High Tide

by Veronica Henry

  Course he hadn’t. Where was he going to find gainful employment at this time of year?

  ‘… I’d like to offer you your position back. You’ve been exemplary over the years, apart from this one aberration. I’d be a fool to let you go because you’ve made one mistake.’

  Part of Nathan wanted to tell Malcolm to stuff his job, because he had been hurt to be sacked so unceremoniously. But he didn’t, because it wasn’t in his nature, and because he wanted the job back. There was bugger all at the Job Centre. And he liked driving for Toogood’s. He liked the ceremony, and feeling he had been part of helping people through the ordeal of a funeral. It was strangely satisfying.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘That’s cool. Great. Thank you.’

  ‘Actually, you don’t have me to thank,’ replied Malcolm. ‘Thank Mrs Knight. She insisted I reinstate you. She was very anxious you shouldn’t get into any trouble.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Widows. They’re dangerous things.’ Malcolm gave a long-suffering sigh, as if he spent his life batting them away. ‘There’s a funeral tomorrow afternoon. In Shoredown. If you’re free.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ said Nathan.

  He got himself up, showered, got dressed and sorted the dogs, then went down to see Sam and grab a coffee.

  ‘How’s tricks?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Complicated,’ replied Nathan. ‘But I’ve just got my job back.’

  ‘That’s good. Isn’t it?’

  ‘Turns out Vanessa had a word with the gaffer.’

  Sam looked impressed.

  ‘Do you think I should thank her?’ asked Nathan. ‘Or just let it go?’

  Sam thought for a moment.

  ‘Would you spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you didn’t? Would you spend sleepless nights, torturing yourself? Would you wander round, pale and listless, a shadow of your former self?’

  Nathan laughed. ‘All of the above.’

  ‘Then yes. Go and see her. What’s the worst that can happen? What have you got to lose? And let’s be honest, everyone likes to be thanked. People don’t do enough of it.’

  Nathan nodded. ‘That’s a point. It would be rude not to, right?’

  ‘Very rude.’

  Sam handed Nathan his latte.

  ‘Listen, mate, have you still got those puppies?’

  ‘I’ve got two left,’ Nathan told him. ‘I had a woman come and reserve one yesterday. I’m keeping one for myself. Do you want one?’

  Sam paused for a moment. ‘I must be mad,’ he said. ‘But yeah – I think I do.’

  ‘Come up and have a look tonight.’

  ‘I can’t tonight,’ said Sam. ‘I’m meeting my daughter’s boyfriend’s mother for a drink.’

  ‘Sounds complicated.’

  ‘She wants to introduce herself because the kids are going out together. It’ll make a change, I suppose.’

  ‘Any idea what she’s like?’

  ‘Well, Daisy seems to like her.’

  ‘Is she single?’

  ‘Ex-husband in prison.’ Sam made a face.

  Nathan grimaced. ‘Dodgy. Come and see them on the way home if you want. It’ll give you an excuse to get out of it.’

  ‘I might take you up on that,’ said Sam. He wished he could find a way of getting out of it. The last thing he wanted was to make polite conversation with Oscar’s mother. He imagined some gangland moll, like something out of Lynda La Plante, all cleavage and Cockney rhyming slang. Wasn’t that what he’d come all the way here to get away from?

  After leaving Sam’s, Nathan went up to the florist. Not the one that Malcolm used for funerals, which churned out hideously garish arrangements, but the trendy one at the top end of town that had opened earlier in the year. He spent a long time examining each bloom, breathing in their scent and stroking the glossy leaves. In the end, he decided on twenty cream roses, their petals tinged at the edge with bright green, mixed in with burnt-orange freesias.

  The florist arranged them all in a loose bouquet tied in a cream organza ribbon edged with old gold.

  ‘She’s very lucky, whoever she is,’ she told him. ‘Do you want to write something to go with it?’

  ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  She handed him a square card with a matching envelope, and a pen.

  He chewed the end of the pen while he thought. The scent from the blooms was making him giddy, and he didn’t have a clue what to say. He wasn’t used to writing down his feelings. Eventually he managed a short message.

  Thank you. You’ve saved my life! Thinking of you. Nathan.

  He hoped it wasn’t too invasive or stalky. Just thoughtful. And open-ended. It was true, though. He had done nothing but think of her. It was strange how, up till now, he hadn’t really been aware of her, except as a vague presence who lived nearby, someone who people occasionally referenced. Now, she was all he could think of. Her eyes, her smile, her laugh, her scent, her touch, her mouth. Vanessa Knight. Her name was on repeat in his brain.

  ‘That’ll be sixty-four pounds.’ The florist interrupted his thoughts.

  Nathan paled, then pulled out his wallet. He wasn’t going to argue. He’d never bought a bunch of flowers before, after all, so he had no idea if this was normal.

  ‘You have chosen the most expensive flowers,’ said the florist kindly. ‘But there’s no way she won’t love them. And they’ll smell wonderful for days.’

  He held the bouquet carefully in his arms and walked back down the high street, hoping he wouldn’t bump into any of his mates. They wouldn’t stop until they found out who the flowers were for, and they would tease him endlessly.

  He curved around the edge of the harbour and along the road to the entrance of Pennfleet House. He pushed open the gate, walked over the immaculate granite sett driveway and up to the front door. The knocker was in the shape of a dolphin. He used it to rap hard, three times. It sounded businesslike and assertive.

  He could hardly breathe as he waited. He’d decided not to rehearse what he was going to say. He felt sure that the words would come easily, as soon as she saw him. It would be natural. It would be instinctive.

  He could hear someone coming towards the door. His heart was juddering, like a car engine that was missing. He wasn’t sure whether to smile. It would seem hostile not to, but he didn’t want to look like a creepy stalker. The door opened just as he settled on a slightly sheepish grin.

  There was a woman standing there. Slight, blonde, sixty-something.

  ‘Oh, how lovely,’ she said. ‘Those are beautiful.’

  ‘They’re for Vanessa,’ he said.

  ‘How kind. Shall I say who sent them?’

  ‘Um … Nathan.’ He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Nathan from … after the funeral.’

  ‘Nathan from after the funeral.’ As she smiled at him she gave him an expert look up and down. She must be Vanessa’s mother, he thought. There was something in the voice. And the eyes. Although her smile didn’t quite reach hers, the way Vanessa’s did. ‘You’re very sweet, Nathan. She will love them. Thank you.’

  He was just about to pluck up the courage to ask if Vanessa was in. But before he could, the woman stretched out her arms, whisked the bouquet from him and shut the door.

  ‘Nathan from after the funeral?’ asked Squirrel meaningfully, holding out the bouquet to Vanessa, who was stirring some soup for their lunch.

  Vanessa tried to look casual, but there was a definite pinkness to her cheeks as she read the card.

  ‘Oh, how gorgeous. Yes, um – he was very kind to me after the funeral. There was a bit of a misunderstanding with his boss, which I sorted out. I guess this is his way of saying thank you.’

  She breathed in the scent, shutting her eyes.

  ‘He was very attractive,’ ventured Squirrel.

  Vanessa nodded. ‘I know …’

  She opened her eyes again, put the flowers down on the island and opened the cupboard to find a vase.

  ‘
When you say kind …?’ Squirrel wasn’t going to stop until she found out the details.

  Vanessa put the vase next to the flowers then began to unwrap the brown paper they were wrapped in.

  ‘We had a bit of a … skirmish. Nothing too outrageous. Just a …’ Vanessa started snipping the ends with a pair of scissors. There was a smile playing on her lips. ‘I kissed him.’

  ‘Vanessa!’ Squirrel was scandalised.

  ‘I know. It was really naughty. But I needed to do it. And he didn’t mind.’

  Squirrel’s mouth was open in horrified delight.

  ‘That’s outrageous.’

  ‘I know!’ Vanessa filled the vase with water. ‘But please don’t have a go at me. I can’t take it at the moment.’

  ‘Have a go at you?’ asked Squirrel. ‘I applaud you.’

