by Rona Halsall
She clutches at the policeman’s arm. ‘But what about the harbours? Are you watching them as well?’
Sergeant Corlett frowns.
‘I saw her, you see. In Peel. She was with a bloke on this yacht. Maybe she’s gone to him?’ Her voice is fading, but she forces herself to go on. ‘It was called Smooth Talker. Big motor yacht, moored right by the entrance to the marina.’ Her breath hitches in her throat. As if it was getting ready to leave.
Sergeant Corlett gets to his feet and goes out into the hall. The chatter fades into the distance. Cold and clammy, Natalie shivers under the duvet that has been draped over her. She prays that they’ll reach the yacht before it leaves. Prays that they’ll find Harry for her. There’s nothing more she can do. Darkness invades her vision and she slips into the blackness.
Fifty-Nine
Now
Marco looks at the water, his mouth hanging open.
What just happened? Did she just push him in? Really?
He turns to Sasha, who is running towards his yacht, moored not more than twenty feet away. He can hear splashing and peers through the mist. He sees an arm, a hand grasping at the surface. Then it sinks beneath the water. And then he can see nothing. Not a splash, nor a ripple. Just the cloak of the mist as it twists and weaves through the air.
He stares, holding his breath, willing the man to pop up to the surface. He listens, but all he can hear is the muted sound of chatter coming from the pub on the other side of the marina. Yellow light seeps through the mist and it seems like another world, not real. Because reality says a man just fell in the water and he hasn’t come back up again.
Marco’s medical training kicks in. The compulsion to save lives. It doesn’t matter that his work is now more cosmetic in its focus. What matters is why he became a doctor in the first place. He cannot and will not stand by and watch a man drown.
‘Sasha, get the lifebelt!’ He points to a post at the side of the road. ‘Over there. Quick.’
But Sasha ignores him.
He looks at the water, then runs after Sasha, grabs her arm and spins her round.
‘Seriously? We can’t leave him in the water, for heaven’s sake. Can’t you see that he’s drowning?’
Sasha snatches her arm away and glares at him.
This is their first row, their first ever disagreement of any kind. Marco doesn’t do confrontation, has never been good at it and up to now he’s made every effort to accommodate Sasha’s whims. Ever since he met her in his consulting room, he’s been addicted to her, obsessed with the idea that he can save her from the terrible life that her husband makes her live. She’s such a sweet person, so loving and she deserves so much more than that loser can give her. Tom is just trouble and he’s going to drag Sasha down with him. How can Marco let that happen? He can’t, not when he has the means to give her a new life. That’s what this is all about. Escaping the clutches of her awful husband and his criminal activities and getting her away somewhere safe.
Marco glares back as if the force of his stare will make her reconsider. In surgery, everyone does exactly what he says, without hesitation and this situation is completely alien to him.
In fact, Sasha’s behaviour is pretty alien. His eyes narrow. And so is her face.
Now she’s under the street light, he can see her properly. He takes in the shattered nose, the cut lip, and the swelling on her cheek, decorated by a large bruise. There’s blood smeared all over her. She looks like a cage fighter.
He blinks and slaps the back of his neck, as if he’s swatting the bad feeling that’s settled there.
‘My God, Sasha! What happened to you?’ He runs an expert eye over the damage and swallows as plans for their new life sink into the harbour along with the stranger.
‘He attacked me.’ She points to her face, eyes fierce. ‘This is what he did. And you want to save the fucker?’
He glances at the water, then back at Sasha. Time is running out for the guy. And Sasha needs medical attention. She needs those broken bones set. A couple of stitches in her lip and that wound in her neck looks nasty. He clamps his jaw shut. Tells himself to sort out his priorities. A man’s life is in danger and that has to come before anything else.
A day won’t make any difference, he tells himself as he runs past Sasha and wrenches the lifebelt from its post. He throws it into the water where the man went under and peers over the edge of the marina, hands clenching and unclenching as he watches for signs of life.
Must be five minutes since he went in. But he knows that, with the water being cold, there’s still a slim chance that the man can be resuscitated.
