Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
JUDE
The boat shed is locked.
Why wouldn’t it be? The universe has a sense of humour and I’m the punchline.
I check my phone. Half five. She usually works later than this – I’ve walked past enough times to notice, which isn’t stalking, it’s just … observation. Situational awareness.
A situational awareness thing you can develop when you’re a spineless prick who can’t just walk into The Ship with a woman on his arm and let the village talk.
Christ.
I shove my hands in my pockets and stare at the padlock like if it would only open it might just solve all the problems of the universe.
I’m standing at Brynn’s shed like a lovesick teenager, hoping she’ll materialise through the salt-warped doors so I can – what?
Apologise for being an emotional disaster?
Tell her I’m sorry I kept her hidden away like a dirty secret when the truth is the complete bloody opposite?
The irony isn’t lost on me. I face-down twelve-foot swells in a force 9. I’ve pulled men from the water when the Atlantic was doing its level best to swallow us all. But telling Brynn Trelawney that I want to stop sneaking around?
Terrifying.
I turn away from the shed, kicking at a loose stone. It skitters across the harbour cobbles and disappears into the water with a satisfying plop.
Right. Fine. I’ll go to the cottage. I’ll knock on her door like a normal human being and I’ll say—
‘Jude!’
I turn. Cal’s striding up from the lifeboat station, Tom falling into step beside him. They’re both in civvies – Cal in that ancient, waxed jacket he refuses to retire, Tom in a jacket that screams it should be summer already.
I arrange my face into as close to a neutral expression as I can manage. Which might look like a stuffed turbot. ‘Cal. Tom.’
‘You look cheerful,’ Tom observes. He’s got that glint in his eye that usually precedes mockery.
‘Just thinking.’
‘Dangerous hobby for you,’ Cal says, but there’s warmth underneath it. He stops a few feet away, squinting at the locked boat shed behind me. ‘Looking for someone?’
‘No.’
‘Right.’ Cal’s mouth twitches. ‘You often stand outside locked buildings at sunset?’
‘Fresh air.’
Tom snorts. Cal’s smirk deepens.
I change the subject before this gets worse. ‘You two off somewhere?’
‘Dinner at ours,’ Cal says. ‘Tom’s coming. Morgan’s back from Edinburgh—’
I blink. ‘Morgan’s back?’
‘Got in yesterday. Cassie’s doing a welcome home thing, you know how she is. Mum’s beside herself, obviously – her baby boy home at last.’ Cal rolls his eyes, but fondly. ‘He’s staying a few weeks apparently. Something about reassessing priorities. Quarter-life crisis, I reckon.’
Morgan Morrison. Cal’s younger brother, who swanned off to Edinburgh after uni to work in marine insurance or yacht brokerage or whatever it is posh maritime types do when they don’t actually want to get their hands dirty. I haven’t seen him in – what, two years? Three?
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Good for him.’
‘Should be nice.’ Cal’s watching me carefully now. ‘We’ve invited Brynn too, actually. Cassie’s idea – thought she could do with meeting more people. Settling in properly.’
Everything in my body goes very still.
‘Brynn.’
‘Mmhm. She seemed pleased about it. Said she’d be there around seven.’
Brynn. At dinner. With Morgan bloody Morrison, who has an easy smile and an Edinburgh flat and the ability to hold a conversation with a woman without looking like he’s swallowed his own tongue.
Morgan, who hasn’t got a family feud no one understands hanging over his head.
Morgan, who could just … ask her out. Publicly. Like a normal person.
‘Something wrong?’ Cal asks, all innocence.
‘No.’
Tom’s grinning now, not even trying to hide it. ‘You sure? Only you’ve gone a bit tense there, mate.’
‘I’m not tense.’
‘You look like you’re about to crack a molar.’
I force my jaw to unclench. ‘Just didn’t know he was back, that’s all.’
‘Mmm.’ Tom exchanges a glance with Cal. And it’s a glance that says I’m enjoying this far too much and also I’m a dick. ‘Must be strange, that. Finding out your crewmate’s having dinner with Cal’s eligible younger brother.’
‘She can have dinner with whoever she wants.’
‘Course she can.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘We’re just crewmates.’
Tom nods, solemn. ‘Just crewmates. Who look at each other like the rest of us aren’t even in the room.’
‘Tom.’ Cal’s voice carries a warning, but his eyes are laughing.
‘What’s going on, Jude?’ Tom’s not letting this go. ‘Thought you two were just crewmates?’
I glower at him. Properly glower – the kind of look that makes deckhands find somewhere else to be. Tom just grins wider.
‘We’re going to be late,’ Cal says, clapping me on the shoulder. ‘Cassie will have my head if I leave the food to burn in the oven again.’ He gives me one last look – part amusement, part what might actually be sympathy. ‘You should come by sometime, Jude. Always room for one more.’
