I’ve only taken a few steps past the crevice when I hear a bark. It’s Dougal, Allan’s dog. He’s at least thirty metres away, near the waves that break on the rocks. There’s no sign of Allan.
‘Dougal! Come!’
He looks at me and barks again. He’s agitated about something; it’s obvious even this far away. When I call again he yelps. Why won’t he come?
There are two surfers in the distance, sitting on their boards. I call out, hoping they can check on Dougal, but they’re too far away to hear me.
As Dougal continues to bark more and more frantically, I make my way towards him. I keep a close eye on the foaming whitewash and reassure myself that it’s metres away from where Dougal is. I skirt around myriad rock pools, avoiding them all, shallow or deep. The algae and seaweeds are slippery under my feet but finally I’m standing opposite Dougal with the crevice between us. It’s no wider than it is near the cliff but the water is turbulent and flows over the edges. One of Dougal’s front legs is wedged to the first joint, between two rocks. His eyes are fearful. He’s sopping wet; drips fall from his long golden coat.
‘Hey, Dougal. What’ve you done with Allan?’ I hardly recognise my own voice. It’s high pitched and shaky. I’m standing on a narrow section of rock between two rock pools, each a couple of metres wide. There’s a crevice directly in front of me. ‘This is a pretty shitty situation, isn’t it?’
He yelps again. I look towards the cliff. I could walk back the way I came, cross the crevice where I usually do—where the rocks are smooth—and navigate my way back to Dougal. But traversing the rock shelf on the other side of the crevice would be just as perilous as doing it on this side. And the tide is coming in. The waves could reach Dougal at any time. I look for the surfers again, but they’ve gone. There are a few walkers on the beach but they’re too far away to hear me when I shout.
I lock gazes with Dougal. He wags his tail. ‘Don’t know I’m the right girl for this job, boy.’ He wags again and whines. I swallow down the nausea.
I can’t wade across the crevice. It’s too deep. I could sit on the edge of it and ease my way into the water, and then reach for the ledge on the other side and pull myself up. Great in theory, but I’m likely to have a panic attack halfway through the exercise. My only other option is to jump it. But there are no flat rocks here like there are close to the cliff, only rock pools and scattered rocks, some big, some small. I can’t do a running jump. I’ll have to do a standing one.
I take a few deep breaths, aim for a spot on Dougal’s right, bend my knees, and spring. I can’t risk slipping into the water either side of me, or the water in front of me, so my jump is long and high. I anticipate losing my balance and falling, but I don’t expect Dougal to free himself a moment before I land. He careens into my airborne body in a joyous welcome and we roll together over the rocks. There’s a burning sensation on my face and side, and a shooting pain in my shoulder. Then I’m lying flat on my back. I’m winded. There’s a sea lion on my chest and I’m fighting for every breath.
Only it’s not a sea lion, it’s Dougal. I push him off as I roll onto my side but he continues to lick my face as I get my breath back. It’s wet under my hands when I stretch them out. The waves are close. I roll onto my stomach and stagger to my feet. The cliff is in front of me and the waves are behind.
‘Dougal!’
I think that’s Allan’s voice. I’m shivering. When I wipe my hair from my face it sticks to it. I think I have blood on my cheek. It’s almost dark now but my eyes adjust to the half-light. I inch my way towards the cliff, skirting around the rock pools like I did before. Dougal follows. I stop when I have to, breathe deeply, and rest my hands on my knees. I only retch a couple of times, but my head is throbbing.
Allan is standing on the sand at the edge of the rock shelf. He sees me and waves. I continue to take tiny steps as I make my way towards the cliff and finally reach the smooth rocks where I usually walk. Dougal follows me all the way on three legs. By the time we reach Allan I’ve warmed up a little, and my breaths are more regular. He holds out his hand as I step from the shelf to the sand.
‘Careful, Harry,’ he says. ‘Dougal, what were you thinking, lad? Running off like that.’ Dougal’s tail swishes against my leg when we reach the sand. Allan embraces me tightly. My shoulder hurts, but I hide my wince. The two surfers run up. I recognise one of them from school. He’s sixteen and his name is Luke.
‘We saw you and the dog from the car park,’ he says. ‘You okay, Miss Scott? You’ve got blood all over your face.’
