Chapter 23 #2
‘People always talk.’
‘Then let’s give them something better to talk about. The Hardings, holding things together.’
‘Sure, Dad. Sounds good.’
‘Good lad.’
He picks up his mug. Conversation over. Back to business as usual.
I escape to my room. Close the door. Lean against it, heart pounding.
Coward.
The word echoes in my skull.
You’re a fucking coward.
I pull out my phone. Stare at Brynn’s contact. Type and delete a dozen messages.
In the end, I send: Can’t make tonight. Family stuff. Dad wants to do the pub. Tomorrow instead?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Brynn: Everything ok?
Fine. Just Reuben being Reuben. I’ll make it up to you.
A long pause. Then:
Ok.
One word. I can feel the distance in it. The disappointment she’s trying to hide.
Prove it, she said. That’s all I’m asking.
And here I am, already failing.
I pocket the phone. Head downstairs. Help Dad with the accounts.
Play the good son.
The Ship is packed.
Friday night in Salt Bay means everyone’s here. The noise washes over me, familiar and suffocating.
Reuben’s in his element. Holding court at the bar, trading stories with Bill, laughing at Frankie’s terrible jokes. Playing the patriarch, the pillar of the community.
I nurse my pint and try to look like I’m having a good time.
It’s not working.
Every time the door opens, my head turns. Not hoping – dreading. She wouldn’t come, would she? I told her I’d be here with Dad. She knows what that means.
But some part of me wants her to walk through that door anyway. Wants her to force my hand. Make the choice I can’t seem to make myself.
Coward.
There’s that word again.
‘You’re quiet tonight.’ Reuben’s watching me over his pint. ‘Got things on your mind?’
‘Just tired.’
‘Tired?’ He doesn’t believe me. I can tell. ‘You’ve been tired a lot lately.’
‘Long week.’
‘Hmm.’
The door opens.
I don’t mean to look. It’s just reflex now, this constant checking.
Brynn walks in.
She’s with Nina – the two of them shaking rain off their coats, laughing as they hang them on the hooks by the door. She’s wearing that green jumper, the one that makes her eyes look like the sea after a storm. Her hair’s down, damp at the ends, curling slightly from the weather.
My heart slams against my ribs.
What is she doing here?
She scans the room. Her eyes find mine.
She smiles. That private smile, the one she only gives me, the one that means I see you, I know you, I’m yours.
My whole body goes cold.
Reuben’s right there. Six inches away, pint in hand, already turning to see what I’m looking at.
I can’t—
I look away.
I don’t mean to. It just happens – this instinctive flinch, this cowardly reflex. Like if I don’t look at her, he won’t see. Like if I pretend she’s not there, this moment won’t be happening.
When I force myself to look back, her smile is gone.
She mutters to Nina, squares her shoulders, and starts making her way to the bar.
Don’t come over here. Please. Not while he’s—
‘Jude.’
She’s right there. Standing in front of me like she has every right to be. Which she does. Which is the whole point.
I can feel Reuben’s attention shifting. Feel his eyes on us.
‘Trelawney.’ My voice comes out all wrong. Cold. Professional and dismissive. ‘Training’s not until Monday.’
Her face cycles through it in a heartbeat. Confusion first – what? – then understanding. Then worse.
Her heart cracking open right in front of me.
‘Right.’ Her voice is steady. Admirably steady, given what I’ve just done. ‘Of course. Just getting drinks.’
She turns away, heading to the other end of the bar, as far from me as she can get without leaving the building.
Nina follows, throwing me a look that could curdle milk.
Reuben leans over. ‘Well done, son.’
‘Yeah.’
‘She should know we don’t want her here.’
I should defend her. Should say something. Anything.
‘She’s all right,’ I say. ‘Good mechanic.’
Reuben grunts. Goes back to his pint.
And I stand there, the taste of betrayal thick in my mouth, knowing I won’t forgive myself for this.
I find her outside.
She’s leaning against the harbour wall, arms crossed, staring out at the water. The rain has stopped but the air is thick with mist, hazing the streetlights into soft gold circles.
She doesn’t look sad.
She looks like she’s about to commit murder.
‘Brynn—’
‘Don’t.’ She doesn’t turn around. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Please, just let me explain—’
‘Explain what?’ She spins. Her eyes are blazing – not with tears, with rage. Pure, incandescent rage. ‘Explain why you looked at me like I was dogshit on your shoe? In front of the whole fucking pub?’
‘My dad was right there—’
‘I know he was right there! I have eyes, Jude!’ She advances on me, and I actually step back.
‘Do you know what I did when I came back to this village? I walked into a place where everyone hated my family. Where your father – your father – has spent twenty years making sure no one forgets what the Trelawneys supposedly did. I held my head up and I took it.’
‘I know—’