Chapter 18 #2
‘Now I’ve stopped. Because Grandad died and for the first time in my life, I had this feeling that I was being pulled forward instead of being pushed away. A cottage. A shed. A name on a harbour wall.’
We stand there, the confession hanging between us. The waves crash and bash a steady cacophony I can’t imagine not hearing. Somewhere in the village, a kid laughs.
‘For what it’s worth,’ Jude says, ‘I’m glad you came back.’
‘You hated me when I came back.’
‘I didn’t hate you. I was—’
‘Wary. Yes, you said.’
‘I was going to say scared, actually.’
That stops me. ‘Scared of what?’
He looks at me. Really looks, the way he did on the harbour Friday night.
‘I don’t know yet,’ he says. ‘But I’m starting to figure it out.’
My lungs don’t seem to be inhaling and exhaling the way I need them too. We’re not standing that close – a few feet of concrete between us – but it feels like inches.
I should break the tension. Make a joke about him being scared of a girl with a spanner.
Instead, I just look back at him.
‘Your coffee’s getting cold,’ I finally say.
‘So is yours.’
‘Mine’s already cold. I’ve been holding it for ten minutes.’
‘Whose fault is that?’
‘Yours. You’re the one who brought it.’
He laughs. A real laugh, warm and surprised, and it jolts through me.
‘I should let you work,’ he says, but he doesn’t move.
‘Probably.’
‘I could stay. You know, hand you tools. Get things wrong. Generally be useless.’
‘That’s a compelling offer.’
‘I’m known for my compelling offers.’
I should send him away.
But the sun is filtering through the shed doors, and the harbour is quiet, and he brought me coffee without being asked.
‘Fine,’ I hear myself say. ‘You can stay. But if you hand me the wrong tool, I’m throwing you in the harbour.’
‘Fair enough.’
He settles on a crate near where I’m working. Close enough to help, far enough not to be in the way.
‘That thing you’re holding,’ he says, pointing at a gasket. ‘What is it?’
‘Gasket.’
‘Right. I knew that.’
‘You absolutely did not.’
‘I absolutely did not,’ he agrees, grinning.
And despite everything, I find myself grinning back.
We work in companionable silence for the next hour. Almost companionable silence, apart from the uptick of my heartbeat when Jude hands me tools – mostly the wrong ones – and I correct him without comment. He asks what I’m doing, and I explain in terms simple enough that even a Harding can follow.
It’s nice. Easy. Dangerous.
The sun climbs higher, burning off the morning mist until the harbour outside glitters. My shoulders loosen. My jaw unclenches. For the first time since I arrived in Sea Salt Bay, I’m not bracing for impact.
‘Fuel line’s reconnected,’ I say, wiping my hands. ‘Should hold. Need to test it, but—’
‘Cal!’ Jude’s voice cuts across mine, hand raised in greeting.
I look up. Cal’s making his way down the slipway towards the lifeboat station, toolbox in hand. That bow-legged walk of a man who’s spent more of his life on water than land.
‘Monthly inspection,’ Jude explains, catching my look. ‘Cal’s religious about it.’
‘As he should be.’
‘Don’t let him hear you say that. His ego’s big enough.’
Cal waves back, disappearing into the boathouse. A moment later – clang of metal, hum of equipment.
Movement on the harbour path catches my eye.
A woman. Early thirties, maybe. Dark curly hair piled in a messy bun, bright yellow sundress almost aggressively cheerful against grey stone. Cool bag in one hand, the other resting on the swell of her belly.
Pregnant. Very pregnant. Seven months? Eight?
She picks her way down the slipway with the careful grace of someone whose centre of gravity has shifted, heading straight for the boathouse.
‘That’s Cassie,’ Jude says, following my gaze. ‘Cal’s wife.’
I blink. Look at the woman again – the smooth skin, the bright energy. Then I think of Cal. Late forties, maybe pushing fifty, weathered beyond his years.
‘His wife?’
‘Don’t look so shocked. You’ll hurt her feelings.’
‘I’m not—’ I stop. I am shocked. ‘She’s just … young.’
‘She’s thirty-two. And yes, there’s a gap, but it’s not as dramatic as your face is making it look.’
