Chapter Fifteen
’Twas Weeks Before Christmas, and All Through the Mill
A Feeling Was Stirring, But Not of Goodwill
Gemma hurried down the lane after Matt. There was still a strong breeze, although the severe gales of the previous day had dissipated, and the sail lines rattled noisily against the masts in the boatyard as he strode past, as though egging him on. The air had cooled noticeably, however, and she shivered as she increased her pace.
‘Matt! Wait.’
Having much longer legs, however, Matt was soon beyond hearing.
‘Clearly a man on a mission,’ Gemma muttered. She jumped on the ferry, which had just pulled up at the jetty, her tactic bearing fruit when she stepped out onto the harbourside and spotted Matt coming along the street.
To Gemma’s surprise, however, he didn’t take the lane leading to the walk back to Rivermills House, but dived instead into the chandlery across the road.
Brushing past shelves of marine polish and engine spares, she found him at the counter, his credit card in his hand. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Buying some protection.’ Matt’s narrowed gaze took in Gemma’s smart leather boots. ‘D’you want some?’ He waved a hand towards the motley selection of galoshes stacked on the floor at the back of the shop. ‘They’ve got most sizes, and they have excellent grip.’
‘Go on then,’ Gemma sighed, and, before long, they had both donned the galoshes over their smarter boots and were clomping their way along the street. She must look a right idiot. Why was it Matt somehow still looked stylish in his?
‘Why are you in such a tearing hurry?’ she asked, as Matt glanced impatiently at his phone again. ‘I mean, can’t you go back to Oliver’s den to write? Isn’t it a similar thing to being in that studio?’
‘I need my laptop.’
‘But why can’t you log in on Oliver’s?’
An exasperated huff came from the man a few paces ahead as he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Because I can’t, okay? I need some… special… software.’
That made sense.
‘But why can’t you scribble down the words or music in Notes on your phone for now? Why the rush? What’s happening this afternoon that’s so important?’
Gemma was almost out of breath, but when Matt stopped suddenly, she thought she’d got her point across – until she realised his phone was ringing.
‘Yes? Hi, Douggie.’ There was a pause. ‘Fantastic! Thank you, I owe you a pint.’
Pause.
Matt laughed. ‘Okay, several pints.’
He pocketed the phone and turned round to head towards the bridge.
‘Wait! What’s going on?’
‘The root ball’s been removed. We can go back in the boat.’
For a moment, relief flooded through Gemma, but then she looked at the harbour wall and checked her phone. ‘We can’t. The tide’s going out. We’ll have to wait.’
Matt raised a derisory brow as he strode past the Lugger, soon reaching the small jetty, where Last Chance bobbed in the water. ‘In case you haven’t clicked yet, I don’t intend to wait for anything.’
Out of breath as she reached the boat, Gemma resisted the temptation to push him into the lapping waves. She folded her arms and took up a defensive stance. ‘I’m not taking you. Elsie ’s rudder will hit the bottom of the creek, and we’ll be stranded. What use is that?’
‘Stay here, then.’ Matt stepped down into the boat, tossing the bag into the cabin. ‘Where’s that damn cord you use?’
Gemma pressed her lips together. If he got a move on there was a chance he’d get back okay. Was she truly going to let him try or should she go with him? He’d never steered a boat.
Matt glared at her. ‘Please give me the key and tell me where the bloody cord is.’
‘Fine.’ Gemma stomped onto the boat, and it rocked to and fro as Matt grasped the side of the cabin. She lowered the motor. ‘Get that vest on, and, if this goes wrong, you’re footing the bill!’
‘Gladly, woman. Just get me back as fast as you can.’
‘ Don’t call me woman!’
‘Sorry.’ He raised a culpable hand. ‘Sorry. Okay?’
To be fair, he looked it, and Gemma eased the boat away from the mooring. This had better not go badly.
Matt said nothing as she steered Last Chance down the river, under the arches of the old stone bridge and into calmer waters. They were going against the tide, however, so it was a little slower than it ought to have been.
She glanced at the silent man behind her. Matt remained standing, his piercing gaze alternating between the river ahead and checking his phone. What on earth was this urgency to get back?
Knowing it was futile to ask, Gemma drew in a breath as they neared the opening to the creek. Douggie’s dredger was nowhere to be seen but, thankfully, nor was the massive root ball. Her spirits rose as she realised how much more welcoming the entrance to the creek seemed without it looming over them, and she manoeuvred the small boat through the gap, then slowed to a halt.
‘I can’t take Elsie any further, Matt. In fact, we need to go back out onto the river. We’re going to get stuck. Look.’
She pointed into the creek. The water had already receded and, though some remained at the base of the wooden jetty, it wasn’t enough to allow the boat to dock safely.
Before she could react, Gemma was moved aside as Matt grabbed the wheel and pushed the lever forward.
Damn him! She wrenched the kill cord and the engine died, but Last Chance seemed as set on reaching the jetty as Matt, and drifted forward.
