Revenge of the Tide

by Elizabeth Haynes

  And then –

  ‘Yeah?’

  I stood there immobile, the phone pressed to my ear. Just that one word – could I be certain?

  ‘Dylan?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  It was him; all my doubts vanished with those three words. ‘It’s me.’

  There was silence on the other end. I half-expected him to ask, Who? but he didn’t. He knew my voice as well as I knew his.

  ‘Where’s Jim?’ he asked.

  ‘Hang on – how the hell do you know Jim? And why is your phone switched off all the time? And where the hell are you? And what am I supposed to do with this… this parcel you left here?’

  I heard him sigh, above the noise of the wind blowing across the phone.

  ‘You’re supposed to trust me,’ he said.

  ‘How can I trust you when you never answer your bloody phone? Some men came on to the boat. They tied me up.’

  There was a pause before he answered. He probably already knew, after all. He spent enough time with Nicks and the others; he knew everything that was going on in Fitz’s world. Still, he played dumb.

  ‘What do you mean, they tied you up? Are you alright?’

  ‘I am now. But I’m afraid, Dylan! What am I supposed to do? What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Is Jim there?’ he asked then.

  ‘No, he isn’t!’

  ‘Get him to ring me when he gets back,’ he said.

  ‘Dylan! What’s going on?’

  But he had disconnected the call.

  There was something – a noise – some small sound behind me. Jim was standing at the foot of the steps, hair damp, towel in one hand and his shoes in the other. He was looking at me with an expression that might have been reproach.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ I demanded.

  ‘Is that my phone?’

  He took a step forward, took it from my hand, fiddled with the buttons. I thought he was going to say something, shout back at me, but instead he held the phone up to his ear.

  ‘Yeah, it’s me,’ he said, as the call connected. ‘I know. Where are you? … Yes, you know you can…’

  He looked up at me then. I could hear Dylan’s voice through the phone, but couldn’t make out the words.

  ‘She’s alright. No, of course not. It’s what we said, yeah? When? … Alright. I’ll sort something out. Okay, mate. Bye for now.’ All through this he didn’t take his eyes off me. All my righteous anger at having been somehow set up, made a fool of, was dissolving into feelings of unqualified guilt at picking up his phone in the first place. And what made it all worse was that he was standing in my cabin, his jeans unbuttoned, his hair wet.

  ‘Genevieve –’ he said.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘This is all wrong. Why…?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You’re using me,’ I said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re using me to get to Dylan.’

  ‘How? Don’t be ridiculous. Who did he phone just now, you or me?’

  That hurt, more than if he’d slapped me across the face. ‘You shit. You complete bastard.’ Tears stung my eyes, my hands balling into fists.

  ‘Genevieve. I didn’t mean it like that…’

  ‘Why does nobody ever tell me the truth about what’s going on?’

  I couldn’t stand to look at him any more. I went back to the bedroom, pushed the door shut behind me. But he caught it, caught me by one arm, pulled me round to him.

  ‘Don’t walk away,’ he said.

  His face was close to mine. I could feel his breath on my cheek.

  I struggled against him, but he held me tighter, bruising my arm. ‘Let me go!’

  He released his grip. And I stood there like an idiot, looking up at his impassive face, tears of fury and misery pouring down my hot cheeks. ‘You didn’t tell me you knew Dylan,’ I said, sobs catching every other word.

  ‘Neither did you.’ He was so calm, so infuriating, I wanted to smack him.

  ‘You knew about me and Dylan. You knew all along…’

  ‘I didn’t know how you felt about him.’

  ‘Did he tell you about me?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He asked me to look after you.’

  ‘What?’ I said. I was so angry I could barely get the words out. ‘When?’

  ‘He rang me when he heard about Caddy’s body being found here. He asked me to keep an eye out for you, because he knew – I mean, he thought that things might get difficult for you. After that he turned his phone off and went out of contact.’

  ‘Why?’

  He looked at me for a moment, as if debating how much of this he was prepared to share with me. ‘He’s done this before. When things get a bit tricky, he switches his phone off. He’s a pain in the backside sometimes, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘So you came here and thought it would be a good idea to fuck me, yeah? Is that what you thought he meant by looking after me? Give me something to take my mind off him?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Why are you here? What do you want from me?’

  He looked at me and didn’t reply at first, then he ran a hand through his hair and turned away from me, took a few paces. Then he seemed to find the most appropriate answer.

  ‘I was looking for Dylan. When he turned his phone off after he told me about Caddy, I thought he might have still been in touch with you.’

  ‘I don’t understand. He just rang your phone, didn’t he?’

  ‘He’s only rung me twice since that day. Both times, he was in a public place, somewhere busy, impossible to get a trace on him. The rest of the time his phone’s off.’

  ‘Well, I think that means he doesn’t want to talk to you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Or you, it seems,’ he said.

  I bit my lip and glared at him.

  ‘Genevieve…’ He touched my bare arm, running his hand up under the sleeve of my T-shirt to my shoulder.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ I said, pulling away.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘he always thinks he knows what he’s doing, right? He does things his way. Much as I try to help him out, try to get him to play by the rules, he’s always done it like this. Despite that, I trust him, and you should too.’

