High Tide (13 page)

At least, that’s what she told herself.

She didn’t have his number. She’d done a runner before they’d got to the number-swapping stage. She wondered if she could get it off the barman in the Neptune. Or Sam in the café, who’d know him. But she didn’t want people talking. She knew what Pennfleet was like. They fell on gossip like a gull on a discarded sandwich: tore it apart, devoured it, regurgitated it.

Then she had a brainwave. She went out of the garden gate and walked down to the harbour. There were quite a few late tourists milling about in the afternoon sun, eating fish and chips. She wove her way through them to a kiosk by the steps that led down to the water. It had piles of leaflets advertising boat trips, fishing trips, kayaking trips. She looked through them until she found the one she was looking for. Pennfleet River Picnics. And there, on the bottom, what was presumably Nathan’s number.

She grabbed a leaflet and ran back home.

She sat in the kitchen, staring at it. There was a picture of the
Moonbeam
with Nathan at the helm, and she felt her tummy turn over when she saw it. Now she had his number, she didn’t know quite what to do with it. She wanted to acknowledge his kindness of the night before, and the fact that he had jeopardised his job.

Hell, who was she trying to kid? She wanted to hear from him again. She wanted that sweet feeling, the rush, the thrill, the warmth.

She composed and re-composed a text. Fifteen different drafts, before finally settling on something fairly anodyne.

Thank you for looking after me. You are a star. Vanessa x

She thought it wasn’t too pushy or gushy. It wasn’t over-effusive. Or needy. It was, she hoped, warm and friendly, but wouldn’t freak him out, or make him think she was being predatory. He wouldn’t show it to his mates, laughing.

She looked at it again, then removed the kiss. The kiss felt over-familiar. A step too far.

She pressed send. They had a signal at the house, because Spencer had fitted a booster. Whether Nathan would have one, wherever he was, was another matter. All she had to do now was wait.

15

‘So,’ said Sam. ‘Are you going to tell me about him?’

It was the lull between lunch and tea, when the café went quiet for about half an hour. Daisy had cleared the tables and was rearranging the cake displays, sweeping up the stray crumbs. Sam thought this was an opportune moment to talk to her. He wanted to do it without Jim earwigging or putting in his two-pence-worth.

Daisy looked a bit wary, but also relieved.

‘His name’s Oscar. He’s in the upper sixth. He’s asked me out. That’s it, really. We sit next to each other on the bus.’

‘And what’s he like? What subjects does he do?’ It was ridiculous, to use someone’s A-level options to pigeonhole them. Sam knew that, but he couldn’t help himself. What else was he going to go on?

‘I don’t know all of them, but I know he does art. He used to do graffiti and stuff, when he was in London. He showed me some pictures. It was awesome.’

‘OK. So he’s from London too?’

‘Yeah – they moved here about two years ago. After his dad went to prison.’

Sam’s stomach lurched.

‘Prison.’ Sam nodded his head slowly. ‘Great. For what?’

Daisy frowned and bit her lip.

‘Drugs. I think.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘Hey, don’t worry. That’s why they moved down here. To get away from it all. And his mum and dad split up ages ago. They don’t even speak any more.’

‘Oh, Daisy.’ Fear squeezed him.

Daisy looked at him with an exasperated smile. She was so young and unformed and naive it terrified him. He knew bad things would probably happen to her, and had to happen to her, to make her grow up and understand how the world worked. Yet he didn’t think the need to protect would ever leave him.

‘Dad. Don’t worry. Oscar is really cool, and not into drugs.’

‘He probably wouldn’t say if he was.
You
probably wouldn’t say if he was.’

Daisy gave him a look. It was pure Louise. It said
For heaven’s sake stop worrying about something that isn’t a problem.

‘Trust me, Dad,’ she said.

‘I do trust you. That’s the problem. It’s other people I don’t trust.’

He could already feel his fists bunching in his desperation.

‘Dad.’ Daisy’s tone was a warning. ‘Chill. I’m going to his house tonight, and we’re going to go and see a band. At the Neptune. If that’s OK.’

Sam was silent. This was one of the moments he’d been dreading. The moment he had to let go; let his precious daughter out into the big bad world.

‘Of course.’ He could hardly say otherwise. She was seventeen, nearly.

‘He wants to check out the opposition. He’s started a band. Called The Love Rats.’

‘Love Rats?’ Sam feigned alarm.

‘Just because that’s what they’re called doesn’t mean he is one.’ She stood in front of him, hands on her hips, smiling, confident, in control of the situation. ‘Just like Brandon Flowers isn’t actually a killer?’

The Killers. Louise had loved The Killers. Sam remembered her dancing round the kitchen to ‘Mr Brightside’. He really missed her today. Sometimes, it wasn’t a dull ache, it was a sharp pain. He would feel it when he woke up, and there was never a particular reason. It was how it was.

‘Do I need to have The Talk with you?’ asked Sam. ‘Because if there’s anything you’re worried about …’

Daisy laughed. ‘Dad, we’ve had The Talk at school a hundred times since I was in Year Seven. I probably know more about it all than you. You don’t have to worry.’

He felt odd about it. His little girl, who wasn’t a little girl any more but who always would be. To him. And having to deal with it on his own meant he had to accept she was growing up. He couldn’t be in denial about it.

He felt her slipping away. He told himself to let go. If he wanted to keep her, he had to let go.

‘I’m not going to sleep with him. Not yet, anyway.’

Oh God. Could he handle this? She was actually talking to him about the possibility of sex with this boy. What should he say? What was the right thing to say? He had to be open-minded, or she wouldn’t talk to him anymore.

‘Just … promise me that if there’s anything you want to talk about, you will. I know your mum’s not here, and that’s who you would have talked to. But I’m here for you.’

‘Dad. I know. It’s cool.’

Was it? Was it cool? It had to be. He had to be. He couldn’t lock her up. He nodded. ‘Good.’

‘So are you OK with tonight?’

‘Daze, it’s fine. Just keep in touch and be home by midnight. Please?’

She nodded. She came over and gave him a hug. He hugged her back, and told himself he would kill anyone who hurt her, but at the same time reminded himself that they probably wouldn’t; if they did it was all part of growing up and she had to go through it.

So many bloody feelings.

Two customers came in through the door. Daisy slipped out of his embrace and went to greet them with a smile, showing them to a vacant table. He watched her chatter away, vivacious, confident. So much of Louise but with a sprinkling of her own Daisyness …

He hoped this Oscar knew how lucky he was.

16

Nathan was standing at the helm of the
Moonbeam
.

In the boat behind him, a thirty-something couple were sharing the anniversary picnic he’d picked up from Sam. A platter of antipasti – salamis and olives and chargrilled artichokes – was laid out on a table between them, together with a chilled bottle of champagne. There were cheeses and salads and fruit tartlets waiting in the hamper.

It was a dazzling and crisp afternoon of the very best kind. They were lucky: it could have been damp and misty and dull. Instead, the river and its banks showed themselves off in the splendour of the golden autumn light. The river itself was dark turquoise and tranquil, drifting with a purposeful somnolence.

Usually, Nathan kept up a running commentary for his passengers, pointing out the landmarks along the river. The rambling house lived in by an infamous artist, the location of many scandalous trysts back in the 1930s. The tiny beach favoured by smugglers who had once rolled in barrels of rum and other contraband onto its shore. The thatched pub owned by a pop star – sometimes he would moor outside and let his passengers enjoy a wine-fuelled lunch here. And then there was the wildlife. Kingfishers and herons. Occasional otters. You needed local knowledge and a sharp eye, both of which Nathan had.

But today he didn’t have the energy. He didn’t want to engage. The couple seemed quite happy with their own company, so he was left alone with his thoughts. This was always the place where he felt at one with himself. There was never any problem that couldn’t be solved by a trip up the river. It emptied his mind and made him realise that as long as he had the
Moonbeam
, that was really all that mattered. He remembered his grandfather bringing her back one afternoon when Nathan was nine. She was almost a total wreck, barely held together, but his grandfather was determined to restore her to her former glory.

Nathan’s grandmother had moaned in fond exasperation, for the boat took up far too much of his grandfather’s time and pocket for her liking, but her face when Daniel took her out in the boat for the first time more than made up for it. The
Moonbeam
made everyone smile. She was a boat made for romance and adventure.

And they’d dug her out again, all those years later, when Nathan had hit on the idea of the boat trips. It was never going to make him a fortune, but as jobs went it was truly satisfying and heart-lifting.

This summer he’d stepped the service up and done a deal with Sam to supply the picnics, making it a gastronomic adventure. He’d been almost fully booked over the summer, except when the weather was against him. Of course, the winter was a different story, but ’twas ever thus in Pennfleet. He wasn’t the only person whose coffers were empty from November to March.

Which was why the driving job with Toogood’s had come in handy. Funerals didn’t die off over the winter – on the contrary, arguably there were more. He’d been shocked that Malcolm hadn’t listened to the extenuating circumstances. He had thought he would get a warning at most.

And now he’d have to find some other way to supplement his income. He’d got a bit of money stashed away, and his grandad didn’t charge him rent, though in return Nathan picked up some of the bills – the electricity and water rates – and paid for a regular delivery of logs for the woodburners, and kept the fridge and larder full. It was an unspoken agreement, but he never wanted to be accused of freeloading.

He’d start putting the feelers out later tonight. He might end up having to go further afield for work, though. The problem smothered him like a cloud, blocking out the beauty surrounding him. The river usually never failed to lift his spirits, but today he didn’t see it.

And it overshadowed the memory of the night before. It had brought him up sharp and made him realise the truth. Get real, Nathan, he told himself. You meant nothing to Vanessa Knight. Nothing. It was a drunken kiss, not a gateway to a new life, a new love, no matter how extraordinary it had seemed at the time.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been there before. Been swept away by someone who was better than him. Ruby. Ruby Wallace. Who had picked up his heart and played with it, like a princess with a jewelled bauble, then cast it to one side when something better had come along. And what hurt the most was that something hadn’t been a person, but a place. Ruby had thrown him away in her search for the bright lights and excitement and opportunity. She had truly believed the streets of London were paved with gold.

He had loved her. And lost her. And he had never really engaged with another woman since.

He and Ruby had gone out since the age of fourteen. She was the only thing he had liked about school. She was the only reason he got up and managed to get there. Before she arrived, he used to bunk off as much as he could, take his fishing rods and a sandwich and hide himself away for the day. School bored him rigid. He could read and add up. What more did he need?

It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in the world and what it had to offer. He could lose himself in a book or a magazine or a television programme and absorb the information: he was well versed in astronomy, the Cuban missile crisis, the life cycle of the kangaroo. But the stuff the teachers droned on about at school seemed so random and irrelevant; their delivery was so dry and dull. And he struggled to compose his thoughts and write them down. Very often he knew the answers or the arguments, but he couldn’t pin them down on paper. It made his brain squirm with frustration. They tested him for dyslexia but he wasn’t. He decided he was just thick.

So to avoid the humiliation of looking so in front of his fellow pupils, he wagged off as much as he could. Then Ruby arrived and blew his mind.

Her mum and dad had bought a rambling old farmhouse on the outskirts of Pennfleet. Her dad was an architect, and her mum was in charge of renovating the farm.

‘It’s what they do,’ Ruby explained. ‘Buy some old dump and tart it up. Dad does the design and then Mum project-manages it and does the inside, then they sell it on and make a fat profit. It’s why I’ve been to seven different schools.’

She radiated something different from the other girls. A glamour and a sparkle, and Nathan felt flattered that she had chosen him above all the other lads to confide in and hang out with. Her parents were very liberal and never seemed to mind where she was or what she was doing or how late she was out. They were inseparable. When Nathan left school at sixteen and moved in with his grandad, and Ruby went to the sixth-form college in Shoredown, they still saw as much of each other as they could.

The trouble began when they went to London for the weekend. Ruby had been dying to go for weeks, and Nathan had finally relented. They headed for Camden, because she wanted to go to the market. It might as well have been Calcutta, it felt so foreign to him. The streets were pulsing with people, shouting, chattering, laughing. Some drunk, falling all over the place. Some … well, the acrid scent of weed in the air explained their erratic behaviour.

Ruby darted in and out of the warren of stalls.

‘Look at it all,’ she said. ‘It’s wonderful. Look at the stuff!’

Stuff was just stuff, in Nathan’s view. He didn’t feel the need to clutter his life up with it. But Ruby was a magpie. The more she had, the more she wanted.

By six o’clock in the evening, he just wanted a quiet pint somewhere. Maybe ham, egg and chips. Ruby wanted glitz and glamour and noise. She pulled him into a pub bursting at the seams with boys with eyeliner and peacock hair; girls in deep-red lipstick and fur coats. The music was too loud for anyone to hear themselves, but they shouted at each other nonetheless. The floor was sticky with spilt booze.

Ruby wormed her way to the bar. Nathan tried to follow her, but he got blocked. By the time he got to her she was deep in conversation with a guy in a leather jacket and skinny jeans, his head shaved apart from a top knot. He looked like an idiot.

‘This is Gil,’ said Ruby.

Gil gave Nathan a smile that said ‘Your girlfriend’s hot. And she likes me.’

‘I’m going out for some air,’ said Nathan to Ruby.

Gil’s eyes glittered with triumph. Ruby didn’t protest.

