Storms

by Chris Vick

  The Mercedes ate up the coast road. She put her phone down, promising herself she wouldn’t look at it again till they got to Penzeal, and stared through the window at the sea. Beyond the moor and cliffs, white horses lurched and pitched. The ocean rocked and swayed, restless in the aftershock of the storm.

  It wasn’t even proper autumn yet, but summer seemed forever ago. The calm azure days. The easy life of swims and lying on the sand. The storm had broken that dream, and woken her up.

  ‘Dad,’ she said, watching the rolling waters, ‘why is life so easy one minute and hard the next?’

  ‘Because it is.’ He sighed. Hannah turned to look at him. He was focused on driving. Intently. Lines and greyness marked his face. He looked tired.

  ‘The marina, today?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Hannah. The marina.’

  It was Dad’s big project. It would make more money than anything he’d ever done. They would be rich. Truly, finally, stupidly rich.

  But it had consumed him that summer. Taken all his time. His energy. He hadn’t even been sailing. Not once.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘We’ll get there. It’ll take more time and cost more money than the idiot project manager said. But we’ll get there.’

  For all his grouchiness, his seriousness, she admired him. Dad said what was going to happen and he made it happen. He had always been that way. The marina would open, and it would be a success. It was that simple. Dad saying, We’ll get there, was just a way of stating that fact.

  That was how she felt about Little One too. Never mind what Steve Hopkins said. She would be her father’s daughter. She would make it happen.

  ‘I’m dropping you at the post office,’ Dad said. ‘I’ll pick you up in two hours. I know you need to get back to the whales, and to sort out this equipment. But before you go any further … Hannah.’

  ‘Yes, Dad?’

  ‘You are … confident, aren’t you?’ he said, carefully. ‘That your whale and dolphin group, and your contacts, will get the money? That you will get this sorted?’

  Hannah looked back out to sea. She imagined black fins arcing through the white peaks. Plumes of whale water-breath, puffing into the sky. One orca – smaller than the others – following, but managing to keep up. Just. She pictured the pod, heading into the deep blue. To a place far from land.

  ‘We’ll get there,’ she said. Dad nodded his approval.

  She hadn’t told him that getting the money was all down to Jake. Lying, for now. She sneakily, guiltily, looked forward to seeing his face when she told him the truth.

  She believed Jake when he said he’d get the money. Just like she believed Dad would make the marina happen. She didn’t know how Jake would get the money. He wouldn’t tell her. But she trusted him.

  She loved him.

  Hannah

  THE APPLICATION DIDN’T take much time. She used the photo booth, filled in the forms and signed them. The new passport would arrive within five days. One less thing to worry about.

  Now she had over an hour to kill. And Penzeal was a pleasant enough place to kill it.

  The town centre was a maze of poky, cobbled alleys and small shops. A place that still had its own cafés, grocers and fishmongers, though fewer each year, as the supermarkets set up outside town.

  Tourists swarmed there every summer. And left it deserted come autumn, leaving money in the tills, and too many gulls, fat from a summer feasting on chips and pasty scraps.

  Dad’s marina was supposed to rejuvenate the town by bringing people in what they called the ‘shoulder season’, either side of summer. Yachtees. Gin and tonic types with money.

  Hannah thought about wandering down to the site, to see how it was coming along. But dense clouds were racing overhead, promising fresh showers. She decided to have a coffee in the Hillside Bay Café, and check her emails.

  She didn’t like the café much. It was a shiny blue and white space, more Bess and Phoebe’s kind of watering hole. But it was quiet out of season, and it had a great view.

  She walked in, went to the counter and ordered a coffee.

  ‘Hey, stranger.’ It was Phoebe’s voice. She was sitting at a window table, sipping lattes with Bess. And Simon. Hannah’s ex.

  ‘Shit,’ she said, under her breath. She didn’t really mind seeing him. It was just bad timing.

  ‘I’ll bring your coffee over,’ the woman said.

  Hannah went and stood by the table, feeling awkward. ‘Hi,’ she said.

  She hadn’t seen Simon since the split, but he was still the same. The Barbour jacket. The hair: short at the sides with a bouncy fringe.

