by Chris Vick
Hannah put her arms round Jake. ‘Hello, stranger. Where’ve you been?’
Janet and the cameraman walked off. Brian began dismantling the lighting rig. Jake held her. ‘You’re shaking.’
‘Am I?’ She pulled away, looking into his steady, brown eyes. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, Jake. If Little One dies a long, slow death, it’ll be my fault, won’t it? And everyone will know it. I made this … storm, this mess.’
‘No. You didn’t. It just happened,’ said Jake. ‘You’re doing what you can. What you think is right. It’s that simple, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know, Jake. I don’t know.’
Hannah looked at the people outside the cordon. They’d watched her being interviewed, like it was a spectator sport. Now, some drifted off. Others got busy taking pics of the orcas with their phones. Some just stared at her, as if she was an animal at a zoo.
‘It’s not enough,’ she said. ‘Maybe Steve’s right. Maybe we should put them down?’ She sounded panicky, loud, to her own ears. ‘It’s hard, this. Too hard.’
‘Hey, hey. No one knows what’s going to happen, right? You’re just navigating the storm. Hoping you come out the other side.’
‘That’s a bit deep for you.’ She smiled, trying to make a joke.
‘I have my moments. Look. If your mum was sick, or me, but there was a chance of recovery, you’d take that chance. Even a small one. Wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, but … Jake, I didn’t know how hard this would be, I didn’t stop and think. What if it’s all for nothing?’
‘Then at least you tried.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’ Hannah looked to the crowd. Dan and Jo were there. They were smiling. Not gawping.
‘We’ve talked to the guys who run the digger. They might be able to get a bigger one here by tomorrow,’ said Jo.
Steve appeared at her side. ‘I don’t need to say this, Hannah, but time is running out.’
Hannah looked around her. At the lights and people and orcas and piles of nets and floats and buckets and spades.
‘We’ll dig it ourselves, then.’ She spoke the words before she’d even thought them.
‘We don’t have anywhere near a big-enough team for that,’ said Steve.
‘Don’t we?’ She went and picked up a spade, then went and stood in front of the crowd, holding it in the air. Maybe she looked a fool, but she didn’t care.
‘We need to dig …’ Her voice sounded weak. Lost in the dark. So she cleared her throat, and shouted.
‘We need to dig a trench, up to and round the whales. Water will then run in and fill the pool. The water will make the whales buoyant. We need to do this before high tide.’
‘By hand?’ said Steve, sounding incredulous, like she’d said with paper cups. ‘How?’
‘Yes, by hand.’
The crowd – what was left of it – were leaning, cocking their heads. Listening.
‘Two metres deep, to the tideline. Sloping, so it fills easily. Water, once it reaches the trench, has to go downhill. Three metres wide, enough for the whale and people on either side.’ She gestured as she spoke, swinging the spade. Imagining it, painting a picture for the crowd. ‘We need volunteers,’ she shouted.
‘Whoa, hold on!’ One of the policemen turned to her with his hands up. ‘There is a major storm headed this way. This could be dangerous.’
‘Then you’ll have to stay here and help, won’t you?’ she said. ‘Make sure no one drowns.’
‘We’re going to be quite busy,’ he said, glaring at her.
‘Do you want the whales to die?’ she said, loudly, making sure everyone would hear.
‘Well, no, of course not. But …’ He sounded unsure.
‘Who will help?’ said Hannah. ‘We’ll have to finish the job before the storm hits.’
‘I will.’ A small voice sang out from the crowd. The owner of the voice pushed and squeezed her way to the front.
‘Hattie!’ said Jake. April was behind her, rolling up her sleeves.
‘We’ll help too,’ said Dan. Jo stepped up to the front.
‘Us too, Hann.’ It was Bess. And Phoebe.
Neil was there, with his hand up. ‘I got a load of wheelbarrows and spades I can get down here.’
‘I’ll help,’ said a man.
Hands were raised. A chorus of ‘Me too!’ and ‘I will!’ filled the air. The policeman objected, hands up, shouting. But his voice was drowned by the tide of support.
Steve shrugged. Okay, then.
