by Fern Britton
‘Trevay, this is Falmouth. Will you require the helicopter?’
Jesse, who’d gone to check on Brian, answered: ‘Yes. I’m a crew member down. Possible concussion. One casualty taken off yacht with suspected multiple fractures. One person still missing, presumed under the mast and mainsail. Over.’
‘Understood. It’s on its way. Out.’
Jesse climbed back on deck. The wind had dropped and a small moon gave the scene a silvery shine. ‘Don!’
Don was crouching on the deck of the yacht, one arm stuck under the opposite armpit. He looked grey.
‘Don,’ Jesse said again. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ve cut my hand.’
Jesse swore under his breath. ‘Badly?’ he asked.
Don nodded and brought the wounded hand out from under his arm. Even from where he was standing, Jesse could see the tendons shine white through the neatly sliced flesh.
‘How the fuck did you do that?’
Don bent his head towards the flapping cords on the mainsail. ‘I tried to catch one.’
‘Right, let’s get you back over here.’
‘Falmouth. This is Trevay. I’m another crew member down. What’s the ETA for the chopper?’
Jesse listened as the coastguard spoke to the helicopter. ‘Trevay. This is Falmouth. Helicopter is about eighteen minutes away. Over.’
‘We’re going to find the other casualty. Out.’
Mickey volunteered. ‘I’ll find him.’
Jesse hesitated. He had three crew members to choose from. Malcolm, who was at the helm; Jeff, who was eager but hadn’t been on the boat very long, and Mickey, who was more than capable – but could Jesse spare him?
Jesse looked from one man to the other. He made his decision. ‘OK, Mickey, it’s you, but be careful.’
Jesse watched as Mickey stepped nimbly from one boat to the other.
‘It’s a bit calmer. Not so bad,’ shouted Mickey. He arrived at the flapping mass of sail and burrowed underneath it. Jesse held his breath, then Mickey popped out.
‘Got him. He’s unconscious but alive. As far as I can see, the mast is lying at an angle from one hip, across his stomach and up to his shoulder. I’ll see if I can get to him.’
As Jesse watched, Mickey took a knife and started to cut the mainsail loose from its rigging. The wind was picking up a little and Jesse felt some rain in his face. The sea beneath his feet started to dance, and from the blackness rolled a wave twice as big as anything they’d seen that night.
‘Mickey. Get down!’ shouted Jesse, as the wave crashed on top of the yacht and spilled its weight on Mickey’s head. It swept Jesse off his feet, but he held a grab rail and jammed his feet against the boat’s side. As the water drained away, Jesse yelled, ‘Mickey? Mickey?’
‘It’s OK. I’m OK,’ came Mickey’s voice.
Jesse saw him hanging over the edge of the yacht. Gripping tight to the railing, his legs in the sea. There was, at most, a metre and a half between both boats. If they were pushed closer together, Mickey would be crushed.
‘Oh Jesus,’ said Jesse. ‘Malc!’ he screamed.
Malcolm, at the helm, had seen what had happened and he was doing all he could to keep the boats at a safe distance.
Jesse knew what he had to do. ‘I’m coming over, Mickey. I’m coming.’
Mickey, the muscles in his shoulders tearing with the effort of hanging on, shook his head. ‘Get Jeff. You’re the bleddy coxswain. You can’t leave the boat.’
‘Watch me.’
Jesse looked at the sea and counted the seconds in between the swell, then jumped, landing safely on the yacht.
‘I’ve got you, Mickey.’ He lay on the deck and grabbed Mickey’s lifejacket. He got his hands under the shoulders and pulled.
‘Thank God you’m a fucking skinny bastard,’ he said as he pulled Mickey onto the deck. They lay side by side. Breathless and exhausted.
Mickey spoke first. ‘I suppose this makes us even.’
‘Even?’ Jesse panted.
‘Yeah, you saved my life and I saved yours.’
‘You’ve lost me, mate.’
‘All those years ago. Remember? The shelter on the harbour where you and Grant had your fight?’
Jesse felt the first stirrings of unease. ‘It wasn’t me. I found him. You saw the bloke who did it running away.’
Mickey looked at him incredulously. ‘No. I didn’t see anyone run away, as well you know. But I did see you kicking shit out of your brother. You killed him.’
‘No. They never found who killed him.’
‘Because I lied for you and saved your life.’
Jesse sat up. ‘You’ve had more of a bang to the head than I thought, boy.’
‘I protected you to protect Loveday,’ said Mickey, staring at Jesse.
‘What?’
Mickey sat up. His breath was ragged and he fought to get the words out – tears mingled with salty sea water burned his eyes.
‘I knew. I always knew I was second best. Grant told me once that you and Loveday had had a fling. The night before you married Greer. He told me that Hal, my Hal, was really your son.’ Mickey spoke quietly. ‘So you see, I’m as guilty as you. I wanted Grant dead too. To stop him spreading those lies. And when I saw you kicking and kicking and kicking him, I could have stopped you. But I didn’t because I wanted him dead so I am as guilty of his murder as you are.’
