Storms
Chris Vick
A thrilling and tempestuous novel of love and danger from the author of KOOK.Every storm breaks in the end…Jake never meant to fall for a girl that night. But plans change and soon Jake and Hannah are together, inseparable. That is, until Hannah gets an opportunity that will take her away, where Jake could never afford to follow.Then the storm comes, bringing with it an extraordinary discovery, something that could turn Jake’s life around. But the gifts of the sea can be cursed, and the great wave that is forming may break Jake and Hannah’s world – and their hearts…
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2017
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
HarperCollins Publishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
The HarperCollins website address is:
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Text copyright © Chris Vick 2017
All rights reserved.
Cover photographs © Aleksandar Nakic/Getty Images 2017
Chris Vick asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008158354
Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9780008158361
Version: 2017-03-17
For Julia, Lucy, Steve and Janine. You know why.
Contents
Cover (#uea8ee64b-752e-5a67-8576-c90b5d4ede98)
Title Page (#u726efad0-69ac-5d15-b6a2-665d926c623b)
Copyright (#ufe39a4e1-aaf3-54f8-9410-f56bfab4807b)
Dedication (#u3c39e1e1-cfe5-5598-8700-354a5fb07290)
Part One: Before the Storms
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Part Two: September – The First Storm
Jake
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Part Three: Between the Storms
Jake
Hannah
Hannah
Jake
Jake
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Jake
Hannah
Part Four: Storms
Jake
Hannah
Hannah
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Hannah
Jake
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Part Five: After the Storms
Hannah
Hannah
Hannah
Hannah
Jake
Hannah
Jake
Hannah and Jake, Jake and Hannah
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
Books by Chris Vick
About the Publisher
PART ONE (#u144a9bc1-6c85-54b0-9e9d-e64db0dfcb9d)
www.Eye-Sea-Surfcheck.com
Forecast
Winds: light-variable
Conditions: calm
Waves: clean, fun, 2ft
Blue skies, calm seas.
No major swell, people. A few 2 or 3 ft peelers on the more exposed beaches.
But hey, it’s summer. The sky is blue.
Enjoy the balmy weather.
Get on a longboard.
Drink beer.
Have fun.
Jake (#u144a9bc1-6c85-54b0-9e9d-e64db0dfcb9d)
THE PLAN WAS to get to the beach for a sunset surf, then sit round the fire with some other idiots and their girlfriends, talking shit and sinking beers. When he’d had his fill of it, he’d fall on his sleeping bag, drunk. After a few hours’ kip, he’d be woken by the dawn, and the crash of waves.
Surf. Party. Dawn surf. Home for Mum’s fry-up. That was the plan. Not falling for some girl.
*
He got there late. People were already arriving for the party, lugging blankets and cases of beer across the sand to the nook below the rocks. There were surfers in the water, getting some half-decent waves.
‘Bastards!’ Jake dumped his gear on the rocks, changed quickly and pelted into the water.
The surf was good. Summer-small, no more than chest high, but clean and peeling nice, giving long, smooth rides, with a fast, steep wall before they died on shore.
He surfed till he was out of juice and it was near-dark. At the back of the beach, tucked in a crescent of rock, a large bonfire was burning, with a smaller fire nearby, for cooking. Gangs of people stood around them. Fag and spliff-ends lit the dusk like fireflies. The air was filled with laughter, music, the sizzles and smells of fish and burgers cooking. It was going to be a good night.
As he walked over the sand he saw a girl. She was sitting by the smaller fire, taking mackerel out of a cool-box. Her blonde hair hung down, hiding her face.
‘All right?’ he said, as he walked past.
‘Hi,’ she said, looking up. ‘Good surf?’
‘Uh, yeah.’ In the light of the fire he saw her eyes. Oval sea-pools. He reeled, like he’d been thumped. The girl’s eyes had delivered the punch. Those eyes, and her sunshine smile.
He climbed on the rocks, in the near-dark, to find his gear, thinking, What just happened? No girl had ever done that. Not with one look, one smile.
Jake watched her from the shadows. He felt like a stalker, but he couldn’t help it. She had freckles, a tan, silky straight hair. She dressed plain. Jeans, hoody, a T-shirt, flip-flops. She had a slim, tight bod. She was gorgeous. Some girls wore prettiness like a new dress, like they knew what they had and needed to show it off. Not this one. She looked a good sort too. Kind. Could he tell that just from how she looked? Yeah, maybe.
He forced himself to stop bloody staring. Hung his suit on a rock and towelled his hair.
He should have gone over and said hi. That would be normal. But he didn’t feel normal. He felt nervous. Like he might fall over, or say something stupid. Or, worse, nothing at all.
He thought he’d best think about it a while. Get the courage up.
Or …
Set about necking beers. There was Goofy, by the fire. Exactly the guy to drink with. Goofy, with his bird-nest hair, copper tan and crazed blue eyes.
‘All right,’ said Jake.
‘All right, you daft fucker,’ said Goofy, putting an arm round Jake’s neck and squeezing him tight. It still seemed odd, to hear a gruff Welsh accent come out of Goofy’s mouth. He didn’t look Welsh (whatever Welsh looked like). He looked like a caveman.
‘Too dark to surf, eh?’ said Goofy.
‘Yeah. Got a beer?’
‘Always, man.’ Goofy let Jake go, grabbed a bottle, cracked the lid with his teeth and handed it over. Then he dived into a story: ‘Some daft tourist put pics of Eagle Point on Instagram. Place’ll get rammed now. Reckon I’ll not surf it till September, when waves are bigger and crowds thin … Oy!’ He slapped Jake round the back of the head. ‘You listening, man?’
‘Eh?’
‘What you staring at?’ Goofy scanned the crowd. ‘Oh, I see.’ Goofy winked. The blonde girl was near now, handing out food, shining that super-beam smile on everyone she talked to. Getting closer. ‘That’s Perfect Hannah. Miss Goody-Two-Shoes they call her. Rough press if you ask me. Folk are jealous cuz her family’s loaded. She’s dead nice, really.’
‘You know her?’ said Jake, thinking: You know her and you never told me.
‘You wanna meet her?’ Goofy waved at the girl.
‘No,’ Jake whispered. He elbowed Goofy in the ribs. But his mate had an evil spark in his eye.
‘Hannah!’ Goofy shouted.
Hannah turned and smiled, holding Jake’s gaze as she walked over.
‘Hi, guys. Hungry?’ she said, offering a plate of prawn skewers.
‘Love one,’ said Goofy. ‘Hannah, Jake. Jake, Hannah … Is that Rob there? Bastard owes me a tenner.’ Goofy sloped off, muffling a snigger.
‘Hi, Jake,’ said Hannah.
‘Hi,’ said Jake, grinning, nodding like an idiot and wondering what the hell to say. ‘So, er … how d’you know Goofy?’
‘He works for my dad now and then. Cottage maintenance, fixing boats.’
‘Oh, right. Who you here with?’ he said. Then mentally kicked himself. He might as well have said: You got a boyfriend, or what?
‘Some people,’ she said. ‘We’ve just finished our A’s at St Hilda’s. We’ve been locked up studying for months. It’s kind of a celebration.’
She smiled again. He noticed how close she was. So close the air was thick between them.
‘Right. Off to uni, then?’ he said.
‘A bit of fieldwork, then uni. Marine biology, specialising in cetaceans … that’s whales and dolphins.’
‘Right. Cool. I see dolphins, surfing some of the quieter spots.’
‘Really?’ Those sea-pool eyes grew wide. ‘Tell me where. I’m part of a research group. We spend our weekends on cliff tops doing surveys. Bit sad, really.’
‘No, that’s cool. I see them all the time. Do you know Eagle Point?’
Once they’d got chatting, he relaxed. She was so smiley, so damn nice. It was easy to be with her. Really easy. They talked for ages: about dolphins, about surf. It was all good. Right up to when she said:
‘So, what do you do?’
‘Um … er …’ he stammered. This girl was educated, well-off, going somewhere. Everything he wasn’t. Truth was, he’d already told her what he did. He surfed. A lot. All the work in bars, on boats: it was all to fund surfing. Or help Mum out. He didn’t really do anything else.
Silence filled the air between them.
‘Got any plans?’ she said, trying to help him.
‘I’m saving, to go travelling,’ he said. A lie. He wanted to jet off surfing, but he was broke.
‘I’m going travelling. With the fieldwork I mentioned. Before uni.’
‘Anywhere nice?’
‘Internship, studying humpies … I mean, humpback whales, in Hawaii.’
‘Hawaii! Jesus. Can I come?’ he said. Eager. A joke. Just a joke.
Hannah weighed him up, looking quizzical, then smiled.
‘Maybe,’ she said, teasing. He grinned back at her. It was awkward, how much they were smiling at each other.
Goofy returned with a tray loaded with shot glasses and quarters of lime.
‘Fancy one?’ he said.
‘What is it?’ said Hannah.
‘You’re kidding,’ said Jake. ‘You never did a shot of tequila?’
‘Nope. Never did,’ Hannah said, with a shrug. ‘Want to show me how?’
It was sweet how innocent she was, how keen.
Jake liked this girl. It wasn’t just her looks. It was how she was.
He liked her a lot.
Hannah (#u144a9bc1-6c85-54b0-9e9d-e64db0dfcb9d)
SHE WOKE SLOWLY in the grey light of just-before-dawn. Memories seeped into her head. The lovely boy, Jake. His brown eyes and mischievous grin. His scraggy beard and sun-weathered face. His strong hands.
The tequila and beer. A lot of it.
Hannah smiled, waking slowly, softly, still feeling the warmth of the boy and the night.
She sat up gently, but wished she hadn’t. Her brain sang with pain. Her mouth was sandpaper.
Happy or not, she had a monumental hangover.
She was alone, covered by a damp, open sleeping bag and blankets, lying at the foot of a dune.
Some twenty metres off, was the carnage of the night: Still-smoking fires. Bodies in sleeping bags, like landed seals. A dog licking grease off a grill.
‘Oh God,’ she said in a thick voice.
A vague memory of Bess and Phoebe begging her to leave. Her telling them she’d be fine. Sneaking to the dunes, away from fires and drunks. Making their camp of sleeping bags and blankets. His firm body, and those hands. On her. How they had explored her body. (Had they had sex? No, she’d remember that.) They’d done a lot, though. A lot. She hadn’t been able to help herself. Because he was gorgeous. And kind. And fun. And good with those hands. Really good.
What a night.
So, where was the boy now. Run away?
No, he wasn’t that kind of guy. She was sure of it.
Still. Where was he?
Hannah looked around. A bottle of water was wedged in the sand next to the bedding. She grabbed it and drank. No water had ever tasted so good.
There was a white enamel cup too and, in it, a toothbrush and toothpaste.
And next to the cup: her flip-flops and clothes, folded. Jeans. Hoody. She was wearing her T-shirt, but … Her hand reached down and found only her bare bum … Where the hell were her knickers?
She scrambled about under the sleeping bag and blankets with hands and feet. She found her pants, hooked them with her big toe, put her hands down and slipped them on.
‘Jesus.’ She cursed herself for the tequila, and maybe also for not leaving when she could have. For going too far.
What would Dad say if he found out she wasn’t at Phoebe’s?
Oh God.
But then … She smiled. After all that studying, all that stress, she’d gone off like a firework. She’d had a good time.
There seemed to be two Hannahs now. One normal, and another who was – apparently – a tequila-necking hussy.
Not-so-perfect Hannah Lancaster now.
She giggled, and realised she might still be drunk.
Knickers safely on, she got dressed. As she stood, brushing, gargling, spitting, she saw, lower down the dune, scrawled in the firm sand:
I AM HERE.
