Chapter 14 #3
Nina is there, locking up, a small figure in a familiar yellow rain hat beside her. Maisie.
I hesitate, suddenly unsure. I’m intruding on their family crisis. What right do I have to be concerned? I’m nobody to Kit now. Nobody to his daughter.
But as I’m about to turn back, Nina spots me. ‘Isla!’ She waves through the rain. ‘What on earth are you doing out in this?’
‘I – couldn’t settle,’ I yell back over the wind. ‘How’s Maisie doing?’
Nina gestures for me to come closer, offering shelter under the café’s awning. ‘She’s used to it,’ she says, more quietly now that I’m near. ‘Aren’t you, love?’
Maisie nods, her face pale but composed beneath her rain hat. ‘Dad’s the best on the boat,’ she says with the fierce certainty of a child’s faith. ‘He always comes back.’
Always. Such a dangerous word.
‘We’re heading to the pub,’ Nina explains. ‘Everyone waits there. They’ll radio when they’re on their way back.’
‘Oh.’ I step back. ‘Well, I won’t intrude. I just needed some air.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Nina links her arm through mine so I can lean on her a little. ‘Come with us. No sense in you worrying alone in that cottage.’
‘I’m not worrying,’ I lie. ‘I just—’
‘Yes, you are.’ It’s Maisie who interrupts, looking up at me with eyes too perceptive for her age. ‘Your face is doing the same thing mine does when Dad’s on a call-out.’
I blink rainwater from my lashes. Or maybe it’s something else. ‘That obvious, huh?’
She shrugs. ‘Dad says I notice things.’
‘She gets that from her mother,’ Nina adds gently. ‘Now come on, before we all drown out here.’
I let them lead me towards The Ship Inn, Nina’s arm still linked through mine. The warmth hits like a physical wave when we push through the door – heat and light and the low murmur of anxious conversation.
The pub is packed, though not with the usual Friday night revelry. This is something else. A community holding its collective breath. Faces turn towards the door as we enter, hope flickering briefly before falling again when they see it’s just us.
‘Any word?’ Nina asks Ayo, who’s polishing a glass that doesn’t look in need of polishing.
He shakes his head. ‘Nothing yet. Should be soon, though.’
Tilly appears from somewhere, ushering us to a table near the fire. ‘You look half drowned,’ she tells me, her eyes kind despite the worry etched across her face. ‘Tea? Or something stronger?’
‘Tea would be great,’ I manage, conscious of Maisie beside me.
‘Hot chocolate for the little miss,’ Tilly says, squeezing Maisie’s shoulder. ‘With extra marshmallows. Emergency rules.’
Maisie’s face brightens slightly. ‘And sprinkles?’
‘Sprinkles too,’ Tilly promises. ‘Your dad would want you to have sprinkles.’
I watch this interaction with a tightness in my chest. This village. These people. The way they wrap around Kit’s daughter like a protective embrace.
‘He’s done this hundreds of times,’ Nina says quietly, misreading my expression. ‘Kit’s the best coxswain they’ve got. If anyone can make it back safely in this weather, it’s him.’
‘But it’s not always safe, is it?’ The words slip out before I can stop them. ‘Even for the best.’
Nina glances at Maisie, who’s busy arranging coloured pencils from her small backpack, seemingly oblivious to our conversation.
‘He’s calmer now, not so angry,’ Nina murmurs, leaning closer. ‘After Jess died, he was wild with fury. Wouldn’t talk to anyone, wouldn’t come near any of us. That’s how Jude’s accident happened.’
I blink. ‘Jude’s accident?’
‘You’ve seen his limp?’
I nod, but my heart is pounding unevenly in my chest.
‘It was right after Jessica’s funeral. Kit was … not himself. Wanted to check on some equipment at the oyster beds but there was a storm warning. Jude tried to stop him going alone and ended up going with him. They capsized and Jude’s leg was crushed between the boat and the rocks.’
My throat tightens. Kit, grieving and angry. Kit, getting his brother hurt.
‘Does Jude blame him?’
‘Jude says there’s nothing to blame. But Kit…’ Nina shakes her head. ‘Kit blames himself enough for everyone.’
Before I can respond, Tilly returns with our drinks. Maisie looks up from her colouring, examining me with that too-perceptive gaze again.
‘Are you drawing with me?’ she asks, pushing paper and a pencil towards me. ‘I’m doing a picture for Dad. For when he gets back.’
When he gets back. Not if. The certainty in her voice nearly breaks me.
‘I’d love to,’ I say, taking the pencil.
In the end, I sketch the cottage, with its newly repaired roof. A simple thank you. A reminder of solid ground.
Time stretches like saltwater taffy, sticky and slow. More people arrive, soaked and worried. Dot from the post office. Bill and Frankie from the fish shack. Reuben, Kit’s father, who gives me a long, inscrutable look before nodding briefly and taking a seat at the bar.
Nina occasionally checks her phone. ‘They’ll call when they’re close,’ she explains, catching my glance.
Maisie colours steadily, focused and determined.
My ankle throbs beneath the table, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest.