Sandy, Joe and I watched with horror and then relief as the lifeboat righted itself.
Joe took the megaphone from me.
“We’ve got to get you off,” he yelled. “We’ll throw ropes and life jackets. Put them on and tie the rope. We’ll pull you over.”
But the Gods of the sea weren’t ready to finish their terrible game. As Joe threw the lifeline to the girls our boat lifted right out of the water again. We were thrown into the darkness, saved only by our harnesses. I blacked out.
“Jesus, we’ve lost the jackets and the ropes. They’ll have to jump,” I heard Joe’s voice, as I came to.
That was enough to get me on my feet. “They can’t jump. They don’t have a chance.”
“It’s their only chance,” Sandy said. “They have to do this now, or we will all drown. I’ll get the boat as close as I can and then give you the signal. That’s when they jump.”
It was like a slow torture watching Sandy attempt to near the reeling vessel. The first time he tried, we were so close, close enough to see the terror in the girls’ eyes, but then the boats were blown apart again.
After that, he must have tried a dozen times, but the waves wouldn’t let him near. Time was running out. None of us could take much more of this. Another huge clap of thunder shook the skies followed almost immediately by a series of electric lightning streaks. Sandy shook his head hopelessly.
He turned the boat one more time towards the small craft and brought it up close.
“Jump now,” I shouted, through the megaphone, as the sea subsided for an instant.
Two girls jumped, and Joe and I heaved them safely on board. The waves lurched again, and the boats eased apart, but Sandy drew close again. At the next brief calming of the wind, I called to the two remaining girls.
“Jump, now, jump.”
“It has to be now,” Sandy yelled back at us, as he struggled with the steering. The two boats were already pulling apart.
I looked across at the smaller of the two figures in the life boat and watched her gaze in horror at the water. She was terrified.
“You must make her jump,” one of the rescued girls ran towards me, pulling at my arm. A pain shot up to my shoulder. “She’s my sister. Save her, please, save her.”
She turned back to the boat and screeched something in a foreign language, I couldn’t understand. But I understood the name alright, which she screamed over and over again through the wind.
“Roxy, Roxy, Roxy ...”
So this was Ken’s Roxy. We watched, as she stood pinned to the deck, staring in terror at the waves.
Then, something unexpected happened. The other girl stepped back, and took a flying run, grabbing the younger child’s hand, with all her force. Together, they leapt for dear life. It was hopeless. The two boats split apart, and both bodies smashed into the sea, vanishing under the cavernous waves. Yet, as suddenly, the deep lifted them up, washing them towards us.
“We can reach them. We can.” I said.
Joe was already leaning over the boat, stretching out to one of the girls. He reached her and was pulling them to safety, when a wave buffeted Roxy, and she let go of the other girl’s hand. She was adrift again in the water.
“Hold me,” I shouted to the girls.
Sandy edged the boat over almost onto its side. Roxy flew towards me on a wave; close, but not close enough. I leaned out over the edge, and I reached for her. Now I, too, was partly adrift in the water, trusting only my harness and the girls to hold me safe.
It seemed like a lifetime, but was probably only a moment before a wave washed her little body into my grasp. I seized it with every ounce of strength left in me. Pain seared through my left arm, but I clung to the child.
“Pull me in,” I shouted, and they reeled us in. I hugged her tightly.“Shall I take them below?” I asked wearily, when they were safely aboard.
“No, too dangerous,” Sandy said. “In this weather, the cabin’s a death trap. We’ll harness them.”
So, we all huddled together in the cockpit. I don’t remember much about the return journey. I remember my arm hurting like hell, and I think I drifted in and out of consciousness. I remember Sandy’s arm around me, when Joe was at the wheel. I remember his voice in my ear, but not what his words meant, his precious words.
And I remember the motion of the boat, pitching and rolling, but now it was working for us, using its strength to speed us homeward. Before long, the lights of the harbour were sparkling in the distance.