An arrow pointed to the edge of the dunes, to the sea.
Hannah picked up a blanket, wrapped it round her shoulders and walked slowly down, following the direction of the arrow. She came round the dune and saw the sea. It was high tide.
And there he was, in the shore break, surfing the waves of a silky milk-coloured sea.
He was on a wave now, spinning all over it, graceful and strong. Even at this distance, she could see his body, lithe with muscle. Like some animal.
He came off the wave and paddled out again, but not before he’d checked the shore. He waved. She waved back. Then she walked down, nearer to the sea, and sat on the sand with the blanket round her.
Her face tingled from the gentle breeze. She shivered on the cold sand. But a warm glow, a soft fire, was growing inside her. Her throbbing head didn’t matter now.
Beyond the shadow of the land, a sheet of blue approached, reaching to where Jake was surfing. The summer sun rose, slow, in the sky.
The boy carved the waves. Was he showing off? Probably. From what she remembered, he didn’t do much other than surf. Lucky he was good, then.
A surfer. She’d fallen for a surf dude. What a cliché.
As she watched, she wondered about Hawaii and the weeks between now and then. About the boy, Jake. Which was crazy. She didn’t know if they’d have breakfast, let alone a relationship.
But somehow … she did know. They would have breakfast. They would see each other again. She wasn’t kidding herself. This was quick, but real.
She wondered what Dad would make of him.
Jake (#u144a9bc1-6c85-54b0-9e9d-e64db0dfcb9d)
HE LIKED THIS. The girl sitting on the beach, him surfing the high-tide breakers.
The waves were big enough for him to chuck the board about. But not so big he’d get punished for it.
He pulled tricks: sharp bottom turns, up the wave, smack the board off the lip, drop back down into the power pocket. Up: float over the white crest, run back on the green. Pump the board for speed. Tuck in a tiny barrel as the wave closed on shore.
He took a bigger one, got some speed till the wave was almost closing, launched off the top and spun in the air, then tried to stick the board back into the wave. It was crazy to try a 360. He needed onshore wind that wasn’t there. He nose-dived the board in a foot of water, somersaulted and head-butted the sand.
He stood, spinning.
The girl – Hannah – laughed. Jake spat sand. He regretted making a tit of himself. Hannah stopped laughing and gave a sympathetic ‘argh’, then clapped and whistled. Her eyes were smiling. She wasn’t taking the piss.
‘I don’t know much about surfing,’ she said, ‘but that looked great.’
‘Even the wipe-out?’ he said, and winked. He walked up, leant over – careful not to drip on her – and kissed her.
She stood up.
‘My dad says you’ve got to fail and fall. And then get up again. In order to learn.’
‘A surfer is he?’ said Jake.
‘More of a yachtee.’
He put the board down. She opened the blanket and closed it round them both.
‘I’m soaking wet,’ he said.
She pushed against him and the warmth of her was like an unmade bed. Her hair was messed, her eyes raw and sleepy.
God. She was beautiful.
Her lips met his. Her tongue too. She tasted of toothpaste.
He wanted her. She writhed a little under the blanket, feeling him there. She unlocked her lips from his and leant back, meaning: Enough. For now.
He picked up his board.
‘So. What happens next?’ she said.
Did she mean right this second, or something else?
‘Um, breakfast?’ he said.
Hannah looked up at the blue-filling sky.
‘What time is it?’
‘Early. Won’t be anywhere open yet. Goof might have brekky stuff. Coffee leastways.’
She frowned. Her perma-smile dissolved.
‘I need to get a signal. Send some texts. I wasn’t exactly meant to be out all night.’
‘Where you supposed to be?’
‘Phoebe’s. In her spare room. It’s no biggy. Just parents, you know. They’ll want to know I’m okay.’
‘What will you tell them?’
‘That I’m at Phoebe’s. They’d freak if they thought I was out all night. With some boy. Who they don’t know. That’s three big bads. Besides …’ She frowned, and acted a gruff voice, ‘… Pete Lancaster’s daughter doesn’t sleep on a beach.’
‘Hannah … Lancaster. Goofy does stuff for your dad …’ It all clicked inside Jake’s head. ‘Pete Lancaster’s your dad?’
‘Yes. Is that … er, okay?’
‘Of course. I’m just … well. He’s a big cheese around here. He’s got a … rep, you know?’ Jake couldn’t find the words. Not honest ones. He’d never met the guy. But he knew plenty who had. And there was the time Lancaster had tried to buy their cottage off their landlord. That had been ugly. Too ugly to tell Hannah about right now.
‘He’ll want to know I’m okay,’ she said. ‘If I can get a message or two out, we can, you know, spend some time together? … If you’re not busy.’
‘Sure. I’d like that.’
Her smile came back. The sun, from behind a cloud.
They walked back to the dunes. Hannah sat on the bedding while Jake searched the sea of bodies.
Goofy was lying on his board bag. His jeans and pants were halfway down his bum, his mouth wide open and snuffle-snoring.
‘What a sight,’ said Jake. He picked up a seagull feather and wedged it down Goofy’s butt-crack.
‘Gerroff,’ Goofy slurred. ‘You’ve got your wetty on. You’ve been surfing and you didn’t wake me. Bastard. How is it?’
‘Decent. It’s got a bit of—’
‘N’er mind. What happened with you and that Hannah? Vanished, you did.’
‘She’s sat over there.’
Goofy looked over, and nodded his approval. ‘You be nice to this one, you hear?’
‘I’m always nice.’
‘Right. While it lasts.’
‘Listen, man, can you drive us? Hannah needs to get a signal, and we need some breakfast.’ Jake lowered his voice. ‘Away from this lot. Bit of privacy, like.’
‘Course. Gissa few minutes.’
*
They piled into the front of Goofy’s knackered van.
They’d drive to Penzeal, and get a signal over the moors. Then head to a café soon as one opened.
‘Quick brekky, then we’ll have you at your friend’s before they even wake up,’ said Goofy. ‘Don’t you worry ’bout nothing.’
‘Okay, great,’ said Hannah. She was looking at her phone. Concentrating on it.
‘You all right?’ said Jake.
‘Yes.’ She kept her eyes pinned to the phone. It lit up. Notifications streamed on to the screen. She scrolled through. Paused.
‘Shit. Dad’s coming to Phoebe’s to pick me up. We’re going to brunch with family friends.’
‘When?’ said Jake.
‘Now. Goofy, can you drive me there?’
Jake put a hand on Hannah’s arm. ‘It’s early. He’ll wait till you’re awake and you’ve sent a reply, right?’
‘Not Dad. He’ll just turn up.’ She was sitting bolt upright, looking at the screen. Frowning again.
‘Don’t stress,’ said Jake. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong. He’ll be okay, as long as he knows you’re all right. Let’s go for coffee: we can drop you in a bit.’
Hannah shot him a look like he didn’t understand. Like he didn’t have a clue.
‘No. I know we – I – haven’t done anything wrong. Look, I just don’t want to do a whole lot of explaining. We have to get there before him. Goofy, I’ll give you directions.’
*
They parked outside the drive of Phoebe’s house. What now? Jake thought.
Number swaps. Arranging to meet. But definitely meeting up? Or super-casual, yeah-I’ll-text-you vagueness?
Not this time. He wanted to see her again. He wanted her to know it. Fuck playing cool.
Hannah glanced up and down the road before turning to Jake. She opened her mouth to speak. But before she could a sleek, blue Merc sped round the corner and pulled up in front of the van.
Hannah’s father got out and stood square in front of the windscreen, hands on hips, looking from Goofy, to Jake, to Hannah.
He wore pressed jeans, deck shoes and a white shirt. He was tanned and smooth, but serious-looking.
‘Look, maybe you guys should go,’ said Hannah.
‘Why?’ said Jake. She smiled, weakly. Clearly, he still didn’t understand.
‘Can’t just scarper, can we?’ said Goofy. ‘I know your old man. Be rude not to say hello.’
How would it look if they just revved out of there? Like they were running away.
When Hannah got out, Jake followed. Goofy got out of the driver’s side.
‘Dad. Hi.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘We just went to get some … things for breakfast. The boys came over this morning.’ Her voice was high and forced. She was a bad liar.
‘So where are the breakfast things?’ said Hannah’s dad. He didn’t move, or raise his voice, or blink. Hannah shrank in his gaze.
‘The shop was closed,’ said Jake.
‘You know Goofy,’ said Hannah. ‘This is Jake.’ Pete Lancaster looked him up and down.
‘All right, Mr Lancaster,’ said Goofy.
Lancaster nodded at Goofy, then turned his eyes back to Jake.
‘Good party, was it?’ How he said it. It was a simple question, but loaded.
‘Yeah, we had a great time last night,’ said Jake. Hannah bowed her head.
‘Hannah, you don’t look like you had much sleep,’ her dad said.
It was true. Gorgeous as she was, she looked washed out. Party-broken.
‘I’m fine, Dad.’
‘Anything you need to get from the house?’
‘No. The girls are asleep. I can get it later.’
Pete Lancaster turned back to the car, opened the passenger door, then went and stood on the driver’s side, waiting.
Jake hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. Now he had to do it with this guy watching.
‘Bye, then,’ said Jake.
Hannah looked to her father and back to Jake. She put her hand on the door, about to get in.
Then she bit her lip, thinking for a second, and ran to Jake. She kissed his cheek, bringing her lips close to his. Lingering. She whispered her number in his ear.
‘Got it?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he whispered back.
Hannah and her dad got into the Merc, and it slid quietly away.
‘Pen, paper, phone. Quick,’ said Jake.
‘Why?’ said Goofy.
‘Her bloody number, that’s why.’ He went into the van, searching his sleeping bag and rucksack, saying the number out loud to himself. Repeating it over and over while Goofy laughed.
Hannah (#u144a9bc1-6c85-54b0-9e9d-e64db0dfcb9d)
SHE’D FALLEN FOR Jake.
It had only been a couple of weeks. But this was like some drug taking over her mind, her body and her every waking thought. Her dreams. Deeper every day.
Two weeks of cloudless summer days.
They lay on the sand till they baked. They cooled down in skin-biting water. Walked cliffs with her sheepdog, Beano.
In the evenings Jake worked shifts in the Queen’s Arms. Afterwards, he walked her home.
More than once she saw the curtains flicker in the shadows. She wanted them – Mum at least – to meet him, to see what she saw. But for now she wanted to keep Jake safe. From questions. Because there would be a lot of them.
*
So they visited Jake’s family first.
It was away from the village, at the end of a terrace of cottages, near the cliff tops.
All the other cottages gleamed smart. Not Jake’s house. Later, Hannah told Bess, it had ‘ramshackle charm’. In truth, the roof slates were loose and covered in moss and the walls were stained grey by summer sun and winter storms.
But the weedy lawn was freshly mown, and in the corner of the garden Jake had built a pretty pink painted shed for his sister. There were stickers and dream-catchers in the windows. The house was run-down, but it looked like a home.
They’d hardly got through the door when a boy and a girl appeared.
‘You’re the dolphin lady,’ said the girl. Hattie was ten, with dark ringlets, and round eyes like Jake’s.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Sean was fourteen. Runner-bean skinny, with straw-blond hair to his shoulders. He was grinning madly.
‘You must be special. He don’t normally bring them home.’
Jake took a firm grip on his brother’s nipple, and twisted hard.
‘That hurt!’ Sean yelped.
‘Good.’
Hattie laughed, and poked Sean, joining in.
‘Stop. Now.’ Jake’s mum stormed out of the kitchen. She was plump, younger than Hannah expected, with long dark hair and dressed in jeans and a shirt. She glared at her sons, wiping her hands on her jeans, then the hair off her face.
