He began watching the seagulls. The big black-backed birds tilted above him, angling down the air, circling above beach or swamp, then working out to sea again with slow easy wing-beats. For the first time,Jake saw how their wing-tip feathers spread as they hovered. Those guys surf the air, he decided.
He was getting cold. He paddled out hard, and caught a good steady crest. He was on one knee, starting to stand, when he saw the plastic bag caught on the front of his board. A supermarket bag, fouling up the sea on his beach! Jake reached for it, overbalanced, flipped sideways into the water, and came up spluttering. A cheer from further along showed that Matt had seen.
It was still an hour till his mother was due back, but Jake headed for the shore.
At the top of the path, a bike leaned against the fence. Jake watched another gull dip and bend above the swamp. A flock of small birds rushed up at it, shrieking. The gull slid away.
Jake looked harder. The little birds were - yeah, like the one on the road. He could see the yellow-green undersides and darker backs.
He pushed his board into some long grass. A stile led over the fence, beside the bike. He'd never noticed it before.
