worked up a shine on the metal, and as she did so a curious tingling came to her from the mirror, almost as if the metal were coming to life. Karen distinctly felt it vibrate and examined her tingling hand, but there was no mark on the skin. She glanced into the mirror, slowly.