‘Jo, you’re looking after the whales,’ Hannah said. ‘Not just keeping them wet. Talking to them, comforting them.’
‘What about?’
‘I don’t bloody know. Anything. Sing to them if you feel like it. I need to keep out of it.’ She did too. She needed to be detached emotionally. As much as she could be, at least. ‘Neil. Can you organise the cliff-top survey for dawn? We need to know if those orcas come near. And if they do we have to keep them offshore.’
People left, running home to fetch warm clothes, spades and wheelbarrows. April said she would go and make sandwiches and flasks of coffee. Everyone got busy. It was a relief. She’d had enough of expectant gazes, questions and cameras.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Jake. ‘You’re a force of nature, Hannah Lancaster. You’re strong.’
Was she? A part of her, deep and secret, wanted this to be over one way or another. To be on that plane. It would be a hard life with Dr Rocca, but a simple one. Then someone else would make decisions and tell her what to do.
She wanted that. She wanted someone else to be responsible for all these decisions.
But, for now, she appeared to be in charge.
Jake
FIVE THOUSAND QUID. It was a giveaway. One bag was worth tens of thousands. A stupid amount of cocaine, for very little money. But Jake wanted this over. What had happened in the cove had put the fear in him, given him a taste of just how wrong this could all go.
Now he wanted rid. But the man, Bill, had said: ‘It’ll take time to get that kind of cash.’
The plan was to do this deal, then more next time. Once that was done, whatever was left would go the same way as the bags in the boat. Flushed away, poured down the sink, thrown in the sea. Jake didn’t care. As long as he had enough to cover the whale rescue. Enough for Ned and Tasha’s cut. Enough to dig Mum out of the hole she was in. Enough for a ticket and some spends for Hawaii.
Crazy as life was, as deep in this as he was, he could almost taste the iced beer, sipped on a beach-hut deck; him and Hannah watching the sun melt into the sea. The whole dream was there, seen through a gap in the clouds. Just beyond. But close.
He kept telling himself this as he walked to the pub.
The Schooner, in Penford, was perfect. Near to home and Whitesands, so he could do it quick and not be missed, but out of the way too. Penford was a grotty little place. No one he knew ever went there.
Tasha picked him up at the top of the beach and drove him to the Schooner. It was a dark, ancient dive, with poky alcoves and a low ceiling.
He imagined he wasn’t the first smuggler, or free trader, to sup a pint there while discussing ‘business’.
Bill was waiting for them, with a pack of roll-ups on the table and a half-empty pint glass.
Tasha went to the bar, while Jake sat.
It took one glance at Bill’s worried eyes for a bad vibe to start creeping up Jake’s spine.
‘I’m only going to ask you this once, son. And be very clear about your answer, or I’ll walk out and you will never see me again. Right?’
‘Um, yeah.’
‘Where did you get the gear?’
‘That’s my business,’ said Jake.
Bill smiled, shook his head. ‘Fair enough. Best of luck.’ He stood up to go.
‘All right, all right, I’ll tell you,’ Jake whispered. Bill sat back down. ‘Why are you asking?’
‘Where did you get it? Trust me, you need to level with me.’
Was this a trick? A way to get him telling all? Bill would be asking where it was stashed next.
‘Why do you need to know?’
Bill raised his eyebrows and shrugged. He grabbed the baccy pouch off the table and pocketed it. He took his beer and drank what was left, then stood up and put his hand in his pocket, jangling his car keys.
‘Last time. Where and how?’
Jake sighed. ‘We … I found it.’
Bill sat down. Tasha joined them, with drinks on a tray.
‘Everything okay, fellas? You two look weird.’ She glanced around, as if there was something, or someone, that was spooking them.
‘How many people know about this?’ said Bill, through his teeth.
‘None of your—’ Tasha started, but Jake silenced her with a shake of his head.
‘Three. Us two and her boyfriend.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘No.’ Jake thought it better not to mention Goofy.
‘And where is it?’
‘You are kidding?’ said Tasha.
‘We’re not going to tell you that,’ said Jake.
‘All right, just tell me it’s not where you found it. On the beach was it? Or some rocky cove?’