Jesse edged over to Mickey and clung to him. Shaking him. ‘No. No you didn’t. I did it. I hated him. I didn’t want him in my life.’
Mickey wiped his running nose and looked into Jesse’s eyes. ‘Tell me the truth. Tell me. Did you sleep with Loveday?’
From the lifeboat, Jeff appeared and shouted: ‘The chopper’s here.’
Jesse turned and looked into the sky. He saw the searchlight beam coming towards them and heard the thud of the rotor blades.
‘Tell me, Jesse,’ Mickey pleaded. ‘Tell me the truth and we’ll never speak of it again.’
The helicopter was directly behind Jesse now. The noise was intense. ‘Tell me!’ Mickey shouted.
‘I’m going to do the right thing, Mickey.’ He looked up to the helicopter and gave the thumbs-up to the pilot. The side door of the Sea King opened and the winch man appeared on his wire.
Jesse turned back to his best friend, his silhouette dark against the bright light. ‘I love you, Mick.’ He moved his hands to his life vest and started to undo its buckles, and then the zip. He took it off and chucked it down on the deck.
‘What are you doing?’ shouted Mickey, jumping to his feet.
‘I’m sorry,’ mouthed Jesse over the beat of the thundering rotor blades.
‘Jesse, what the fuck are you doing?’ screamed Mickey again.
Jesse moved towards Mickey and kissed him on both cheeks.
Then he walked backwards to the edge of the boat and jumped.
39
Greer had woken with a jolt. She looked at her bedside clock. 03.27.
She put a hand out to feel Jesse’s side of the bed. Empty.
Turning her sidelight on she got out of bed and went downstairs. Maybe he was in the kitchen.
He wasn’t.
She saw her phone and checked for texts from Jesse or Loveday. Nothing. She wondered if she should call Loveday, then decided against it. She’d wait another hour.
She was halfway up the stairs when she realised that the candle in the window had burnt down and extinguished itself. A chill hand gripped her heart.
The buzzer from the electric gates sounded by the front door. She walked calmly back down the stairs and towards the intercom. She lifted the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘Mrs Behenna?’
‘Yes.’
‘Devon and Cornwall police. May we come in, please?’
*
The media arrived like sharks smelling blood. The survival of the two sailors on the yacht was noted, but it was the mystery of the hero coxswain who had taken off his lifejacket and drown
ed that caught the public’s imagination.
Much was written. Little of it was truth.
*
At the inquest Mickey gave his evidence and stuck to the facts. Yes, Jesse was his normal self that day. No, there was nothing to suggest he was suicidal. Yes, he saw Jesse take off his lifejacket. No, he no idea why he had done that.
The coroner recorded an open verdict.
Jesse was never found.
*
A few months after his death, Mickey and Loveday came to see Greer. Jesse’s death had hit her hard. Jesse had been everything to her, and her whole life had revolved around him. Her father had been roped in to manage the day-to-day affairs along with Mickey manning the boats. Edward Behenna and his wife were in deep shock at this unexpected blow to their family and it wasn’t clear that Jan would ever recover. But both Hal and Freddie were surprising everyone with their handle on the business. Ideas of college had been forgotten for now, but she was glad that she’d encouraged Freddie with his school work. He had a good head for numbers.
Loveday had been a rock for Greer. As well as mucking in alongside everyone with Behenna and Clovelly, she had also helped Greer to keep her interior design business afloat. Greer hadn’t taken on any new commissions, but in the back of her mind she hadn’t quite given up on it.
Mickey and Greer took a walk down to the beach while Loveday prepared them a light lunch and sat down looking out at the Sand Castle, Jesse’s cheerful family boat, which still lay moored, waiting for its skipper to take it out.
‘Can I ask you something, Mickey?’ Greer was still perfectly groomed, but her previously slim frame was now noticeably underweight, and grief and sleepless nights had all aged her in the last few months. Creases now appeared around her eyes and lips.
Mickey put his arms around his old friend. He knew Greer could be a cold fish, but he’d always felt a soft spot for her and wished he could do more to help her through this.
‘Of course.’
‘Do you think he killed himself?’
Mickey stared out at the big blue sea, calm today, but unpredictable and unknowable. He thought carefully about what to say for a moment. ‘His mum always used to say still waters run deep with Jesse.’
‘It’s just …’ Greer’s voice caught and she struggled to get the words out. ‘We had a big row. At our anniversary. I said some awful things that I didn’t mean and he said … he said I wasn’t his first choice.’
Mickey held her closer as sobs escaped her tiny frame.
‘The thing is, Mickey … I’ve got this horrible feeling that Jesse wasn’t happy. That all of this …’ She swept her arm backwards to indicate the house and everything that went with it. ‘… Behenna and Clovelly, all of it … none of it was what he really wanted. There was something missing. Am I right, Mickey? Please tell me I’ve got it horribly wrong.’
Mickey thought about his best friend. The Jesse that he knew.
‘Jesse did the right thing all his life, Greer, and deep down, I know that he wouldn’t have changed a thing. We’ll never really know what was in his mind that day, but I do know that he loved you and Freddie.’