I wipe my cheek on my sleeve. ‘Just a few scrapes.’ I get onto my haunches and my hip twinges. My pants are torn; they rub uncomfortably against my thigh. I pull Dougal’s ears. He whimpers, and Luke picks him up, laughing when he slobbers in his ear.
‘Gross!’
We’re walking slowly towards Allan’s car, parked in the car park behind the low dunes, when I remember my date with Professor Tan. The second surfer, who’s not much older than Luke, is the only one with a phone. My hands are too cold to use it so I give him Tan’s number and ask him to dial for me. He waits for it to start ringing, and then he hands it over.
‘Harry,’ Tan says. ‘Your ears must be burning. The commander is here. We were just talking about you.’
So Per is back. ‘I have to bail tonight,’ I say. ‘I had a fall.’ My teeth are chattering. It’s hard to hold the phone. My fingers are frozen.
‘What? I can barely hear you.’
‘I’m at the beach. I’m all right, just a bit sore.’ The phone slips out of my hand and Luke’s friend catches it just before it hits the ground. When I tell him I don’t need it back, he puts it to his ear.
‘She can’t talk. Says goodbye.’
I reassure Allan that Liam will patch me up, and then I ask the boys to help Allan get Dougal to the vet. The shivering gets worse as I walk down the few steps from the car park to the dunes. I’m probably in shock. The wind is whipping my hair around, and the thumping in my head beats in time to the pounding of the surf on the sand. I force myself to put one step in front of the other until I get to the house.
At least Liam’s not home yet. If he saw me like this I’d burst into tears; it’s obvious I’ve fucked up again.
CHAPTER
13
I can’t help grimacing when—after my shower—I look into the full-length mirror behind my bedroom door. These aren’t injuries I can explain away by saying I ran into a tree branch while I was adjusting my iPod. The graze on my face is superficial but it extends from my left temple to my cheek, and it’s fire-engine red. The cut on my chin won’t stop bleeding. And I’ve wrenched the shoulder I hurt in December, so I have to hold my elbow by my side to support my upper arm. My pyjama top is damp because I can’t get my arm high enough to tie my hair up, so it’s dripping down my back.
I’m sitting on the sofa when someone bangs on the front door. It’s probably Jonty, asking whether Drew will be here tomorrow. I’ve just got my hip into a comfortable position, and I can’t muster the energy to get to my feet.
‘Come in!’
The front door opens and clicks shut. Then I hear footsteps. A man’s footsteps in hard-soled shoes. I’m staring at the entrance to the living room wondering who it is when Per strides in. He must’ve been expecting to see me, but he stops dead and stares when he does.
I’m speechless too. And I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m so surprised to see him, or because of what he’s wearing. When I thought Polarman up at the mediation, I asked Per whether he had a white dress uniform. He told me, grumpily, that the Norwegian dress uniform was black.
I’m guessing he’s wearing it now. He shrugs out of the jacket and throws it over a kitchen stool. The rows of decorations on the front of the jacket and the thick gold stripes on the sleeves sparkle under the lights. His gaze locks with mine as he walks to me, hitches his trousers and squats. His shirt is starched white, and tight across his chest. It smells … lemony,
and has a stiff pointy collar. I suppose he should be wearing a tie but he must have taken it off.
He puts his hand to the uninjured side of my face. His fingers are warm against my cheek. I’m sure I’m not meant to find the gesture comforting but I do. Probably because I’m even colder than usual, and my teeth are chattering. He closes his eyes for a moment. And then frowns when he opens his eyes, and catches me staring at his inky black lashes. He puts his other hand to the back of my neck and tips my head upwards so he can stare at me more thoroughly. His fingers are threaded through my hair. He’s so close I can see myself reflected in his pupils.
‘Jesus, Harriet,’ he says. ‘You’re a fucking mess.’
I twist away, and poke my elbow into his chest. It hurts my shoulder but it’s worth it because he lets me go. Now I’m used to the sight of him and he’s not touching me anymore I get my voice back.
‘Leave me alone.’
‘Wish I could. What happened?’
‘What are you doing here?’
He rubs his chest where I elbowed it, and wraps his other hand around the back of his neck, like he has a headache.