‘I’m April.’ She grabbed Hannah by the shoulders and kissed both her cheeks. ‘Come in, love,’ she said, walking back to the kitchen. Jake and Hannah followed.
The walls had paper peeling off in the corners, showing patches of mould. Wind whistled down the chimney. The kitchen was clean, but crammed.
‘We’re having curry,’ said April.
Hannah spied the pile of veg and the joints of chicken on the sideboard.
‘Yes. Lovely.’
‘Mum,’ said Jake. ‘She only eats fish. I told you.’
April sighed, heavily, like that was one thing too many to remember.
‘Get Sean to cycle down the Co-op for a bag of prawns.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Hannah. ‘I can just take the meat out. Let me help.’ She ran to the sideboard, pushed some letters out of the way and grabbed a chopping board and knife.
‘Oh,’ said April. ‘Um, okay.’ She tidied quickly, so Hannah had some room. But she wasn’t so quick that Hannah didn’t see the bills. One, unopened, was from the gas board. Another, open, had FINAL DEMAND printed in ugly, red letters. April saw Hannah’s face. Saw that she had seen, and gave a small, embarrassed smile.
*
The evening went well. Hannah was determined it would. She liked Jake’s family and home, and she worked hard at being liked, herself. She answered Hattie’s questions about dolphins. She teased Jake, with Sean. They ate the curry and drank beer and wine.
Sean and Hattie watched her all the time, carefully curious about everything she did. She forced herself not to lift her little finger off her wine glass, and to use just her fork to eat, in her right hand.
They asked Hannah about herself, her family.
‘Pete Lancaster’s your dad, isn’t he?’ said Sean. She’d heard those words before. Sometimes they made her nervous.
‘Yes. He is.’
‘He tried to kick us out of here,’ Sean said, stuffing rice into his mouth.
‘Sean!’ said April. ‘What my oaf of a son is getting at is that your dad wanted to buy this place.’
Hannah looked at Jake. ‘Really? Jake never said.’
Jake turned to Sean. ‘I told you not to say anything.’
That mad grin was splashed over Sean’s face. He was buzzed by the trouble he was causing.
‘You didn’t want to sell?’ said Hannah.
April laughed. ‘Bless you. We don’t own this house. Your dad tried to get us out so he could buy it from the owners. But we have tenants’ rights. And that counted, no matter how hard he tried to persuade us.’
The way April had said ‘persuade’, it could mean anything.
Hannah focused on her food, picking at it with her fork. She’d lost her appetite.
‘Sorry. About my dad. I don’t know much about his business.’
‘We didn’t want to leave, you see,’ said April.
‘Yeah,’ said Sean. ‘We told him where to stick his offer.’
Jake stared at his brother. Unblinking.
‘Well … good … for you.’ Hannah searched for words. ‘You did the right thing. I’m glad you stayed.’ She smiled at Jake.
April poured Hannah more wine. ‘Sorry, love. We didn’t mean to embarrass you.’
‘I’m glad we stayed too,’ said Sean. ‘We’re the only ones that did. All our neighbours are grockles now. Saps. This place is empty in winter.’
Hannah felt awful. She hadn’t done anything, but she felt blamed. Guilty.
‘Shut your mouth, Sean,’ said Jake.
Sean beamed his crazy grin at Hannah, then at Jake. ‘Make me.’
Jake leapt up and had his brother on the ground so quickly it made Hannah jump. It looked serious. She thought he was going to punch Sean, till she saw – with relief – that Jake had Sean’s forearms under his knees and his brother’s nose between his thumb and fingers, squeezing. He was playing, but making a point. The kid was hurting, but laughing too.
‘Say sorry for being a dick,’ said Jake.
‘Get off me or I’ll fart,’ Sean shouted.
‘No, you will not!’ said April.
‘Dare you,’ shouted Hattie.
Jake squeezed Sean’s nose hard, then his ear. Sean trumped, loudly. Hattie shrieked with joy.
April rushed to the cupboard, came back with a broom, and started prodding at her sons as Jake tortured Sean, and Sean wriggled to get free.
Hattie was holding her nose and waving her other hand to get rid of the smell. She was near helpless with laughter.
It might have disgusted Hannah. This scene. What Mum would call a display of vulgarity.
But she didn’t mind. And that surprised her.
She stood up and stepped back from the awful stench, giving April room as she poked and shouted. April looked at Hannah, pleading: What can I do with them?
Hannah shrugged. Soon, she was helpless with laughter too.
*
Later, Hannah helped April with the washing-up. April said she would do it herself, but Hannah insisted.
They worked, April humming, elbow-deep in suds, Hannah busy with the tea towel.
April had been so nice, but Hannah still felt bad, like there was a mark against her. After a while, she put the damp towel down and put her hand gently on April’s arm. She waited till April looked at her.
‘I’m not my dad,’ she whispered. ‘And I really like Jake.’
‘I know, love. I know.’
*
She sent him a text one morning:
Jake, Yr turn to see my home. As yr not wkng 2nite, wld u lk 2 come over for dinner?
Hx
PS M and D away. Will have place 2 Rselves
*
At a café in town, she showed Phoebe and Bess the text.
‘Well,’ said Phoebe. ‘I think we know what “place to ourselves” means, don’t we?’
‘It means more than frottage on the beach, Hannah Lancaster. Right?’ said Bess.
‘What does frottage even mean?’ said Hannah.
Her parents would be away. Hannah and Jake would be together. Not fumbling on a beach blanket, in some den between the rocks.
Jake would be in her bed.
Jake (#u144a9bc1-6c85-54b0-9e9d-e64db0dfcb9d)
HANNAH’S FAMILY LIVED in one of the old merchant houses on the cliffs near Whitesands Bay.
Jake got a good look at it as he walked down the drive in the evening sun. It was huge. Three storeys high, a covered porch, freshly painted white walls and a tall hedge surrounding the gardens. You’d need a sit-down mower for a lawn that size.
Amazing, the money you could make, owning boats and renting out cottages.
Jake knew there was no one there apart from Hannah, but he still felt on show. Watched somehow.
The security camera over the porch door didn’t help.
He rang the bell, and waited.
He was wearing jeans, but they’d been ironed. Mum had cleaned his shoes with a damp cloth. His shirt was crisp and white. He’d even trimmed his beard into trendy stubble. He had a bottle of wine in his hand, notes for a cab home in one pocket and condoms in another. Just in case. He didn’t expect it. But …
They hadn’t shagged yet. Almost, but not quite. The beach was no-go. His place was a dead end; even if Mum was cool, Sean would listen through the walls.
Tonight they were alone. It might be different.
He rang the doorbell, again.
‘Hellooooooo!’ It was Hannah’s voice, through an intercom. ‘I’ve been watching you.’ He looked up, smiled at the camera.
The door opened. She was wearing a green Roxy summer dress, light and clinging. She had smoky eye make-up on. And lippy.
‘Wow. You look proper … I mean … Amazing. You look amazing.’
‘A change from shorts and a T-shirt, right?’ she said, curtseying. ‘You dressed smart.’
‘Um, yeah.’ He felt like an arse. Like he’d tried too hard.
‘You look great, Jake. Handsome. I’m glad you made the effort.’ She smiled, kissed him and took the wine. ‘Sancerre, niiice. Come on,’ she said, and led him into the house.
He’d known the family had money, but this? Bloody hell. Just the hallway was massive. In a corner was a large bronze statue of a nude girl. On the walls framed photos of the family sailing, a huge modern-art painting of the nearby cliffs, an ancient drawing of a girl selling fish at the quayside.
It wasn’t just money. It was taste.
His shoes thunked on the chequered marble floor as he followed Hannah. The kitchen was huge too, with black granite surfaces, a wooden work station and a breakfast bar. At the far end of the kitchen was an old oak table, set for two.
Nu-folk music drifted out of unseen speakers. He smelt herbs and candles. Good smells. Hannah’s dog, Beano, was sitting, strangely quiet in a basket in the corner, as though even he had to behave himself in this place.
‘The house is fantastic,’ said Jake.
‘Um, yeah. I guess. I’m making you steak.’
‘But you’re a pesky whatsit.’
‘Pescatarian. I’m having swordfish.’ She smiled and waved her hand over the table, like a magician’s assistant showing the final part of a trick.
‘This is all a bit grown-up,’ he joked. He felt out of place. Weirdly wrong about being there.
Hannah came up and stroked his cheek, then laughed.
‘Don’t worry, Jake. The folks aren’t here,’ she said. ‘No grown-ups. Just us.’
‘Yeah.’ He relaxed. This was just him, and Hannah. They could do what they wanted.
He opened the wine.
‘My dad collects it,’ she said as he poured. ‘That and boats. It’s like an obsession with him. He’s got loads. A cellar, full.’
‘Can I see?’ he said.
‘If you like. Follow me.’
She led him back to the hall, then into another hall, down curving stone steps and through a smoked-glass door into a cellar.
Three walls were covered floor to head-high with racks. Hundreds of bottles.
‘Holy shit,’ said Jake.
‘We can have some if you like. I’m not bothered, but if you want?’
‘Maybe later.’
‘Dad won’t mind us taking one, as long as it’s not one of those.’ She pointed at the top row of the rack that was furthest from the door. ‘The pricey ones.’
They all looked expensive to Jake. Everything about this place looked expensive.
*
They ate salmon pâté she’d made herself, on tiny squares of toast.
They drank the wine, with the steak and swordfish.
They talked, a lot. About surf, dolphins, the sea. His mates. Hers. The usual stuff.
But all the time Jake was working up the courage to ask about Hawaii. They’d never planned anything beyond the next day’s picnic.
He knew they needed to talk about it – she was headed off in September.
He took off his shoes and stroked her leg under the table.
‘So,’ he said. ‘You got your ticket yet? A date for going?’
‘I told you. September.’
‘You never said the date.’
‘Why? Are you planning a leaving party?’
Hannah stared at Jake, looking a little scared. He stared back.
The words leaving party had cut through their evening like a knife.
Neither of them spoke for a while. No one filled the heavy silence.
They hadn’t talked about ‘goodbye’. Or a future. Jake downed his wine and poured himself another.
‘Jake.’
‘What?’
‘This is difficult. You don’t know … look. Do you even know what I’ll be doing there?’ she said.
He shrugged. ‘Going on boats looking for whales?’
Hannah sighed. ‘Dr Rocca takes four interns a year. Hundreds apply. You spend five hours on the boat, every two weeks. The rest of the time you sit on a cliff watching for whales to dive so you can take photos of their tail flukes, to ID them. You listen to hours of whale song and make notes. You spend days at the computer filing ID shots. That’s the fun bit. When you’re not doing that, you scrub floors, you make food for Paul and his team. It’s hard. You earn nothing. You sleep in a bunkroom with the other interns. You live it and you breathe it. You don’t get time off.’
Jake couldn’t believe how serious Hannah sounded.
‘Why do it, then?’
‘You get close to the whales. You get contacts, experience. A chunk of data for your degree. Do you know how many people want to be marine biologists? No one can get the experience you need. No one.’
‘Why you telling me this?’
‘Because …’ She spoke slowly, carefully. ‘If you came … Well, like I said, there isn’t even time off, really. We’d never see each other. It wouldn’t be fair on you.’
He took his foot off her leg. So that’s what this evening was about. This summer was as far as it went. She was letting him know. Gently as she could.
‘You don’t want me to come?’ he said.
Hannah dropped her fork, wide-eyed with shock.
