“Is it Ted? Are you scared of him?”
“Just keep going.”
“No.” He continued steering them in to shore. “You know how to sail this thing, don’t you?”
“Please, carry on round that outcrop. Just a couple more miles.”
“I’m worried about you going back in this weather.”
They’d caught up with the clouds now and large drops of rain were falling on the boat. There was tarpaulin under Martin’s feet; Sarah pulled it over as much of the boat as she could.
“Cover yourself,” he said.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t have a coat. Here, have mine.” He unzipped his coat.
“I’m fine.” She shook her head at him. She was tired of people telling her what to do.
“At least use the tarp.”
She shrugged and pulled it over her knees. She looked ahead; the sky was almost night-dark, and the waves were growing.
“We should get to shore,” Martin said. She didn’t argue this time. He pulled the boat hard to the right. As he did so, she heard a cracking sound.
“What was that?”
He was pale. “I don’t know.”
She lifted the tarpaulin and searched the bottom of the boat. Had something moved? Was it on the outside of the boat?
The boat lurched to one side. She grabbed the tarpaulin but it slid out of her hands and into the sea. She leaned over the side, her fingers brushing it.
She felt hands on her waist. Martin pulled her upright.
“What are you doing?” he shouted.
“Trying to save the tarp.”
“I thought you were jumping in.”
“Don’t be daft!”
Rain was driving into her face now and she could barely hear her own voice. The boat listed to the left, bringing her dangerously close to the surface of the water. She scooted to the other side, hoping to balance it. It shifted a little but continued to list.
“We need to hurry,” Martin shouted. His coat was soaked through and his face wet. He spat water out of his mouth as he tried to see over the boat’s low windscreen and find somewhere to moor.
The boat lurched again and Sarah felt something scrape along the bottom.
“Oh my God!”
The boat ground to a halt. They were on the edge of a jagged pile of rocks, marooned.
“Help me push!” Martin leaned past her and over to the rocks. He placed his palms against them and pushed.
Sarah followed suit. The boat made some more ominous sounds and then dipped, as if going down in a lift.
“We need to get off!” she shouted.
“We can’t leave it!”
“We have to! We’ll drown!”
She eyed the rocks next to the boat. They were dark and slippery. To the other side was a beach, just a short swim away.
She tugged at Martin’s arm. “Come on!”
“We need to save the boat!”
“We’ll come back after the storm. Hurry!”
She climbed onto the side of the boat, her legs unsteady. It lurched again, almost tipping her into the water. Martin grabbed her round the waist.
“What are you doing?” he panted.
“We need to swim.”
“You can’t just jump in. You don’t know how deep it is.”
He was right. She ducked down to lean over the side of the boat, bringing her weight round so her legs dangled over the side. Martin shifted his hands to hold her under the arms.
She looked into his eyes then slithered down into the water. Her feet hit rock.
“It’s not deep,” she said. “But the rocks are sharp.”
“Right.” He climbed out after her. She felt her way along the rocks, placing each foot carefully in front of the other and holding her arms high for balance. As she walked, the rocks fell away.
“I’m going to swim.” She pushed herself off towards the beach. A wave broke over her head, sending her down into the murky water.
She pushed herself up, spluttering. The water was freezing and she felt like her chest might explode.
Martin was behind her, gasping.
She had to ignore the pain. She had to focus.
She looked ahead of her, picking out a tree on the horizon. Her target.
She started to swim.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dawn ran out to the clifftop, her heart racing. She stumbled to a halt at the edge, glad of the scrubby hedge that kept her from falling.
The sea was hazy, shrouded in cloud, but she couldn't see any boats.
Sarah, why?
She ran for the path that led down to the beach, not stopping till the sand slowed her footsteps.
Down here it was cold, and lonely. A group of wading birds shifted in and out of the shallows, making hard, cackling sounds. The waves were low, thrumming into the sand like a bulldozer.
She slumped onto the sand, not caring about the damp through her skirt. She threw her hand over her eyes and scanned the sea. Nothing. Grey waves, birds bobbing on the surface. No boats. To the north, the rocks at Brigg End were white with sea spray, the water splitting dangerously over them.
She hoped they knew what they were doing. Sarah had never been out in the boat – at least not before she was taken… And Martin, well hadn’t he fallen in the sea during Jess’s misguided rescue, and given himself hypothermia?
She sniffed. Don’t cry, she told herself. Keep it together, like you always do. Her daughter was lost, maybe drowned. Stop it, she told herself. She’ll come back, God willing.
She took a ragged breath and pushed herself upwards. Watching the sea as she went, blindly hoping the boat would suddenly emerge, she picked her way back up the hill. She needed to get back to Ted. To calm him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sarah dragged herself onto the sand, spluttering out sea water. Martin wasn’t far behind. He lay next to her, pulling in breaths.
She sat up and turned back to the sea. Waves lapped at her feet. She’d lost a shoe.