‘My face wasn’t doing anything.’
‘Your face was doing a lot.’
Cassie reaches the boathouse, peers inside, calls out words I can’t quite catch, and Cal emerges, his whole face transformed by a smile I wouldn’t have thought him capable of.
He takes the cool bag, leans close to her ear and whispers words that make her laugh, and presses a kiss to her forehead with a tenderness that makes my insides twist like a pretzel.
‘Melissa – Cal’s first wife – was ill for a long time,’ Jude says quietly. ‘Cassie was her palliative nurse. Moved down from Bristol.’
I watch Cal’s hand rest on Cassie’s belly. ‘And they fell in love.’
‘According to Cassie, Melissa practically orchestrated the whole thing. Kept telling Cal he’d need someone when she was gone.
Kept telling Cassie she’d never find a better man.
’ He shrugs. ‘Sounds mad. But if you’d seen them – Melissa and Cal – you’d understand.
She loved him enough to want him happy. Even after. ’
His voice is weighted.
‘That’s actually beautiful,’ I say. ‘In a heartbreaking sort of way.’
‘Yeah.’ He’s quiet. ‘Melissa was good like that. Saw the best in everyone. Even when they couldn’t see it themselves.’
Before I can ask more, Cassie spots us and waves, already making her way over with that determined waddle.
‘Jude Harding! Is that you actually talking to another human being? On a Sunday? Should I check for signs of the apocalypse?’
‘Hilarious,’ Jude mutters, but he’s smiling.
Cassie reaches us, slightly breathless, one hand on her lower back. Up close, I instantly notice her warm brown eyes, and a scattering of freckles. She’s got one of those open faces that makes you want to tell her things.
‘You must be Brynn.’ She sticks out her hand. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’
‘That’s ominous.’
‘Only good things. Well. Interesting things. Which in Sea Salt Bay is basically the same.’ She grins. ‘The mysterious Trelawney girl, come back to reclaim her birthright. It’s very Gothic. Very Daphne du Maurier. I’m half expecting you to discover a mad woman in someone’s attic.’
‘Cassie,’ Jude warns.
‘What? I’m being welcoming. This is my welcoming face.’
‘Your welcoming face is terrifying.’
‘Only to people with secrets to hide.’ She winks at me, and her simple friendly wink makes me snort a laugh.
This woman doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know my family’s history or doesn’t care. She’s looking at me like I’m a person. Not a Trelawney. Not a threat.
Just Brynn.
‘I like you,’ I hear myself say.
Cassie beams. ‘Everyone does. It’s a curse.’ She turns to Jude. ‘Cal needs you, by the way. He muttered about the inspection log not matching the certification dates, but you know what I’m like, Jude’—she flashes him a bright smile, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ears—‘I switch off.’
Jude sighs. ‘Of course it doesn’t.’
‘Go on. I’ll keep Brynn company.’
‘I wasn’t planning to flee.’
‘Good. Because I’ve been dying for someone new to talk to. If I have to hear one more conversation about fishing quotas or inspection paperwork, I’m going to scream.’ She pats her belly. ‘The baby’s heard them all twice already. Poor thing’s going to come out speaking fluent maritime.’
Jude hesitates. Looks at me, then at Cassie, then at me.
‘I’ll be back,’ he says.
‘Take your time. We’ll be fine.’
He holds my gaze a beat longer than necessary. ‘Yeah. I know you will.’
He heads towards the boathouse, and I’m left with a pregnant stranger smiling at me like we’re already friends.
‘So,’ Cassie says, lowering herself onto the crate Jude vacated. ‘How long have you two been doing this?’
‘Doing what?’
‘The whole we’re definitely not falling for each other dance.’ She gestures between where I’m standing and where Jude disappeared. ‘The loaded looks. The meaningful pauses. The pretending you don’t notice when the other one’s watching.’
Heat rushes to my cheeks. ‘We’re not – it isn’t—’
‘Oh, my love’ Cassie laughs. ‘I was a nurse for ten years. I’ve seen people fall in love in hospital corridors, in hospice rooms, in the middle of absolute tragedy. I know what it looks like.’ She pats the crate beside her. ‘Sit. Tell me everything.’