‘You idiot!’ Gemma lurched for the motor, pulling it from the water, then grabbed the paddle, working it until the boat all but stopped.
For a moment, there was silence, and Gemma wished she could understand the slump of Matt’s shoulders. Despite herself, she felt for him, and placed a hand on his arm. He remained still, but then slowly turned to face her, and her hand fell to her side.
‘I have to get over there. I mean it, Gemma. Help me.’ He ran a hand through his hair, then shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. ‘Please.’
It was the ‘please’ that did it.
‘If we had a dory,’ she muttered.
‘A dory? Isn’t that a fish? Like, you know…’ Matt drew in a breath and launched into ‘Just Keep Swimming’ from Finding Nemo .
Gemma giggled despite herself and their situation. ‘Pillock,’ she threw at him. ‘It’s a flat-bottomed boat. I can try phoning around, and—’
‘I don’t have time. Trust me. I have to get over there in the next half hour or…’
He swallowed visibly, and Gemma threw him a confused look. ‘Why? What is so pressing?’
‘Nothing.’ He swung back to stare across the shallow water.
Obviously. Of course it’s nothing.
‘Well, there’s only one option then. Come on, out of the way.’ She nudged Matt aside so she could get into the cabin. ‘Time to make use of your purchase.’
Matt stared at the galoshes he’d recently removed.
‘Put them on again,’ she directed.
‘Wade? It’s too deep! They only come to my knees.’
‘It’s this or nothing. What’s it to be?’
Matt released an expletive, but grabbed the galoshes and sat heavily on the bench to tug them on.
‘Take your own boots off,’ she cautioned. ‘You don’t want them getting wet.’
Matt looked up. ‘You mean they might fill with water?’
‘It will make it difficult, but the tide’s going out. You won’t drown. Shame you’ve ditched those torn jeans, the gaps would’ve let the water back out.’
A choked sound emanated from the man fastening the buttons of his coat, and Gemma hid her smile, knowing she’d amused him.
She leaned over and dipped her hand in the water. ‘Water’s a bit cold, though. Make sure you get warm as soon as you’re back.’
‘Aren’t you coming?’
Gemma huffed on a laugh. ‘No! What happens to Elsie ? We let her drift here, on the receding tide? She’ll get further away, might even get stuck under the trees, swept out into the river. How will that help? I’ve got you as close as I can. If you have to get back now, the only option is for you to wade.’
With a resigned nod, Matt extracted his phone and wallet from his jeans.
A few minutes later, Gemma used the paddle to ease the boat back into what was left of the water in the creek, drifting until she felt she could lower the motor again and trying not to giggle watching Matt’s antics in trying to get to shore without getting any wetter than he had to. The fact he was walking with his arms in the air, holding his phone, wallet and the precious boots aloft, made it all the funnier, because, as anticipated, the galoshes had filled with water, making his progress not dissimilar to that of Paddington Bear wading through a sea of marmalade.
Twice Matt had nearly overbalanced, a plethora of swear words floating upwards in the still air of the creek, but he finally hauled himself up onto the lawn and, after removing the waterlogged boots on the shore, stomped in his socks up the slope to the studio and disappeared without a backward glance.
To Gemma’s delight, once she returned to Polkerran a text came from her aunt to say her orders had arrived, so she headed up to Potter’s Meadow and passed a pleasant couple of hours going through them before heading down to the village.
She bumped into Nicki in the Spar as she stocked up on a few provisions, and they had a fun lunch in the Lugger before the tide was sufficiently in to attempt a return to Rivermills. Despite appreciating the break from Matt’s turbulent moods, however, Gemma couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Had he bothered to get out of his wet clothes? Surely he hadn’t gone into the studio and sat for hours, being all creative – or whatever it was he did in there – in those soaking jeans? Had he bothered to eat? According to Anna, he had nibbled at half a piece of toast and sunk three coffees for breakfast. Had he noticed the time passing without Gemma prodding him to come into the house to eat nothing?
Frustrated for even caring, she stopped at Karma and bought a tempting slice of cheesecake, a muffin for herself and a couple of takeaway coffees, and was soon motoring, with the tide this time, back to the creek.
Excited though she was to start decorating the house for Christmas, Gemma left all the packages in the boat as she ferried the cakes and coffee across the lawn.
‘Matt? Are you there?’
There was no answer from inside, and she stepped into a room containing a vast control desk. There was no sign of Matt, however, and she followed the light shining from an open doorway ahead.
‘I’ve brought sustenance.’
She eased the door open with her shoulder, the box of cakes in one hand and the cardboard tray of coffee in the other.
There was no sign of Matt in this room either, which was set up with various instruments, tall black metal boxes lining the wall opposite the two windows facing the creek. Matt’s laptop was open to one side, but the screen had reverted to the screensaver. Perhaps he’d gone up to the house?
She was about to head there when a faint sound drew her attention, and, placing the tray and box on a table, she went to tap on another door at the end of the room. There was no reply again, so she tugged it open, only to let out a low gasp.
Matt lay on the floor, unmoving, a streak of blood on his cheek.