Storms

by Chris Vick

  ‘Well. Like I said, the will states if the house is ever sold I get a chunk of the sale.’

  ‘But there was some kid, some relative and his mum living in it?’

  ‘Right. I’ve been to see them.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The house, where is it?’

  ‘The Cape. Big place.’ That much was true. But where it was exactly, what it looked like? He had no idea. ‘They’ve agreed to let me have my share now. It’ll be less than I would get in the long run, but I get it now. They’re kind of buying me out.’

  The words flowed. It was easier than he thought; to tell a big fat lie, but mix it with truth. The story about the house and the gran and the family he never knew was all true. But he hadn’t been to see the house, or the people who lived there.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Jake. It’s brilliant. I can’t thank you enough. But –’ she grabbed a wad of his shirt in her hand – ‘I don’t feel right. You can’t actually pay for it. You need the money. Your mum needs the money.’

  ‘I’m not telling her about it till this is sorted out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just trust me, okay?’

  ‘But Sean heard.’

  ‘I’ll deal with Sean.’

  ‘It’s not right, though. This is your money. I’ve had offers of help.’

  ‘Who?’

  She let go of his shirt. ‘Simon.’

  ‘Why’d you call him? I said I could get the money.’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘I didn’t call him – I bumped into him. Bess and Phoebe too. I said no. Obviously. I just think, well … this isn’t right. It’s not fair on you.’

  ‘It’s fine. And what about the whale? This is the only choice we have, Hannah.’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  He put a finger on her lips.

  ‘If we don’t do this it’s going to die, right? And you’ve said yes. To the equipment.’

  ‘She would die, yes, but …’ Hannah was struggling with this. But not that hard. ‘We are going to need that equipment. The whales are doing okay, but there’s more offshore, we’re going to go looking for them at dawn tomorrow. So, okay. Okay. You’re a hero. Thank you.’ They kissed. She lingered, letting his tongue explore the space between her lips, accepting his body against hers. More than that; hungry for it.

  ‘You’d better let me go,’ she said. ‘I’d better get back to things.’

  ‘Let you go?’ he said, like it was a stupid idea.

  Her hand slipped under his shirt.

  ‘It is raining outside, Mum and Hattie won’t be back for a while. Just saying.’

  She smiled. ‘Well. Maybe I could stay a little longer.’

  He looked at her, under the quilt. And felt sick. Desire and guilt at the same time. The wonder of this girl, who believed in him. Who trusted him.

  He kissed her, felt her skin. The space between them vanished, and the whole world with it.

  Jake

  JAKE SNOOZED ON the bed after Hannah had gone. The quilt was still warm from her, and he still had the smell of her on his skin. On his fingers too. It made him stir, wanting her all over again.

  The memory of sex drifted slowly away. And all those other thoughts and memories returned.

  Lies. Money. Drugs.

  The sex had been shelter from all that.

  They’d gone back to what they were before. What they’d be again, when all this was done.

  Being with Hannah had calmed him, had eased the madness in his head. The lie was something he’d had to get out of him. It had been as hard as meeting in pubs and doing drug deals, harder in some ways. He didn’t care what Ned, or Tasha thought of him. But this was Hannah.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck,’ he groaned, into the pillow. ‘I’m the biggest-ever shit, in the kingdom of shit.’

  Better get up, do something, he thought. If he stayed lying on the bed, it would all just whoosh around his brain, not going anywhere.

  He heard a footstep on the stairs, soft as a cat’s.

  Maybe it was Hannah, coming back to surprise him. He got up, grabbed a towel, wrapped it round himself, and threw the door open.

  Sean froze on the stairs. Jake came out and blocked his way.

  ‘What you sneaking about for?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Yeah, you are. You’re clumsy as shit. Why did you sneak back in? What’s that in your hand?’

  Sean put his fist behind his back. He flattened against the wall, then tried to push past. Jake got hold of him, pulled his arm, grabbed his wrist and Chinese-burned him.

  A small bag dropped on to the landing. Jake snatched it up.

  ‘What’s this?’ said Jake. But it was clear what it was. Weed.

  ‘Nothing.’ Sean tried to get by. Jake blocked him again.