  He took a step towards me again. I wanted to move away but I couldn’t. There was something different in his eyes now. I wanted to believe every word, but it was so hard.

  ‘You should have told me all this before,’ I said, trying not to sound imploring. I wanted to sound cold, pissed off, mad at him. But instead, through sniffs and tears, it sounded weak.

  ‘I didn’t think this was going to happen.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know what I’m talking about; don’t play games.’

  I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You still should have told me that you knew Dylan.’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you about anything, much less something related to an investigation.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off! You’re investigating Dylan? Think it’s a good idea to be fucking me, then, do you?’

  ‘Of course it’s not a good idea!’

  ‘So – what? You were just going to wait for Dylan to show up, and then piss off and leave me behind?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’

  I grabbed my jeans from the chair and pulled them on roughly. They were still damp but I didn’t care.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

  ‘Just – just leave me alone.’

  He caught up with me just as I was about to go up the steps to the wheelhouse. Both arms around my waist. He pulled me back, pulled me tight against him, and as I struggled he held me tighter.

  ‘Genevieve,’ he said, his voice just a whisper against the back of my neck. ‘Don’t.’

  I felt myself melting, softening against him. He held me. And I turned in the circle of his arms and put my arms around his neck and rested my face int
o his chest, breathing him in. He pulled my T-shirt out where it had been tucked into my jeans and pressed his hands into the small of my back. Without thinking about what I was doing, I slid my hands under the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer. His mouth was an inch away from mine, his warm breath on me. I could have moved a fraction towards him and our mouths would have met. But I wasn’t about to give in. He leaned towards me. I moved back – just slightly. He hesitated, his breath quickening. I could feel him, hard against my body. Inside his jeans, my hand squeezed his backside, my nails digging in. Then he moved one of his hands from my back to my neck, holding my head so I couldn’t pull away.

  He pushed me back, stumbling, against the steps. My hand felt for a step I could perch on as he pulled my jeans down, then his. When he pushed inside me I gasped, my head back against the top step. For a second the thrill of it held me steady, but there was something wrong with this position, frustrating – I kept slipping down. I pushed him, and when he didn’t respond immediately I pushed him harder, pushed him away so I could turn around, kick my jeans off and kneel on the third step, presenting him with my rear view at exactly the right height. He didn’t pause but slid inside me, gentler this time, but for just a second. And then it was hard and fast and powerful, pushing me against the steps with his whole body. It didn’t take very long. When he came inside me he let out a sound against the back of my neck, through gritted teeth.

  For a moment neither of us moved. Nothing but the sound of his breathing against my hair, the pounding of my blood through my ears.

  He slid away from me. I turned awkwardly on the stairs, my knee aching from where it had been scraped against the cladding by the force of him driving into me. He pulled his jeans back up.

  He held out his hand to me. ‘Come with me.’

  I took his hand and he led me back to bed, took his clothes off again and climbed in beside me, pulling me close. For a long time we kissed and didn’t speak. Eventually his hand between my thighs made me forget everything: the anger, the million questions buzzing around my head, the sound of Dylan’s voice on the other end of Jim’s phone.

  Over our heads the skylight showed clouds across the deep blue of the sky; white clouds, then grey… darkening to an ominous black, threatening rain.

  Jim was holding my hand against his chest. I thought he might be falling asleep. I thought about getting up, getting dressed.

  ‘You’re still angry,’ he said. He was stroking his thumb against the back of my hand. ‘I can tell. You’re so tense.’

  ‘I feel like everyone’s been using me,’ I said.

  ‘I prefer to think that we’re just helping each other out.’

  I moved, sat up in bed, hugged my knees. I wanted to be able to see his face. ‘Why did Dylan ring you to tell you about Caddy? I don’t understand. Didn’t you know already?’

  He took a deep breath, ran his hand over his forehead. ‘I’m not – well – I’m not part of the investigation team.’

  ‘So who are you, then? You mean you’re not police?’

  ‘I am a police officer. I just work on different things, and I’m Met Police, not Kent.’

  This didn’t make sense. ‘How come you’re allowed to turn up and interfere with an investigation you’re not a part of? Don’t you have to do what you’re told?’

  He smiled. ‘I’m not, strictly speaking, interfering. And if you’re going to get pedantic, I’m not actually on duty at the moment.’

  ‘Does Dylan have something to do with Caddy’s death? Is that why he’s not answering his phone?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘He wouldn’t do that,’ I said. ‘He wouldn’t have hurt Caddy.’

  There was something in his expression, something that he tried to hide.

  ‘You think he killed her?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t think he killed her,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t know why he’s been out of contact for so long. Do you know?’

  I shrank back a little, unprepared for the focus to be turned in my direction. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘You knew Dylan from the Barclay,’ he said. ‘You must have some feeling about what he was like.’

  ‘Dylan was different: he wasn’t like the others. He was kind. Well, he was kind to me, anyway.’