  Phoebe leapt up and hugged her. Bess managed an embarrassed smile before focusing on her latte. Simon and Bess glanced at each other, as if they’d been caught at something. Maybe they had. Bess and Simon? Well, she thought, good luck to them. Bess had always liked Simon, she’d just hidden it. Badly. Hannah sat down.

  ‘Look at you girls,’ she said. ‘The skinny latte twins, drinking skinny lattes.’ It was a favourite joke, to make out they were twins. They had the same slim bodies and straightened dark hair. Today they both wore black jeans and knee-high boots. They had almost the same jacket on. One black, one navy blue.

  ‘The elusive Miss Lancaster,’ said Bess. ‘Honey, we haven’t seen you in yonks.’

  ‘It was last week, airhead,’ said Phoebe.

  ‘Well, that is ages.’

  ‘I’ve been madly busy,’ said Hannah. ‘You won’t believe what I found …’

  ‘Yeah, madly shagging that surfer. We hardly see you—’ Phoebe winced, catching herself. ‘Sorry, Simes.’

  ‘It’s okay. It’s fine. How are you, Hannah?’

  ‘I’m good. How are you? Did you get your grades?’

  ‘Yes. Off to Oxford soon.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. No surprise, though. You deserve it.’

  ‘And you. Getting ready for Hawaii?’

  They chatted. Hannah relaxed, and felt a bit less awkward. She slipped into the old banter with Bess and Phoebe. It was okay with Simon too. Their families had been friends since the two of them were kids. Maybe it was good she’d run into him, so they could get through this. So they could get back to what they’d been before she’d made the colossal mistake of going out with him.

  He was friendly too. Hardly the same guy who’d cried, called, begged.

  She told them about the whales and the equipment.

  ‘My sister’s a researcher at South West TV,’ said Phoebe. ‘We should tell her. Get it on the news.’

  ‘No,’ said Hannah. ‘Best to keep it quiet. It won’t help the whales if there’s a media storm.’

  ‘Come on, Hann. Be real. It’s only a matter of time before they find out. What harm can it do? It might help. They could talk about an appeal, for the money?’

  ‘They won’t do that unless they’re sure the rescue will succeed. And they won’t listen to me anyway. Steve Hopkins will tell them there’s no chance. Besides, we need the money now …’ Hannah paused, thinking. Maybe TV coverage was a good idea. If there was publicity, it would be harder for them to euthanise the whales. She thought of the vet, with his bag and his syringes. If there was media, they’d have to do everything they could, before they used those syringes. ‘I dunno, Phoebe. It might be a good or a bad thing. Let me think about it.’

  ‘I could help,’ said Simon. ‘With the money. Lend you a bit, till you get the full amount. I’ve got some saved.’

  Bess snorted. ‘Saved? You probably got fifteen grand from Granny for your birthday.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Hannah. ‘My boyfriend Jake is getting the money.’

  ‘Oh, fine, then,’ said Simon.

  Phoebe glared at Hannah.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean … Look, who knows. Yeah, that might be good. Thanks, Simon. Thanks for offering. Look, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting Dad. Great about Oxford, Simon. Girlies, I’ll keep you posted.’

  ‘You’d better,’ sa
id Bess. As Hannah stood to go, Simon reached out a hand and got a hold of her wrist.

  ‘Hann. Can I talk to you?’

  She felt a creeping up her spine. Memories of the break-up. His hand, a snake, about to coil round her and drag her down.

  ‘I’ve got to go. Dad’s expecting me.’

  ‘It will only take a minute.’

  Shit. She didn’t want to talk to Simon about the past. But she didn’t want to look like a bitch. She didn’t want to be one.

  ‘Okay. A minute.’

  She marched out, telling herself to be strong. She had Jake and Hawaii as reasons why there was zero hope of her and Simon getting back together. She could use those reasons like weapons if she had to.

  As soon as they were out the door, she turned.

  ‘Look, if this is about how things ended—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about us.’

  There is no ‘us’, she thought, folding her arms. ‘Oh, right. What, then?’