  ‘Jesus, Sean. You’re fifteen. What would Mum say?’

  ‘You’re not going to tell her.’

  Jake sighed. ‘No. I’m not.’ That was the rule. Always. No matter what. Jake waggled the bag in front of Sean’s face. ‘I don’t want this here. I’m not stupid, I know I can’t stop you. But not here.’

  Sean just shrugged. ‘What’s this thing about money? What Hannah said. You going to get this inheritance?’

  ‘Not exactly. Kind of. Look, I’m not telling Mum yet, right?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t want to. It’s my business. I’ll see right by her. All of us. I promise. Okay?’

  ‘Okay … If I can have my weed back.’ Sean put his hand out.

  Jake pocketed the weed. Shook his head. He dug out a twenty-pound note. ‘Go and spend it on, I dunno … cider.’

  ‘It’s harder to get than weed. You could buy it for me.’

  ‘Don’t take the piss.’

  ‘If I can’t go get stoned, I’m going surfing. Coming?’

  ‘Nope. Can’t.’

  ‘Too big for ya?’

  ‘Get one for me, yeah?’ said Jake.

  ‘Sure.’ He grinned that idiot grin, and pushed past Jake to go and get changed.

  Jake went to the bathroom to have a shower. And to flush the weed down the bog.

  Jake

  ‘OUCH!’ GOOFY STUMBLED over a rock. ‘Suicidal, this is. I can’t see where I’m going.’

  ‘Put the head-torch on,’ said Jake.

  ‘Not till we get off the coast path. Suspicious-looking, we are. Two fellows wandering around at stupid o’clock in the morning. Wetsuits and boards is one thing. But torches and rucksacks?’

  ‘The boards are cover. We look like we’re doing a dawny.’

  ‘Why am I doing this, again?’

  ‘For Hannah. For the whales.’

  ‘Ah, right. For the whales. Well, it isn’t for you, you daft sod, you can be sure of that. And I can’t see. Why couldn’t Ned do it? ’E’s the one you’re in cahoots with in this madness.’ Goofy poked Jake in the shoulder.

  ‘I don’t trust Ned. Him and that girl are a way to help me sell the stuff. I need you to help me get it somewhere safe. Now stop whining.’

  They trudged the rest of the journey in silence.

  When they found the path, they switched the torches on, and tackled the nasty climb down.

  As he clambered, Jake looked out to sea.

  The wind was dead now, and the ocean calm. The sea had done its worst, and laid off for a bit. But there were more storms heading their way. Worse ones. Jake didn’t trust the sea not to ride up and wash the crate away. He couldn’t risk that.

  The cove was locked in dark and shadow, but out to sea the sky was clearing, and the stars fading in the lightening sky. A soft light was in the air and on the water; showing the yacht, exposed by the tide. Its mast was snapped. The top part lay on the deck, tangled in rope and sail.

  The yacht reminded Jake of the beached whales. Once a magnificent thing but now lifeless, it listed right over, a gaping hole like a massive wound in its hull.

  ‘That�
��s a fancy yacht. Someone lost a bit more than their gear, didn’t they?’

  ‘We’ll have a look when we’ve got the stuff. There might be more in there,’ said Goofy.

  Was there? It didn’t matter. What was in the crate was enough. More than. But Jake was curious.

  When they reached the cove, Goofy turned off his head-torch and took Jake’s board off him.

  ‘Let’s just get on with it, shall we? I’ll keep a lookout. You go and find the stuff.’

  Jake followed the orange beam of his head-torch, clambering up the rocks, over plastic bottles and crumpled tin cans. He entered the cave. Water dripped off the ceiling in loud sploshes. His breath was spookily loud, echoing back at him.

  The back of the cave was a mess of rocks and rubbish. Where had he hidden the crate? He pulled at boulders and junk, panicking. Had someone been there, found it, stolen it?

  But then there it was. A corner of the blue plastic, under a chunk of wood.

  He yanked and heaved till he’d unburied the crate, then dragged it out of the cave into the dawn light and turned off his torch.

  Jake got his knife from the rucksack. He was about to cut the wrapping when a hand grabbed his elbow.