‘What? Jake, no! No. I didn’t mean … I’d love you to be there. More than anything.’ She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. ‘But it’s a big ask. We couldn’t even stay together. We’d hardly see each other.’ She sounded sad, talking about the reality of it. He had to admit it didn’t sound like he’d imagined. Even so …
‘Don’t matter,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I can surf. It’s Hawaii. That’s a dream come true. Better seeing each other once a week than Skyping. Better than waiting six months. They’ll have to let you see me sometimes.’ He squeezed her hand back and smiled at her, noticing the softness in her eyes. The mistiness.
‘You’d wait?’ Hannah said. ‘Six months? For me?’
‘Yeah. Course.’ He pulled his hand from hers, feeling oddly shy. He coughed, and attacked his steak. ‘I’d rather come to Hawaii, though.’
‘Where would you stay?’
‘I’d work it out.’
‘What would you do for money?’
‘I’d work that out too.’
‘It’s that simple for you, isn’t it?’
He took a chunk of fat off his plate and threw it to Beano. He took another gulp of wine.
‘Yes,’ he said.
She watched him eat, her elbows on the table, resting her chin on interlaced fingers and gazing at him, carefully.
‘Okay,’ she said.
‘Okay what?’
‘Okay, come to Hawaii.’ She shone her sun-smile at him.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. I wanted you to. I just … needed to hear you say it.’ Hannah stood up, came round the table and plonked herself on his lap. She snuggled her bum into him. On to him. And kissed him.
‘Hawaii, yeah?’ he said.
‘Yes. Yes. Promise me.’
‘I promise.’
They kissed some more. He had one hand on her thigh, another round her waist. His hand moved up her leg, and the dress moved with it. She put her tongue between his lips for a second. He felt himself, against her, stronger by the moment. She wriggled out of his grip, and stood up. She reached for the wine bottle but it was empty. ‘Go get another,’ she said breathlessly. ‘To celebrate.’
When he stood up, his head was spinning from the wine and from the warmth of Hannah. From the promise they’d made. They were going to Hawaii.
Jake walked to the cellar, swaying, like he was surfing the air. He was ready to grab a bottle and run back quickly, before the moment dissolved.
He stood, in front of the racks, a kid in a sweet shop, not knowing which to take. He picked one at random then looked around the cellar, up and down, as if there might be a camera there too. But there wasn’t.
He still felt giddy. Drunk, and not just from wine.
He had an idea. It made his head spin even more. He picked a bottle off the rack on the far wall: one of the ‘expensive’ wines. He wiped the dust off, on his jeans, and replaced it with the one he’d just taken.
It felt bad and good at the same time. Naughty.
So what? he thought. A little payback for the grief Lancaster had caused Mum. Why not? Lancaster could afford it. He probably wouldn’t even notice.
Jake toyed with the idea putting the bottle back. A twinge of guilt making him hesitate. Then:
‘Fuck it,’ he said, laughed out loud, and ran.
Back in the kitchen, Jake opened the wine and Hannah turned up the music.
They danced. She taught him moves she’d learnt at classes when she was young. She seemed pleased with how quickly he picked them up.
They slow-danced. Snogged.
He thought about Hannah as they danced. This smart, beautiful girl. The girl he’d be with in Hawaii.
‘Why me?’ he asked, as they swayed slowly, with her head on his shoulder and her breath against his neck.
‘Why you what?’
‘You could have anyone.’
They sat down, with her on his lap again. No wriggling away now. Her arms hung round him, pulling him closer.
‘Those people Mum and Dad are with tonight … Their son, Simon, was my first proper boyfriend. It lasted a year. It should have been a week. The guys I meet in my world, they’re like Simon. Too polite, too awkward. Or they’re rugger-playing idiots whose total dream is to be a stockbroker with a Porsche,’ she whispered in his ear, her hand on his chest. ‘They don’t interest me; they’re not … real.’ She took a glug of wine from the bottle, kissed his neck. ‘I don’t want to be some banker’s wife. I don’t want to end up … I hate myself for saying this … like Mum. You see this – this place. Think it’s nice?’
‘Yeah. It’s …’
‘It’s a prison!’ Hannah cried, suddenly angry-drunk. ‘This life. Why do you think I’m goingto Hawaii? It’s not just whales. Not just that. I’m getting away.’
‘Is that me, then? Am I an escape too?’
‘No, Jake. I mean you are, but you’re more than that. I’m drunk. I don’t know what I … I’m just trying to say … You’re different. You’re strong and kind. You don’t give a shit about things that don’t matter.’ She waved her arm at the kitchen, the house. ‘You’re all about doing things, being who you are, not just getting more … Stuff. You’re free, like … I dunno. The sea.’
‘The sea?’ he laughed. ‘What does that mean?’
‘I told you. I don’t know.’ Her hand slipped inside his shirt. Their mouths locked, softly, and the talking stopped.
They stood up, still kissing, for a long time, then in one movement, he took the hem of her dress, lifted it over her head, and let it fall to the floor.
They came back together, knocking a chair over.
‘Leave it,’ she said, wrapping her arms round his neck.
They stumbled through the door and up the stairs, stopping to kiss, to feel, before staggering into Hannah’s room. To her bed.
*
Afterwards, they lay together. The window was open. Jake watched the star-rammed sky, and listened to the sea on the rocks. Hannah fell asleep in his arms.
Hannah (#u144a9bc1-6c85-54b0-9e9d-e64db0dfcb9d)
HANNAH’S EYES FLEW open.
Why?
Something wasn’t right.
The sound of the drive gate, clinking smoothly shut. The purr of Dad’s Merc. The crunch of tyres over the gravel.
‘Shit! Jake, wake up!’ She grabbed his shoulder and shook him.
‘Wassup?’
‘They’re back.’ Hannah leapt to the window.
‘Who, what …’ His voice changed from sleepy to wide-awake in a second. ‘They’re not back till tomorrow.’
‘That’s what they said.’
‘They gonna flip?’
‘They knew you’d come round. They didn’t know you’d stay. Shit.’
Hannah searched her memories, through the haze of wine and sex and sleep.
Plates and glasses on the table. Empty bottles. The chair knocked over.
Her dress on the kitchen floor.
‘Oh no. Oh God, no.’
The front door opened, then clunked shut.
Voices. Sharp and loud.
Dad: ‘I’ve known him for fifteen years. I’ve kept that bloody bank going.’
Mum: ‘You didn’t have to make a scene. Why don’t you … Oh. My. God. Pete, come here.’
Mum was in the kitchen. There was no time to do anything.
Hannah froze at the window. Jake sat in bed. Both of them naked.
She covered herself with her hands, then pulled her dressing gown off the back of the door.
‘Stay here,’ she whispered, hurrying. If there was going to be a scene, it would be better in the kitchen, before Dad made his way upstairs. She ran down, took a breath before going in.
‘Hi,’ she said.
Dad and Mum stood by the table. Mum had the dress in her hand. Dad picked the chair off the floor and put it upright. Mum placed the dress carefully on the back of the chair.
‘Thought you were back tomorrow,’ said Hannah. They turned to her. Her gaze fell to the floor.
‘What’s been going on?’ said Dad.
‘Pete,’ said Mum. ‘It’s pretty obvious what’s been going on.’ Hannah steeled herself, but kept her eyes on the floor.
‘He is my boyfriend,’ said Hannah. Quietly, politely.
‘You said he might come round for a drink,’ said Dad.
‘Pete. Come on,’Mum said. Hannah looked up. Mum rolled her eyes, not believing Dad’s naivety. Was she okay with this? Was she on Hannah’s side?
‘This is my house. I did not give permission for …’ Dad looked at the dress on the chair.
‘He came round for dinner, we had some wine.’ Hannah felt a teasing pain in her hands, and noticed she’d clenched her fists. Her nails were digging into her palms.
‘So I see,’ said Dad.
‘He’s my boyfriend. We can …’ She couldn’t say it.
‘Not in my house,’ said Dad.
‘You’d better get used to the idea. He’s coming to Hawaii.’ She didn’t know where these brave words came from, but now that they were out there she felt reckless. She could still feel Jake’s sweat, his warmth, the wine. It was all like armour, protecting her.
‘How the hell can you make that decision?’ Dad shouted. ‘You’ve known him, what? A week, two?’
‘Longer.’
He stepped towards her. She didn’t move, though her legs were weak as twigs. ‘And where is he? This boy who’s flying round the world with you, who we don’t even know?’
‘I’m here,’ said Jake.
He’d got dressed. He’d made himself presentable as possible. But he was barefooted, his shoes were still under the table.
‘We met briefly, Mr Lancaster. I’m Jake,’ he said, and held out his hand.
Dad looked him up and down. Dad, with his jacket and tie and slick hair. He shook Jake’s hand, limply, but pulled the sides of his mouth down and raised his eyebrows as he did it.
He’d dismissed Jake and everything he was with one look. And Hannah hated him for it.
He picked up one of the empty bottles, took his glasses out of his shirt pocket and examined it. Reading it like a book, like there was no one else there.
‘You said I could take some wine,’ said Hannah.
‘And so you did,’ said Dad, still looking at the label. ‘Do you know how much this bottle was worth?’
‘Sorry, Dad.’
‘Sorry?’ he said, softly. ‘You’re sorry.’ Jake stepped forward.
‘Hey. We got carried away, drank too much. I was never even going to stay here.’
Her dad didn’t look at Jake, only at Hannah.
‘No. But you did, didn’t you? Hannah, you know which bottles not to take.’ He showed her the bottle, like she would recognise it.
Jake held his hand up. ‘It’s my bad. I went to get another bottle. Maybe I got one of the pricey ones by accident.’
Dad looked weirdly pleased by this news. Hannah shot Jake a WTF look.
‘I’ll pay you back,’ said Jake. ‘I promise.’
Dad looked at Jake now. Examining him.
‘That might take longer than you think,’ said Dad. ‘You work in a pub, don’t you?’
‘There’s no need for that, Pete,’ said Mum. ‘I mean, there’s no need for Jake to pay for it. Is there?’
Mum never stood up to Dad, but she was now. Even Beano looked at Dad, like he was going to bark. Her father was alone.
He raised his finger and pointed first at Mum, then at Hannah.
‘You’d better go,’ Hannah said to Jake before Dad could speak. She leant over, ducked under the table, grabbed his shoes, and herded him to the front door.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘About the bottle.’
‘I’m sorry too. About Dad.’
They kissed. A reminder of their night.
She watched him disappear into the dark.
Jake (#u144a9bc1-6c85-54b0-9e9d-e64db0dfcb9d)
THEY AVOIDED HANNAH’S house after that. And her family.
They took long walks on the cliffs. Searching. Because Hannah had heard a rumour. The sighting of orcas. Killer whales.
‘Not sure I want killer whales around, anyway.’ Jake said after they got home one day. ‘I’d freak if I saw one in the water.’
Hannah grinned. ‘Worried it’d surf better than you?’
‘Killer whales don’t surf.’
‘Yeah? I’ve seen it, Jake. I’ve filmed it.’
‘Get out!’
‘Wanna see?’
Hannah searched files on her laptop, a look of total concentration on her face. It surprised Jake when she got serious. She screwed up her eyes, sticking her tongue a little way out of the side of her mouth. It was cute. And sexy.
‘Can’t find it,’ she said. ‘I should give these files names, not just numbers. Listen to this, while I search. Sounds from a hydrophone we placed off the Scillies, last summer.’
Jake strained his ears. Bubbling, rolling currents, soft gurgles, washing white noise. Hisses and whispers.
Then:
Cik … cik … cik … Faster. Cik … cik … cik … cik … cik … cik … Ckkkkkkkkkkk …
‘Sonar,’ said Hannah.