We had made it. Sandy had landed us safely. We were home and dry, Roxy, the girls, Sandy and Joe.
Chapter 54
2am Saturday, December 1,
Tarbert.
A crowd waited at the harbour. Sandy helped me out of the boat, then he and Joe got the girls on dry land. We were told to go to the Kilberry for hot refreshments. A doctor was also there to see to the injured.
A blast of heat hit me as we entered the pub. My knees went weak and I slumped against Sandy. My arm was hurting like hell.
“Doctor,” I heard him call to a man in the bar, “I think she’s shattered her arm.”
Someone eased me into an armchair, and began gently feeling my arm. Sandy took the girls over to the fire, then went to the bar to get hot drinks for us all.
“The other girls?” I asked, trying to sit up.
“Don’t you worry,” the doctor replied. “The Rib’s been back. It landed five girls.”
Sandy handed me a cup of sweet tea. The doctor paused for me to take a sip.
“This is for the pain,” I felt a pin prick in my arm. “It’ll make you drowsy, but I need to manipulate this arm and strap it up, until we can get you to a hospital.”
The room started to swirl before my eyes.
Joe came across to us, to speak to Sandy.
“We need to get back out there.” I heard him say “The Sea Witch is floundering. There are still girls aboard.”
I tried to speak to Sandy to stop him going out again. He had done enough. But I couldn’t move my tongue. I tried to call his name, but nothing came out. I watched helplessly, as he walked out the door. Then, for me, the lights went out.
I don’t remember how long I was unconscious; only the terrifying nightmares of a delirious brain. I was running for my life, chased by demented characters. I out-ran my first husband, knowing the next beating would be my last. I dreamt of Kane in the tunnel at Southwark; only he didn’t smile when I approached. He raised a gun and fired. And I dreamt of the thugs in the brewery. I ran from them for what seemed like hours, but they always emerged in front of me to block my path.
Only when I awoke, did the real devil-driven nightmare begin. It was getting light. I was in a warm, comfortable bed, my arm numb, strapped up as the doctor had said. My first thought was for Sandy. Had he and Joe landed safely?
I manoeuvred myself out of the bed and went down to the bar. It was buzzing with people, waiting for news. The nine young girls huddled together by the fire.
“Couldn’t get them to go to bed,” Mrs McDonald explained. “Not without their pals, they said. Poor wee mites.”
“The others?” I asked.
“No sign so far, but the wind’s dropped. They’ll be back soon. Don’t you fret.”
The heat and the crowd were stifling, so I went outside to wait. The wind had dropped and the waves calmed Before long, I could see two boats in the distance. My heart leapt. They were coming back. Please God, they were safe, the girls, the Inspector, Sandy and the crews.
My excitement grew as the boats got bigger. I could see the rib clearly. It was moving slowly, keeping pace with the Love Boat. Soon they would be ashore. Warmth rushed over me. It was as though Sandy were standing on the harbour beside me, holding me in his arms. I felt his kiss on my lips.
A slight unease began to stir, as the boats came into view. I could see Pitcher. There were three more girls in his boat, plus a couple of men I recognised as the Sea Witch crew. There was no sign of Tom Kelly.<
br />
As they got closer, I wondered why the rib was creeping along so slowly. It could sail as fast as the wind. I picked out Joe’s silhouette on the Love Boat, but I couldn’t see Sandy. I ran along the quay shouting his name. Still he didn’t appear. I called over and over again, and, even at this distance, I could see a flash of anxiety on Pitcher’s face.
Why was the rib going so slowly? It could outrun the Love Boat by miles.
Pitcher was the first to disembark.
“We’ll take him straight to his cottage,” he said.
Four of them carried him on a stretcher, Joe nestling his head. Pitcher walked beside me. When we reached the cottage, Joe took him in his arms, carried him upstairs and laid him on his bed. I followed them up. After making his captain comfortable, he left us alone. Sandy was already cold. I kissed the gash across his forehead; I kissed his face, every inch of it; I kissed his hands through my tears. And then, I sat there with him, holding his hand.