Nathan walked out into the street, pushing past people in his urge to escape. There, he breathed in the night air to calm himself down. He wondered how far it was to walk to the train station. He wouldn’t be able to work out the Tube. Even then, if he got there, would there be a train to Cornwall at this time?

Then he thought he couldn’t just leave Ruby. She might act like she could handle herself, but she might get herself into trouble. She might have her drink spiked, get raped, or … anything could happen. He had to look after her. Even though it seemed she was quite happy to abandon him.

That was how it worked. Boys looked after girls. He pushed his way back in, past the meaty, sweaty bodies.

Ruby was kissing Gil as if her life depended on it.

Nathan gripped Gil’s arm. It was puny. If it came to fisticuffs, he’d win hands down.

‘Scuse me, mate,’ he said politely.

Gil turned and looked at him. ‘What?’

‘We’ve got to go.’ Nathan was determined not to cause a scene.

‘Shame,’ smirked Gil.

Ruby looked from one to the other, not sure how to play it. Nathan could see a moment in her eyes when she debated staying with Gil, but she didn’t quite have the nerve.

Nathan took Ruby by the elbow and guided her out of the pub and back on to the street.

‘He was going to get us some … you know … Es,’ she said uncertainly, because she didn’t have a clue, not really.

Nathan rolled his eyes. That was the last thing he needed. Ruby off her head on something in the middle of London, causing havoc.

‘Let’s go and get something to eat.’

‘Do you know what?’ demanded Ruby, her hands on her skinny hips. ‘You’re boring.’

‘Don’t bring me next time,’ Nathan replied.

‘I won’t,’ said Ruby. ‘I definitely won’t.’

It was after that everything started to unravel.

He couldn’t satisfy her hunger for something more.

And he couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm to share it with her.

‘I’m going to go to fashion college,’ she told him. ‘It’ll be amazing. We could get a flat together. In London, Nath.’

‘And what would I do?’

‘Whatever you want! You can be whatever you want to be.’

‘Maybe I’m happy the way I am?’

Ruby looked at him as if that wasn’t possible. And he felt hurt. He had always thought he was enough as he was.

‘I love Pennfleet,’ he told her. ‘I love everything about it. The way the seasons change. The way everything changes with them. It means it’s never boring.’

Ruby’s face was screwed up in consternation. ‘Can’t you try it? Just for a year? Just for me? Pennfleet will still be here.’ She was stroking his arm. Wheedling. ‘You can’t stay here all your life and not try something new. There might be the most amazing thing out there for you and you’ll never know about it.’

There was nothing more amazing than taking the boat up the river early in the morning, watching the wildlife in the riverbanks, feeling the breeze in your hair and the sun on your back, gliding along with the current … What could be better than that? How could she not see that?

Ruby wanted something more. Noise. Danger. People. Adventure. Bright lights.

He’d had to let her go.

And he never wanted to have that feeling again. He never wanted to lose his heart to someone whose own heart wasn’t in it. He had made do, for Ruby, at the time, before something better came along. He’d been the best option in Pennfleet, but the wider world held more excitement and more choice for her. He didn’t want that to happen with Vanessa. He didn’t want to be a temporary sticking plaster, to be ripped off when a more realistic option presented itself.

He realised he’d gone further up the river than he should, and the trip was going to be much longer than the allotted two hours, but his passengers didn’t seem to mind, and he certainly didn’t care; the longer he stayed away from reality the better. He turned the boat round and headed back downriver. The sun was slipping downwards, and the light hit him straight in the eyes, so he pulled the peak of his cap down until they rounded the bend.

As he made his way back into the harbour and moored up to let the passengers off at the steps on the quay, he felt his phone go in his pocket. There was no signal along the river, so he usually had a flurry of texts whenever he got back.

When he saw who it was from, he felt as if he was falling down the slippery steps he was standing on, his heart turning over and over, adrenalin spiking his blood and pooling into his stomach.

Thank you for looking after me. You are a star. Vanessa

He stood for a moment on the steps, staring at it.

He knew if he replied, he would wait in agony for a further response, and then analyse that for some deeper meaning or invitation, and on it would go, the torture. Anyway, what was he supposed to say? ‘You’re welcome’ didn’t seem worth the bother. ‘My pleasure’ sounded a bit … pervy. ‘No worries’ sounded too casual.

If she’d wanted to see him, she would have put a hint, surely. The text was good manners and nothing else. She hadn’t even put a kiss, and if she had any feelings for him she would have, surely.

He was already wasting too much time and energy thinking about it.

With a flick of his thumb, Nathan deleted her text.

And with it went her number. He had enough problems without making more of a fool of himself.