Martin sat next to her, not touching. Not speaking.
They stared back at the boat, wedged on the rocks.
“We need to save it,” she said.
“It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s not ours to leave. It belongs to the village.”
He stood up. “Let’s work out where we are first. Come back for it, when the tide’s gone out.”
She eyed him, wondering if he had any intention of returning. She regretted jumping into the boat with him now, listening to the shrill voice in her head telling her to get away from her father.
She had to go home. Her mother needed her. And this escapade would only make her father more angry.
She shivered.
“You’re soaked through,” Martin said.
“So are you.”
“At least we were close to shore.”
She watched the water pushing at the boat. It shifted its weight on the rocks, looking as if it might capsize. Her throat felt tight.
“We can’t leave it.”
He turned to her. “You need to take it back.”
She nodded, her lips trembling with the cold.
“Let’s walk a bit, see where we are. If we’re close to the farm, I can get them to help us with it.”
A dark cloud passed through her mind at the thought of the farm. Even with Robert dead, those men were still there. Including Leroy, the man who’d attacked her.
What the hell had she been thinking? Why was she here?
She stood up. “I’m going out there.”
“No. Please, not right now.” He looked past her. “Wait, I think that’s…”
He ran a short way along the beach, looking back at her from time to time. She watched, puzzled.
After a minute or so, he shouted something she couldn’t make out. She shrugged exaggeratedly.
He waved his arms, beckoned her. She looked back at the boat. She shook her head.
Her skirt tugge
d at her, heavy with water. She lifted the front of it and wrung it out in her raw hands. She was shivering.
He ran back.
“The beach huts,” he panted. “They’re just out of sight. We came further than I thought.”
She looked past him. The beach huts meant shelter. A modicum of warmth, compared to this wind that was clawing at them.
They also meant that the farm was nearby. The farm where she’d been imprisoned. The farm where that man had tried to rape her. And Robert had held a knife to her face.
She put a hand to the wound on her forehead. She traced the thin red line where it had scabbed over. She hadn’t noticed the plaster Ruth had given her falling off.
Her breath was catching in her throat and her skin felt tight. Her head span.
“The farm,” she said.
His shoulders slumped. “We won’t go back there.”
She was shivering, her knees trembling. “I can’t.”
“We won’t. I promise. Just the beach huts. We get shelter, then we work something out. I’ll help you with the boat.” He cocked his head. “Take you home, if it comes to it.”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll go back alone.”
“Very well.” He was smiling at her but his eyes looked sad.
She clenched and unclenched her fists, willing the nausea to subside.
“OK,” she said. “But I go in one hut, and you have the other.”
She needed to be alone, to work through her conflicting fears; returning here, versus the threat of what her father would do when she went home.
“That’s fine. Come on.”
He turned towards the huts.
She looked back at the boat. It was a little higher in the water now, the waves dropping. How long before the tide was out far enough for her to traverse those rocks?
In the meantime, she could use some shelter. Her feet were numb, and her fingers felt like a thousand needles were jabbing at them. And if she tried to walk any distance, she would pass out.
Martin was almost out of sight. Reluctantly, she followed him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
He wasn’t lying.
Around the curve of the beach was the spot where they’d taken shelter before, when they’d been running from the farm.
Were they really heading back to it? Was she that stupid?
Her hands felt clammy, her chest tight. She’d let him bring her back here. She had to get away, as soon as she could.
She’d rest here for an hour or so, get as dry as she could. Wait for the tide to drop. Then she’d go back to the boat. It had been damaged but it hadn’t taken on water, at least not much. It was seaworthy. Martin would have to go on alone, as he should have all along.
The beach huts were much as they had been before; one without roofs and two of its walls, the other two intact. She pointed at one.
“I’ll go in there. Alone.”
He hardened his jaw but didn’t argue.
She pushed open the door to the hut. In here the air was cool but still; it smelled of wood, sand and salt. The wind, instead of beating at her, whistled outside in a way that reminded her of childhood summers. It felt calm.
She stripped down to her underwear, wringing out her skirt and blouse. She’d never known just how much water two garments could take on board. She kicked off her remaining shoe and tried to wring it out, but it was too stiff.
This was the hut where they’d spent the night, after fleeing the farm. Martin on the floor and her on a high shelf. It made a perfect drying rack. She arranged her clothes, stretching them out for maximum exposure.
She looked outside. The rain had stopped now; would her clothes dry quicker if she put them outside, took advantage of the wind? Or would they simply blow away?
Either way, she wasn’t about to open the door dressed only in her underwear. She patted her clothes, trying to push the water out by sheer force of will.
She lifted herself up to sit next to them, feet dangling over the ledge. Outside, the beach was quiet. The hut next to her, Martin inside, was still.