‘I can’t see him. Sasha, call the Harbour Master.’ He rips off his jacket. Pulls off his shoes. She hasn’t moved. He glares at her. ‘Now. Go on.’
‘No. No, I won’t.’ She runs over to him and tugs at his sleeve, trying to get him to go with her. ‘We can call once we’re out at sea.’ She sounds frantic. ‘You said we’ve got to go. Now. Or we’ll miss high tide. And then we’ll be stuck here… Marco, please, please, let’s go.’ Her eyes flick to the yacht. ‘We can’t leave Harry on there on his own. He might… he might fall in or something. It’s not safe. Please, let’s just go.’
Marco stares at her. What the hell is going on here?
Her eyes plead with him. His eyes go back to the water. Still no sign of the man.
He pushes her away and starts to take off his trousers. ‘I’ll have to go in. It would kill me if I didn’t try and save him.’ He looks at Sasha. ‘Ring the Harbour Master. Then call for an ambulance. We’ll go tomorrow. No big deal, is it?’
‘Please, darling. Let’s just go. While we’ve still got time.’ Her hands are clasped together, like she’s praying. ‘Five minutes. Then we’ll ring.’ She starts sobbing, a revolting mixture of snot, blood and tears streaming down her face. ‘Please. I’ll do anything. But please, please, let’s just go.’
In an instant, her whole demeanour has changed, from being a cold-hearted bitch to a woman who needs looking after. Just like that. And he realises what a fool he’s been. How easily she’s played him.
Sasha glares at him as he tosses his trousers on the floor. There’s a meanness in her eyes that makes him shudder. It wasn’t an accident. He saw her do it. She pushed him in.
The day has gone to hell. In fact, his life, as he’d planned it, has gone to hell too, but he puts those thoughts aside. I’ve got to save that guy.
He dives underwater, into the murky blackness, feeling the soft silt of the bottom of the marina with his hands. He circles round for as long as he can hold his breath, then comes up for air. He dives under again. His methodical brain makes him work in a grid pattern, up to the marina entrance. After four attempts, his legs are going numb with the cold, his fingers too, but he’s not going to give up. Not until he’s got that man to safety. His teeth chatter and he looks to see if there’s any sign of someone coming to help.
No. Nobody. She hasn’t called for help, has she? Because they’d be here by now.
‘Help!’ he calls, thinking that the people outside the pub will hear. He listens, but all he can hear is the gentle slap of water against the boats. Crap, he thinks. Smokers. They’ve gone back inside.
He knows that time is of the essence with a drowning. And there’s still a hope for the guy if he can just find him. ‘Help!’ he calls again, because there must be other people about. People on other boats. Walking dogs. But he’s so cold he can hardly keep himself afloat and his mouth fills with water. He coughs and splutters and decides he’s wasting time.
I’ll run to the Harbour Master, he decides. It’s not far.
He tries to grab the edge of the marina, but the cold has zapped his strength. His hands won’t hold on, his arm muscles won’t pull and after a few attempts, he realises it’s not going to happen.
He looks around, studying the concrete walls. There must be something I can use to climb up. Out of the mist, something floats towards him. He squints then breathes a sigh
of relief. The lifebelt. He grabs hold of it, ducks underwater and puts his arms through, letting it take the weight of his body. He tries to organise his thoughts. Mind over matter, he tells himself. But his body shakes from head to toe and for a moment, being cold to the bone is all he can think about.
He feels safe in the lifebelt and as his muscles relax a bit, he has an idea. He’s next to his yacht. All he has to do is paddle round the back and then he can get up the steps. Twenty feet. That’s all. He turns and gets his arms working in some sort of a rhythm and with limbs like rubber, he inches forwards.
He thinks about Sasha’s behaviour. And her lies. Why would someone attack her, for God’s sake? And that blood on her face wasn’t fresh. Nor was the bruise. And what the hell has she been up to for the last four hours?
