A Good Catch

by Fern Britton

  Greer opened the heavy car door and felt a breeze coming off the sea below her. It lifted the corners of her grey cashmere cardigan and made her shiver.

  She couldn’t see the ocean from here. That view was from the house, but she could hear it on the wind. The hiss and suck of the waves as they dragged through the sand and shingle. It was louder than this morning. A sign that the wind was changing. She turned her face to the sky. Clouds were forming on the horizon. She went round to the boot and spent some minutes trundling backwards and forwards with empty cake boxes and bags of bits, until at last she locked the car with the remote key, climbed the steps to her front door and closed it on the early evening chill.

  Sanctuary. Her home was welcoming and stylish. Nothing out of place. Peaceful and harmonious. If someone gave her an ornament she disliked she ruthlessly discarded it. The charity shop in Truro, far enough away for the giver of the gift not to find it, always looked forward to her donations. Sentiment had no part to play in her décor.

  One of the few rows she’d won with Jesse was that not one of Freddie’s school-crafted Christmas decorations or Easter cards were to make their way onto her tree or mantelpiece. That was why Jesse’s boat-house on Tide Cove was a shrine to Freddie’s schoolboy art. She adored her son, but not to the extent that she was prepared to compromise the look of her home. Thank God there would be no more of it. Now he was twenty-one, he was more interested in boozing and birds than papier-mâché and macramé.

  She walked through her dove-grey drawing room, turning on the well-placed lamps that gave the room an ambient glow, through the conservatory with its white orchids and cream cane sofas, and into the kitchen.

  She needed a coffee. As she filled the kettle, she heard the cat-flap rattle. Tom danced in with a loud mew. ‘Looking for some grub are you, Thomas?’ He wound himself through her legs, then sat and curled his tail around his front legs. He gave her a wide-eyed, unblinking, stare. ‘OK. OK. What do you want?’ She held up two sachets and read from them. ‘Prawn in jelly? Or beef casserole?’ He yawned when she said casserole. ‘Bored with casserole? Prawn in jelly it is, then.’

  She prepared his bowl and put it on the floor for him. The kettle boiled and she opened a drawer for a teaspoon, hesitated, then shut it and went to the fridge. She needed a proper drink. She took it to the far end of the kitchen where the plasma television was surrounded by silver-grey striped sofas and a coffee table. The cushions were perfectly plumped. No imprint of previous occupants defiled them. She sat down and closed her eyes. Home. She loved these precious moments when she was alone in the house. Nobody to disturb her with their noise and mess. She opened her eyes and took in the beautiful room. The antique, scrubbed pine kitchen table, big enough to seat twelve, was the perfect foil for the huge bowl of late roses and dogwood stems sitting in the middle of it. The insanely expensive range cooker – she couldn’t be doing with the original Aga, which she’d had taken out – was gleaming. She was satisfied. She took a mouthful of her wine and flicked on the TV to watch the news.

  Half an hour later she took her second glass of chilled Sancerre up to her bedroom and into the en suite where she ran a deep and bubbly bath. Wallowing, almost floating, in its depths, she heard the first spatter of raindrops on the window, like gravel thrown against it by a lover. The glass of wine, with its beads of condensation, lay cool in her hand. She took another sip and lay her head back on the bath’s rim. The rain was sporadic at first but gradually came in drumming gusts. She thought of Jesse and hoped that the weather wouldn’t hold him up too much.

  *

  The heat of the bath and the wine made Greer drowsy. Wrapping a warm bath sheet round her, she lay on her bed, the deeply enveloping duvet closing over her. She hadn’t closed her bedroom curtains and she could see that it was almost completely dark outside. The phone rang. She stretched to pick up the receiver. ‘Hi. All safe?’ she asked, expecting Jesse’s voice.

  It was Loveday. ‘Greer, it’s me. I haven’t heard anything. Have you?’

  ‘Not yet.’ She looked at her clock. ‘It’s still early, though.’

  ‘Yeah …’ Loveday hesitated. ‘The weather’s not too good for them, is it?’

  ‘It might be a bit lumpy out there, but nothing they can’t handle.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Loveday agreed. ‘If I hear anything, I’ll give you a shout.’

  ‘Me too.’ Greer saw the streaks of rain on her window and heard the wind moan as it pushed itself around the corners of the house. ‘Thanks for a lovely lunch, Loveday.’

  ‘My pleasure. I’m stacking the dishwasher now.’

  ‘I should have stayed to help.’

  ‘Absolutely not. Gives me something to do.’

  ‘Right, well, if you hear anything …’

  ‘Yeah. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Neither woman would have dreamt of trying the men on their mobiles. It was an unwritten rule. Greer got off the bed and closed the curtains, shutting out the bleakness of the night. She pulled on a pair of soft leggings, cashmere socks and a warm sweatshirt, then padded onto the landing.

  At the top of the stairs, a tall, wide window had the clearest view of the sea. On the deep window ledge stood a fat church candle and a box of matches. She shook a match from the box and lit the candle’s wick. The flame sputtered before growing tall and unwavering. This was a time-honoured custom. A talisman. A light to guide the lifeboat home. When Freddie was little he was the one who lit it. ‘Daddy will see the light and come home to us.’

  She walked along the landing and into Freddie’s room. God knows when he’d be home. The birthday celebrations could go on for days. He was a different person since the accident and was taking refuge in mates and beer. She drew his curtains and turned his bedside lamp on, just in case. Later she’d turn the corners of his duvet down and pop in a hot-water bottle. She knew he preferred a cold bed, but it was an old habit she enjoyed. He might be glad of it when he came home.

  She went downstairs to light the open fire in the library. It was smaller than the formal sitting room and she could feel snug in here with a book. As the fire licked into life she stoked it with coal and a good-sized log, then went to put a chicken casserole in the oven. Something for Jesse when he got back.

  *

  Loveday put the phone down and spoke to her reflection in the kitchen mirror. ‘Come on, girl,’ she told it. ‘The boys’ll be back from the pub and Mickey’ll be home and they need food in their bellies.’ She threw five jacket potatoes into the Aga and took a packet of sausages out of the fridge. That and a couple of tins of beans would do them just right.

  Upstairs she got out of her clothes and had a hot shower, enjoying the warmth on her neck and shoulders. The weather would be hampering The Spirit a bit and maybe the yacht was a bit bigger than expected and taking longer to tow in. She dried her hair roughly and sprayed herself with some perfume. She wanted Mickey to hold her and love her when he came home. Since the whole horrible business with Jesse had started, and then stopped so tragically, she’d been unresponsive to Mickey’s affections. He’d been kind and patient, he’d even tried to get her to see the doctor, but she couldn’t tell anyone about her and Jesse. Well, today was a turning point. Hal was twenty-one and Jesse was history. When Mickey came home tonight she’d show him how much she loved him.

  Feeling better, she decided to phone the twins.

  ‘’Ello, darling. It’s Mum. You all right?’

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ Becca pulled a face at her twin sister, Bea, who was listening in. They loved their mum, but why did she have to ring so much? ‘How are you? How did the birthday lunch go?’

  ‘Really good, and Lifeboat Day went really well. Gave the grockles something to talk about ’cos the boat went out on a real shout.’

  ‘Oooo, exciting,’ said Becca, rolling her eyes at her sister.

  ‘How are you doing for money? Not overspending your allowances?’

  ‘No, Mum. We’re doing really well.’ Becca looked over
at the half-drunk litre bottle of vodka and giggled.

  ‘How are your studies going?’

  ‘I was on a geriatric ward this week.’

  ‘Oh, poor old souls. How’d you get on?’

  ‘Good, yeah. I wouldn’t mind working in geriatrics.’

  Loveday held the phone between her shoulder and her ear and started to open a tin of baked beans.

  ‘And Bea?’

  ‘Ask her yourself. She’s right here.’

  Bea shook her head wildly but it was too late, Becca had put the phone in her hand.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, balling her fist and miming a punch at her sister, who ducked out of the way, laughing.

  ‘How’s your course going?’

  ‘Full on. Lots of work.’

  ‘Well, of course it is, darling. Have you delivered any babies yet?’

  ‘I was at a birth the other night. Little boy, Finlay. Really sweet.’

  ‘Ah. Ain’t that lovely? And how are you doing with your allowance? Not overspending?’