The air filled with waves of echoes, whistles, clicks and thuds. Jake’s skin goosebumped.
‘Voices,’ he said.
‘The sounds amplify through the hulls of ships,’ said Hannah. ‘Sailors used to reckon it was mermaids. Or the cries of drowned sailors.’
‘What are they saying?’
‘Hard to know, exactly. We match sounds to observed behaviour, and work out the combinations for feeding, hunting, calling. It’s rudimentary language, which varies between communities. They have dialects, and they use sets of unique phrases for individuals.’
‘You mean … names?’
Hannah shrugged. ‘I guess so.’
‘That’s incredible.’ He slumped in his chair, open-mouthed. Hannah saw, and smiled.
‘Want to see incredible? Watch this.’ She shifted the angle of the laptop, and moved her chair up next to his. He put his arm round her and rested his hand on the curve of her hip.
The footage was of sea and islands, taken from a boat he guessed, as the camera was swaying. The water was smooth and the day was crystal-blue, but at the edge of the island were huge breakers. As if on cue, a wave rose up on the screen. The wave held up, feathering white off the top.
A dark blur emerged inside the wave. Sleek, big and fast. An orca. It waved its tail frantically as it cruised through the blue, then erupted out of the face of the wave, flying backwards. A huge fish in its mouth.
Jake shock-laughed. He almost clapped. The cheek of the thing. The skill, the grace, the power.
She stared at him, watching his reaction.
‘I’ve never seen anything like that,’ she said. ‘But I will again, one day. I’m going to study orcas.’ Her eyes misted, seeing a dream. ‘You know what’s different about them?’
‘Tell me.’
‘Animals spend their whole existence hunting or fleeing, finding food, breeding, caring for young, keeping warm, finding shelter. That’s their life. But orcas have evolved beyond that. They have no natural predators, they hunt easily and they’re resistant to cold. So they just … play. Travel. They have large families they stay with for life. Run by the matriarchs. And pods and super-pods that meet up, once in a while. Tribes of the sea.
‘They look after each other. They never leave a sick family member. They’ve got life sussed. They’re free.
‘A lot of people are like most animals, running around, chasing their tails. If they’re lucky enough to have a roof over their head and food to eat, they stress about exams or money or how they look.
‘We could learn from orcas. They just like hanging around, eating, playing and surfing. They’re a bit like you,’ she said with a sly grin and a nudge to his ribs.
‘You should see your face light up when you talk about this stuff, Hannah.’
Her dreamy eyes hypnotised him. The sun-smile, and freckled nose. How she was serious, but passionate too.
He showed her surf vids. She showed him more vids of dolphins and whales.
It was near dark when April, Hattie and Sean got home.
‘Get these on,’ said Mum, handing Jake frozen pies, peas and chips from her shopping bag. ‘Hannah, sorry, love. I’ll have to move you.’
Hannah had that look about her still. The sea-eyes, misted.
‘That’s okay,’ said Hannah. ‘Anything you want me to do, Mama orca?’
‘Mama what?’
‘It’s a whale,’ said Jake.
‘It’s a compliment, April,’ said Hannah. ‘I promise.’
PART TWO (#ulink_a4d89fa9-3087-53eb-91e7-96dd619e6b56)
www.Eye-Sea-Surfcheck.com
Forecast
Winds: Raging westerlies, 30mph with up to 50mph gusts
Conditions: Heaving. Massive. Dangerous.
Waves: Big, bigger and also massive. Swell 12–15ft at 13–14 seconds wave period. Wave face 15 and up to 20ft. More.
Whooaa!!
Summer’s well and truly over, folks. This is a biggy.
Once-in-a-blue-moon sheltered spots will be firing. The sea gods are giving us gifts. It’s going to be special. It’s going to be wonderful … if you know where to look.
Jake (#ulink_bcdddba8-e0eb-5738-95e3-beaeaf1e2ad0)
THERE WASN’T MUCH to Brook Cove. A river that poured into a small harbour, a handful of fishermen’s cottages and a café selling cream teas.
It was pretty in summer, but when autumn came the valley was dipped in shadow. The café was closed and the cottages empty.
It was a lonely place, but it suited Goofy. He lived above the café in a studio flat, with a kitchen at one end, a sofa-bed at the other and a separate bathroom.
Jake climbed up the steps to the flat, knocked and walked in. The place was a mess, with beer cans on the floor and pizza boxes and surf mags on the table. Three knackered surfboards leant against the wall.
Goofy was asleep on the sofa, fully dressed but, weirdly, holding a mug of tea.
‘Bit late for sleeping,’ said Jake.
Goofy opened an eye. ‘Been for a dawny surf, haven’t I? Catching up on the zeds.’ He glanced down at his mug. ‘This is cold, man. Get a fresh brew on.’
Jake walked to the kitchen end of the flat and got busy rinsing mugs and boiling the kettle.
‘You come about the money?’ said Goofy.
‘Yeah. Need to get that Hawaii ticket sorted. Listen, mate –’ he turned to look at Goofy straight – ‘I’m sorry about this. I wouldn’t if I wasn’t desperate. I’ve had to help Mum out. More than I thought.’
Goofy picked up a pizza crust and threw it at Jake.
‘Shut up, you daft twat,’ he said. ‘You helped me settle ’ere when I had nothing.’
Goofy had arrived in Cornwall with nothing. Less.
‘How come you turned up here in the first place?’ said Jake. ‘You were in a bit of a state.’
Goofy sighed. ‘Running away from shit, like always.’
‘What?’
‘Never mind. I’m here now, aren’t I? And rich enough to lend you money. I’m due some dosh from Lancaster.’
Jake shook his head as he poured boiling water into the mugs. If Hannah’s dad knew he was helping fund Jake’s trip to Hawaii …
‘Soon as you get work you can pay me back. Electric transfer or whathavya. Small problem, though …’ Goofy let the words hang.
Jake brought the tea over and sat down. ‘Problem?’ he said.
Goofy stared at his mug, chewing his lip. He looked embarrassed, which was a first.
‘I can only go three hundred. Not seven, like.’
‘What? Three hundred? You’re bloody kidding?’ Jake felt bad as soon as he’d said the words. He wished he could push them back in his stupid mouth. But in one second he’d seen Hawaii evaporate, like steam from his mug of tea. ‘Shit.’ He put his head in his hands.
‘All I can do, mate,’ said Goofy, getting off the sofa, holding his hands up. ‘I am so, so sorry, man. Lancaster owes me loads for bits and bobs, but he takes ages to pay.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jake. ‘Three hundred’s huge. Massive. I’ll find the rest. Somehow.’
‘Not being funny, like,’ said Goofy. ‘But you have had all summer to save, Jakey. Just saying.’
‘Yeah, right.’ He stared at the floor, wanting to lie down, and never get up again. He could barely speak; he felt like crying. ‘I’m not … stupid, Goofy. I did have some saved. Thing is …’ He sighed heavily. ‘Like I say, I’ve had to help Mum. She’s got debts. She couldn’t make the rent. I didn’t have a choice. That’s why I needed to borrow. She’s in a bad way. I need to get her sorted before I go.’
‘Oh, I see. Look, chin up, mate. I’m still here for your mum – you know I am. And there’s a while yet. We’ll figure something out. Together. Yes?’
‘Okay,’ Jake whispered.
‘I said, yes?’
Jake looked up. ‘All right. Yeah, there’s a bit of time, isn’t there?’ But there wasn’t. Not really.
‘Come o’er here,’ said Goofy, waving him towards the window. ‘See those clouds? There’s a storm coming.’
They went and sat, looking out of the bay window at the sea and sky. Goofy rolled a cigarette and talked about the storm, about the wave-fest headed their way. But Jake didn’t hear.
He was already going to be living off Hannah till he got work. How could he tell her he couldn’t even buy his ticket? He imagined her saying it was okay, saying they’d Skype every day. That they’d make it work till she got back.
Yeah, right.
‘How come Lancaster won’t front you, anyway?’ said Goofy. ‘I mean, you are boning his daughter.’
‘Watch your mouth, cheeky bastard. Anyway, that’s exactly why.’
‘He could pay,’ said Goofy. ‘Seriously. Easy. Make his daughter happy.’
‘I wouldn’t take his money.’
‘Why not? The guy’s made a wad with that fleet, breaking the backs of honest fishermen. And renting out cottages to tourists. He’s got himself to a place where he can literally do what he wants. A better hotel in the Caribbean, another frock for the missus. You’re a better use of the cash if you ask me. His life? It’s all one big straitjacket.’ Goofy tapped his head. ‘How does his brain work? I’ve seen him down his boathouse. He pays people to mow his lawn, but there he is, on a Saturday, painting an already-white fence even whiter. Fucking nuts if you ask me. Done all right with his missus, though. See where Hannah gets the looks from. I would, you know. I definitely would.’
‘That’s my girlfriend’s mum, you sicko.’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.’
‘I haven’t thought about it.’
‘You have now, though. You won’t be able to stop thinking about it, next time you’re with Hannah … ouch!’ Goofy winced from the jab in the ribs Jake gave him.
‘You are twisted,’ Jake said. He was laughing, though. He couldn’t help himself.
‘I’m sure her mum’ll give you the money, for a special payment.’ He winked and rocked his hips.
‘Shut up!’ said Jake.
‘See. You’re laughing. Better already. Fancy a can?’
‘Bit early.’
‘Too late for sleeping, too early for beer. You want to be careful with these rules, Jake. You’ll end up like Lancaster.’
‘No chance of that,’ said Jake.
Goofy went and got a beer. Jake slurped his tea. They watched the distant wall of cloud out to sea. Jake sank into arms-folded silence.
‘A storm like this churns everything up,’ said Goofy, clearly trying to change the subject. ‘All sorts come out the water. I seen it back ’ome in Wales too. Old wrecks, dead dolphins. A live one once. You’d be amazed what I’ve found down coves. A crate of beer. A life jacket. A container full of top trainers, once. Offerings from the sea gods, like.’
‘Where was that, then?’
‘Oh, you know, various surf spots.’
‘No. Where was “back home?”’
‘Here. There. Moved around a bit, I did.’
That was Goofy. Dodging the question like always. Jake knew better than to push it.
‘Look at that storm brewing,’ said Goofy, pointing to sea.
Jake loved an autumn storm. The best surf all year. But he couldn’t feel hunger for it now. He was gutted, too worried about not getting on that plane.
‘You gonna surf it tomorrow?’ said Goofy.
‘Maybe.’ He doubted it. He needed to talk to Hannah. He’d arrange to meet. He’d break the news.
Unless he could find a way to get the money.
Jake (#ulink_ca665a87-6463-5f9f-b9f3-f8bd9c0811c9)
IT HAD BEEN light for an hour, but it felt like night out there, with the sky caked with cloud, and the wind screaming.
Normally he’d lie in bed with a cuppa, listening to the storm batter the window.
Or go surfing.
But today he needed to talk to Hannah.
They were supposed to meet up for a walk, but what could he say?
So far he didn’t have any ideas about how to get the money. Not even bad ones.
Maybe a surf would help him think.
‘What the hell.’ He poked an arm out from under the quilt, found his phone and texted:
Hi Gorgeous. Weather no good 4 walking. Give yrself lie in. Going qk surf. Best in ages. Meet up later, yes?
He snoozed, waiting for a reply. When none came, he crawled out of the sack and tiptoed downstairs. He made a steaming coffee, thick as soup, and ate an energy bar. He put his wetsuit on, got a board from the shed and headed out.
It was cold. The wind and rain had bite. They meant business. It was more like winter than the end of summer. The wind was so hard he had to hold the surfboard tight under one arm and steady the front with the other, just to stop it taking off.
