Chapter 26 #2
His arm falls to my waist, anchoring me tight, and we hold one another, but after his breathing has settled into something rhythmic and calm, I stare at the ceiling and a tear slides down my cheek, followed by another. But who I am crying for I’m no longer sure.
I find Nina in the back kitchen of the café later that morning. She’s not crying. She’s not talking. She’s chopping onions.
Dozens of them. Whole bags scattered across the counter. The air stings with them – thick and sharp, making my eyes water the moment I step inside.
‘Hey,’ I say gently.
She doesn’t look up. Just keeps going, rhythmic and relentless. The knife thuds against the chopping board with a sound that feels like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
‘I had a delivery booked,’ she says. Her voice is flat. ‘Didn’t cancel it. Didn’t even think to.’
‘You want help?’
‘No.’
I step forward anyway, grab another board, another knife. ‘Tough.’
We chop in silence.
The onions burn my throat. The grief burns deeper.
Every few minutes, Nina wipes her cheek with the back of her wrist. It’s hard to tell which tears belong to which cause.
‘I’ve only just met you, Nina, but I want you to know I’m going to be here for you. I’m your friend now, and where I’ve been, friends are few and far between, so we can chop onions, you can cry into my hair and use my jumper as a tissue, but I’m going to be here.’
She nods. Once. And then we chop.
When she finally stops, it’s not to cry. It’s to press both palms to the counter and lean into it like she can’t hold herself up on her own.
‘He always wore those ridiculous wool socks,’ she says eventually, voice barely audible. ‘Even in summer,’ she adds.
I nod, even though I can’t speak.
‘I told him he looked like a retired geography teacher. He said he was keeping the traditions of hardy Cornish men alive.’
Her shoulders start to shake. Just a little. Barely a ripple.
‘Now I can’t stop thinking – when he went into the water – were his feet warm?’
That’s what breaks me. Not the silence. Not the storm. Not even the memory of Kit’s bloodied hands and wild eyes.
It’s Nina talking about socks. I slide my hand across the counter and cover hers. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t need to.
We stand there, the scent of onion and grief folding in the cracks like rising dough. No tidy platitudes. Just presence. Not a perfect soundbite. Just silence.
It’s all I have to give.
‘I don’t know what to do now,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t know what to do, because I always wait for his boat to come in.’
I squeeze her fingers. ‘I know.’
I’m walking back to Kit’s place, ignoring the sad forlorn look Salt Cottage throws at me, when my phone rings and I fish it out of my jacket pocket.
The sun is shining, like no storm even existed, October is just blustering under a weak autumnal sunshine, and Piper’s face is flashing in my hand.
Just like that, my stomach rolls like the deck of the Mary Jane as it pitched Kit overboard.
I almost don’t answer. My hands still smell like onions, my eyes are raw from crying, and I don’t have the energy for whatever development in my own personal crisis she might be calling about. But I answer anyway. ‘Hey.’
‘Christ, Isla, I’ve been trying to reach you for two days.
’ Piper’s tone has reached a new pitch and I wince, pulling my phone away from my ear.
‘Are you okay? Apparently there was a red weather warning? Did the cottage collapse, do I need to send a salvage company and not a house-clearance service?’ She pauses, just for a breath, and I cut in before she finds more words to say.
‘I’m fine, well, not fine. But fine.’
‘Riddles, Isla. You know I can’t do riddles.’
‘Remember Nina?’ My throat tightens. ‘From the café?’
‘Of course I remember, I strive on my ability to remember a face and a name.’
‘Her boyfriend, Peter, he…’ The words struggle to form. ‘He died in the storm, rescuing Kit.’ The last two words are just a whisper.
‘He what? Isla, you’re breaking up.’
It’s not the phone line breaking up. I think it’s me.
‘He died, Piper, he went out on the RNLI call to save Kit, who was stranded in the storm, and he died.’
There’s just silence, followed by a sigh. ‘That’s a clusterfuck.’
I’m outside Kit’s and I want to be in there and not standing on the phone. ‘Did you need something from me? I want to get back to Kit.’
Another sigh. This one deeper, laden with unspoken words. ‘Listen, I hate to do this now, but Marcus’s lawyers have served a defamation suit.’
My stomach drops, twists, pulls in a painful knot. ‘They’ve what?’
‘James Faraday from Faraday Law has been trying to call you for days, but I guess you aren’t answering anyone, not just me.’
‘A defamation suit? What does that even mean?’
‘It means Marcus Vale plans to see you in court and prove that anything you’ve said in support of Jemima Collins’ accusation of sexual misconduct is a lie.’
‘But…’ I don’t have anything to say. My knees are knocking together and I’m pretty sure I’m going to hurl over the cobbled stones of Sea Salt Bay.
‘Isla. This is serious. If you have anything else, any other evidence or anything that supports what you’ve said, you need to tell people, make it official.’
My blood is ice in my veins. ‘I can’t.’
‘Isla…’
‘No, Piper. I can’t.’
‘Talk to me, babe, let me help you.’
There’s a wild thudding in my throat. ‘I can’t.’
‘Will you please come back to London. You don’t even need to stay in London; we can go to New York, I can get the apartment there ready in hours.
You need your team. You need to let us help you.
If this goes in Marcus’s favour, you might never work again.
It doesn’t matter how good you are, how talented.
If he proves you to be a liar, you’ll be a liability no one wants to gamble on. ’
The door to Kit’s cottage opens and he peers out. Wearing a pale blue hoodie and dark jeans with bare feet, hair tousled, he looks so much like the boy I used to know it makes pain lance through my chest. Only the addition of the beard marks the years between then and now.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I whisper to Piper and swipe the screen. I can hear her calling me back, but I ignore it and tuck my phone back in my pocket.
‘Everything okay?’ Kit’s denim-dark gaze wanders across my face. ‘You look pale.’
‘I’m fine.’ I step up across the threshold and catch his face in my hands. ‘Let me do the worrying about you.’ The door closes softly behind us and his arms wind around my waist, face dropping to the crook of my neck.
‘I’ll take care of you,’ I promise, turning my face and kissing the side of his head where it rests on my shoulder.
Kit nods and his arms tighten, and we stand, just like that. Together.