  ‘What?’

  Vanessa looked at her mother in amazement. This wasn’t the reaction she was expecting.

  ‘But he’s almost half my age.’

  ‘So?’ shrugged Squirrel. ‘You were half Spencer’s. So what’s the problem?’

  ‘It’s different, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t see why it should be. If he makes you happy.’

  ‘Mum, it was nothing. It was just a … bit of a …’

  ‘Your eyes are sparkling. I haven’t seen you look like that …’ Squirrel thought about it. ‘Well, since before you were married.’

  ‘It’s not appropriate, though, is it? I’m old enough to be his mother, almost.’

  ‘So?’ said Squirrel. ‘You’re both grown-ups. And he’s definitely keen. His face fell like the guillotine when I answered the door.’

  ‘You don’t seriously think I should take it further?’

  ‘Why not? Darling, if he wasn’t hoping for something more, he wouldn’t have brought you these. They must have cost a fortune.’

  ‘Bless him,’ said Vanessa, looking at her handiwork. ‘I don’t suppose he could afford them.’

  ‘He’s keen.’

  ‘So what am I supposed to do?’

  ‘Thank him for the flowers. Ask him out.’

  Vanessa shook her head.

  ‘Vanessa, you deserve some fun. You’ve been locked up here like Rapunzel. Let your hair down!’

  Vanessa ruffled her hair and looked down at the floor, smiling.

  ‘I don’t think I’m ready for it.’

  Squirrel tutted. ‘You’re mad. Go for it.’

  Vanessa looked up. ‘You never did. After Dad.’

  Squirrel, in her control-freak way, began to tweak Vanessa’s arrangement.

  ‘No. Well. That’s different. Anyway. That might change.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m going to go and find him.’

  Vanessa put her hands on her hips. ‘My dad?’

  ‘Yes. I think it’s time. I’ve waited long enough.’ She pulled out a freesia and reinserted it towards the back of the arrangement.

  ‘But what if … he’s got someone else?’

  ‘Do you know, I don’t think there is. I’ve just got a feeling. And if there is, well, it’s not meant to be.’

  Vanessa was alarmed. Squirrel was off on some fantasy mission. She couldn’t help feeling she was idealising her father’s memory. Couldn’t she remember the constant drama?

  ‘Mum. Don’t get hurt.’

  ‘Oh. Don’t you worry. I can look after myself. I’m going to drive back up to London tonight, sort out some things, then get the ferry tomorrow.’

  Squirrel gave Vanessa a smile, and Vanessa thought she would like just one ounce of Squirrel’s bravery and confidence. Just one ounce.

  28

  The thing with October, which people always forgot when it was being bright and sunny and vivacious, was that it could be moody. There could be a sudden swing, and there you were, with pendulous clouds and choppy seas and a nasty swell and a wind that could not be misconstrued as an autumn breeze, but a force in itself, ruthless and relentless.

  Which was exactly what happened that afternoon, at about three o’clock.

  ‘We need to get that boat in,’ said Nathan’s grandad, eyeing the sky and the water with concern. ‘I don’t like the look of that sky. We’ll be in trouble at high tide if the rain starts.’

  Nathan looked up at the sky. He was used to judging the conditions, but his grandfather knew the weather better than anyone; better than any barometer or forecaster. If he said the boat needed to come in, then it did. After all, they hadn’t spent all that time restoring her only to let her be damaged in a storm. And it did look ominous. Tinged with green, which was never good.

  ‘Let’s take the trailer down the harbour then,’ he agreed. ‘It’s about time I took her out the water.’ The Moonbeam would go into one of their sheds for safekeeping over the winter, until the picnics started up again in springtime. She wasn’t really built for winter expeditions.

  The two of them went out into the yard and hooked up the trailer to Daniel’s ancient Land Rover Defender just as the rain began. They rattled down the track from the cottage to the main road and along the high street to the slipway.

  ‘Ah, it’s going to be wet rain, this is,’ said Daniel, and by the time they got to the slipway they couldn’t see out of the window.