She leaned against the wall, breathing in the musky scent of wood. Her toe throbbed from her fall last time she was here – was that really only two days ago? – and her back was sore where she’d scraped it on a rock during her swim. Every muscle in her body screamed at her, longing for sleep.
She didn’t have time.
She leaned her face on the window, glad of the cool. Her face felt hot; she probably had a temperature. She knew from the warnings Ruth gave them that she shouldn’t ignore a fever. It might be the first sign of infection, and with antibiotics so scarce it could be fatal.
She blinked her eyes open, cursing her feebleness. How long had she been in here? The sky was darkening now and the sun had shifted in the sky. She’d been sleeping.
She pulled herself off the bench. Her clothes weren’t much drier, but she had no choice. She dragged them on, wincing at the damp fabric rippling over her tingling flesh.
She padded to the door, abandoning the lone shoe, and pushed it open. She eyed the hut next to her. Would she tell him where she was going, or not?
He’d tell her it was dangerous. Warn her away from the rocks. Maybe try to go himself.
She couldn’t go back to the farm.
She’d slip away, like she’d never been here.
She stepped down onto the sand and pushed the door closed. She sniffed the air, glad the wind had dropped.
She stepped away from the hut, turning for the direction they’d come. As she did so, she spotted someone next to the other hut.
Martin. He looked shrivelled and wet, his curly brown hair wild with water, sand and salt. He was talking to someone.
She felt her heart stop.
Run.
She turned and started to sprint across the beach, cursing the sand for dragging her down.
“Sarah?”
She forced herself not to stop, not to turn.
“Sarah! Come back!”
She heard footsteps behind her, heavy and quick. Martin’s steps were lighter than that. She ignored the rising pulse in her throat and continued to run.
A hand grabbed her arm. She yanked it away, stumbling.
She righted herself and carried on running.
“Sarah, stop!”
She paused. She knew that voice.
Her chest was on fire now, her legs screaming at her to slow down. She ignored them.
The feet behind her kept coming. She could hear his breath now; short, sharp pants. A hand on her arm again.
She screamed as her legs buckled and she fell to the sand.
“Get off! Leave me alone!”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
She blinked up. Standing over her, blocking half the sky, was a man. He had dark, greasy hair that curled around his ears. He smelled of dirt, overlaid with mint. His face was weather-worn and ruddy and he had a tattoo that snaked up his right arm, under his shirt.
It was Bill. The man who’d taken her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dawn eased open the front door, her senses sharp. The house was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. She’d found it in a cupboard upstairs, a week after moving into this house. Two weeks after Ted had been elected to the village council. She wondered who it had belonged to in a previous life and why they’d hidden it away.
She closed the door and leaned against it, trying to control her breathing. Her breaths were shallow and tight and her stomach ached.
She felt like a hole had been ripped out of her. Without Sarah, there was no reason to live.
She stepped from the doormat onto the wooden floor of the hallway, keeping her footsteps light. She glided to the kitchen. Outside, the sky was clearing, clouds shifting towards the south.
Had Sarah gone that way, with him? Had they gone back to that farm?
No. Dawn had been too scared to pry into what had happened to Sarah there. But she knew from the h
aunted look in her eyes that it was something to which her daughter never wanted to return.
She sat at the kitchen table; a chair was already pulled back so she didn’t have to make a sound. She placed her arms on the table and leaned over them.
She caught movement from the corner of her eye. A shadow, shifting in the living room. She stilled her muscles.
He stood up from where he’d been sitting, concealed by the back of the sofa. His face was calm. Dawn pulled back in her chair.
“Where have you been?” His voice was little more than a whisper.
“Looking for Sarah.”
“And?”
She shrugged.
He advanced. “And?”
She met his stare. “No sign of her.”
He frowned and took the chair opposite her. She looked down at her hands, motionless on the table. She was scared to move.
She raised her head. “What happened? Why did she go off with him?”
“Because she’s a stupid girl, that’s why.”
“But I don’t understand. Why would she go off with him, when Sam was—”
“What’s this about Sam?”
She swallowed. “Sam’s a good boy. He’s what she needs.”
“Since when was that up to you?”
She blinked. “I—I don’t know.”
“She’s too young. You shouldn’t be putting daft ideas in her head.”
“No.”
He was right; if she hadn’t filled Sam’s head with hopes of Sarah, he wouldn’t have helped them.
“Where is Sam?” she asked. “Is he alright?”
“I went to speak to his parents, while you were out.”
She imagined Ted banging on the Golder family’s door, demanding to be heard. Mack Golder, Sam’s father, barring his way. Refusing to be cowed. Mack was a big man, as were his sons. His bulk had shifted from muscle to fat in middle age but he was still more than a match for Ted.
“What did they say?”
“They said nothing, woman. What do you imagine? They wouldn’t let me see him.”
“Why was he at the boathouse? What did he do?”
Ted shifted back in his chair. Dawn flinched.
Sea of Lies Page 9