‘Maybe,’ said Jake.
‘Listen, I put some feelers out, just to see who was interested in buying. Turns out someone was expecting a load. But the suppliers lost their cargo a few days back. A lot of it. Their boat went down not far from here. That’s what you found and that’s what you’re selling, there’s no use making out otherwise. If they suspect for a second we are offloading their goods, they will come after us. They will want every crumb of it back.’ He jabbed a finger at Jake and Tasha in turn. ‘They’ll come after me, you, your family, your dog. They are not nice people.’ Bill pushed his empty glass away, grabbed the pint of lager Tasha had bought him and drank a load of it.
The words sank into Jake’s mind. Not nice people. Bill – if that was even his name – was a professional drug dealer. And he was scared. Properly scared. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.
‘So … what, Bill? The deal’s off?’ said Tasha.
‘That crossed my mind, Tash. It really did. But no. But we keep this low-key and quick as possible. We do this now, then a bigger deal. I’ll see how much cash I can get. And you give me as much as you can for that amount. I’ll get the stuff out of the area. And I’m going with it. Then we never see each other again. Right?’
‘Suits me,’ said Jake. ‘What now, then?’
‘Where’s today’s?’ said Bill. ‘In the rucksack?’
‘Where’s the money?’ said Jake. Bill looked at him, unbelieving, impatient.
‘Haven’t you worked this out yet, son? What good would it do me to rip you off? What do you think this is? How do you think it works? You think we go around knifing and shooting and ripping people off, for easy money? I’ve known a few who work that way. They always end up in prison or hospital. Always.
‘Things only go bad when stupid people make stupid decisions and make them go bad. I do my business as smooth as it can be done. No noise, no attention, no unhappy buyers, no unhappy sellers. Get it? Doing it any other way is suicide. I don’t look for trouble. It’s worked out all right so far. But this? This is bad.’
‘With these people. The not-nice ones?’
‘It’s not ideal, son. But one, they’ll never find out if we are quick and discreet. And two, calling a spade what it is, this is a chance for me to make a lot of money, quick. But, like I say, not ideal. It’s in the rucksack, right?’
Jake nodded.
‘I’ll go to the bogs, and leave the money behind the cistern. You go straight in after I come out. Count it if you want. Come out, let me know you’re happy. I can take the bag, or you can give it to me outside when we leave. It’s up to you.’ Bill stood and walked to the toilet. He came out a minute later and sat down. Jake waited a few seconds then went to the toilet himself.
It was there, in a plastic wallet, stuffed behind the cistern, like Bill had said. He opened it and looked inside.
A rainbow of notes. Brown fifties and a few tenners, but mostly purple twenties. Wedged tight together. He pulled some out. They flowered open in his hands. He smelt the notes, a thick, woody scent and rubbed them together. They whispered and rustled. Then he held a couple to the light to check the thin line of metal and the watermark.
He’d never held more than a hundred quid in his hand, and he liked the feel of it. He didn’t know how to check it any further, or what to check for. But he didn’t need to. Stupid or not, he trusted Bill. He believed the money was all there, and that it was real.
He tried to wedge the notes in his hand back into the wallet. But they wouldn’t fit. So he put them in his back pocket. He stuffed the wallet down his trousers, and covered the top with his sweatshirt. He flushed the toilet and left, to go and join Bill and Tasha.
‘Happy?’ said Bill.
‘Yeah, happy.’
‘Tomorrow. You let me know time and place, after midday, yeah?’ They finished their drinks and walked out together. After a quick look around, Jake took the package out of his rucksack. It was wrapped in a Tesco bag. He gave it to Bill.
‘What now?’ said Tasha.
‘Back to the beach.’
Jake
THIS DIDN’T LOOK good.
Bess and Phoebe were watching him get out of a shiny, blood-red Audi. A sports car. Driven by a hot girl.
‘Great,’ said Jake, as he got out and shut the door. ‘Just great.’
Bess leant down and looked through the window. Tasha winked, revved the engine and sped off.
‘Who was that?’ said Phoebe.
‘A friend.’