  ‘Fine, Mum. I had to get some textbooks the other day, but they were second-hand so not too bad.’ Becca heard this and, pulling a shocked face, pointed at the new super-sexy Top Shop dress that her sister was wearing. Bea gave her a playful shove.

  ‘How’s Dad?’ she managed to say as Becca made her laugh by pointing at her nose and pretending it was growing, Pinocchio style.

  ‘’E’s out on a shout. Not back yet.’

  Bea heard the familiar worry in her mother’s voice. ‘You OK, Mum?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that the weather’s turned a bit.’

  ‘And where’s Hal?’

  ‘In the pub, I think. Celebrating with Freddie.’

  ‘Dad’ll be all right, Mum. He always falls on his bum in butter.’

  Loveday laughed. ‘Well, that’s what your grandma always used to say. How’s London? Grandma never got there. She’d be so proud of you. Have you seen Buckingham Palace yet?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll take you when you come up.’ Bea looked over at her sister, who was tapping her watch. They were going out with a gang of mates any minute.

  ‘Mum, I’ve got to go. Love to Dad and Hal and Fred. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  Loveday smiled, comforting herself with the thought of her clever girls who had chosen such exciting careers. No hanging about in Trevay waiting for life to happen to them. They could travel the world when they were qualified. Loveday felt tears and a tightening in her throat. She missed them so much and worried about them constantly. At least she still had Hal. Hal wouldn’t be leaving Trevay. Not now.

  She looked at the clock. If he and Mick didn’t come home soon, the jacket potatoes would spoil.

  38

  The sun was setting and the light was dying over the roughening sea. The Spirit of Trevay, a sturdy, all-weather, self-righting, Tamar-class boat forged through the waves.

  Malcolm, the helmsman, was on the bridge but steering manually now. The sea was getting too big for the autopilot. They’d just gone over the biggest wave of the night. He eased off the throttle as the boat surfed down the other side of it and then pushed the power back on to go up another bigger wave. The splash as he came over the top caught him broadside, filling his ears with water. He pulled the hood of his jacket up. Jesse was standing beside him, eyes scanning the sea.

  ‘All right, Malc?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  The radio came to life. ‘Spirit of Trevay, Spirit of Trevay, Spirit of Trevay, this is Falmouth Coastguard, Falmouth Coastguard. Over.’

  ‘Falmouth Coastguard, this is Spirit of Trevay. Over.’

  ‘Yacht Ocean Blue is not responding to radio calls. But we’ve got the GPS position.’

  ‘Right, give it to me.’ Jesse made a note and checked the screen, showing their position and the yacht’s last known position. ‘That’s a long way off the original reference, Falmouth.’

  ‘She’s probably drifted. Met Office tells us winds are gusting Force Eight.’

  ‘Shit.’ Jesse rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Roger that. Setting new course. Out.’ Jesse looked up in time to see a huge wave roll past on the portside. ‘We need to get below, Malc.’

  All crew members came to the main cabin and buckled themselves into their bouncy, shock-absorbent seats. With the hatches tightly shut, it was a bit like sitting in a people carrier, but on a very rough road. There were three seats in front of the dark windscreen. Malc sat on the far left, Jesse was in the middle taking control of the boat, then Si was to his right on radar. Behind Si was the hatch to the survivors’ space.

  Behind Malc was Mickey and behind him in the doctor’s chair was Kate. Opposite Kate, Jeff worked at the chart table. Outside it was definitely getting worse.

  Inside, the noise of the engines was deafening. The air was getting uncomfortably hot. Coming off the top of a particularly big wave, the hull dropped through thin air until it smashed onto the trough below, rattling the teeth of everyone. The adrenaline running through the crew was tangible.

  Jesse looked over to Si on the radar. ‘Doing OK, Si?’

  Si was usually the first to get sick. ‘Could do with a bucket.’

  ‘Kate?’ Jesse called back. ‘Pass a bucket to Si.’

  After some quiet retching, Si looked a bit better.

  Malcolm was next to go. ‘Pass the bucket.’

  Jesse had never suffered, but he also never underestimated the courage of his crew who felt so ill but still managed to concentrate on the job.

  The radio crackled again. ‘Trevay, this is Falmouth. How far?’

  ‘We should be there in about ten minutes,’ Jesse said.

  On the radar, Si picked up an orange blip that looked about the right size for a yacht.