‘Tan sent me. We both made a calculated guess you’d done something stupid. Were you in the water?’
I massage my shoulder. ‘I was walking on the rock shelf, and then Dougal got his foot stuck in a rock pool near the waves. I fell while I was helping him.’
‘Who’s Dougal?’
I hesitate for a moment. ‘Allan took him home. He’s okay.’
There’s another knock on the door. Per tightens his lips and stands to attention.
‘Come in!’ I shout.
It’s Allan. He’s pale, and looks every minute his seventy-three years. His gaze moves from Per to me.
‘Hey, Allan. This is Per, Commander Amundsen. Per, this is Allan Lane.’
The men shake hands. Then Allan sits on the edge of the sofa, and clears his throat.
‘How are you feeling, Harry? I’m terribly sorry about what happened.’
‘I’m fine, Allan. Per, you were just leaving, weren’t you?’
‘No. Why did you say you were sorry, Mr Lane?’
Before Allan can answer, I butt in. ‘Allan’s had a shock, Per. Leave him alone.’
Allan pats my hand. ‘I don’t mind answering the commander’s question, Harry.’ He slowly shakes his head, and then he turns to Per. ‘Dougal was chasing seagulls, you see, and then he got carried away. I had no idea where he’d gone. But then I saw Harry, walking across the rocks towards the sea. Well! I knew she’d never do anything as dangerous as that unless something was amiss, and—’
‘Dougal was chasing birds?’ Per says. He looks at me accusingly. ‘He’s a dog, isn’t he?’
‘It’s in the genes,’ Allan says. ‘Him being a retriever.’
I’m twisting my fingers together, refusing to meet Per’s gaze, when Liam runs up the back steps and into the house. He pushes past Per and Allan to get to me.
‘What happened?’
‘It wasn’t her fault,’ Allan says. ‘She’s been walking around the rock pools for weeks without incident.’
The scratch on my chin must be bleeding again. Liam, tight-lipped, finds a tissue and presses firmly against it. He barks questions at Allan until he gets a disjointed account of what happened. Meanwhile, Per walks onto the deck. He rests his hands on the railing and looks out to sea. There’s a half moon and no cloud cover; the white caps on the waves shine silver.
I’m sure Per is listening in. So I try to distract him and Liam by questioning Allan about Dougal. The vet thinks he has a fractured leg, so he’s keeping him at the surgery to do X-rays tomorrow.
‘Dougal and I can convalesce together,’ I say. ‘I might have to take Monday off. Meaning I can finish marking assignments. And I can post on the foundation’s website, and I can also—’
‘Shut up, Harry, you’re jabbering,’ Liam says. ‘What the hell have you been up to?’
Per comes back inside. He and Liam don’t quite look each other up and down, but I’m certain they’re sizing each other up. Per is slightly taller, but Liam is more solidly built. When they shake hands they have serious expressions on their faces. I’m relieved about that because it makes it less likely that Liam is going to call Per ‘Polarman’.
‘Per Amundsen.’
‘Liam Johnson-Barton.’
‘You’re a doctor, aren’t you?’ Per says. ‘The grazes could’ve been from oyster or barnacle shells. So … antibiotics? Will you tape her chin, or does it need a stitch? She must’ve hurt her shoulder again. And what about her hip? She’s done something to that too.’
‘It’s nothing!’ I say. ‘And I’m sitting here in front of you. Talk to me, not Liam.’
‘You can’t sit straight,’ Per says, giving me a fake smile. ‘And you’ve skinned your thigh.’
‘He’s right,’ Liam says.
I follow his gaze. My pyjama fabric has a pink background, with white sheep in the foreground. A sheep at the top of my leg has red splotches on it from where I’ve bled through the flannelette. I carefully turn so both feet are on the floor, and smile at Allan.
‘Thanks for coming. I’ll drop round tomorrow. Maybe we can visit Dougal together?’
Allan looks up at Per and Liam. It’s hard to tell which one of them is crankier. But Allan must conclude that neither is going to kill me imminently, because he gets to his feet.
‘Sleep well then, lassie. I’ll see myself out.’
I made myself a mug of cocoa before I sat down and it’s sitting on the side table. In order to pick it up I’d have to ask Per to move out of the way. Or risk touching his leg as I reach for it. It must be cold by now anyway.