  Jim grinned. ‘I’ve never heard him described quite like that.’

  ‘Well, maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.’

  He must have noticed the edge in my voice because he sat up, then. He didn’t pull the duvet up around himself and he was sitting there, on my bed, arrogant in his nakedness, totally at ease with his body.

  ‘I don’t want to fight with you any more,’ he said.

  ‘We shouldn’t talk about it, then.’

  ‘I’m just trying to keep you safe, Genevieve.’

  ‘Bollocks you are. You’re trying to find Dylan. And I don’t need anyone to keep me safe, thank you very much.’

  He laughed at that, and it stung.

  ‘Another thing that’s been bothering me. How do you know Dylan? I mean – he doesn’t exactly move in police circles, does he?’

  He got out of bed, abruptly, and pulled his clothes on. I watched him, wondering if I’d managed to hit a nerve. He didn’t answer straight away, which made me think he’d lied to me and he wasn’t friends with Dylan after all. What if he was trying to find him because he was going to arrest him? What if that was why Dylan was keeping away from me? Was Jim using me as bait?

  ‘We were at school together,’ he said. ‘We’ve gone our separate ways over the years, but we’re still mates.’

  ‘Where?’ I said, trying to catch him out. Not that I knew the answer. ‘Where were you at school?’

  ‘Don’t, Genevieve,’ he answered. ‘You’re just going to have to trust me.’

  ‘Why should I trust you, when you kept something that important from me?’

  He looked me straight in the eye. ‘You’re still keeping important things from me,’ he said, ‘and I trust you.’

  I stared at him, furious.

  ‘I’d better go,’ he said, pulling his socks on.

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘You know what your trouble is?’ he said, looking back over his shoulder at me briefly and then turning back to pull on his other sock.

  He was clearly going to tell me anyway, so I didn’t see the need to respond to this question either.

  ‘You don’t have a clue what you’re mixed up in. You’re flitting around the edge of this – mess – not knowing just how fucking dangerous it is. You think you can take care of yourself, but actually, you have no idea. No fucking idea.’

  I glared at him. He was right: I had no fucking idea – but that was because nobody ever fucking told me anything. A few moments later he was putting his shoes on in the galley, and after that there was a bang as he pulled the door of the wheelhouse shut behind him.

  Thirty-four

  It would have been easy just to go to bed, to hide under the covers and cry, for what was left of the day if I needed to. But instead I went and had a shower, got dressed, went to the woodburner and tried to get a fire going. It gave me something to concentrate on, with my shaking hands, trying to get the fire started and then sitting in front of the open door, watching it in case it died down again, feeding it until it grew strong enough for me to build the wood around it. And then I shut the door to the stove and sat looking at the flames and the logs starting to glow.

  I was still sitting there an hour later when I heard a noise outside, and a few moments later a knock at the door of the wheelhouse.

  It was Malcolm, complete with an ancient box of tools. I looked at it doubtfully.

  ‘I thought I’d take a look at your generator,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve got tools,’ I said indignantly.

  ‘Yeah. So – er – what happened to your new fella? Saw him earlier, didn’t look too happy.’

  ‘Oh, he’s fine. He had to go to work.’

  Malcol
m gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me. He lifted the hatch in the wheelhouse that gave access to the engine and peered down into the engine space.

  ‘The batteries should be all charged up,’ he said. ‘Then once I reconnect them you can transfer over – here – like this…’

  I looked and tried to pay attention while he showed me a series of buttons and switches.

  ‘The generator will run off your fuel supply so that’ll go down quicker than normal. But you won’t need to use it all the time, like, during the day and stuff. You’ve still got gas bottles for the stove, haven’t you?’

  I nodded. ‘And I’ve got the woodburner.’

  ‘Exactly. Electricity is overrated,’ he said with a smile.

  He went back to tinkering with the generator, connecting wires and tubes and bashing things. I clambered over him and went down into the cabin.

  ‘I need to turn the power off,’ Malcolm shouted down the steps.

  ‘Alright,’ I called back.

  The saloon was nice and warm now from the woodburner. I sat in front of it, hugging my knees, trying not to think about Dylan and Jim and thinking about nothing else. I’d thought about Dylan every day since that last time, but not like this. I wanted him to come back for me. I wanted him to be here, with me. I wanted it so badly it was like an ache, like a void inside me.

  And Jim – what was I supposed to do about Jim? The thought of him made me shiver. There was something irresistible about him, some force that made me lose my senses and want him, no matter what he said or did. And he was maddening at the same time.

  I would ring him tomorrow, once I’d had a chance to catch up on some sleep and get my head straightened out.

  ‘Genevieve!’ Malcolm shouted from the deck.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s all connected.’ He came down into the cabin.

  I didn’t turn around. It must have looked a bit odd, me sitting there on the floor facing the stove.

  ‘You alright?’ he said.

  I didn’t answer and he came to sit on the sofa. ‘Gen? What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s been a tough day,’ I said.

  ‘What happened? Is it that policeman? He been bothering you?’