Chapter 17 #2
Tom’s grin widens. ‘That’s what I thought. See you at seven.’
He’s already walking away before I can respond, whistling off-key.
Brynn’s going to be at the pub.
I should definitely go to Newquay.
I’m definitely going to The Ship.
Fuck.
The pub is already busy when I arrive at seven.
Friday night tradition – crew drinks, fish and chips from Tilly’s kitchen, the easy camaraderie that makes the hard parts of this life bearable.
Normally it would be me, Dad, and Kit at the bar with Maisie at the corner table, colouring a monstrous but creatively dynamic work of art while we sink pints and catch up with the village.
Kit’s table is empty. Two chairs tucked in like they’re waiting.
Bill and Frankie are at the usual table near the fire, pints half-empty, arguing about something that will inevitably involve the forecast. Tom’s hovering over them like a prospective referee.
He’s showered, changed out of his country vet uniform of tweed and mud.
Cal is peering into an empty crisp packet with the focus of a man examining evidence.
And Brynn.
She’s sitting at the bar with Nina, a glass of wine in front of her, laughing at whatever Tilly’s just said.
Her hair’s down tonight – first time I’ve seen it out of that ponytail – and it falls past her shoulders in dark waves that catch the firelight.
Her skin has a glow. Or maybe that’s just me and I’m losing my goddamn mind.
She looks different. Softer. Almost approachable.
Then she catches me staring and the softness vanishes, replaced by that guarded expression I’m starting to know too well. The one that says, I see you looking. Don’t.
I nod. She nods back.
Colleagues.
I get a pint and join the crew table. Bill shifts to make room.
‘Harding,’ Cal grunts. ‘Thought you weren’t coming.’
‘Why wouldn’t I come?’
‘You’ve been scarce lately.’ Those sharp eyes. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Fine. Just busy with Kit away.’
‘Mm.’
The evening unfolds the way it always does – rounds bought and stories told, the rhythm of people who’ve known each other too long to stand on ceremony.
Bill tells the ’98 rescue story that he tells every few months, getting more heroic with each retelling.
Tom complains about farmers who won’t follow veterinary advice.
Cal broods over his pint like a sailor watching for storms.
And I watch Brynn.
I can’t help it. Every time I try to focus on the conversation, my eyes drift.
The way she leans forward when Nina talks, actually listening.
The way she laughs – rare, but real when it happens.
The way she holds her wine glass, fingers wrapped around the stem, and I remember those same fingers digging into my back, pulling me closer, the sound she made when—
‘Jude.’ Tom’s voice. ‘You listening?’
‘What?’
‘Darts. Tilly’s challenged us to a rematch.’
‘I don’t—’
‘Teams of two,’ Tilly announces from across the room, already pulling darts from the board. ‘Me and Nina against Tom and whoever’s brave enough to partner with him.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Brynn says.
The table goes quiet. Not hostile – surprised. The new girl volunteering. Putting herself in the mix.
‘All right then.’ Tilly grins. ‘Brynn and Tom against me and Nina. Jude, you can referee.’
‘Why do I have to referee?’
‘Because you’re too chicken to play.’
‘I’m not—’ I catch Brynn’s eye. She’s got that challenging look again, and I know I want to either kiss her or throw her in the harbour. ‘Fine. I’ll play. Brynn and me against Tom and Nina.’
The words are out before I’ve thought them through. Brynn’s eyebrows rise. Tilly’s grin widens. Tom sneaks a look at Nina, who’s smiling – actually smiling, for the first time tonight, and it’s heartwarming to see after six months of heartbreak.
‘This should be interesting,’ Nina says.
It is interesting. Interesting in the way that standing too close to a fire is interesting – all heat and the knowledge that you’re probably going to get burned.
Brynn’s good at darts. Not that I’m surprised – she’s good at everything that involves precision and steady hands. Each dart finds its mark while I’m struggling to hit anything near the board. We’re down by thirty points when she takes the final throw.
‘Triple twenty,’ Tom says, shaking his head. ‘No chance.’
Brynn throws.
Triple twenty.
‘Bloody hell,’ Bill mutters from the sidelines.
She turns to me, flushed with victory, eyes bright, and for a moment I can’t breathe. She’s not the Trelawney, not the enemy, not the woman I’m supposed to keep at arm’s length. She’s just Brynn, grinning at me like we’re on the same team.
Because we are. We’re on the same team.
‘Not bad,’ I manage, like my heart isn’t crawling up my throat.
‘Don’t cry, Harding. I’m sure you’ll be better at tiddlywinks.’
‘I’m better at a lot of things.’
Her tongue pokes inside her cheek, lips pursing, and she doesn’t answer but her eyes say, Prove it.
We’re standing too close. When did that happen? I can smell her shampoo – strangely light and floral for a woman so boot-stompingly angry – and see the pulse jumping in her throat. I’m thinking about the shed, the boat deck, my mouth on her skin, her hands pulling—
The pub door bangs open.
Dad.
He’s standing in the doorway, scanning the room. He hasn’t come to The Ship on a Friday in weeks – stopped when the evenings got confusing, when he’d lose the thread of Bill’s stories and cover it with anger. So why tonight? Who told him Brynn would be here?
Dot. Always Dot.
When his eyes land on us by the dartboard – on Brynn – his face twists.
‘Jude.’ His voice carries across the pub, cutting through everything. ‘I need a word.’
‘Dad, I’m in the middle of—’
‘Now.’
I glance at Brynn. Her face has gone carefully blank, but I can see the tension in her shoulders.
‘It’s fine,’ she says quietly. ‘Go.’
I cross to Dad, keeping my voice low. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘What’s wrong is that you’re drinking with a Trelawney.’ He’s not keeping his voice low. Not even trying. The old Dad – shrewd, strategic, controlled – would have pulled me aside. Cornered me at home. Used disappointment, not volume. This is new. ‘In public. Like it’s acceptable.’
‘Dad—’
‘After everything that family did to us. After what they cost us.’ He’s looking past me now, at Brynn, and there’s darkness in his eyes that goes beyond anger.
‘Trelawneys have always had a talent for taking what wasn’t theirs.
Our contracts. Our territory. Sneaking into places they don’t belong. Destroying everything they touch.’
‘Dad, that’s enough—’
‘Is it? Is it enough that she’s back? Living in that cottage like she has any right to it? Waltzing onto the crew like her family didn’t—’
‘My family didn’t do anything.’
Brynn’s standing now. Pale, but her voice is steady and controlled as she says, ‘My family left because yours made it impossible to stay. My grandfather lost everything. His business, his home, his reputation. And my father—’
She stops. A frown flickers across her face, just briefly.
‘My father is DEAD because of your family.’
The words hit like stones. The pub goes absolutely silent.
‘He drank himself into a grave because of whatever happened here. Because of lies you told. Because of whatever YOU did to make us leave.’ She’s shaking now, but she doesn’t look away from Dad.
‘So don’t you dare stand there and act like the Trelawneys are the villains of this village.
We weren’t the ones who destroyed anything. We were the ones who got destroyed.’