Ten minutes later he was there. It didn’t look good from the cliff. Great white horses were rising out of the sea, raging and disappearing. Huge waves, bouncing and twisting with wild energy. Impressive, but no good for surfing. Maybe he’d wasted his time. He played with the idea of heading back. But then again … he couldn’t see the cove, and the forecast website had said:
It’s going to be special today, guys. It’s going to be wonderful … if you know the right spots.
Wonderful. That was weird. Jake had never seen that word on a forecast before.
If it was bad: Pony. Blown to shit. Or: Flat as road-kill.
If it was good: Cracking. Thumping. Off the scale.
Something like that. But wonderful?
Wonder-ful. Full of wonders. An offering from the sea gods.
There was a steep path, tucked into the cliffs, leading past a boulder and by a stream. No one used it apart from brave dogs and nudey sunbathers in summer.
Jake took that path, chasing a promise. Except the path and stream were now a river. He waded and climbed, slipped and swore.
He almost fell into the surfer coming the other way. A short, craggy-faced bloke he’d seen at Praa Sands a couple of times. The dude was climbing through the waterfall.
‘Wass it like?’ said Jake. He always asked surfers coming back from a break, checking their faces for glassy eyes and stupid grins. ‘Is it wonderful?’
Crag-face headed past, without saying a word, or looking at him. Maybe he hadn’t heard Jake? Or maybe he didn’t want to let on how great it was.
Only one way to find out. And it would give him thinking time. Surf could do that. Wash all your worries away. Clear your head. Just for a bit.
Hannah (#ulink_143c0e59-dd5a-5e3e-b82a-f93291bcf78c)
HANNAH CHECKED HERSELF in the hall mirror.
Sunset-red Henri Lloyd storm-breaker jacket, brand new. A present from Dad. Black waterproof trousers. Hunter wellies.
‘Sexy,’ she said. A howl of wind rattled the door, threatening to blow it open. Rain hammered on the conservatory roof like a thousand tiny drumbeats.
‘No such thing as bad weather,’ she said to Beano. He was scratching at the door. ‘Only a bad attitude and the wrong clothing. Right?’
Beano whimpered, keen to get going.
‘Hang on, he’ll be here soon.’
‘Morning, Hannah.’ Dad walked down the stairs in his dressing gown. ‘Going out?’
‘Beano needs a walk.’
‘Want some company? I can be ready in five.’
‘No. You’re okay. I’m supposed to be meeting Jake.’
‘Supposed to be?’
‘He hasn’t turned up … yet.’
‘Ah.’ Her dad smiled, raised his eyebrows and walked to the kitchen. As if just that one look said everything about Jake. Just that look. He did it all the time. It annoyed her.
She looked at her phone. Seven thirty. There was a message. He was going surfing.
Hannah smiled. Maybe it was a good thing if she went by herself. She needed to think.
Without saying goodbye to Dad, Hannah headed out along the path down to the village, through the streets and past the houses. When she came round the corner and started on the road to the beach, she got the force of what Jake called the full Atlantic blast. A shock of wind and stinging rain.
‘Jesus,’ she said, and sank her head deep into her jacket as she headed down to the sand.
It was only weeks before she was due to get on that plane. It didn’t seem real. How could she be walking on a howling Cornish beach one day, and not so many later be photographing whales in crystal lagoons?
And with Jake? He wanted Hawaii as much as her. More than anything. Not just for her, but because it was Hawaii, the best surf on earth.
It was his dream too. It was just a different one.
How would it go when they got there? Her working long hours, him surfing. And he hadn’t bought a ticket yet. He kept saying he’d sort it, but he hadn’t. She had money, but if she bought his ticket and had to pay for them both when she got there she’d be stony broke, pretty quick.
She reached the sand and started walking.
What if he couldn’t get the ticket? What if he didn’t come?
It would be months. And she’d miss him, the same as she’d miss the Cornish storms. The kiss of needle rain on her face, and Jake’s kiss when he put a smacker on her cheek. How she’d wipe away the itch of his stubble.
‘Ugh. It’s like being kissed by a badger’s bum,’ she’d say. Complaining, but not complaining. Then he’d kiss her on the lips and it’d almost knock her out. Like the shots of tequila the night they’d met.
‘That’s disgusting,’ she’d said, reeling from the salt, the bitter shot and the sting of lime.
‘You’ll get to enjoy it,’ he’d said, handing her another.
She had too. Hannah smiled at the memory.
How could she go without him? How could she even think it? But …
He’ll drag you down.
She heard the words like they were said out loud. She heard them every day. From Phoebe, Bess, Mum. Dad. He said it every chance he got.
‘Well, sod you, Dad,’ she said into the wind and rain. ‘He’s coming!’
Then she saw something, through the sheets of rain, at high tide, on the sea’s edge.
At first she thought they were rocks. Six or more. Huge, smooth, black boulders. Big as upturned yachts. Bigger.
They were rocks. They had to be. The storm must have stripped the sand off them. But, at the same time, she knew they weren’t. They were too dark, too rounded, too perfect in their shape.
So what were they? Beano ran straight to them, barking.
Only when she got close did Hannah see the white patches like giant eyes, the dorsal fins like great black knives on the creatures’ backs. The tail flukes lying useless and still on the sand.
Orcas. Killer whales.
She ran to the first one, the largest. It wasn’t moving. Its blowhole was closed and its mouth was open, showing a row of perfect, shining teeth. Its oddly human tongue hung out of the side of its mouth, limp and dead. Its eye was human-like too. But there was no light in it. It stared, unseeing, at the grey sky.
She checked the next one. It was half hidden in orange fishing net and seaweed. It was smaller, with a short fin. A female. Also dead.
The third one had fresh scars on it. They were pink and gaping: the telltale cuts of a whale tearing its flesh to escape netting.
This was what a loose net could do. She imagined the whales, trapped, holding their breath till they suffocated. Struggling uselessly against the nylon nets.
Three hundred thousand whales and dolphins died this way, every year. One every two minutes.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she said. Warm tears, mixed with rain, fell down her cheeks.
She stood, useless and tiny, next to these great, dead whales.
She’d always wanted to see orcas. Now she had.
‘Fuck!’
Beano was standing fast by one of the smaller whales, barking at it, then running away, coming back, front paws and head down, pointing and barking.
‘Beano, leave it alone,’ she shouted. But the dog ignored her, growling and barking ever louder. ‘I said, leave it alone!’
She wanted some dignity for the poor things. She grabbed Beano by the scruff of the neck, and yanked him away. It was a young one, this whale, half grown, maybe a year old. Its mouth was open, its tongue lolling. It was just as dead as the others.
She put a hand on the young whale’s head, stroking the rubbery skin, and felt suddenly ashamed of being human. Of what humans do.
She looked into the whale’s eye. ‘Sorry.’
That black pupil moved. A huge, rolling marble. The eye looked at her, glinting bright and fierce. It set Hannah’s skin on fire, being looked at this way. A loud phoosh sound burst through the wind and rain as the whale breathed out of its blowhole, filling the air with a fishy stench.
Even in that mad second Hannah had a clear thought. This wasn’t like a dog or horse looking at you. It wasn’t like any animal, or human, looking at you. It was something else.
Beano was back, down on his paws, barking.
‘No, Beano. Stay,’ she shouted, letting the dog know to behave. Not to bark and run around. Not to make the whale more scared than it already was.
Then a cry came from the whale. A long, desperate whine. The eye swivelled, looking at the other whales.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Hannah, her voice trembling.
What to do now?
She stroked the whale, blown away by it, gazing at her. Like it was looking into her.
What to do?
She wanted to comfort it, to talk to it.
But that wouldn’t save its life, would it?
‘Come on, Hannah, come on. Think!’
She stood back and checked the whale over, the biologist in her getting to work. No net injuries. A female. Juvenile. It had probably followed the others in.
She reached into her coat for her phone. She’d call Jake and tell him to get help. Then she remembered: he was surfing.
‘Damn you, Jake!’ She’d phone Dad instead.
There was no service.
She’d have to start sorting this herself.
She took some pics with her phone, running around the group of whales, getting photos from all angles. Seven of them in all.
She saw two move, heard their phoosh breaths.
‘Don’t panic, stay calm,’ she said. She tried to fight the tears. They wouldn’t help the whale any more than words.
Hannah searched her mind for what she knew. For the options. The sea was just starting to go out. She could see the tideline. It’d be hours before the sea came back and covered the whales. The tide might free the live whales. But then they might stay with dead or injured family members. Or be so exhausted, so heavy and so robbed of the buoyancy of salt water that their internal organs would collapse.
If there was hope – any at all – Hannah would need people, trained MMRs: Marine Mammal Rescuers. They’d need blankets soaked in buckets of seawater to keep the skin supple. Floats, inflatables, boats. Fish? Would she need to feed them? How would they drink if they were out of the sea? Cetaceans desalinate water. How could they do that on land? There was so much she didn’t know.
Even while she was working out what to do, who to call, what she needed, a part of her was panicking.
Why this? Why now?
Right, she told herself. Get organised. Steve Hopkins, her old biology teacher. He was an MMR. He’d done seal rescues and some dolphins. She’d call him as soon as she got back.
Please don’t die, whale.
She knew people with boats. RIBs, rigid inflatables. Could they get pontoons too? All the rescues she knew about had been dolphins or seals. The young orca was bigger. But not that much bigger.
Please. Live.
Hannah stroked the whale’s head again and looked into its eye.
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘It’s okay.’ It wasn’t, though. Everything for the whale was as bad as it could be.
‘It’s okay.’ Hannah said it anyway. To herself. ‘It’s all right …’
Don’t say it.
‘It’s okay …’
Don’t give it a …
‘Little One.’
… name.
‘I have to go. I’ll be back, Little One. I promise.’ She leant over, above its eye, and kissed it. Then ran, calling Beano to heel.
Jake (#ulink_9fded34a-c166-5253-86c2-fd81e0bd5419)
WONDERFUL?
Fan-freaking-tastic, more like.
There was no need to duck-dive the waves. There was a conveyor-belt rip current by the cliff that took him straight out, right past the breakers. He got out back, to the side of the break point, then slowly edged into the reef, keeping a careful watch on the horizon. Waiting for sets. Getting in the sweet spot. Paddling like crazy when the right wave came.
They were big. But the power in the water was organised. It was easy surf to predict, easy to catch, the waves seeming slow at first, but walling up fast once he was on them.
Solid glass ramps to rip up.
He made huge, carving turns.
He came off each wave while it was still green, before it closed, then paddled into the rip and out again. A merry-go-round.
He could have surfed it for hours. Happily. Part of him wanted to, wanted to delay meeting Hannah, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. After a few waves, the thoughts and doubts seeped into his mind. If Hannah went to Hawaii without him … how long before she hooked up with some geek biologist? Someone with prospects and a nice tan. They weren’t all going to be gay or ugly.
He mistimed a wave, so it went under him. Then another. His concentration was shot with all this damn thinking.
He’d done a few good waves. Time to get out. Start dealing with stuff.
He got a wave in and walked out of the water.
There was a cave to the left of the beach, tucked under the headland. A deep space filled with boulders, plastic bottles, floats, bits of net and chunks of wood.
The rubbish was always worse after a storm, but now the cave was filled with it. He could hardly see the rocks. It was ugly, but weirdly impressive. A mountain of stuff.
Something caught his eye. Among the orange plastic and old tin cans was a crate.
He remembered what Goofy had said about all sorts washing up. Gifts from the sea gods.
He put his board on a pile of seaweed, and clambered over the rocks.