He’s nearly at the back of the boat now and grits his teeth while he makes one last effort. A familiar noise makes his eyes widen, and he sees the water start to churn. His stomach clenches. She’s turned the engines on. He looks up and sees her in the wheelhouse. The yacht starts to move past him towards the marina entrance. The propellers create a current in the water, which sucks at his legs, pulling him towards them.
He kicks as hard as he can and strikes out with his arms, but it’s no use, he’s going backwards instead of forwards.
‘Help!’ he shrieks, so loud it scrapes the back of his throat. ‘Sasha, turn the engine off. Sasha!’
She turns and he thinks she must have heard him, seen the danger he’s in. But she looks away and the engines thrum louder, the propellers pulling him closer and closer.
Sixty
Now
Jack hopes that his drowning man act was believable enough. He’s been in and out of this marina on fishing trips since he was a young lad and knows it well. It’s not wide. Maybe forty feet and he’s always been a strong swimmer.
He pulls himself along the bottom, across the width of the marina towards the steps, which he knows are on the other side. He has to be slick as a seal when he comes out, careful not to make too much noise. He creeps up the steps, which are hidden behind the wheelhouse of a large fishing boat, and listens. He can hear the man shouting at Sasha, telling her to get a lifebelt.
He pulls off his helmet and cringes when water splashes to the floor. But Sasha’s yelling now, so he doesn’t think they heard him. He runs towards the Harbour Master’s office and bursts through the door.
‘Mike! You need to close the gates. Get the bridge back across. Shut the marina off. Right now.’
He drips on the floor. Mike stares at him, his hand dipped into a bag of crisps.
‘Bloody hell, Jack, look at the mess you’re making. What the hell’s going on?’
‘People wanted by the police are trying to get out of the harbour.’ Jack points behind him. ‘On that motor yacht, just by the entrance.’
Mike chews and swallows.
Jack’s voice gets louder, more urgent. ‘Please, Mike. I’m helping the police. Just do it, will you?’
Mike purses his lips and frowns. ‘This isn’t some practical joke again, is it?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Jack shouts. ‘I’m not twelve anymore, am I? Do I look like I’m playing a joke?’
He lurches for the controls but Mike smacks him away. ‘Oi, you’re not allowed. Only I’m allowed.’ He turns his back and Jack hears the deep groan of the mechanism as it comes to life.
He dashes outside and peers through the mist. The yacht is moving. It’s at the entrance. He chews a nail as he watches, heart racing. Did I get here in time?
Mike comes out and stands next to him. There’s a scratching, scraping sound as the gate rises up from the bottom of the marina and catches the hull of the yacht. It seesaws for a moment, engines revving.
Jack grips Mike’s arm. Can it get over? It looks like it might.
Then the propellers catch on something and shudder to a halt. The yacht hovers for a moment, looks like it will fall forwards and escape. Until the footbridge swings into place and smacks through the wheelhouse, shattering the glass, splintering the fibreglass and pushing the yacht backwards into the marina.
‘Oh my God,’ Mike says, scratching his head, his face quite pale. ‘I am in such big trouble. Such big, big trouble.’
‘Call the police,’ Jack shouts over his shoulder as he hurtles across the footbridge. The yacht bobs up and down, and sways from side to side as if it’s in a washing machine. He can see Sasha, slumped over the wheel and he slows down. She doesn’t appear to be moving and is covered in debris. As he jogs alongside the yacht, a small face, with big scared eyes peers out from a porthole. Harry?
‘It’s okay,’ Jack shouts to the boy. ‘I’ll soon have you off there. Just hang on.’
Jack jumps into the water and grabs the yacht’s mooring rope, which has fallen over the side. He throws a loop over a mooring post, heaves himself on to dry land and pulls the yacht next to the marina wall. He fixes the rope tight and leans over, panting with the effort.
He hears the tap of little feet coming up wooden steps and the boy emerges from the cabin. Tears stain his pale cheeks. He’s clutching a toy rabbit to his chest, one of its ears in his mouth.
