Revenge of the Tide

by Elizabeth Haynes

  ‘She was beautiful, clever, funny… And she was kind to me. Despite everything. She was kind.’

  ‘Despite everything?’

  ‘She thought…’ I said, and stopped short.

  ‘She thought what?’

  He was sitting there looking casual, looking as though he didn’t care very much what I was about to say, but I could tell he was paying attention to every single word.

  ‘Is this an interview?’ I asked.

  ‘No, of course not.’ His response was quick. ‘You don’t have to answer. I was just interested in her.’

  ‘She thought I was trying to steal her boyfriend,’ I said at last, watching Carling’s face for his reaction.

  He looked back at me, his expression hard to read.

  ‘And were you?’

  Two weeks after I’d moved on to the Revenge, I went back to London.

  Caddy lived in a flat in Walworth, not all that far from my old place in Clapham. I found it easily enough, taking my time about it, not even sure if being here was the right thing to do. It was Sunday afternoon. There was no telling if she’d be awake, but it was a reasonably civilised hour to call, even for a nocturnal person like Caddy.

  To my surprise she answered the door quickly. She was dressed in jeans and a grey fitted T-shirt that showed off her chest and narrow waist.

  ‘Oh,’ she said.

  She looked completely different with her hair loose, wavy down her back, no make-up. She looked young. I realised I’d never actually asked her how old she was, just assumed she was about my age, but, looking at her in the bright light of an April Sunday, she looked almost like a teenager.

  I thought for a moment she was going to shut the door in my face, but curiosity seemed to get the better of her and she stood aside to let me in.

  Her flat was spotlessly clean and I must have interrupted the process of making it cleaner: a mop and bucket were in the kitchenette and the tiled floor was wet. The wide, bright main room smelled faintly of bleach. Patio doors were open on to a small balcony. From below, faint noise of traffic from the South Circular.

  ‘You want a drink or something?’

  ‘That would be nice, thanks. Water’ll do.’

  I perched on the edge of a white corner sofa looking at the feature wallpaper, a dramatic black and white design. It was starting to make me feel dizzy.

  ‘Fitz was mad that you left,’ she said, handing me a glass of water with two chunks of ice clinking in it.

  ‘He didn’t seem that bothered when I told him.’

  She sat opposite me, her legs crossed, her bare brown foot flexing and circling. ‘So what happened? Why did you just take off like that?’

  ‘I’d just – had enough, I guess. I bought a boat.’

  She laughed. ‘What – like a yacht?’

  ‘No. It’s a barge. I’m going to live on it.’

  She was looking at me, mystified, shaking her head slowly. ‘You always were a bunch of surprises.’

  ‘So were you. I just wanted to come and say sorry if things were bad between us. You were my best buddy. I don’t want to lose touch with you.’ There. I’d said it. I’d apologised for whatever it was she thought I’d done.

  She pulled her feet up on to the chair so that she was cross-legged, biting at her lower lip. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘This is all weird.’

  ‘Weird how?’

  ‘You leaving. Did you hear about the raid?’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Last Friday. The club got raided, loads of police all over the place. Fucking nightmare, it was. We didn’t get to leave until gone ten in the morning. I was knackered.’

  ‘Shit! Did they find anything? What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. Nobody tells me shit any more. The club was closed Saturday night – we all got the night off and a pathetic handout from Norland to compensate us. Then business as usual on Sunday.’

  All I could think about was Dylan. He hadn’t called me, even though I’d almost expected him to. I’d kept his phone with me all the time, kept it charged up, waiting for it to ring. No wonder he hadn’t called. If there had been a raid at the club, he would have been preoccupied to say the least.

  ‘You know Fitz was having a joke about it: how you left and the next minute the club got raided. He thought it was you.’

  She laughed as she said it, but even so my whole body felt suddenly cold. ‘He’s always suspicious about something,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You love him,’ I said, trying for a subtle change of subject.

  ‘Yeah, well, I do make that a bit obvious sometimes. Stupid.’

  ‘He doesn’t know what he’s doing,’ I said. ‘You deserve so much better than that.’

  ‘Unrequited love,’ she said. ‘It sucks.’

  I drank the last of my water and thought about leaving. I’d come here to sort things out with her, to make sure she was alright, and I’d achieved that. It would be good to keep in touch with her.

  ‘Bit like poor Dylan,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well. Me and Fitz, you and Dylan. Don’t tell me you didn’t know he likes you.’

  I couldn’t answer that one.

  ‘He’s very careful, Dylan is, about not giving anything away. But you could tell by the way he looked out for you. And by the way he watched you when you weren’t looking.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely. And he’s been fucking miserable since you left.’

  ‘Poor Dylan,’ I said. ‘He needs someone to look after him.’

  We both laughed – the thought of Dylan needing to be taken care of was ludicrous.

  Then she said, ‘I think about leaving sometimes. I thought about it when I heard you’d gone, in fact. Trouble is, girls leave but they always end up coming back. You get used to the money, you know?’

  ‘I’ve been saving up,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah. That’s why you were always borrowing my stuff, huh?’