They walk off toward the hill, Tom’s laugh carrying back on the evening breeze. I catch him muttering, ‘Just crewmates, my arse,’ and Cal’s low chuckle in response.
I stand there, watching them go.
Brynn at the Morrison dinner table. Brynn being welcomed into a family that isn’t weighed down with grudges and ghosts. Brynn meeting Morgan, who’ll probably be charming and attentive and everything I’m not.
I could go to Trelawney Cottage. Intercept her before she leaves. Tell her – what? Don’t go? That’s not fair. She deserves to have friends, to feel part of things.
But then again…
If she’s going to dinner, there’s nothing stopping me from going to dinner too.
Cal did say there was always room for one more.
I start walking before I can talk myself out of it. Up the hill, past the fish shack, toward home.
Home. The word still catches sometimes. It’s not mine, not really – it’s Dad’s cottage.
Lucky me.
The heating’s on, at least. Small mercies. The air is full of the smell of cooking – soup, maybe, or the ghost of soup. Dad’s been doing that lately. Starting meals and forgetting to finish them.
‘Dad?’ I call, toeing off my boots in the hallway. ‘You in?’
‘Kitchen.’
I find him at the table, staring at a crossword that looks untouched. The kettle’s boiled dry on the hob – I flick it off, biting back the lecture. No point. He’ll only get defensive, and I haven’t got the energy.
‘You eaten?’
He doesn’t look up. ‘Not hungry.’
‘Dad—’
‘I said I’m not hungry, Kit.’
I still.
Kit.
It’s happened again.
I should correct him. I don’t.
‘Right,’ I say, and my voice comes out flat. ‘I’m going to shower. There’s soup in the fridge if you change your mind.’
I’m halfway to the door when I stop. Maybe it’s the conversation with Cal, still rattling around my skull. Maybe it’s the thought of Brynn at that dinner table, being welcomed into a family that isn’t drowning in secrets.
Maybe I’m just tired of not knowing.
‘Dad.’
He grunts.
‘What actually happened? With the Trelawneys.’
The silence is immediate. Heavy. I watch his shoulders go rigid, his hand freezing over the crossword.
‘Ancient history,’ he says.
‘Brynn’s back. It’s not ancient to her.’
‘That girl has no business being here.’
‘She inherited her grandad’s cottage. She’s got as much business being here as anyone.’ I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. ‘So what happened? You and Walter were friends once – I remember that much. Then suddenly you weren’t, and they were gone, and no one would talk about it.’
Dad’s jaw tightens. That familiar stubbornness settling in like weather.
‘I was nine,’ I press. ‘Kit was twelve. Don’t you think we deserved to know why half the village stopped speaking to us?’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Because no one will bloody tell me!’
My voice cracks off the kitchen walls. Dad finally looks up, and for a moment – just a moment – I see a trace of emotion flicker across his expression before he can hide it. My stomach drops as I register what looks like raw pain and regret.
Then it’s gone. Shuttered away behind the same stone wall he’s been building for decades.
‘Leave it alone, Jude.’
‘Dad—’
‘I said leave it.’ He turns back to his crossword, pen gripped tight enough to shake. ‘Some things are better left buried.’
I stare at the back of his head. The grey hair, thinning now. The stubborn set of his shoulders. This man who raised me and resents me and can’t even remember my name half the time.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Keep your secrets.’
I take the stairs two at a time, stripping off my jumper before I’ve even reached the bathroom. The shower runs cold for thirty seconds before the ancient boiler kicks in – story of my life, really. Always waiting for things to warm up.
I stand under the spray and let the water pound the tension from my shoulders. Think about Brynn. About the way she looked at me after the rescue, like I was worth seeing. About the way I keep hiding her away like I’m ashamed, when really I’m just terrified.
Terrified of wanting this so much.
Terrified of what happens when Dad finds out.
Terrified that poison runs deeper than whatever’s building between us.
I shut off the water. Towel off. Find the shirt Kit gave me at Christmas – soft cotton, dark blue, obviously chosen by Isla, which still has the tags on because when would I ever wear a shirt as nice as this that wasn’t my standard hoodie and old denim?
Now, apparently. Now I wear it.
I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark sandy waves dripping, jaw set, recklessness in my eyes.
Downstairs, Dad’s still at the table. Still pretending I don’t exist.
‘I’m going out,’ I say, grabbing my keys.
He doesn’t respond.
I slam the door harder than necessary.
The evening air hits my face, cold and salt-sharp, and I start walking toward the Morrisons’ place before I can think better of it.
Brynn’s probably already there. Probably already laughing at a clever and fucking smug thing Morgan’s said, being charmed by his easy smile and his uncomplicated family.
Well.
Nothing like an impromptu dinner crash to spark a man up.