Loveday’s voice rang out behind them. ‘Hey, you two. Lunch is up.’ Loveday plonked herself down on the other side of Greer and put her arm around her too.
‘I’m starving,’ said Mickey. But Greer said nothing and continued to stare at the horizon, ensconced between her two friends but alone with her thoughts.
*
It was a sparkling February day and the clouds were racing across the bright Cornish sky. The small gathering of Trevay folk stood respectfully watching the handsome young man on the dais.
‘And so I’d like to thank everyone who helped make this memorial to my father a reality.’
The crowd gave a round of applause and Freddie looked over his shoulder at his mother, who was standing with her hands folded over her neat navy coat. The wind had pulled a whip of hair from her neat bun and her face was expressionless.
‘Mum.’ Freddie held out his hand to her. ‘Would you do the honours?’
She blinked away whatever memories she’d been sorting through and smiled. ‘Yes.’
The blue velvet curtains opened smoothly as she pulled the cord, and revealed a simple plaque with Jesse’s name and dates on it. There was a short inscription detailing his years with the RNLI and the event that led to his death.
More applause, and a few flashbulb pops as the local paper recorded the moment.
Freddie turned to face the crowd again, now joined by a smiley, petite blonde, who was holding a toddler on her hip.
‘The mystery of my father’s death may never be solved, but his memory lives on in Trevay. Sadly, we lost my granny, my dad’s mum, at Easter, but I like to think she would be very proud of this memorial to her son. In fact, if we don’t keep it polished, she’ll come and haunt me.’
The crowd laughed.
‘But I’m glad to say that my parents’ best friends, Mickey and Loveday Chandler, have come all the way back from New Zealand to be with us today.’
The crowd swivelled, hoping to identify them.
‘All right!’ Mickey raised a hand and beamed at everyone. There were murmurs of recognition as the crowd spotted the tanned and smiling couple standing on the edge of the crowd.
Freddie continued, ‘We had supper with Uncle Mickey and Auntie Loveday last night and they’ve asked me to tell you that anyone going over to New Zealand can have a free holiday with them, stay as long as you like.’
More laughter.
‘But seriously …’ Freddie quietened the crowd. ‘They sound as if they’re doing all right with their fishing trip business, and as soon as Jesse Junior,’ he turned to the toddler on the young woman’s hip and chucked him under the chin, ‘and Miri and I can, we’ll be coming to see you!’
Mickey put his hand up and waved, to another round of applause.
Freddie scanned the crowd. ‘Hal? Where are you? Come up here.’
Hal, as tall and lanky as his father, was standing with Loveday and Mickey. He ducked his head when his name was called, hating public attention as much as Freddie loved it.
‘Come on, Hal. Don’t be shy,’ urged Freddie.
Hal made his way through the people and stood next to Freddie, looking as uncomfortable as he felt.
Freddie put an arm round his shoulder. ‘Hal Chandler is my best friend. Without him I wouldn’t have coped when Dad died, or been able to learn the business without his help. He’s got the brains from his mum not his dad!’
Loveday blushed and Mickey squeezed her hand.
Freddie laughed and carried on. ‘We share the same birthday, Hal and I, and are brothers in all but name. Even though it’s not our birthday till October, I’d like to give him an early birthday present. It’s in recognition of all that your dad meant to my dad.’ Freddie’s voice developed a crack and he swallowed hard before managing to continue. ‘Mum and I reckon this is what Dad would have done if he’d been alive, because he always treated us the same. From now on, the company formerly known as Behenna and Clovelly will be called …’ He paused and looked into Hal’s eyes. Loveday held her breath. Mickey clenched his jaw. ‘… Will be called … Behenna, Clovelly and Chandler.’
The End
AFTERWORD
Inspiration for stories comes from all sorts of unusual places. Last year I cycled around Sri Lanka (as you do!) and visited the ruins of the amazing Royal Palace at Sigiriya. The story of two princes – one legitimate, the other a bastard – caught my imagination and so A Good Catch was born.
I owe big thanks to David Flide, the Divisional Launch Authority for the Padstow Lifeboat, who arranged an unforgettable trip for me – including a launch down the slip! – and has been my expert in describing life on board. Any errors are entirely my own!
By the way, if you’re in Padstow, I recommend the Basement Café where you may be lucky enough to find David cooking breakfast. He’s good!
Thanks
as always go to my lovely editor Kate Bradley, who just leaves me to my own devices while sending encouraging thoughts and ideas.
To the elegant Luigi Bonomi, who I am so grateful to have as my literary agent, and to the wonderful John Rush, my agent but also my great friend and sounding board.
To my darling Phil, children and cats who put up with me.
To the lovely Liz Parker, who boosts my ego to an unhealthy level (the sign of a great publicist)!
To the wonderful team at HarperCollins, who continue to have faith in me.
And finally to you, who have been generous enough to pick this book up. I hope it was worth it.
I’m a lucky woman.
With love,
Fern
November 2014
If you loved A GOOD CATCH, bring summer home and look out for these other titles from the wonderful Fern Britton, all available now!
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