Read Inch Levels for Free Online Page A

Kinnagoe?’ she said. ‘Twice as far, three times.’
    But his father won: or his mammy didn’t care enough this time to win.
    ‘Three times as far.’
    She usually won.
    He waded a little deeper. What an excitement it was, what a thrill. They hadn’t been to Kinnagoe this year and they didn’t go last: he didn’t even really remember the road here, did he? The steep road up to the crest of the hill, the sudden view of ocean and islands? – he couldn’t really remember: just a fuzz of a memory, just a haze. He’d whispered to Margaret, there on the sticky back seat, ‘When were we last here?’ – but she had just rolled her eyes. ‘Last year. You were too young to remember.’
    Well, he’d get her for that. Some time. He was nearly the same height now as she is. He’d get her.
    And then they had reached the crest of the hill, and his father pulled the car to the side of the road. He got out and Patrick got out and: ‘Scotland, son, look!’ – and they gazed out across the blue sea to the islands, there in a haze on the horizon. That was Scotland.
    They looked, all of them: he and his daddy standing in the sunshine; and his mammy and sister and Cassie sitting in the car, looking too. He peeped in at his mammy sitting, saying nothing. She was in a good mood today, a good-ish mood, a quiet mood. Cassie was looking too: she was settled now in the back seat; she didn’t seem now to mind being here. Then he watched Margaret watching him, as he stood there with their daddy’s arm on his shoulder. Their daddy thought she wasn’t interested in some things, being a girl: things in the past, like battles and wars. He talked to her, but about other things; it made her – yes, wild: and yes, up there on the crest of the hill, she was wild. Patrick watched her expression, he watched her being driven wild, he glowed with satisfaction, with glee, with perfect and delightful happiness.
    The sun had glinted on the metal roof of the car, on the clean windows: he could see inside, but only by crinkling up his eyes. There was his mammy sitting quietly. She wasn’t looking any more: her eyes were closed. Cassie’s eyes were open, they were looking at her fingers; Margaret’s eyes were glaring, staring at him. Then they drove on, the road falling steeply now, down to the crescent of sand. No, they hadn’t been here for ages: he couldn’t remember the road, the beach, though he knew better than to admit this now to anyone. Margaret said she could remember it; she was cleverer than he, he knew this already, but this time she was a big liar, probably.
    They ran down onto the beach: he ran ahead, faster than Margaret, though she had longer legs. He picked out their patch and dropped his shoes, the picnic bag, the red towel onto the warm sand – and quickly he jumped out of his shorts and ran down the beach and into the water.
    And now here he was, first in.
    It was icy, the water, and now he was waist-deep and he gasped a little. Icy, icy water: so cold he could hardly breathe. He gasped and gasped again, he took another breath, another step. He heard Margaret panting a little behind him, gasping as he gasped at the chill slap of the waves. I’ll duck first, I’ll get wet first, I have to: first in, first down, first always.
    He ducked.
    He was after drowned treasure. I’ll be a hero, he thought: I’ll find it first. Margaret will rage.
    This was why they came here today: the ship, the shipwreck. The Spanish sailors from the Armada: they were on a great wooden ship driven into the coast and wrecked on the reefs here, off Kinnagoe, off this beach. His father told him. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago this happened: oh, hundreds.
    This is why they came here to Kinnagoe.
    And where was the wreck? – but his father had shrugged. ‘Never found, son. Not yet – but the local people know it’s here.’
    ‘How do they know?’
    ‘Ghosts, son, on the beach in stormy weather.’
    ‘Ghosts?’
    ‘Ghosts. They ride the