There was something in the crate, no doubt about it.
He dragged it off the rocks. It was heavy.
He pulled it down to the small pebble beach.
Whatever was in the crate was covered in thick, sealed plastic. He’d need a knife to get inside it.
He didn’t have a knife. Or anything. He looked around, and found a rusted can lid. It wasn’t sharp, and his arms were surf-knackered, but he stabbed at the plastic hard, and after a few goes made a small tear.
Jabbing and yanking, he made the tear into a gash. Underneath was another layer of plastic. He cut again, curiosity driving him. He saw what was inside. Several packages of it. Something white, the size of large books, taped tight.
His mind drew a blank. There was no label, no brand. So could it be …
His heart burned with the answer, before he even thought it.
‘Drugs. Holy crap.’
He got the fear, raw and strong, like seeing a beast of a wave rising out the sea and heading his way. He looked at the path. Up at the cliff. Out to sea. There was no one there. But he felt in the open. Naked.
He cut at one of the packages. White, crystal powder burst out, coating the rusted metal then melting in the rain.
He dropped the can lid and dragged the crate up the rocks and into the depths of the cave. High up. Higher. Deeper. Beyond the tideline, where the rock was light and dry. Where the sea never reached.
He covered it in rocks and rubbish to hold it there. Then he clambered back down, picked up his board, and headed off.
What to do now?
Tell Hannah? Mum?
No, he’d tell the police. Straight away. He’d make the news.
Local surfer finds haul of drugs.
How much? What kind? What was it worth? Jake had no idea. He wasn’t into pills or powders.
Yeah, he’d tell the police, and the local papers and TV news.
Hannah would be well impressed. Plus: brilliant excuse for being late this morning.
Halfway up the cliff path he looked back into the cove. It was dead on high tide. He kept looking. Had he seen something? A broken pole, thick as a mast, poking out of the sea. Had he? The water was a mess of thrashing waves at the shore break. It was playing tricks with him. But … There.
Ten metres out was the broken mast of a boat. It was exposed when the waves sucked back. And, just below the surface, a wreck.
That was where the drugs had come from.
‘D’you know what?’ he said to himself. ‘You could always sell it, dude. Get rich.’ Maybe this was a gift from the sea gods like Goofy had talked about? Maybe it was meant to be. If he sold the drugs, he’d be able to fund Hawaii, easy.
Jake shook his head. He laughed at his own joke.
Hannah (#ulink_24a1f61b-f784-56d5-b3bc-38b8408eea1e)
HANNAH HAMMERED AT the front door till it opened.
‘Hannah, darling. Is everything all right?’
She threw herself at Dad, soaking his dressing gown.
‘What’s he done?’ said Dad.
‘Noth-nothing to do with Jake. There’s …’ Hannah forced the words through her sobs. ‘There’s whales. Killer whales. On the shore.’
‘What?’ Dad held her shoulders, looking into her eyes. ‘What do you mean, whales? Why are you crying? Calm down.’
‘They’re stranded. Dead mostly. But there’s a young one, alive.’ She pictured its black, marble eye. She heard its cry, like it was real. Calling to her, above the wind and rain.
‘Come and sit down. I’ll make you a cup of tea. We’ll phone the coastguard.’
Hannah pushed his hands off her. She went to the hall and called Steve Hopkins. She got his answerphone.
‘Mr Hopkins. It’s Hannah Lancaster …’ She took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling, to put steel in her voice. ‘It’s eight fifteen. There are several stranded whales, orcas, at Whitesands beach. Some dead, at least two alive. One’s a juvenile female … I think. Call me. No … get here, please. I’ll text you some pics.’ She left her number, then used the phone again, punching the buttons with her finger. She got Jake’s voicemail too.
‘Jake. Call me!’
Why wasn’t Mr Hopkins answering? Why wasn’t Jake? Why was Dad doing nothing, apart from offering tea? It was like swimming through treacle.
‘I need him and he’s surfing,’ she sighed heavily, leaning against the wall.
‘Well,’ said Dad. ‘It’s not the first time, is it?’
Hannah didn’t bite. Now wasn’t the time.
She phoned again, punching the buttons with her finger. Got an answer message, again.
‘Call me, Jake. I need you.’
Jake (#ulink_33683523-604b-5359-8a46-d21cc0890f91)
‘YOU HAVE TO be kidding me,’ said Goofy. He was sunk deep in his sofa, staring at the small jar on the table. It was a quarter full of white powder.
He stood up, went to the kitchenette and came back with a teaspoon, then opened the jar and scooped some powder on to the table.
They both leant over to examine the small mound of boulders and crystal dust.
‘I thought you might know what it is,’ said Jake.
‘Oh, really. Why’s that, then?’
‘I thought you might have … I dunno. I just did. Could you could test it?’
In films, people licked a finger and tasted a dab. Goofy just stared at the powder.
‘I come down ’ere to get away from that kind of shit. I don’t care what it is.’
‘I thought you came here to surf?’
‘Mostly.’
Jake thought of all the things Goofy had said about his past. And not said. Maybe Goofy had run from something as much as to something.
‘Any idea?’ said Jake.
‘Coke at a guess. MDMA, maybe. Smack, possibly. Why’d you want to know?’
‘So I know what to do with it.’
‘You don’t do anything with it. You tell the law. I hate the bastards, but they have their uses. You don’t want some kids finding it, do you?’
‘Any idea how much it’s worth?’ said Jake.
‘If it’s coke, there’s more than a few grams there. A grand? Two, three, maybe.’
Jake sat bolt upright. He thought of the full jam jar under his bed and the crate hidden on the beach. How much money was in there?
‘A thousand quid, plus? For that tiny amount,’ he said.
‘Yeah. For that tiny amount,’ said Goofy. ‘Why, how big is the package it came from?’
‘Big,’ Jake said. The air in the room was suddenly thick, the roaring wind a million miles away.
Goofy stared at him, his eyebrows knotted. ‘You don’t want to worry about this, Jakey. You’re getting on a plane soon.’
‘And how am I going to afford that?’ Jake shrugged, and nodded. Suggesting something. It took Goofy a few seconds to twig what that something was.
‘Oh no,’ said Goofy. ‘No, no, no, no, no. You are kidding.’
‘Imagine it, Goofy,’ said Jake in a forced whisper. ‘All that dosh. Thousands. More.’
Goofy stood up, keeping an eye on the small hill of powder, as if it was a coiled snake waiting to spring up and bite him. ‘This ain’t a bit of weed, Jake. This is ten years in prison. More, depending on … How much is there?’
Jake didn’t want to freak Goofy out. Not more than he already was. Better not tell the whole truth. ‘The package is about the size of a bag of flour. Is that a lot?’
‘No, Jake. This …’ Goofy pointed at the table, ‘is a lot. That’s a small mountain. You’re talking about the entire Himalayas. Tens of thousands, like. More possibly.’
‘Enough to get us made. For life.’
Goofy started pacing the flat, rubbing his hands together, his voice getting louder. ‘Enough to get you banged up with rapists and murderers till your hair’s gone grey!’ He marched to the door, and opened it, letting in a blast of wind and rain. He looked around, then came back in.
‘Did you see anyone down there? Did anyone see you?’
‘No … Hold on … one guy. Yeah, this surfer. He’d been down before me. Older bloke with a craggy face.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘No, why?’
Goofy didn’t appear to hear the question. He walked to the table, picked up the jar, put it just below the level of the table and brushed the powder back in with his finger. He put his hand to his mouth, as if to lick off the white stain. He paused, then licked it anyway. He looked at the ceiling, thinking. Then nodded.
‘That’s high-grade cocaine, Jake.’ He went quickly to the sink and poured the powder in. He put the tap on full, then rinsed the jar out.
‘What you doing?’ said Jake, standing. ‘That’s more than a thousand quid!’
‘Bollocks. I’ve seen what this poison does to fellows. Girls too. It’s not happening to you, brother. Coke is evil shit, Jake.’
He turned and held the clean jam jar out to Jake, beaming.
‘What the hell? Look at us, Goofy.’ Jake stood up and pointed at his mate, then at himself.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Where we headed? What kind of future we got?’
Goofy looked down at his stained jeans, at the rented bedsit with its damp walls and fag-burned carpet.
‘Where we going, eh?’ said Jake.
‘We do okay.’
‘Now. Plenty of surfs, beers, laughs. But in a year. Five?’
Goofy just shrugged.
‘I need to get on that plane,’ said Jake.
‘Hawaii’s not that important.’
‘It is. Hannah is. This is a chance, Goof. A gift from the sea gods, like you said. I’ll get rid of a load of it cheap. Just enough for a ticket, maybe a bit of spends. To set me up. I’ve got it figured out. I want to be a board shaper.’
‘So does every surfer. You have to be good, to get experience.’
‘I am good. I’m good with boats and wood; I’ve shaped a bit with Ned. I know surfing as well as anyone.’ He could convince Goofy. If he’d just listen! ‘I get there, right? I work, for free, with Alan Seymour Boards. Learn the craft. I come back with a rack of boards shaped in Hawaii. Who else round here can offer that?’
‘All right. It’s a good plan. If anyone can pull it off, you can. But you ain’t funding it like this. Not if I can help it.’
‘You won’t help me?’
Goofy folded his arms. He stood, biting his lip. ‘I can’t get involved in anything like that.’
‘Come on, Goofy. I helped you when you needed it.’
Goofy looked at Jake sharply. Jake was reminding Goofy of when he had arrived in Cornwall. A crusty loser, with a surfboard. Who’d needed clothes, food, a place to stay. Time to call in that favour. It was a rotten thing to do, but he was desperate.
‘You helped me get out of shit,’ said Goofy. ‘Not into it. I can’t help. Look, go see yer man Ned. He might help you. He sells a bit more than boards.’
‘Yeah, weed. He’s known for it.’
‘More than weed I heard.’
‘Ned? I never knew.’
‘Well, he doesn’t advertise, does he? Any case, he might know someone. Or someone who knows someone. Good luck.’
‘Thanks, Goofy.’ He opened his arms wide for a bear hug. Jake’s way of saying: We still okay? Goofy hugged him, then held him at arm’s length, keeping a tight grip on his shoulders.
‘I’m telling you about Ned for one reason, so you don’t start trotting into pubs asking random folk if they want to buy drugs. You’d only end up arrested, beat up or ripped off. Possibly all them things. You still might. And be careful. Ned ain’t exactly sensible. Open his head, and there’s no brain, just dozens of tiny monkeys, dancing. I don’t think he knows what year it is most of the time, he’s smoked that much. Now get out of here. Go see that bird of yours. Seeing ’er might put sense in your thick head.’
Goofy slapped Jake on the back as he went out of the door.
The door closed behind Jake with a cold thud.
He was alone. He’d wanted Goofy by his side. No one would mess with him, then. You could rely on Goofy.
Ned was a different story.
Hannah (#ulink_f3c493bb-00f4-5025-8baa-b723249b2bea)
THE CLOCK ON the kitchen wall told her it was an hour since she’d made those calls. And so far, nothing. She paced up and down the kitchen, biting her nails.
‘Hannah!’ said Dad. ‘Darling. Why don’t you sit down? Take your coat off.’
Mum and Dad were sitting at the table. At one end, Mum had laid breakfast: china cups, a rack of toast, a bowl of freshly boiled eggs. At the other end, Hannah had piled up blankets, a bucket, a camera and a notebook. Beano sat at the door, watching her, unsure if he should go and lie in his basket, or if they were off for another walk.
‘Hannah, sit down,’ said Dad.
‘The whales …’
‘The whales will wait till this marine-rescue chap calls, or arrives. There’s nothing you can do yourself, is there? It’s best to wait here.’