  I got up, taking my glass through to her kitchenette.

  ‘You can come and visit me,’ I said. ‘When I’ve got the boat straightened out. Come and stay.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’d like to.’

  ‘I’ll have a boatwarming party,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you a ring.’

  She took me to the door of the flat and gave me a hug. Without her heels on she was tiny. For a moment I wanted to ask her how old she was, but it felt rude.

  ‘I’m glad you came round,’ she said.

  ‘I want to tell you to keep yourself safe,’ I said. For some reason I felt tears start.

  ‘I can look after myself,’ she said.

  ‘I know. But they’re – you know. They’re doing all sorts on the side. The place got raided, Caddy. The police must realise what’s going on. It’s only a matter of time before Fitz gets caught doing some deal or other.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that? I just do what you did – keep my nose out of it. It’s the only way.’

  Once we’d got on to New Road, the traffic started to ease off. It slowed again for all the traffic lights in Corporation Street, at the back of Rochester High Street, and finally we turned left on to the Esplanade before the bridge. Jim had gone very quiet. Eventually, he pulled in to the car park and sat waiting for me to get out.

  I was staring at the wipers, wondering what to say.

  ‘Thanks for the lift, it was very kind of you.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘You want to come in for a coffee or something?’

  He hesitated, clearly debating with himself, and then, ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea.’

  I gave him a half-smile, but he wasn’t looking at me. I got out of the car and shut the door, ran down towards the pontoon, splashing through the puddles, expecting the car to roar off up the hill to the main road, but it didn’t. When I got to the boat and looked back, he’d parked the car properly and was following me, hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers,
head down.

  ‘Changed my mind,’ he said gruffly, when he’d caught up.

  The boat was freezing cold. I busied myself with the woodburner while he brewed coffee. I glanced around the cabin when I thought he wasn’t watching. The boat looked the same as it always had – untidy, cobwebby in places, but not as though it had been searched.

  The fire crackled and spat, the flames brightening the room. I shut the glass door and watched the fire for a moment.

  ‘You should think about putting central heating in,’ said Carling.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘It didn’t seem that important in the summer. It’s daft really: the weather’s turning, I should be sorting out the bathroom but the next thing that’s going to get done is the conservatory.’

  ‘I’ll help you with the bathroom, if you like.’

  I smiled. ‘Thanks. That’s a kind offer.’

  He put two mugs of coffee on the table and sat down with a sigh.

  ‘I’m just going to get changed,’ I said. My jeans were soaked.

  I left him in the saloon and padded down to the bedroom. Waited for a second, then carried on to the hatch – just to see the box, if nothing else… I just needed to look. I could check properly later.

  The space was cavernous and dark. I opened the door enough and stood away a little to let the light shine in. I could see the shape of the box at the end. Had it moved? Was it more visible than it had been? I’d thought the other boxes had been grouped around it, hiding it, but from here I could just about make out the words written on the side…

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Yes, yes, fine,’ I said quickly, shutting the hatch door with a bang. ‘I was just – um – looking for something.’

  My cheeks flushed. I must have looked about as guilty as it was possible to be.

  He gazed at me steadily, then a quick but deliberate up and down my body, taking in my wet socks and my wet jeans and my wet top, then he said, ‘Your coffee’s getting cold,’ and turned to go back to the saloon.

  I went into the bedroom with my heart thumping in my chest. I would have to be careful. I’d almost given it away just then – so stupid. He wasn’t daft, he must know there was so much I hadn’t told him. And Dylan, too – I’d almost told him about Dylan…

  I wrestled my sodden jeans down my legs, then got my socked foot caught on the hem of the other leg of the jeans and before I knew what had happened I’d slipped and landed with a crash and a yelp against the chest of drawers.

  Jim was in the doorway within a second; he stood there looking at me for a moment, in a heap with my jeans bunched up around my knees, and then he laughed.

  ‘It’s not funny, you piece of shit!’

  He crouched down next to me. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said, still laughing.

  I couldn’t help laughing too, even though my back hurt from landing against the drawers. He offered me his hand and hauled me to my feet. ‘Come and sit down, I’ll give you a hand.’

  He helped me shuffle over to the bed and while I sat on the edge he pulled my jeans down. They were so wet, the denim was heavy and glued to my skin. He tugged and heaved and I held on to the edge of the bed, but not tightly enough because the next thing I knew he’d pulled me right off the bed and I landed with a thump with my backside on the floor.

  I was laughing and crying at the same time, and he could hardly move, his shoulders shaking. ‘Oh, God… I’m sorry… are you alright?’

  I nodded and shook my head, and then before I could say anything he was kissing me, hard, catching his breath, pulling me against him.

  ‘You are so sexy,’ he said quickly, ‘so sexy. You don’t even know what you do to me…’

  I was lying on my back, looking at the dark night sky through the skylight over my head, and feeling the Revenge of the Tide moving gently as the water rose up the estuary from the sea and lifted the boat from its muddy cradle.

  Jim had woken me, climbing out of bed. I watched him turn left out of the door, heading for the bathroom, and turned over in bed, pulling the covers up.