‘I’m going to bed,’ I say.
‘I’d better examine you first,’ Liam says. ‘You can follow up with your own doctor tomorrow.’
It’s not easy, but I shuffle my bottom to the edge of the sofa, ready to get up. Per comes closer. I think he’s going to offer his arm or something horribly gentlemanly, but when I glare he puts his hands behind his back and stands at ease next to Liam. They’re like an impenetrable wall in front of me. I take a breath, and stand. They both have shoes on and I don’t, making the height differential worse.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I’ve put antiseptic on everywhere, and my chin is only scratched. The shoulder needs rest. My hip is bruised. No big deal.’
Liam and Per exchange glances. Then Per looks at me. ‘Like I said, you need antibiotics because there’s a chance of infection. And you’re risking a scar if the cut on your chin isn’t treated.’
I’m risking a scar? I’m sore and tired and not game to ask him about his scar again. So I ignore him and turn to Liam. ‘Back off!’
Liam suppresses a grin. Then he shrugs and says, ‘He’s right, Harry. But I’m not going to force you to do anything.’
‘I’ll do it then,’ Per says. ‘It’s not like I haven’t treated you before.’
My face is suddenly hot. I have a horrible feeling I’m blushing. I was naked when he treated me last time.
Finally I find my voice. ‘I’m going to bed.’
There’s an underlying threat in Per’s tone. ‘Don’t annoy me too much, Harriet, because I’m the man who gets you your ship. So do you want him,’ he gestures to Liam, ‘or me to examine you? Either way I’m staying because I haven’t finished with you yet.’
I’m lying on my bed wearing a sports bra and boy-leg underpants. Liam is leaning over me and sticking tape on my chin. I have an ice pack on my hip. My thigh is stinging because he cleaned it with an antiseptic wipe.
‘I don’t want to talk to Per. Send him away.’
Liam grins. ‘I don’t know that I’m capable of sending him away.’
He finishes with my chin and admires his handiwork. Then he leans down and kisses my mouth. It’s not a peck; it’s a proper lingering sort of kiss that lasts for a few seconds. After he finishes he stands and peers down at me. Then he grins again.
‘Just checking I’m still straight.’
‘What?’
He winks. ‘Reckon I’ve got a boy crush on Polarman.’
I’d like to shout some sense into Liam, but Per is in the living room only a few metres away and the walls are thin. I hiss instead.
‘Don’t you dare! Have you gone mad? Pass me my pyjamas. Now!’
I slap Liam’s hands away as he tries to help me dress. And it’s only as I’m doing up the buttons of my clean flannelettes that I realise I should be wearing proper clothes when I speak to Per. The pyjamas cover me from neck to ankles though, and they’re comfortable, so I decide to keep them on. I awkwardly tighten the drawstring waist with my left hand because I can’t move my right arm properly.
‘Sling,’ Liam says, reaching into his doctor bag and pulling out a piece of gauze fabric that he folds into a triangle.
‘I don’t need one.’
‘Shut up.’ He stands opposite me, positions my arm with the sling, and ties a knot at the back of my neck. ‘You’ll sleep easier.’
Our eyes meet. Suddenly I’m teary. ‘Per will want to talk to me about the water. He has a thing about it. Maybe you should tell him I’m not going to do it anymore, so he’ll leave me alone? Even though I don’t want to give up, because I do want to swim. For myself, I mean, not him.’
Liam combs his fingers through his hair and sighs. ‘I want you to be safe in the water,’ he says, ‘but I’m not happy you’ve been taking risks. Needless to say, neither is Polarman.’
‘I shouldn’t have gone to Dougal.’
He flicks me under the chin. ‘It was a stupid thing to do.’
I wrap my good arm around Liam’s neck and hug him. ‘Thanks for that.’
I was around fifteen when Liam and I met at the rehabilitation unit. He was in second or third year med, on student prac. For the first few months I followed him around the wards like a puppy because he was friendly, windswept, super-smart, and I had a giant crush on him. He came to Dad’s funeral. He’d only just graduated and he told me later he’d wanted to ask me out then, but he didn’t think it was appropriate because I was on my own, and only eighteen.
In At the Deep End Page 8