  He turned. ‘What—’

  Before he got another word out, a rough hand smothered his mouth.

  Goofy’s face was inches away. His mad blue eyes were wide and alert. He took his hand off Jake’s mouth and put a finger to his lips. Then he pointed to a dip between the rocks, just down from the cave.

  Jake didn’t need any other sign. His skin electrified, and his skull tightened with fear. He moved, silent and quick, till he was wedged tight, hugging the rock like he was trying to blend into it. Goofy squeezed in, right next to him.

  ‘How many?’ Jake mouthed.

  Goofy held up two fingers.

  ‘The boards?’ Jake whispered.

  ‘Behind a rock.’

  Jake listened. After a few seconds, the squawk of a gull rang out. He looked at Goofy, questioning. Goofy cupped a hand to his ear. He was stone still. He had a large rock in his other hand. Jake was still holding the knife in his own hand.

  He dared to breathe.

  Then …

  A gruff crunch of feet over shingle. A thud-squelch of boots on seaweed.

  Jake looked upwards, to the cave. The crate was in the open. The rucksack too. If the men bothered to climb up, they would see.

  Shit.

  One set of footsteps thudded towards them, louder with every step. Goofy lifted his hand, with the rock in it. He tensed, ready to rise.

  The footsteps stopped.

  There came the sound of a zip, and the hiss of a guy taking a slash. So close, Jake could smell it.

  ‘Could be it’s still in the panels. Maybe it moved about a bit.’ It was a Cornish accent. Nastily, scarily close.

  ‘Yer man had a good look when he found her,’ said the voice of another man, further away. This one a London, or Essex, accent. ‘A fair bit’s gone, he reckons.’

  ‘She was covered in water then. Worth checking properly now. What if it washed out the boat? Could be hereabouts.’

  Jake and Goofy looked at each other. Both mouthed: shit. Jake looked at his hand, with the knife in it. He couldn’t feel his fingers. His whole hand was numb. And vaguely, distantly cold. Like it wasn’t even his.

  ‘’E said he had a proper look round. If it’s not still on the boat it must have come out when she went down. Out to sea or washed up along the coast. It’s not ’ere. It’s the big man’s problem anyway, not ours. Let’s just get on and get what’s left of it, shall we?’

  The other man zipped up and walked back to his friend. Jake let out a long breath. He heard slopping and splashing as the men waded to the boat.

  Goofy let go of the rock. He shifted, turning round, to rise and look. Jake grabbed his arm and pulled him down, shaking his head.

  ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘What if they see you? What if they’ve got guns?’

  ‘Guns? Don’t be stupid. I just want to see how big they are. Reckon we can handle them if we have to.’

  Jake stared at Goofy, disbelieving. Goofy was grinning. He didn’t seem scared. Not even worried.

  Goofy had a careful peek, then dropped back down. Something had washed the grin off his face. He held up two fingers and a cocked thumb. He waved his hand about, then tucked it under below his armpit. He was miming a gun.

  ‘No,’ Jake mouthed. Goofy nodded, slowly. ‘Oh shit. Oh shit.’ Jake put a hand over his heart, just in case it thumped through his ribcage and splattered over the rocks.

  The next sound was a high whine, like an electric drill maybe.

  It went on for minutes before it stopped.

  A couple more minutes passed, with the men talking. But Jake couldn’t hear what they said. Then there came loud splashes as the men jumped back into the sea.

  What if the men could see the boards from the water? What if they had to fight them? Or not. Jake imagined kneeling, with a gun pointed at his head. Begging, pleading.

  He listened, carefully, to the thuds and clicks of boots on rock, as the men passed beneath.

  They waited a good while before Goofy looked. Then Goofy crawled carefully down the rocks, keeping low.

  ‘They’re gone,’ he said.

  ‘Holy shit,’ said Jake, standing up and leaning over, with his hands on his knees. ‘I think I might chunder. One of them had a gun?’

  ‘Yes, inside his jacket. Now get to work. Quick,’ said Goofy, throwing his rucksack to Jake. ‘I’ll look out in case they come back.’

  Jake scrambled up the rocks, knife in hand. He cut open the outer packaging and busily set to work stuffing the rucksacks with blocks of class A drugs, like they were groceries from the Co-op.

  The second he was done, he climbed back down and gave Goofy his rucksack. Both their packs were near full.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said.

  Goofy held a hand up.

  ‘Wait on, man. They might be at the top. We want to give it a while. Give them a chance to clear off, like.’

  ‘Okay.’

  They both turned to look at the boat.

  ‘What do you think they were doing in there?’ said Goofy.

  ‘Getting the rest, they said.’

  ‘Tide’s coming in. Might as well have a look.’

  Leaving right now was more dangerous than staying. For a bit at least. And Jake was burning-curious, wanting to see what the men had been up to.

  Keeping the rucksacks over their heads, they waded into the sea.

  The boat was fifteen metres offshore, leaning heavily in the shallows. The hull was on show on the starboard side, with a gaping hole in it. The keel was wedged deep in sand. They moved out of shadow, into the morning light.

  Jake could see the name.

  Pandora

  Climbing aboard was easy enough. But the boat was leaning so much he had to keep one foot on the railing – the lifeline – and one on the deck just to stay upright.

  The yacht had a modern fibreglass hull, with classic wooden fittings and deck. But the deck hadn’t been varnished in a while, and the glass on the cabin doors was dirty.

  It wasn’t a flashy yacht, but it wasn’t in any way dodgy, either. It was the kind of boat that could cross an ocean, but was more likely used for weekend trips to the Scillies. Or perhaps a jolly day trip to pick up a few crates of drugs, floating in the water with a GPS tracker attached to them.

  It was perfect for smuggling.

  The cabin was half a metre deep in water. The men had been busy. They’d cut panelling from the inside of the hull, presumably because it was impossible to unscrew it with so much of the boat submerged. An empty blue crate floated on the water.

  Wedged on a shelf made for books were more packages. Jake counted ten. Identical to the ones they had in their rucksacks. There were three larger ones too, packed with green buds.

  ‘Bloody weed,’ said Goofy. ‘Sacks of the stuff!’
<
br />   ‘Why the hell haven’t they taken it? It doesn’t make … oh shit. This means they’ll come back. They’re carrying what they can and mean to come back for the rest. What do we do?’

  Jake had been so relieved after the men had gone, he’d been almost high with it. Now the fear was back. Racing round his blood.

  ‘Your turn to look out,’ said Goofy. ‘I’ll deal with this.’

  ‘Why, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Just go and look, will you?’ said Goofy, scowling.

  Jake sighed, then climbed out of the cabin, into the air. He scoured the cove and up the path.

  ‘I reckon we’ve got a while,’ Goofy shouted. ‘It’s ten minutes to the top, fifteen to the nearest road. They’ll be unloading what they carried before coming back.’

  This didn’t reassure Jake.

  ‘What you doing down there?’ he shouted. When Goofy didn’t reply, Jake went back in. Goofy was heaving and puffing, forcing a massive bag of weed into his already packed rucksack.

  ‘You’re supposed to be the sensible one!’ said Jake.

  ‘Cocaine is a bloody, nasty business, Jake. The sort of business that ruins lives. It’s for crooks and dickheads. Weed, on the other hand, is a natural herb what God has put on this earth to mellow us all out and make us a bit nicer to each other. There is no way I’m waving goodbye to that much smoke.’

  ‘You arsehole! They’ll know. They’ll know someone’s got their drugs.’

  ‘So what? We’ll be long gone.’

  ‘Goof. You are aware the way out of here is blocked? By drug dealers. One of which, let’s just remind ourselves … has a FUCKING GUN!’

  Goofy just smiled.

  ‘The sea is calm. We’ve got wetsuits on. And we’re surfers. Muscled up from years in the water. We can get the boards off the rocks and paddle out with this pirate booty on our backs.’ Goofy explained this casually, like he was planning a picnic. ‘Paddle down the coast, come in at Hope Cove.’

  ‘You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you, you sicko? Anyway, it’s a good idea.’ Hope Cove was a long way, far too long for anyone to swim. But paddling boards they’d do it easy. An hour, hour and a half tops.