I sat there until the sun went down again. Pitcher came in from time to time, and spoke to me. I didn’t hear what he said. I wouldn’t budge, though. Not for him, not for the doctor, not for Joe or Mrs McDonald. I sat there all through the day, and the following night. This was our last time together, and no one could take it from me.
I sat on at my post the next morning. Sometime during the following day, Marsha arrived. She kissed Sandy, and held his hand. Then she kissed me and took my hand. I remember her voice, but even now I don’t remember what she said. And in the end she took me away.
Chapter 55
11 am Friday, December 7,
Tarbert
It was a few days before I could piece together the events of the night that took Sandy from me. Pitcher gave me an outline, but he refused to discuss what happened in any detail.
“Ross, three girls and two crewmen are dead. What else do you need to know?”
With that the subject was closed.
It was Joe, who helped me understand. The general opinion was Tom Kelly had panicked. He didn’t want the Kelly name dragged through the mud of child abuse, so he tried to hide the girls on the islands. After he was spotted, first here in Tarbert, and then in Islay, he made a run for the continent.
“He must’ve known the risks. He was an experienced sailor. The weather was deteriorating,” Joe said. “I guess he gambled he could out-run the storm, but it caught up with him, so he turned back. The Sea Witch was taking in a lot of water, so he put some of the wee girls in two lifeboats.”
He pronounced girls like curls, as the Scots do.
“It was a death sentence,” I said.
He shook his head.
“It gave them a chance. Pitcher picked up one of the life boats and we brought the other in. When we got back out there, the Sea Witch was breaking up.”
He swallowed hard, as he recalled what happened next.
“They started to jump.”
“It was their only hope?”
“The Sea Witch was going down. Life jackets kept them afloat for a while. We managed to pull a few aboard. It was hard slow work, but he wouldn’t give up, the captain. He wanted to save everyone, even when there was no point going on.”
“Kelly?”
“He went down with the boat. He’d never leave it. That boat was probably the only thing he loved. He took three girls with him.”
I stared into the fire, thinking of those young lives cut short.
“Sandy?” I gently urged him to continue.
“He wouldn’t give up while there was any hope left. We were close to the rib by this time, working together on the rescue. After a wee while, we couldn’t hear their cries or whistles anymore. They had been in the water too long. We knew it was over. The rescue was called off.”
“So you started to come back?”
“The sea was quietening now, the storm blowing itself out. On the way home, one last surge smashed into us. We all but capsized. The boat righted itself, amazing that boat. But the captain fell badly… smashed his head on the deck. I rushed to him, and sat him up, tried to make him comfortable. He just stared, his eyes.” Jo looked wretched. “They were lifeless and I knew.”
I stayed on for the funeral, Marsha with me. It was held in the small church on the hill. It was a dark, unforgiving place, and seemed to have nothing to do with the warm, funny, brilliant man I had known.
Pitcher spoke of his courage and bravery that night, and how he had made the ultimate sacrifice, risking his life for others. The Inspector never seemed to smile or laugh any more. He looked grey.
He hated the fact that Tom Kelly had escaped justice. A watery grave was better than he deserved, many said. He had stayed on with me for a bit, boarding at the Kilberry, but he needed to go home, back to the smoke.
I knew his officers had been busy. Jack Kelly was charged with employing illegal immigrants, a holding charge. Patterson was hauled out of the nursing home and into Winchester nick for questioning. Three Strathclyde police were arrested and held, without bail, for conspiracy. Interpol picked up two men in Oslo, who were being questioned for the murders of Livingstone and Black. McSherry had told the police, where they could be found.