She hated Dad being right. She hated his self-confident, knowing-he-is-right-ness. Hannah wanted nothing more than to pelt down to the beach. To see Little One. To try to comfort the young whale. That much, at least.
‘Hannah, please eat something,’ said Mum.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she snapped. Then quickly added: ‘Sorry.’
‘Okay, darling. I’ll make up a packed lunch.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You pamper that girl,’ said Dad.
The phone rang in the hall. It hadn’t rung three times before Hannah answered.
‘Hannah Lancaster? This is Steve.’ She could barely make out his voice through the crackle and shrieking wind. She put a finger in her other ear.
‘Our people are down here now,’ he said. ‘Sorry I didn’t call earlier. I’ve come off the beach to get a signal.’
‘Oh. Right. Great. I’m coming down.’
‘You haven’t told anyone about this, have you?’
‘No. Why?’
‘We don’t want crowds – they get in the way. We need to keep the media away too, as long as possible.’
‘I’m coming down. I can help,’ she said.
‘We have all the help we need. But if you want to come and watch …’ Steve’s voice drowned in white noise. ‘You’re breaking up …’
‘How are the whales?’ The line was dead.
‘Is everything okay?’ said Dad. He was right beside her. So was Mum.
Hannah dodged past them, grabbed the bucket, shoved the blankets and notebook and camera inside it, and left.
‘Wait,’ Dad shouted through the open door, holding Beano by the collar. ‘I’ll get my coat.’
Hannah (#ulink_9597e435-2ddc-5324-9d95-e8e0b5c4e73d)
HANNAH STOPPED RUNNING and stood on the sand, watching.
The whales were the same. Limp, giant statues. The sea had retreated to mid-tide, as though it had dumped the whales and run off, leaving them to die.
The rain had stopped. Two girls in hi-vis orange jackets stood inside a fence of yellow netting that had been erected round the whales. Outside the cordon, a small crowd watched as rescuers in waterproofs poured buckets of seawater on to blankets and towels that had been laid over the whales’ bodies.
Hannah counted. Three with towels and blankets draped over them, and four without. That meant three alive, four dead.
Little One was one of the three. Hannah’s heart sang. She ran to the cordon and dropped her bucket, ready to climb over, to go and see the young whale. But a young woman stepped in front of her.
‘Sorry, Miss. Marine-rescue team only.’
‘I’ve done training, I’m not qualified yet, but … is Steve here?’
The girl pointed. Steve stood behind the whales talking into a brick of a radio phone. Hannah waved. He gave her a quick smile. Hannah looked at Little One. The whale’s head moved, slightly, its eye rolling around, and – she was certain – seeing her. Its tail lifted and dropped. The whale moaned. A low cry of despair that reached inside Hannah and tore at her heart.
She stepped towards the fence, ready to climb over.
‘Hannah,’ said Steve, walking over.
‘What’s going to happen?’ she said.
‘We don’t know yet,’ said Steve. His face was pale, his forehead creased with stress.
‘Can I come in? I want to see the young one. When I found them I knew they weren’t all dead, because she cried out to me.’
‘You understand how this works, right? How serious this is.’
She did. She understood too well.
An older, serious-looking man was examining the whales. He had a stethoscope and a large oilskin case. He was a vet at a stranding, there to sort the living from the dead, the healthy from the sick, the ones that had hope from the ones that didn’t. Inside the bag would be vials, some full of vitamins and minerals, others loaded with poison ready to be injected.
Hannah swallowed hard. She wanted to be a marine biologist. She’d see plenty of dead, and dying, whales in years to come. She had to get used to it.
Steve got close, so no one would overhear. In the low tone of a doctor delivering bad news he said, ‘That animal is not in good shape. Even if we refloat it, it won’t leave its mother, who is dead. And if it did, it wouldn’t survive out there,’ he pointed at the raging sea.
‘No. No … you can’t.’ Hannah wanted to be strong, but she felt like the wind might knock her over.
Steve shook his head. ‘We’re set up for seals and dolphins. We don’t have refloat equipment for whales. If the tide is high enough in the next day or so, we might be able to dig a channel, and get the healthy adults out. But the highest spring tide is what deposited them here …’ He shrugged. ‘Emotion can’t get in the way. We’ll do what we can, but in the end putting these whales down may be the kindest thing we can do.’ He looked deep into her eyes. To see if she got it. To see if she’d be a pain about this.
‘That’s it, is it?’ she said, looking past him, at Little One She felt anger rising like a tidal surge. ‘Dig a ditch, see if the whales swim out, and if they don’t, kill them?’
‘Keep your voice down,’ said Steve, through his teeth.
‘Why? You don’t want people knowing the truth?’
‘Hannah, sweetheart,’ Dad appeared at her side, getting a hold on her arm, trying to pull her away.
She twisted her arm out of his grip. ‘Don’t “sweetheart” me, Dad.’ She turned back to Steve.
‘You don’t have the equipment, right?’
‘No.’
‘Who does?’
‘Sorry?’ He gasped, exasperated by her naivety. He waved at one of his team and held a finger up. A sign: One minute. Soon as I get rid of this girl.
Hannah leant over the fencing and poked him in the chest.
‘There’s a team in Massachusetts, north-east USA, who rescue stranded pilot whales all the time. Their pontoons will be big enough for the smaller orcas. Get them.’
‘Get them from America? You have no idea …’
‘Get their equipment too.’
‘That would take days and cost thousands.’
‘How long can we keep these whales alive?’
‘Forty-eight hours. Seventy-two at the outside. After a couple of days on land their internal organs will start collapsing. Their bones will start breaking. You can’t get that equipment here that quick. Even if you did, it would probably be too late. And we don’t have that kind of money.’
‘How much?’ Hannah folded her arms, staring at her old teacher.
‘Ten thousand. Twenty if we had to charter a plane. Even if we could manage it, even if the whales didn’t die before the team got here, in all likelihood the calf is the only one we could refloat and it would probably still die. No one’s going to fund that.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘She’s a juvenile, not a calf. She might join another pod. One of the others might foster her. It’s happened before. North Vancouver. San Juan Islands. I’m calling Paul Rocca. He’ll know.’
‘You know Dr Rocca?’
‘Yes. I’m one of his interns. Now, you going to let me in?’ Hannah was making a powerful nuisance of herself. It felt good. It felt right.
Steve shrugged, sighed.
‘Go home, make your calls. But you’re wasting your time.’
Hannah looked at Little One again. A girl was slowly pouring water over the whale’s back. Hannah had a strong, sick twinge in her gut. It was concern for the whale, but also a pang of jealousy. She wanted to care for Little One. She had found her on the beach. They’d found each other.
‘I want to see Li— the whale,’ said Hannah. ‘Can I?’ Not forceful now. Pleading. ‘Steve … please?’
‘No. And you know why. No emotional attachment. It doesn’t help.’ Steve looked to her dad for help. Dad took Hannah’s arm and pulled her gently, but firmly, away.
Jake (#ulink_1cb71335-7ade-5f30-9995-60b60040a80a)
JAKE STOOD OUTSIDE Ned’s house. He checked his phone: another message from Hannah. Shit. He turned it off. He’d call her. Right after he got this sorted.
Ned’s workshop was in his garage.
Above the main garage door, Ned had once painted a graffiti pic of Little Red Riding Hood holding a basket of spray cans, with the words: ‘Fear makes the wolf look bigger.’ But he’d painted over it now. Maybe it was a bit attention-grabbing for a weed dealer.
Jake knocked on the door. The rap music blasting out was so loud, he guessed Ned couldn’t hear. So he walked in.
A long rack of surfboards lay against one wall. Against the opposite wall were shelves filled with foam blanks, rolls of material and sanders. The equipment of a dedicated board shaper.
Ned stood in the middle of the garage, leaning over a board on a workbench. His overalls were stained, and his hair was hanging round his face. He was hand-sanding the tail of the board. Blowing on it. Sanding a bit more. Blowing again. Smiling at his handiwork.
Jake waited for Ned to look up. Ned turned the music down.
‘Thought you’d be out surfing, Jakey boy. Getting practice for yer big trip.’
‘Been already. You?’
‘Nah, waiting till it calms down a bit. Got this fix to finish anyway.’ Any talk with Ned started this way. About surf. Often it stayed that way. ‘You here for a board to take to Hawaii?’
‘No. That’s not why I’m here. Is Rag around?’
‘Little Bro? He’s off with his mates.’
‘Sue?’
‘Sue’s history, mate. Gave me the sack, the silly mare,’ he said, grinning and winking. That was Ned. Always grinning, always smiling. He had an easy flow about him. A permanent smile, which might be due to his almost always being stoned.
‘You don’t seem too upset,’ said Jake.
Ned shrugged. ‘Why you asking about Rag and Sue?’
‘What I need to talk about. It’s sensitive.’
‘Oh, right.’ Ned went to the shelf, found a tobacco tin and gave it to Jake. ‘If yer gonna distract me from my work, make yerself useful.’
Jake opened the tin. Inside were papers, cigarettes and a small bag of weed.
‘I don’t really smoke,’ said Jake.
‘Thass all right. Make one fer me.’ He got back to sanding, frowning, focusing.
‘Funny that,’ said Jake. ‘It’s drugs I’ve come about. I’ve got a sort of … business proposition.’
Ned froze for a second before he blew dust off the board.
‘Yeah? Thought persians weren’t your thing?’
‘I need some dosh for Hawaii. Quick. Money doesn’t grow on trees.’
‘Yeah? Whoever said that never tried selling weed.’ Ned chuckled.
‘I’m not talking about weed.’ Jake dug in his pocket and placed a small foil pack on the board, in front of Ned. ‘Can you tell me if this is … any good? I can get more. But I need help selling it.’ Jake carefully opened the foil envelope, revealing the powder inside.
Ned went and turned the music off.
‘How much did you pay for that?’ he said.
Jake’s brain scrambled for an answer. ‘Um. Fifty.’
Ned shook his head. ‘Dude. You’ve been ripped off.’
‘Oh,’ said Jake. ‘Is there not fifty quid’s worth there?’
‘Oh, yeah. Fifty notes’ worth of baby-milk powder, mixed with a bit of speed, probly. But not coke.’
‘How do you know?’
Ned laughed at Jake’s innocence. ‘If that was Charlie, you’d have coughed up more than that. Who sold you this shit?’
‘Never mind. If it’s duff I’ll take it back.’
‘Dealers don’t do refunds, you muppet. Anyway, why’ve you bought coke if you don’t do it yerself?’
‘Can you just give it a try?’ said Jake, trying not to sound impatient.
‘All right, just for you …’ He rooted around his shelves and drawers, till he’d found a roof slate, a credit card and a ten-pound note. He set all this up on the table, next to the board he was working on. Using the card, he carefully scraped a small bit of the crumbly powder out of the foil and on to the slate, and set about chopping at the small boulders and lumps till he was left with nothing but fine powder. He used the edge of the card to form a line. He didn’t snort it, though. Not at first. Ned licked the end of his finger, dabbed it in the end of the line of snowy powder, and tasted it.
Fun drained from his face. He looked at Jake, dead curious. And serious. He rolled up the tenner, leant over, and Hoover-snorted the line of powder. He stood up. Stick-straight, like he’d had an electric shock.
‘Holy shit,’ Ned wheezed.
‘Well?’
‘Holy shit!’ Ned stood up, sniffing, blowing, walking around, like he was too big for the room all of a sudden. ‘Holy shit!’ Ned sucked in deep breaths, one after the other. He clicked his fingers, repeatedly. It was weird. ‘Holy shit.’
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