The Secret Path by Karen Swan (summer beach reads TXT) 📕

rest of the country somewhat. But progress had been slow – electricity had only come in 1986, and internet (such as it was) in 2006. As teenagers she and Miles had been appalled by the slow broadband speeds, but now . . . it was the perfect place to be. Refuge. Escape. She had come to the edge of the world. She had always liked it here because in this tiny pocket she was invisible, her family insignificant; but now she felt unaccountable too. Suddenly Helen McPherson and the Miller case felt very far away. If she tried really hard, she thought she might be able to believe that they weren’t real. That it had never even happened . . .

Jed turned down one of the streets and she caught her first glimpse of the sea, lying in heavy, inky quietude. The moon was waxing, perhaps two or three nights off fullness and throwing a milky haze onto its surface. She caught a splash as something breached before disappearing again, the waves gently hushing onto the shelved black sand beach. Palm tree fronds hung like splayed fingers, large boulders dotted along the cove with sculptural frequency.

Jed pulled up outside their digs, a short run of heavily weathered, brightly painted huts right on the beach. Blue, yellow, red, green, they were flimsier than most sheds and yet for her, they were a home. The crucible of her childhood happiness, their imperfection and sense of gentle decay were strangely reassuring; their long-standing presence suggesting things didn’t always collapse in a storm of dust.

‘Yes!’ Miles swung himself out of the car before Jed had even cut the engine and tipped his face to the sky. He kicked off his shoes and ran onto the beach, burrowing his feet into the cool sand.

Zac joined him, standing with his hands on his hips as they looked out to sea. ‘Never gets old, does—’

‘What the hell was going on back there?’

The anger in the man’s voice made them all turn and Tara was startled to see Rory marching across the sand towards Jed, looking like he was going to beat ten bells out of him.

‘You racing that truck like that? They could have been killed!’

‘Whoa!’ Miles interjected, physically inserting himself between the two men as Rory bore down upon Jed. He had to press hard against Rory’s chest to stop him from grabbing him. ‘Mate, it’s all cool. It wasn’t Jed’s fault.’

But Rory wouldn’t be appeased. ‘That driver—!’

‘Was a fucking idiot. Yes, we know. Jed wasn’t racing the guy. But he handled it. We’re fine.’ Miles swept an arm round to where Tara was standing. ‘Look, she’s fine.’

Rory, his eyes ablaze, stared at her, his chest heaving with emotion.

‘I’m fine,’ she repeated, somewhat amazed by his reaction. The incident had frightened her too, but it had all been over in ten seconds. Exactly how bad had it looked from where they were sitting?

‘Fine? You know they had guns?’ Rory asked, looking from her to Jed again, accusation in his eyes.

Guns? Even Miles and Zac looked concerned by that.

Jed was quiet for a moment. ‘Yes. But as I told Miles and Tara, I know who they are, and I will deal with it. Nothing would have happened . . . They just like to puff their chests, that is all.’

‘Who are they?’ Miles asked.

‘Just some guys who work on a ranch round here. Hoodlums. They like to believe they own the place.’

Miles gave a short laugh, his hands on his hips. ‘Well, if that’s the game they want to play . . .’

Jed gave a small smile. ‘Exactly.’ He looked at Rory. ‘Please do not worry. I will deal with it.’

Tara went over to her boyfriend and put her hand on his arm. ‘Listen to Jed, he knows what he’s talking about.’

There was a reluctant silence, the men seemingly speaking without words. Something about the ranchers’ show of strength signalled a message she seemingly didn’t quite get; a machismo thing that had rattled Jed and Rory’s cages.

Tugging Rory by the arm, she started walking over the sand again. ‘Let’s just leave it now and go to bed. We’re all tired. It’s been a long journey and we need to sleep.’

‘But—’

‘Come on. Let’s sleep. Red hut for us, yes Jed?’

Jed nodded, never taking his eyes off Rory. The new man was but a guest of the Tremains; he didn’t get to throw his weight around like that.

Reluctantly, Rory allowed himself to be pulled away, but he continued muttering under his breath. ‘That was fucking ridiculous . . . You didn’t have to watch. From where we were, that truck was going to ram you off the road.’

‘It must have just been perspective,’ she fibbed, reaching for her bag from the back of the Jeep. ‘It didn’t feel that bad to us. Really.’ She saw the astonishment in his eyes. ‘But I’m sorry, it must have been horrid for you.’

‘It was. You didn’t have to see it. Poor Jimmy screamed.’

She winced at that. ‘I really am sorry.’ She wasn’t quite sure why she was apologizing – it wasn’t any more her fault than Jed’s. ‘Come on, we’re in here.’

She pushed on the latch and opened the door to the red cabin. It was the second of four and had always been hers. Miles was always in the green one next door; her father had the yellow one flanking her far side and the blue one was kept free in case of guests (although in all those years as kids, they had never invited anyone along; they liked keeping it for themselves, a cherished secret).

Rory stopped in the doorway.

‘Like it?’ she asked, hoisting up her bag and setting it on its side on an upended banana crate.

‘It’s very . . . basic.’

‘Well yes, I told you that. Rustic vibes.’ She unzipped the bag, desperate to find her toothbrush.

He peered around the minimal space. ‘I thought when you said basic you meant . . . no spa, no Sky package. Not . . .’ His eyes fell to the colonial fan on the ceiling, the mosquito net hanging over the bed. ‘No air con.’

She stopped what she was doing and