  I dozed for a while, and when I opened my eyes again he had not come back. I wondered if he’d gone home, then I caught the sound of his voice – where? On deck?

  The skylight was grey now, light enough in the room to see Jim’s T-shirt and sweater on the chair, his jeans missing. I sat up in bed and strained to hear. Silence. And then – a few words. A laugh?

  Just as I was considering getting up and going to see if I could hear any better from the doorway, I heard his footsteps in the cabin and I lay back down again quickly, covers up. I listened to the sounds of him taking off his jeans, the chink of the belt buckle as he folded them and put them back on the chair. Then the creak of the bed as he lifted the covers and got back in beside me. His cold hand slid over my stomach. ‘I know you’re not asleep,’ he said softly. ‘I can tell.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ I murmured, still half pretending.

  ‘From how you breathe.’ He was kissing my neck, my throat, my shoulder, pulling me round towards him.

  ‘Who were you talking to?’ I asked, my voice muffled against his skin.

  ‘Work.’

  ‘Mm. What do they want at this time of the morning? Your hands are cold.’

  He didn’t answer my question. I sat astride him, reached up to the wood cladding over my head, put both my hands flat against the ceiling to give me balance, and he cupped my breasts with his hands and watched me move, and let out a sound that might have been a word, or might just have been a groan.

  Thirty-three

  The sunlight streaming through the skylight on to my face woke me up. The bed was empty. I squinted across to the chair. Jim’s clothes had gone.

  I lay still for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of the sun, remembering what we’d done the night before. He was good at it. He was getting better and better, in fact.

  I heard noises coming from the galley – washing-up noises. Then the radio went on, the sound down low. Just enough for me to hear the music.

  I got up and found some clothes, ran a hand through my hair to flatten the bits that were sticking up.

  When he saw me he put the kettle back on the stove. ‘Morning,’ he said.

  ‘Good morning to you too.’ I leaned over him and kissed his jawline. He smelled of warmth and yesterday’s aftershave.

  I took a tea towel from the railing on the door of the stove and dried the cups he’d washed up, putting them away in the cupboard. I felt all domesticated and homely, the sunshine streaming in through the skylights, creating shafts of light and warmth. I loved my boat. Even the wooden boards under my bare feet were warm.

  He poured me out a coffee and put the mug on the table.

  ‘I could do with a shower,’ he said.

  ‘You could go and have one over by the office.’

  ‘By the office?’

  ‘There’s a shower room. It’s quite nice, and clean. Better than my hose, anyway.’

  ‘I should really go home. I need clean clothes, and I’m back at work this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh. Alright.’

  He was staring at me, his dark eyes unfathomable.

  ‘What?’ I said, thinking I might have said or done something wrong.

  ‘I don’t want to go.’

  I smiled, kissed him again. He had two days’ worth of beard, his chin scratchy. ‘I don’t want you to go, either.’

  ‘How about,’ he said into my throat, his hands up under my top, ‘I go and have a quick shower now, and later I can just dash home and get changed on the way to work?’

  I made a noise that might have been assent; it was enough to satisfy him. When he let me go I went to find him a clean towel, some shower gel. He took it and climbed the steps to the wheelhouse.

  ‘Want me to come with you?’ I asked.

  ‘Not unless you’re going to shower with me,’ he said.

  I let him go.

  I went back to the bedroom and made the bed, shaking the tangle
d duvet over the creased bottom sheet. I opened the skylight to let in some fresh air. I was cleaning my teeth a few moments later when I heard it – a buzzing noise. Toothbrush sticking out of the corner of my mouth, I went into the main cabin. It was louder in here.

  On the seat of the dinette, a mobile phone on vibrate was buzzing and flashing. I picked it up and my first instinct was to answer it, but it wasn’t my phone. It was Jim’s.

  I stared at the phone in my hand, at the number that was illuminated on the display. Caller ID was listed simply as ‘d’. On the table was a pile of papers, envelopes, receipts. I grabbed a pen from a broken-handled mug on the shelf in the galley and wrote down the number on the back of my credit card bill just as the phone stopped vibrating.

  One missed call.

  I put the phone on the seat, chewing my toothbrush thoughtfully. I went back to my poor excuse for a bathroom and rinsed my mouth. In the mirror above the sink I caught the look in my eyes. My heart was pounding.

  I found yesterday’s jeans in the bedroom and, in the back pocket, Dylan’s phone. I scrolled through to the address book. Looked at the number for GARLAND. And then at the number written on the back of the credit card envelope.

  I jumped up the steps to the wheelhouse and peered across the boats towards the office. No sign of anyone. The marina was deserted, the boats bathed in bright sunshine. I couldn’t see the door to the shower room from here, but there was no sign of Jim.

  Back in the cabin, I picked up Jim’s phone, activated the screen. He didn’t have a password.

  One missed call.

  I worked my way through unfamiliar menus – call history? That was it – and there it was… missed calls. And the last number, the one I recognised.

  I selected the icon that looked like a handset and within a few moments I heard a ringing tone as the call connected.