  ‘I wanted to ask about our dads. What’s going on?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Their bust-up. The marina? I think that’s what it’s about. Dad’s being secretive about the whole thing. Mum too. Did you not know?’

  ‘I’m not just saying this, Si, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. They had dinner not so long ago.’

  ‘That’s when they had this big argument.’

  She remembered: the night they’d come home unexpectedly, to find empty wine bottles and a green Roxy dress on the kitchen floor. She’d been so wrapped up in that drama, she’d never wondered why they’d come home, instead of staying with Richard and Lottie like they always did.

  ‘I don’t know, Simon. I honestly don’t know what’s going on. Look, I really do have to go.’ She turned, and walked quickly away.

  ‘I meant it, about the money, you know,’ he called after her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied, and kept going.

  *

  She walked down the hill, through the narrow roads, to the site where the new marina would be.

  She’d seen the plans, the drawings. The sea-view apartments and restaurants. The artist’s impression with gin palace yachts cruising in. She didn’t much like the idea of it, but Dad said it would be good for Penzeal. He was probably right. What did she know?

  The site didn’t look like the drawings now. Not on a rainy, start-of-autumn day, with new jetties half built and the apartments not even started. When she’d visited in early summer, the place had swarmed with workmen. Now it was cold and grey and empty. Just a few blocks of concrete slabs, and steel girders. One truck. A crane standing idle on the dockside.

  And no sign of Dad’s Merc.

  Shouldn’t the place be busy? There were only three workmen, in hard hats and coats, slowly unloading crates from a truck.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, love?’ said one of the men.

  ‘Is Pete Lancaster here?’

  ‘No, but I am, sweetheart,’ he said, with a leering grin. His mates sniggered.

  ‘This is Mr Lancaster’s daughter.’ Dave the foreman appeared from round the side of the truck. The men went back to their work.

  ‘Hi, Dave, have you seen Dad?’

  ‘He popped in for five minutes, then went off again.’

  ‘Oh, right. How’s it going?’

  Dave took off his hard hat, and scratched his head.

  ‘Not going much at all, to be honest. Waiting on materials, permissions and paperwork. That’s what your dad says. Just getting a few odds and sods done in the meantime.’ He sounded sad. Like a man who’d rather be busy than not.

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’

  She walked back up the hill to the post office.

  When Dad picked her up, she waited a minute or two, till they were out of town, before she spoke.

  ‘How’s it going down at the marina?’

  ‘Good,’ he said. But his voice was heavy, his face clouded. He seemed hardly there. Like there was a wall between him and the whole world. ‘We’ll get there,’ he said. For once, he didn’t sound like he believed himself.

  She was going to ask more, but her phone bleeped.

  Her heart leapt. An email, from America.

  Hannah,

  Re stranded orcas

  After we spoke yesterday, we had lengthy discussions with Dr Rocca. He (and we) support your assessment. There is a reasonable chance of a successful rescue. The equipment will float a lighter adult female and the juvenile. Please note: the equipment will not float the live adult male. Unless he can be freed via a dug-out channel he will have to be euthanized.

  The full cost is $15–$20,000.

  We understand it can take time to organize that kind of money, and – as we know well – time is one thing you don’t have in a whale rescue.

  To help, we will fund $2,000 ourselves, and organize transport from this end.

  You will appreciate we can only proceed with a solid guarantee, which you alone cannot provide.

  To that end Dr Rocca has agreed to underwrite the commitment. What this means is that if – for any reason – you can’t find the money, he is personally liable for the remaining money.

  He is signing a contract to that effect.

  Once in the UK, Steve Hopkins’s team will have responsibility for the equipment.

  We need a deposit of $2,500 via bank transfer to green light this. Bank details at foot of this email.

  Please let us know if this all okay.

  Good luck!

  Adrenalin raced through her blood, her heart, her head. She sucked in a sharp breath, and quickly typed.

  Yes, great, will transfer $2,500 asap.

  Thank you.

  Her thumb hovered over ‘Send’.

  ‘Dad, if I can get you two thousand quid, can you transfer it to the US, to start the rescue?’

  He shrugged. Like she’d asked for twenty quid to buy a skirt. ‘Sure,’ he said.

