Paula Hillman, author

My debut novel, Seaview House, changed dramatically over the course of my MA… I have at least as many chapters and flashbacks on the cutting room floor as I have in the final book. This is one I was sad to see go: a quiet moment of binding between the teenage Stoney and Jill…what do you think?

July 1976

Jill sprang out of her dream, heart racing and thighs as fluid as the ocean. Somewhere Lucky was wining, loud and sad. With a swing of her legs, she was up and stepping quietly across the room. Bonnie slept on, a sprawl of thin limbs on top of her quilted bedspread.

   On the landing, Jill stopped, and rubbed at her eyes. The dog was sitting with his nose pressed against the front door, her dad’s arm slung around his neck.

   ‘Jill,’ he hissed, peering upwards. ‘Go back to bed.’

It was too late for that, now. She took the stairs carefully, bare feet feeling the way where her muzzy eyes couldn’t.

   ‘What’s wrong with him, Dad?’

   ‘He’s got the scent of something. Think next-door’s bitch is in heat. He’s left a puddle on the floor.’ He stretched his mouth. ‘Sorry. Too much information.’

   ‘I’ll take him out.’ A yawn. ‘What time is it?’ She reached for the dog’s head and scratched her fingers through the heat of his black fur. He ignored her touch, trembling slightly, all tension and drooling jaws.

   ‘Are you sure?’ Her dad’s face was chalky-pale. Black stubble grew out from his chin and top lip- something Jill rarely saw. ‘It’s only five.’

   ‘It’ll be fine. I won’t let him off his lead. I’ll just walk a little way along the prom. Let him calm down a bit.’

    ‘Good girl.’ He stood up. ‘Don’t tell your mum though. Or.’ A finger-slice across his throat and Jill giggled. ‘I’ll get some tea and toast going.’

   In her bedroom, Jill found a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt, balled up and ready for washing day. She pulled them on. Better not to sweat in her school uniform this early, she thought. Her sister snored softly into a fluff of white-blonde hair.

   Lucky was still in the hallway, nose pressed against the glass door.  As she clipped on his leash, he turned his brown gaze on her, but refused to move. Kneeling to slip hands under his ribs and belly allowed her to haul him up and carry him out through the front door.

   When Jill was away from the housing estate, she put him down, then ran her hands across his head until she felt the tension draining away; then they began to run.

   The prom was empty. Away in the distance she could hear the tinkling of milk bottles and the low hum of the town’s industry. The tide was a thin line of silvery blue and the mud-flats popped with shellfish and worms. She dare not let Lucky run free. He was lifting his leg against every sprouting weed they passed, sniffing frantically. At the first stone bench, she sat down and let him investigate the banana-split twine of dandelions and vetch, last survivors of the parching summer heat.

   Across the flats, redshanks whistled their morning song. With a dip of their beaks and a lift of their heads, they sifted out their breakfast. Jill breathed deeply, savouring the salty sharpness of air that would be thick with heat in another few hours. Would Stoney and his parents be asleep somewhere in the upstairs spaciousness of Seaview? She hadn’t seen him for a few days, except at a distance, shouldering and striding with a group of other boys. Was she really his girlfriend? Annie Brownstone seemed to think so, but her own parents? There would be no acceptance of a boyfriend, as far as she could imagine. And there was safety in that.

   A speckled gull drifted above her, silent and watchful. A baby, she thought. The parents would be close by, eyeing her and Lucky, judging the danger. And then, here was Stoney. Squelching towards her, bucket in hand and a lumpy red jumper slung over wet jeans and wellies.

   ‘Jilly. What the hell?’

The force of her heart stopped her from speaking for a moment. If she could drag back time and not be here, that would be perfect.

   She ran her free hand across the top of her morning hair. ‘I… Lucky needed a walk.’

   ‘It’s half-past fucking five. What’re you doing?’

   ‘What are you doing?’ Why did he sound so annoyed? She had as much right to be on the promenade as he did.

   ‘Been to empty the longline, haven’t I.’

He held up the black bucket. Jill caught a metallic tang, saw a flash of translucent fishtail.

   ‘Stinks.’ She pinched her nose. ‘What are they?’

The bucket clanged as he sat down beside her. ‘Plaice. Real beauties too.’

 Four flatfish, olive green and dotted with bright orange, lay along the bucket sides, tails above its rim. Each had an open eye that peered at her.

   ‘How long did it take to catch them?’ She looked at Stoney’s jeans, soaked through and coated with mud and sand.

   He laughed. ‘It’s not that sort of fishing. Me and Mick put the lines out at low tide yesterday teatime. We’ve just been back now.’ He stared out across the water. ‘The Old Queen’ll skin them and gut them. Poached in a bit of milky butter, they’re gorgeous.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brassy tin. ‘Need a fag now though.’

His fingertips were peppered with flaky red. He took the lid off the tin to reveal a soft heap of tobacco, and two hand-rolled cigarettes. With one between his lips, he fumbled for his lighter and flicked it at the end.

   ‘Does your mum not mind you going out so early? Or your dad?’ Why did she ask such infantile questions? She sounded like Denny.

   Stoney rubbed his hands across his wet knees, flicking ash onto the pavement.

   ‘Nah. The Old Queen’s got to be in work at six anyway. And The Old Geezer doesn’t give a shit what I do.’ These last words shot from his mouth with smoke on their heels.

   ‘Oh. Where does your mum work?’

   ‘Nurse. At North Lonsdale. A matron actually. La-di-dah.’

   Jill raised her eyebrows. ‘Must be important then.’

   ‘Oh yeah. They’re both so important.’ He reached down to stroke Lucky’s head. The dog had settled at his feet, nose twitching towards the bucket. ‘Anyhow. Why’re you out so early? You didn’t say.’ Another drag on the cigarette. His face had a smudged quality, as though a school rubber had been pulled across it; a failed portrait, spread across the paper in small grey shards. 

   ‘Lucky’s been waking us all up. He’s in love. With the girl-dog next door.’

   Stoney spluttered through the fug of his cigarette and rubbed behind the dog’s ears. ‘Poor lad. Not getting any? Know that feeling.’

  What was he talking about? Once again, Jill felt foolish in his company. She got to her feet. ‘Better go. We’ve got school in a few hours, haven’t we?’

   ‘Thank fuck it’s nearly end-of-term. I hate the place.’

   With a flick of the lead, Lucky came to stand beside her. ‘Bye then.’

She looked at her feet. Foolish plimsolls on the end of her foolish legs. Stoney threw down the stubby end of his cigarette and reached for her hand. His was warm and gritty.

   ‘Take you long-lining one day, shall I?’ That chip-toothed smile. His lips on her palm.