Chapter 13 #2
I pick up the spanner and get back to work. Back to my life. My new life in Sea Salt Bay.
The knock comes just after noon on Tuesday. Three sharp raps on the shed door.
It’s Jude.
Sandy hair tousled, blue denim hoodie and dark blue jeans, the smell of fresh air and mint rolling off him. I wish I wasn’t itemising him like a goddamn shopping list, but there it is.
He’s also not making eye contact.
‘Trelawney,’ he says.
‘Harding.’
There’s a pause between us, and it’s heavy. Primed and loaded like a gun that might go off at the lightest touch.
‘This isn’t—’ He stops. Starts again. Clears his throat like a man approaching a presentation he hasn’t rehearsed. ‘Can I come in?’
I step back and he enters the shed, careful not to brush against me in the doorway. His eyes sweep the space, the trawler on its blocks, the tools on the bench, Ghost observing from his rope-coil throne, and land on the camp bed in the corner.
He looks away quickly.
‘So,’ I say, leaning against the workbench. ‘You’re alive. Congratulations on not drowning. I heard the alarm go yesterday.’
‘The Jenny B wasn’t that accommodating.’ His dark gaze flashes to mine. ‘She went down. We got the crew off.’ He’s standing in the middle of my shed, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. The muscle jumping beneath the skin. ‘Three of us. Three crew for a four-man rescue. It was too close.’
There’s a lapse of silence and I’m staring at his face, detailing it all in, the slight creases around his eyes, the curve of his mouth that I know tastes of mint and warmth. My heartbeat kicks a notch faster and I swallow as I force myself not to look any closer.
‘Cal sent me,’ he says breaking the stretch of awkwardness.
‘Cal sent you?’
‘To – yeah.’ He drags a hand through his hair. ‘We had a debrief after the rescue. Crew shortage came up. We need another member and we need a mechanic – we haven’t had one since Peter. Tom’s been covering but he’s a vet, not an engineer.’
‘And you thought of me.’
His jaw works for a second. ‘I … uh…’ He rubs at the back of his neck, lifting the edge of his hoodie slightly and revealing a tan leather belt looped around his waist. I actually detest how much I’m noticing about this man.
‘You suggested me?’
‘Don’t make it sound noble. It was purely pragmatic.’
‘You suggested me even though your dad is probably walking around telling the entire village I’m the devil spawn who shouldn’t be allowed to stay.’
His jaw tightens. ‘He’s—’ He doesn’t continue. How can he, when I’ve probably just described exactly what Reuben Harding is doing. ‘My dad’s opinions don’t run the station.’
‘So what’s the pitch?’ I ask.
He straightens and flashes me a winning smile.
Professional mode – or his best attempt at it.
‘Lifeboat crew. Volunteer basis. Weekly training sessions, on-call for emergencies. Cal’s coxswain, I’m acting deputy while Kit’s in New York for another, what is it?
Five weeks.’ His face pales at this, but his gaze remains focused on mine.
‘Bill’s our third, with Tom half in half out.
’ He pauses. ‘We need a fourth. Minimum. And if you can do the engine work too, that’s—’
‘Peter’s role.’
‘That’s filling a gap we’re desperate to fill.’ His voice is careful. ‘Nobody’s asking you to replace anyone.’
I look at the shed around me. Peter’s shed, technically – he maintained it for twenty years after my family left.
His tools on the shadow boards. His inventory chalked on the blackboard.
His cat sleeping in the corner. And now me standing in his space, being asked to take his place on a lifeboat crew.
‘What does the assessment look like?’
‘Thursday afternoon. Two o’clock. Water rescue scenarios, equipment checks, knot work. Standard RNLI protocol.’ He meets my eyes properly for the first time since he walked in, and I can see the effort it costs him. ‘I run the assessment. I make the recommendation to Cal.’
‘You assess me.’
‘I’m acting deputy. It’s my call.’
The irony is so thick you could choke on it. The man I slept with on the deck of my own boat, in this exact shed, less than forty-eight hours ago, is going to assess my professional competence.
‘Is that a problem?’ he asks.
‘Not if you can be objective.’
‘I can be objective.’
‘Can you?’
His eyes hold mine. Dark. Complicated. Full of things neither of us is going to say in this shed, in daylight, with Ghost watching from the engine housing like a furry chaperone.
‘This crew operates on competence,’ he says quietly. ‘Not on who someone’s family is, or who someone’s dad has a grudge against, or’—a breath—‘or anything else. If you can do the job, you’re on the crew. That’s it.’
I think about what this means. The RNLI.
A role. People relying on me. A reason to stay that isn’t just a half-restored trawler and a list of plans I can’t afford.
If I do this, I’m not just fixing a boat and hoping.
I’m weaving myself into the fabric of this place – becoming part of Sea Salt Bay in a way I haven’t been since I was seven.
The thought terrifies me.
The thought is exactly what I want.
‘One other thing,’ Jude says, and I can see him bracing for it. ‘I’m the one who’ll be training you. Weekly sessions. Until Kit’s back and the rota’s sorted.’
‘You and me.’
‘You and me.’
‘For five weeks.’
‘Minimum.’
The silence stretches. Outside, a gull screams. Inside, Ghost’s purring rattles like a small engine.
‘Thursday,’ I say. ‘Two o’clock.’
‘Thursday. Two o’clock.’
He nods. Turns to go. Gets as far as the door before he stops, one hand on the frame.
‘Brynn.’
My name in his mouth. Still doing things to my nervous system that I refuse to catalogue.
‘What.’
‘For what it’s worth—’ He’s looking at the harbour, not at me. ‘Cal’s right. This crew needs what you’ve got. The engine work, the—’ He swallows. ‘You’re good at what you do. That’s not me being – that’s just true.’
He leaves before I can respond.
Which is probably for the best, because I don’t know what I would have said.
A barb, most likely. A shove disguised as words, because pushing is easier than the alternative, which is admitting that Jude Harding just walked into my shed and offered me the thing I’ve been trying to build since I drove that Land Rover back into this village – a place in it.
I pause in the doorway for a long moment, watching him walk up the harbour.
‘This is fine,’ I say aloud. ‘This is completely fine.’
Ghost looks up from his corner, one scarred ear twitching.
‘I’m going to be training with the man I slept with on the deck of my own boat, in this exact shed, less than forty-eight hours ago,’ I tell him. ‘On a lifeboat crew. In life-or-death situations. While his father – who apparently despises my entire family – slowly loses his mind in the background.’
Ghost yawns.
‘Yeah,’ I mutter, turning back to the engine. ‘That’s what I thought too.’
I climb back up onto the deck. Pick up the spanner. Get back to work.
But before I do, I pull the notebook from under the workbench and add a line to the list.
RNLI training – Thursday 2 pm. Assessment. Knots, water rescue, equipment.
And underneath, in smaller letters, like a secret:
Betty.