  Nathan jumped out and ran along the pontoon to their mooring. By now the rain had started in earnest. It wasn’t taking any prisoners – and with it was a gale and a half that was whipping up the waves.

  By the time he started up the engine of the Moonbeam, he could barely see across the water. The sky seemed to meet the sea in one big watery blur the colour of slurry. The town disappeared behind the deluge. He steered his way between the other boats that were swaying up and down, the waves slapping their sides. The Moonbeam wasn’t made for choppy waters, and it was all he could do to keep her on course as the wind suddenly changed and came from the south.

  With it came a flash of lightning, and a tremendous crash of thunder. The storm was right overhead. He could see the waves throwing themselves right over the pontoon, and over the walls of the decks that backed the buildings along the harbour. Anyone having a crafty cigarette outside would find themselves with wet shoes, he thought.

  He could see his grandad waiting at the foot of the slipway. He steered towards him, and as he did, he looked to the left, to Pennfleet House. He could see Vanessa outside on the terrace that overlooked the water. She was looking for something – he thought he could hear her cry out through the wind and the rain, but he couldn’t be sure.

  He made it to the slipway, and jumped into the shallows where his grandad was waiting with ropes to pull the boat out of the water and onto the trailer. It was tough work for two people, made worse by poor visibility and the fact they could barely hear each other. But eventually the Moonbeam was made safe.

  ‘Let’s get her back, then,’ said Daniel.

  Nathan looked back to Pennfleet House. He could still see Vanessa. She must be soaked to the skin. What was the matter? What was she looking for?

  Daniel saw him looking.

  ‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘Go and see what’s going off. But don’t come crying to me when it all goes pear-shaped.’

  Nathan touched his grandad on the shoulder in appreciation. Behind him he heard the throaty grumble of the Land Rover start up as he ran down alongside Pennfleet House and jumped up over the wall onto the terrace.

  Vanessa was standing looking out over the water, her hands protecting her face from the rain, shouting. Her blonde hair was plastered to her head, and her clothes were drenched.

  He came up behind and touched her arm. She whipped round and he could see the distress on her face. He couldn’t tell if she was crying because she was so wet.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘My cat. Frank Cooper. He was on the wall. There was a big wave.’ She couldn’t tell him any more. She was too upset.

  ‘Did he go in?’

  She nodded. He took her hand and they stood looking together
into the mighty swell of the waves, a churning soup of grey-green that was hurling itself indiscriminately around the harbour.

  Vanessa put her face in her hands. Poor Frank Cooper. She couldn’t bear it.

  Nathan held her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so so sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ She wasn’t going to cry in front of him. ‘It’s my fault. I should have got him in ages ago, before the rain started. But I didn’t realise.’

  ‘How could you have? Don’t blame yourself.’

  The rain was lashing down on them. Another wave came over the wall, and he pulled her out of the way.

  ‘You should go inside,’ he said.

  They stood staring at each other as the rain poured down on them, buckets and buckets of it. There was another huge flash of lightning, and it lit up their faces. Then the thunder.

  ‘You’re going to catch your death,’ Nathan said eventually.

  ‘Come in and get dry,’ she said.

  They hadn’t taken their eyes off each other. Nathan tried to wipe the water from his eyes.

  ‘You know what’ll happen if I come in?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ She bit her lip.

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘She’s gone back up to London.’

  ‘So she’s not here?’

  Vanessa smiled. ‘No.’

  Nathan nodded. ‘That’s good, then.’

  She gave him the guest bathroom, and a pile of fluffy white towels.

  She had the hottest shower she could stand in her own room, then pulled on a big jumper and leggings and went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. She stood at the back door to see if Frank Cooper had by some miracle appeared, but he hadn’t. She couldn’t think about him, his dear little ginger body being tossed about on the waves.

  The milk came to the boil. She was pouring it carefully into two mugs when Nathan came into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his waist. She put the pan down with a bang.

  ‘Hot chocolate?’ she asked, but her voice came out as a whisper. She handed him a mug.

  They sipped slowly, standing by the island.