LITMIR.BIZ

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came!’ she said, enveloping me in a hug. She smelt musty, as if she hadn’t showered for a few days. It wasn’t unpleasant though. ‘I’m Oceane by the way.’ She pronounced it Osh-ee-anne.

      ‘Is that the author?’ Caden asked over his music.

      ‘Yes, the author!’ Oceane exclaimed.

      ‘That’s so cool,’ Caden said. He started singing. ‘Sifting over the sands of my mind, trying to find treasures that never existed.’

      I looked at him in surprise. ‘That’s a line from my book!’

      ‘Of course,’ Idris said. ‘We’ve all been reading it. Can’t ignore our local author, can we?’

      ‘I hope you’re working on something new,’ the yoga teacher said, eyes sparkling as she continued to sway. ‘Reading it really touched my soul.’

      I opened my mouth then closed it. I didn’t know what to say. Part of me was delighted. The book had barely sold so I hadn’t had any feedback from readers beyond my editors and friends. But the other part thought it was bloody bizarre, all these people fawning over me.

      ‘Come, sit with us,’ Idris said, gently putting his hand on the small of my back and leading me towards the fire. I looked over my shoulder towards the town. Maybe this was a bad idea, but something propelled me forward anyway and I sat down on a straw mat, looking at the flickering orange and yellow of the flames, feeling their warmth on my skin.

      I suddenly felt exhausted. I closed my eyes, breathing in the battle between the fire’s ash and salt of the sea, my actions at the pub and the subsequent conversation with Idris still playing on my mind.

      Something cold nudged against my bare knees and I looked down to see the Jack Russell peering up at me, its tail wagging.

      Was the dog going to tell me it loved my book too?

      It went to lick my hand and I leaned away from it.

      Idris laughed. ‘Not a dog person?’

      ‘No, not really. Sorry,’ I said. ‘One of my stepdads had one. Let’s just say, we didn’t get on.’

      ‘Stepdads?’ the yoga teacher asked with a raised eyebrow.

      ‘My mum got remarried a couple of times,’ I replied.

      ‘Come, Mojo,’ the man in the white shirt said, patting his thigh. The dog bounded over to him, and I assumed he must be the owner.

      I turned to Donna. ‘Did you come from the pub?’

      Donna nodded. ‘I was getting fed up with the conversation. Apart from your bit anyway,’ she added with a raised eyebrow.

      ‘I think I might have gone too far.’

      ‘It brought you here,’ Idris said. ‘That can only be a good thing.’

      ‘Wine? Beer?’ Donna asked, a shy look on her face.

      ‘I don’t suppose you have any gin?’ I asked her.

      Donna frowned. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

      Caden laughed. ‘There will be soon though, now you’ve mentioned it. Donna can’t let anyone go without. She’s our angel.’

      ‘She sure is,’ Idris said, walking over and putting his hand on Donna’s shoulder.

      Donna peered up at him, a child-like look of awe on her face.

      I looked between them both, trying my best not to raise an eyebrow.

      ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked Donna.

      ‘Just a few days,’ she replied.

      ‘Long enough to make a difference,’ Idris said.

      Oceane smiled. ‘Mum’s a supercook.’

      I looked between Donna and Oceane in surprise. ‘Oceane’s your daughter?’

      Donna nodded and my eyes widened in surprise. I had no idea Donna had an older daughter … and they seemed so different. Or were they? Donna had come to live here, hadn’t she? And she’d called her daughter Oceane.

      I was suddenly seeing her in a very different light.

      ‘Will wine do?’ she asked me.

      I shrugged. ‘Sure.’

      Donna stood and pulled a half-empty bottle of white wine from a cooler box, sloshing some of it into a small ceramic bowl. I took the bowl, feeling its weight and coolness.

      ‘Interesting drinking device,’ I said.

      ‘Maggie made it,’ Donna replied, gesturing to the woman by the cave with her back to us.

      ‘What’s she doing?’ I asked.

      Idris looked towards Maggie. ‘She’s in the current at the moment. Got into it quicker than most.’

      ‘What is this current?’ I asked. ‘Oceane mentioned it to me.’

      ‘You’ll see,’ Idris said mysteriously.

      ‘I’m Anita,’ the yoga teacher said, touching her hand to her chest. ‘I think you might know that already? I saw you in one of my classes once.’

      ‘Yep,’ I said, taking a sip of wine. ‘I learnt a valuable lesson, that lesson being I’m very unbendy.’

      Everyone laughed.

      ‘Easily remedied,’ Anita said, waving her hand about. ‘We’ll sort it during the sunrise salute tomorrow morning.’

      ‘Oh, I won’t be here in the morning,’ I said. ‘Just a fleeting visit.’

      Everyone exchanged knowing looks. Some sizzling chicken from the fire was passed my way. I took it without question, suddenly ravenous.

      ‘As you know, I’m Caden,’ the boy with the guitar said. ‘Guitarist, song scribe, lover,’ he added, wiggling his eyebrows at Oceane who laughed in response.

      ‘I believe you know Donna,’ Idris said, gesturing to her. ‘And her son Tom.’

      ‘Yes,’ I said, smiling at Donna. She returned my smile, turning another chicken wing in the fire.

      ‘And Julien,’ Idris said, gesturing to the man sitting quietly on the rock with the dog. Julien examined my face then he nodded at me. I nodded back. Already I could tell there was something about him, a calmness that was slightly uncomfortable. ‘That’s everyone. So far, anyway,’ Idris said with a contented smile.

      ‘Tell us about your next novel,’ Anita asked.

      ‘Never ask an author that!’ Oceane said.

      I smiled at her. ‘Oceane’s right. It strikes the fear of God into us.’

      ‘You’re kidding,’ Anita said. ‘I thought you’d want to talk about writing?’

      ‘I adore talking about writing,’ I said. ‘But I feel talking about a new idea might jinx it.’

      ‘I get it actually,’ Julien said in a cut-glass accent. ‘When I start a new piece of furniture, I’d rather wait until it’s finished before telling someone about it. Just in case it flops spectacularly.’

      ‘It’s fear,’ Idris said.

      Everyone turned to him, going very quiet. It was as if, when he spoke, everything else was wiped away.

      ‘Fear that people won’t like what you’ve created,’ he continued, sitting down cross-legged on the sand across from me. He was looking right into my eyes. I held his gaze. ‘That fear plagues artists like all of us. It’s the main reason we can’t get into the current,’ he continued. ‘We’re constantly thinking of this person and that person and a dozen people, a hundred, a thousand people who might hate what we’re working

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