  He told Jesse.

  Jesse reached for his binoculars. ‘Turn the lamps on, Malc.’ Immediately the raging sea was illuminated and everyone focused their eyes through the rain-streaked windows.

  ‘There,’ said Malcolm as they rose to the top of a wave. ‘You’ll see it over the top of the next one.’

  Jesse saw it. The mast was hanging like a broken limb. The mainsail torn and flapping in the strong wind. He scanned the deck for any sign of the two sailors. He couldn’t see them but they were probably, hopefully, tucked below and riding it out.

  Jesse steered The Spirit towards her, throttling back as he did so. ‘Malc, take over,’ Jesse barked. ‘Open the hatch, Kate.’ Opening a locker, he took out a loud-hailer, and climbed through the open hatch.

  On deck the wind was strong and he ducked his head as a sheet of water threw itself at him. His eyes stung with the salt. Hanging onto the grab rails, he pulled himself round to starboard deck and raised the loud-hailer to his lips.

  ‘Hello. This is Trevay Lifeboat. We’re going to get alongside and give you a tow.’

  The wind was ripping the words from his mouth and throwing them backwards, over his shoulder, away from the stricken yacht. He tried again. ‘Hello. Is there anybody on board? Can you hear me?’

  It was a tiny movement, but he saw a hand raised for a moment from the stern of the vessel.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he shouted again. The hand reappeared and gave a limp thumbs-up. Brian and Kate appeared next to him.

  He quickly filled them in. ‘The cockpit. He must be lying on the bottom. Look. See?’

  The hand came up again and gave a painful wave.

  Jesse put the loud-hailer to his mouth. ‘Can you get a line to us?’

  The hand gave a thumbs-down.

  Malcolm nudged the lifeboat closer and closer to the damaged yacht. But the waves frustrated him. Eventually he got close enough for Don to leap across a tiny gap before the sea surged them apart again. Don pulled on the lifeboat’s line and got it secured to a cleat on the yacht’s bow. Now the boats pulled against each other. As one went up, the other came down.

  Jesse watched as Don steadied himself and walked with uneven steps to the stern to che
ck on the casualty. He jumped down into the cockpit and knelt so that Jesse could only just see the top of his head. After a few moments, Don stood up and shouted against the wind, miming injuries as he spoke.

  Jesse turned to Kate. ‘Did you get that?’

  ‘I think he’s saying it’s a broken arm, shoulder and ankle. Do you want me to go over?’

  ‘Let’s get that line attached to the stern first. Brian!’ he shouted. ‘You and Si, get a line secure on the arse end.’

  Mickey appeared on deck. ‘Jesse, Falmouth are asking if you need the helicopter?’

  ‘I’ll know as soon as we find the second man. Tell them to give me a couple of minutes.’

  Brian and Don had at last got the two boats tied together securely. ‘Brian,’ shouted Jesse, ‘do you need Kate to come over?’

  ‘No, let’s get him on the lifeboat. Then she can have a look at him.’

  ‘OK. What’s happened to the other bloke?’

  ‘His dad thinks the mast hit him.’

  Jesse was exasperated. ‘Well, have a fucking look then.’

  Brian stood up out of the cockpit and stepped onto the deck, steadying himself on the low railing and edging slowly forward. The boat was pitching and yawing and a huge wave crashed over him. He spat out the worst of it and finally got to the torn and flapping sail. The cords attached to it were snapping and flicking with lethal unpredictability. He took an armful of the tough sailcloth and slowly bundled as much as he could into his arms, the wind tugging it all the while. Every armful, he looked underneath for the second man. As he stooped, the boat tipped sharply and he lost his footing. He slid across the deck on his hip, his eyes tight shut, waiting to hit something hard.

  ‘Arrggh.’ A cleat caught the hem of his trousers. His leg stopped but the rest of his body spun one hundred and eighty degrees before his head banged something hard. Another wave breached the deck and sea water flooded up his nose and into his mouth.

  ‘Brian!’ Jesse was shouting over the loud-hailer. ‘Don! Brian’s hit his head. Help him.’

  Brian was dazed but able enough to board the lifeboat and be sent below to the survivors’ space to be seen to by Kate. Getting the injured sailor out of the yacht’s cockpit and below deck to join him was harder, but they did it.