Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
DOUGLAS
The last of the catch has been tubed, the final creel rebaited and dropped back to the seabed.
We’ll haul it up again in a couple of days, when we next work this stretch of water.
For now, the Mary Beth is pointed home. One hand resting on the wheel, I watch Ardmara grow larger across the water, the harbour wall and pier slowly taking shape.
Ben is hosing down the deck, humming something tuneless. We’ve had a decent day. Not spectacular, but decent. Enough prawns to keep the buyer happy, plus a couple of good lobsters.
Mentally I’m already on dry land. I need to swing by the shop for milk before I get the twins, which means we need to be tied up by quarter to three at the latest. It’s half-past two now. Should be fine, as long as nothing—
“You see that?” Ben says.
I look where he’s pointing. Off to the east, near the Sgeirean Glas, a small boat is sitting at an angle that no boat should. The stern is low in the water, the bow high, and the whole thing is leaning awkwardly to port. It’s not moving, and someone aboard is waving at us.
“They’ve run aground,” I say with a sigh.
I alter course. It’s not something I weigh up against the school run or the milk. You see someone in trouble on the water, you go help. That’s just how it is. But I do allow myself a quiet mutter of irritation because this is going to cost me time I don’t have. “Bloody tourists.”
As we close the distance, I recognise the boat. It’s Rab’s hire boat, the one he rents out to visitors in the summer. There’s only the one person aboard, and she’s now lowered her arms, gripping the side instead.
Then I see who it is, and my brain does a double take.
Ellie? Ellie Macpherson. From the library. What the hell is she doing out here?
I bring the Mary Beth in carefully. The Sgeirean Glas are a bastard.
What you see above the surface is only a fraction of what’s underneath, and the shelf extends further than most people realise.
I watch the depth sounder, read the colour of the water, and kill my speed early.
The tide is dropping, which means the rock that’s got her is only going to get more exposed.
I bring us as close as I safely can—maybe fifteen metres out—and cut the engine.
“Ellie!” I call across the gap. “You all right?”
She pushes a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m fine! Totally fine. I’ve just—I’m a wee bit stuck.”
“Aye, I can see that.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
It’s exactly as bad as it looks.
“Is the hull breached?” I shout. “Are you taking on water?”
“Er, I don’t think so? No. No, it’s fine. Honestly, Douglas, I’ve got it under control.” She actually tries to wave me off. “You don’t need to—”
“Ellie, I’m not going anywhere. You need help.”
Even across fifteen metres of water, I see her deflate. “Yes,” she admits. “I suppose I do.”
I drop the Mary Beth’s anchor. “Right, stay there. I’m coming to get you.”
Ben steps up beside me. “Want me to go?”
“Nah, you keep an eye on the boat.”
I swing my legs over the gunwale and lower myself down.
The water hits me mid-thigh and I suck in a breath through my teeth.
Cold. Not the worst I’ve felt, but enough to make my muscles clench.
My wellies fill immediately, icy water pouring over the tops and pooling around my feet.
I ignore it. Bare feet on submerged rock would be worse.
I wade towards her. The bottom is uneven: dips, patches of seaweed that slide under my boots.
I pick my footing carefully, testing each step before I commit my weight.
The water pushes against my legs, and my waterlogged wellies turn every stride into an effort.
Fifteen metres might not sound far, but it feels a lot further when you’re dragging half the Atlantic in your boots.
Ellie watches me approach. She’s still gripping the side of the boat with both hands, and her expression is cycling through what appears to be every stage of embarrassment known to the human race.
I reach her boat and brace a hand against the tilted hull. From here I can’t see much of what’s below the waterline, but judging by how the boat is sitting on the rock, I reckon the damage can’t be too bad—cosmetic, most likely. Rab won’t be thrilled, but it could be worse.
“You okay?” I ask again, looking up at Ellie.
“I’m fine. I’m so sorry. I just—I was taking photos of the seals and I didn’t realise I was drifting, and then—”
“Aye, I can piece it together.” I glance at the anchor in the bow, still neatly stowed, because of course it is. “Could you drop the anchor for me, please?”
She blinks. “Drop the anchor? I’m not going anywhere. That’s sort of the issue, Douglas.”
“You’re not going anywhere now. But when the tide comes back in, the boat will float free, and I don’t think Rab wants it drifting further out to sea.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Right.”
She edges towards the bow—not easy on a tilted deck—and fumbles with the anchor. It takes her two attempts, but she manages to heave it over the side. It hits the water with a splash, and the chain rattles out after it.
“Good,” I say. “Now, come on. Give me your hands.”
Ellie moves to the low side of the boat, the side closest to me, and swings her legs over the gunwale. I reach up. She grips my forearms, her fingers digging in through my oilskin sleeve, and slides herself off the edge.
The moment her legs hit the water, she gasps—a sharp, involuntary sound, her whole body seizing against the cold. “Jesus!” She lurches into me on instinct, her hands fisting in the front of my jacket. I catch her, one arm locking around her waist, the other bracing against the boat behind her.
Her breath comes in short ragged bursts. Her camera bag is wedged awkwardly between us, pressing into my ribs. The water swirls around my thighs, cold enough to make them ache. And yet . . . I notice things about Ellie I have no business noticing.
Her eyes, this close, are more grey than blue, the colour of the sea on an overcast morning.