Sister Robert was at the funeral with the girls. The police discharged them into her care, with support from local social services. After Pitcher spoke, the eulogies fell thick and fast. Fellow professionals, family, friends. I didn’t listen to their words. It was all I could do to hold myself together and not crack, before the service was over. Marsha stood by my side, singing loudly as though her lungs were fit to burst.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the children in the front pew. Those sweet children. James, Laura, Blair and little Sarah; even here, she clung to her little rabbit. Throughout the service, they stood straight and stared ahead of them. While tears flowed freely throughout the rest of the congregation, they remained dry-eyed. How Sandy would have been proud of them. If they could get through this without a tear, then so could I.
The sun came out as we began the short walk to the graveyard. It was mild for the time of year, a blue cloudless sky. Gulls cawed, as they swooped across the loch. I looked down at the water, lapping gently below. Sandy had loved it here. Whatever had happened on that terrible night, this was the place he loved. He would be able to rest here in peace.
The prayers finished, the body was lowered, and the family cast their dust into the grave. I had to get away. I wanted to be alone. Sensing my distress, Marsha slipped her arm into my good arm and we walked away from the crowd, down the hill towards the harbour and the cottage. Christmas lights twinkled around the quay.
At the bottom, a woman was waiting, holding Sarah by the hand.
“Julia,” she said, walking towards us. “I wanted to meet you. Are you joining us for the wake?”
Sandy’s family had arranged some food and drink at the Kilberry, but I couldn’t face company.
“No,” I said, in a faltering voice, unsure who I was talking to. “Thank you, but it’s for the family.”
“Could we have a few moments together, then?” she said, quietly. “I’m Laura, I’m Sandy’s first wife.”
I hadn’t even known, she was at the funeral. I could see her daughter Laura in her; conscientious, kindly Laura. I could see why he had loved her.
Marsha took Sarah by the hand and led her in the direction of the Kilberry. Laura and I walked along the quay for a bit, before she spoke again.
“He loved you very much,” she said, and I saw little Laura again; Laura wanting everyone to be happy.
“I wanted to thank you for setting us free…” she hesitated, “There had been so much bitterness. But we were talking again, like rational adults.”
“I’m glad,” I said and I was glad, for all of them, that he had not died with bitterness unresolved.
“I so wanted our marriage to work. He was so brilliant, so hardworking, driven,” she continued. “But I wasn’t enough for him. I knew that from the start. He needed someone, who was witty, clever and dri
ven like him. Someone like you.”
I felt tears slide down my cheeks. Now the children were gone, I could let go. She placed a hand over mine.
“I loved him enough to be able to tell you that.” I started to sob uncontrollably.
We continued walking, mainly in silence. Laura told me she and her new husband were taking the children. Out of this terrible loss, some good had come.
Finally, we walked back to the Kilberry together.
I didn’t go in. Marsha was waiting outside, so we returned to the cottage, only to find Carlton Crabb on the doorstep.
“Ah, I’ve caught you, I was affffraid….”
“Were you at the funeral?” I hadn’t seen him and he wasn’t in his usual morning suit.
“No, no. Terribly sad, but Mr Ross wasn’t a client.”
“Question of the wee fee, I suppose,” Marsha said, rolling her eyes.
“Question of a letter,” he said, handing me an envelope.
“We’d better go indoors,” Marsha said, disappearing into the kitchen to make some tea.
Crabb sat down on the settee and cleared his voice, before beginning.
“Mary Kelly died last night,” he said. “She deposited this letter with me a couple of weeks ago. She said she wanted you to have it, when the end came.”
I turned the envelope over. I really didn’t care anymore about Mary Kelly.
“A heart attack,” Crabb said, as though I asked. “She had c.c cancer, been ill a long time.”
I thought about our meeting, her frail figure, her wheezing. I could see, now, she had been dying.
“So, she knew…”
“That the end was c...coming? Oh yes, had for some time.”
I handed it back to him.
“Would you like me to open it?” he asked
I shrugged. It was immaterial to me.
“I’m afraid there will be a fee,” he said seriously, but then his eyes twinkled. Heavens above, I do believe Crabb had cracked yet another joke. Despite my heavy heart, and aching arm, now plastered below the elbow, I smiled.
DEAD MONEY Page 27