‘What kind of friend?’
Jake wanted to tell her to mind her own business. But whatever he said, or did, was going to be relayed to Hannah, and they both knew it.
‘Girlfriend … of a mate. Kind-of-a-friend. I needed a lift.’ He looked at Phoebe square. His best I-got-nothing-to-hide, face. ‘Where’s Hannah?’
‘Good that you want to know, Jake. She’s gone home, to get some things. Why don’t you call your friend? Perhaps she’ll give you a lift to Hannah’s house.’
Jake shook his head. Best to zip his mouth and head off. Which he did, quick as he could.
*
It was dark now. A clear, cool night. Stars flickered and sparkled overhead. But on the horizon, there was nothing but a black void, slowly eating the sky. It was the storm, headed for the coast. Jake looked into the blackness. It looked like nothing, right now. There was no lightning, or thunder, or strong wind. No signs of the anarchy coming their way. Just darkness.
But it was coming. Hurricane strength.That’s what they said on the news. Maximum chaos and devastation.
He wished – again – for all this to be over. To be on that plane, headed into the sun.
The storm, the whales, the drugs. The lies. It was too much. Even now, bringing the money to Hannah. This was hardest of all somehow, lying to her.
He chewed all this over as he walked up the path. He didn’t see the police car till he was metres from the porch. It was tucked in behind Hannah’s mum’s Mini.
A policeman was leaning against the bonnet.
It couldn’t be real. But it was.
They had to be looking for him. Someone had told them where his girlfriend lived. And now they were here.
And he was screwed.
As he walked – in slo-mo – he saw it all. The storm eating the sky, coming to get him. The nightmare. Arrest. Court. Prison. Everything Goofy had said.
He was busted. Right in front of Pete Lancaster’s house too. The icing on the shit cake.
Life and hope drained out of him with every step. By the time he got to the car, he was a shell.
‘Evening,’ said the policeman. He stood away from the car and smiled. ‘Nice night, isn’t it?’
‘What?’ Shouldn’t he be on the floor by now, with his hands cuffed be
hind his back, being told that anything he said might be used in evidence?
‘Big storm on the way,’ said the policeman. That’ll keep us busy. You all right, sir? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you here to see Mr Lancaster?’
‘To see Mr … you’re asking if …’ Relief flooded through Jake, washing the fear out and pouring the strength back in. A spasm started in his chest and he almost burst out laughing. Or crying. He wanted to hug the copper. ‘Yes. No. Kind of. His daughter. My girlfriend.’ He could barely string words into a sentence, but then he managed to blurt: ‘Whyareyouhere?’
‘My colleague’s inside talking to the family. Look,’ said the policeman. ‘I can see you’re worried. Don’t be. No one’s been hurt.’
‘Oh. Good.’ Jake stumbled away from the car, to the house, drunk with relief. He rang the bell. Hannah answered the door.
‘Hello, boyfriend. Come in. Help me sort out food and flasks and stuff. It’s going to be a long night.’ She paused. ‘You’re not going to disappear again, are you … Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve got some money.’ He looked behind him, to make sure the policeman wouldn’t hear. ‘Five grand. Why are the police here?’
Hannah shrugged. ‘They’re waiting for Dad to come downstairs. Something to do with one of his boats.’
Something to do with one of his boats. The words pinged around Jake’s skull like a trapped fly. There was something niggling about those words. He wanted to ask more, but Hannah was already walking to the kitchen.
Hannah and her mum, Ellie, had a factory going. Loaves of bread were lined up on the workspaces along with blocks of butter, slices of cheese and tin foil. At one end of the table, jumpers, coats, wetsuits and hats were neatly laid out. As if they were preparing for a major expedition. A policeman sat at the other end, scoffing a slice of cake. The kettle whistled.
‘Hello, Jake,’ said Ellie. ‘Would you like some tea?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘Great about the money,’ said Hannah, returning to the sandwiches.
‘Yeah,’ he said, forcing himself not to look at the policeman. Thinking: Not now, Hannah, please don’t ask about the bloody money now. ‘Can I help?’ he said, grabbing a knife.