  She hit ‘Send’.

  Immediately, she typed in another email. To Dr Rocca.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!

  Hannah XXXX

  As soon as she had sent that, she received another email. This one from Steve.

  Hannah,

  Whales in good health. For now. However: more orcas seen offshore. Can’t be coincidence. Must be same pod.

  Do you have access to boat? Plan to go look for them first thing tomorrow: see how many and if in danger of stranding.

  Too rough today.

  S

  Hannah felt a sea-surge inside her. Like being on a yacht, screaming through the swell, with the wind full in the sails.

  Jake

  THEY MET AT Jake’s house in the afternoon.

  Hannah let herself in. Bounced in. She flung herself at him. Her cheek was cool and wet from wind and rain. Fresh off the beach.

  ‘I’ve been checking on Little One. Before that, I was in town. I’ve got so much news, Jake. The equipment’s coming. I’ve said yes, we can get the money. There’s more orcas at sea too.’ She was babbling, bubbling. ‘And …’ she stepped back, sniffing, ‘have you been on the beer?’

  ‘Yeah. Celebrating, about the money.’ He coughed. Laughed. Noticed how forced it sounded. Wondered how she’d react if he blurted out the truth: I’ve been at the pub, selling cocaine.

  ‘It’s brilliant, Jake. How?’

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘Come on. Spill the beans. The big secret. You said you’d tell me today. How have you got the money?’

  Jake froze, the words trapped somewhere inside him. He’d practised his story, in front of the mirror. But now, here? He’d never lied to Hannah. Not about girlfriends or money. Nothing.

  For one crazy second he thought about telling the truth. Like it would be easier, better, to let it just fall out of his mouth.

  ‘Um …’

  ‘You said you’d tell me, Jake. Today, once it was sorted.’ Hannah’s face shone with hope.

&nb
sp; He took a deep breath. ‘You know I had a different dad from Sean and Hattie. And his mum, my gran, she died a while back. You know I never knew her. But when she died, we got a letter from a solicitor, saying I would inherit some money one day.’

  ‘Yes …’ Hannah’s brow creased with confusion. ‘But you said it wouldn’t be for years.’

  ‘Well …’ Jake paused. He looked upstairs. There was Sean, at the top, skulking in the shadows.

  ‘Sean, get down here.’

  ‘I heard the door, I was just coming to see who it was.’ Sean jumped the stairs three at a time, and stood, arms folded, chewing gum. ‘Wass this about money?’

  ‘Get lost,’ Jake nodded at the door.

  Sean crossed his arms. ‘Nah.’

  ‘I mean it, man. Give us some space. And I mean, out.’ Jake pointed at the door.

  Sean stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth and looked up to the ceiling, like he was thinking about it.

  ‘Nah,’ he said again.

  Jake sighed. He thought about forcing him out. But Sean was getting tougher – and cockier – by the day. The little git actually liked scrapping.

  Jake pulled the wad of notes from his pocket.

  Sean looked at the wad, his head forward like a bug-eyed turtle. Jake peeled off a tenner and held it up.

  Sean snatched the tenner. ‘It’s raining out there, bro.’

  Jake peeled off a twenty. He grabbed the tenner back, and gave Sean the twenty. They waited in silence as he put his trainers on and left.

  ‘You’ve got the cash already, then?’ said Hannah, amazed.

  ‘Er, not exactly. This is a loan, from Goofy. I’ll pay him back, soon as I get the inheritance. I just thought you might need some upfront, like.’

  ‘How much is there?’ she said, biting her lip.

  ‘There’ll be enough for the rescue. More too.’

  ‘More? Your mum’s going to be thrilled. All the bills. The loans. April!’ Hannah shouted, looking round for Jake’s mum.

  ‘She’s not here, it’s just us. Let’s go upstairs.’ He reached out and held her hands. ‘To talk. Come on.’

  In his bedroom, Hannah took her windcheater off, and threw it on the floor. They lay on the unmade bed, locked in each other’s arms and legs.

  ‘Come on, then, tell me.’ She rubbed her hand on his chest. Jake liked how she was so pleased. He warmed up, felt less ‘stuck’ about telling the lie.