There are freckles across her nose, a scatter of them, light brown against skin that’s gone pale with cold.
A few strands of hair have come loose from her ponytail and cling to her cheeks.
And the weight of her . . . the solid, real, warm weight of her against me . . .
When was the last time I—
I shut the thought down. Hard.
“Hold on to me.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “Let’s go.”
I keep my arm around her waist, she loops an arm around my neck, and we wade back towards the Mary Beth. It’s slow going over the slick rock and uneven patches, and Ellie isn’t used to this kind of thing. My grip on her tightens each time she slips, which is often.
She’s shivering. I can feel it, a tremor running through her body. Her jaw is clenched and she’s breathing carefully, like she’s doing her best to keep it together.
“Sorry,” she says after a particularly graceless slip that nearly takes us both sideways. “I’m not exactly built for this.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“I’m really not. You’re basically carrying me.”
“Nah, you’re doing great.” She isn’t, but it’d be rude to say so.
A beat of silence. Then, through chattering teeth: “In my defence, the seals were extremely photogenic.”
The comment catches me off-guard, and I can’t stop a chuckle from slipping out. “We’re almost there,” I say.
We soon reach the Mary Beth. Ben is leaning over the side, ready.
“Camera first,” I tell Ellie. She slips the bag off her shoulder, and I pass it up to Ben. Then it’s Ellie’s turn. “Right, up you go.”
Ben reaches down from above. I put both hands on Ellie’s waist—firm, because she needs the lift and there’s no delicate way to do this—and push her upwards while Ben grabs her arms and hauls.
It’s purely functional. I am absolutely not thinking about the curve of her hip under my palm, or the way both her jacket and jumper ride up at the back, or—
She’s aboard.
I haul myself up after her, arms burning, and swing my legs over the side, water dripping off me, my wellies squelching obscenely. Ellie lies on the deck in a heap of wet clothes and embarrassment.
“You all right?” Ben ventures.
She hurriedly clambers to her feet, pulls her jacket down, and pats at her hair like she can somehow make herself look less dishevelled.
“Perfect,” she says. She’s soaked from the waist down and shivering hard.
She looks utterly miserable, and yet for some reason my brain still registers the shape of her beneath all those wet layers.
Jesus Christ, Douglas.
I turn away and pull up the anchor. “So, the Sgeirean Glas, Ellie? I thought everyone in Ardmara knew to avoid them. Haven’t you lived here your whole life?”
“Aye, but on land!” she protests. “I don’t know the sea the way you two do.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ll be having a word with Rab. He should never have let you go out without checking you knew to stay clear of them.”
“He did warn me,” Ellie admits. I glance at her, and she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. “He told me to give them a wide berth, but . . .” She bites her lip. “I suppose I forgot.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You forgot?”
“There was a lot of information! And I was nervous. And—”
“The sea can be a dangerous place, Ellie. It’s not worth getting into difficulty for some photos.”
At this, her gaze sharpens, embarrassment replaced with something else. Defiance, maybe.
“Well,” she says, an edge to her voice, “someone told me the best view of Ardmara is from the water. Maybe if you’d invited me onto your boat, I wouldn’t have had to hire one.”
Almost as soon as she says it, her eyes widen. A flush climbs her neck and spreads across her cheeks, even though she’s still shivering.
I open my mouth. Close it again. Wait, she’d wanted me to invite her onto the Mary Beth?
I think back to Monday. The library. The photography display. The comment I made about the view from the water. And the way she’d looked at me like she was waiting for something.
Had she been expecting me to . . . ?
I catch Ben’s eye. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, like he’s trying not to laugh. What’s funny about this?
Actually, come to think of it, maybe there is something funny about seeing your skipper get a dressing-down from a half-soaked woman who just ran a boat aground.
“Right, Ben,” I say. “Start her up.”
“Aye.” He heads to the wheelhouse, though not before flashing me a quick grin.
As the boat begins to move, I clear my throat. “I should probably call Rab and let him know he’ll need to come and collect his boat when the tide comes in.”
Ellie groans and covers her face with both hands. “Oh God. I’ll never be able to show my face in town again.”
“Ach, it’s not that bad. Rab’s seen worse, I’m sure. But next time you’re drifting about near rocks, maybe drop the anchor, eh?”
She doesn’t lower her hands.
Maybe if you’d invited me onto your boat . . .
The words replay in my head. What did she mean by them? Because it almost sounded like—
No, I’m reading too much into it. She’s not interested in me.
Right. Time to call Rab.
By the time the call is done, we’re not far from the harbour. I take over at the wheel, and when we come alongside the quay, Ben hops ashore to tie up. The routine of it steadies me. Engine off. Lines secured. Deck check.
Normal. Familiar.
Ellie picks up her camera bag and slings it over her shoulder. “Douglas, I’m so sorry about all the bother. I’m absolutely mortified.”
“Forget it. It’s fine.”
She lingers a moment, like there’s maybe more she wants to say, then she climbs carefully over the gunwale. Ben offers her a hand, which she takes with a murmured thanks.
Once she’s on the quay, she glances back at me. “Thanks, Douglas.”
“Like I said, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
She nods then turns and walks up the quayside, her wet trainers leaving dark prints on the stone. I watch her go, still thinking about what she said. Maybe if you’d invited me onto your boat . . .