‘Harry, isn’t it?’ Jack says, holding out his hand. He beckons to the boy. ‘Come on, let’s get you on dry land, shall we? There’s been a bit of an accident.’
‘Who are you?’ Harry says, not moving.
‘A friend of your mum’s.’
Harry looks up at the wheelhouse and Sasha’s immobile body. He starts to cry.
‘Hey, it’s going to be okay. Nothing for you to worry about. The ambulance will be here soon.’ Jack steps on to the yacht. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’
In the distance, he can hear sirens and he waits, watching as the blue flashing lights come over the bridge and head towards him. The boy’s hand curls into his and he gives it a squeeze.
Sixty-One
Now
Natalie’s eyes blink open and the first thing she sees is Jack, wrapped in a silver blanket, sitting next to her bed. The second is the drip attached to her hand. She tries to move her head, so she can see him better but her body feels like it has been set in concrete.
It takes her a moment to remember why she might be here. Again. Or maybe she didn’t leave? But then the events of the evening come rushing back in a terrifying blur, images flashing into her mind, melding into each other so she isn’t sure if they’re real or some half-remembered nightmare.
‘Hey,’ Jack says.
She smiles and tries to make her eyes stay open.
Sasha escaped with Harry.
The smile shrivels on her lips as the memory hovers at the front of her mind. She frowns and tries to sit up, sees that she’s in a room, not a ward and the other bed is empty. Jack stands to help her, raising the end of the bed, propping a pillow behind her. But she has no intention of staying in bed. She tries to throw off the cover but even that small action is too much and her head spins.
‘Oh, no you don’t,’ he says, gently pushing her back against the pillow. ‘You’re not going anywhere. You lost three pints of blood. They put fifteen stitches in your leg and they had to put your shoulder back in again. And the doctor said—’
‘But Harry… I need to find him.’ Her pulse quickens, and her head throbs. She puts a hand to her forehead, squinting in the bright lights.
‘I know, I know,’ he says. His sits on the bed, his voice soothing. ‘It’s okay.’ He grins. ‘We’ve got him.’
Her eyes widen. She claws at the cannula. ‘I want to see him. Now, I’ve got to—’
‘No!’ The force of his voice stops her hand in mid-air. She stares at him, shocked. He’s a bit of a Viking when he’s cross.
‘Look,’ he says, more gently. ‘You’re suffering from shock. You need to rest.’ His voice falls to a whisper, his mouth close to her ear. ‘You’ve got to stay here. Police guard outside.’
Her eyes widen.
He sighs. ‘I’m afraid yo
u’re under arrest. And until they can sort out exactly what happened to Tom, you’re technically a suspect.’
She leans back against the pillow, not caring that she’s under investigation. She has more important things to think about. ‘Where is he?’
‘Oh, the Family Liaison Officer is entertaining him for the moment, just until they sort out a foster placement.’
‘Foster placement?’ She closes her eyes, dismayed by the idea and he seems as far away as ever.
Natalie blinks as an unwelcome thought pushes into her mind.
‘What about Sasha? Did they get her?’
Jack nods. ‘Oh yes. In fact, she’s in A & E right now. A few stitches and broken bones to patch up. Then she’ll be straight to prison on remand.’
They sit in silence for a moment and Natalie allows herself to imagine that Harry will be hers again. Once all the formalities are sorted out. Surely, now that the truth is about to come out, she’ll be allowed to be his mother. The thought swells in her heart, filling her chest.
‘There’s a way to go yet, you know that, don’t you?’ Jack says.
She glances at him and looks away, picking at the blanket that covers the bed. ‘Yes, yes. I know. So, what’s going to happen to me? Do you know?’
Jack sighs. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’
Natalie swallows. Back to that stinking rotten prison. A weight settles in her stomach.
‘You’re going to be in hospital for a few days. But I’ve got a lawyer for you and we’re seeing if you can come and stay with me, while the police complete their investigations. If you want to, that is.’
He gazes at her with an expression that makes her heart monitor beep a little faster. The colour rises in her cheeks and she covers her confusion with a shaky laugh. ‘What? For real?’
