I might as well be a dirty old man behind Scott, a twenty-four year old girl corrupting a twenty-three year old naïf. Eyeing up his bare calves, the muscles in them taut and fatless.
He plods down the dried mud track in front of me, a bit Neanderthal in his movements. A bit innocent.
Jasmine covers the cliffs here. Bushes of it billow over our heads, so I can't see the sea, only the sky. And Scott in front of me. Boys' calf muscles are always wiry. But the nape of his neck, oh my God, that's too much temptation. I feel as high as if I just sucked up helium, with the blue empty sky over us.
Scott turns around to help me over a rut in the mud. He doesn't get a kick out of touching my hand, so far as I can tell. Why not? I try to exchange a knowing look with him. But he's staring at my impractical heavy shoes, to see I've made it across the yellow mud.
We round the corner and face the sea.
The sea. Here at the end of the cliff lava has run down into the water. It's frozen in black ripples. The water in the rock pools is transparent over the grey pumice. Anemones line the edges of the pools, and hermit crabs scuttle across.
I feel a tingle of anticipation. This is the end of the track. Now I must get to touch him, to bury my face in his neck. He'll kiss me very respectfully and I'll have my eyes shut. I followed him for this. Where we are will be drowned out. We could be anywhere and I'd feel like I was in bed.
But it doesn't happen. He jumps across the rocks to a cove and points down into the sea, laughing. I feel like kicking him. Fucking boring.
'This is where I used to go when I was a kid!' He points down into the black cove. Metre high swells roll in and crash up the inlet at the end. Spray flies up over his head.
He looks up at me. His face is green with the reflected light of the cove and the sea. He brought me here for this, but why? I think he's trying to establish a past between us. It's sweet. He wants us to have a long future.
'Let's go right out to the end,' I say.
I lead the way, falling over the rocks. I look down while I'm clambering, so when I reach the end all I see is the huge drop. Kelp waves slowly in the water at the bottom, long brown hair in the green.
'Careful, Rosie.' Scott puts his hands on my waist from behind. His voice is bemused as if to say, you dizzy cow, running like that. If only it were that simple, Scott. If only I were a dizzy cow.
'Stand up,' he says, and helps me. 'Stand up and look out there. I go out there in the boat.'
I stand up and look out at the horizon. There are no islands. The sea is grey and freezing and cut up into mountainous waves in the distance. It almost looks covered with snow. The wind cuts my face. I lean back into him, very proud.
'What's over the horizon,' I say, 'What country? Is it Antarctica or Chile?'
'I don't know,' he says. 'I think someone told me but I forgot.'
I could live like this for my whole life, easily. So long as we never left St Claire. The rules of logic are suspended here. At home my mother would say, but he's a fisherman. Really, Rosie. I'd grimace when he forgot things and stop looking in his face. I'd make him feel stupid. I'd try to control myself, but the best I could do would be silence. Really, Rosie. If we went out to sea, he'd know more than me and be the master, and he'd be patient with me, but I despise him for not being quick.
Really, Rosie. I screw my eyes up into the cutting wind and the slate-coloured spray. The violence of nature. This is incredible bliss. The sea drowns everything but Scott out.
