Winter Storms

by Oliver, Lucy

  “I’ll get dressed in the bathroom,” she said.

  Sitting on the floor, she pulled down her jeans and heard the sound of a zip from the lounge; it was tempting to glance around the door. Smiling, she yanked off her socks, after two years he shouldn’t have this effect on her.

  Inside the bag were oilskin trousers, a jacket, life vest and sailing gloves. Thick socks. Shaking them out, the sharp, artificial smell of plastic hit her, so familiar it sent a cramp of longing through her stomach and for a moment, she was back out on the water, wind chilling her face, boat trembling beneath her feet. Her hand clenched as if she gripped an imaginary tiller.

  “Ready?” Daniel said.

  Carly stepped forward and a searing pain exploded up her right leg. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed her stick and slammed it hard against the floor.

  • • •

  Her foot slipped on the wet pontoon and she stopped, panting. Water lapped at the edge of the jetty and a long green ribbon of seaweed floated past, swirling in the current like an aquatic wraith, before sinking down into the murky depths. A wave crashed against the fragile boards, rocking them and sending jets of seawater into the air. It was impossible, she couldn’t do this. What if the dinghy capsized? A film of sweat, cold and clammy, coated her forehead and the steady pound of her heart echoed in her ears.

  “Let me help you,” Daniel said, his voice faint in her ears. He slipped his arm around her back and swung her up.

  “Put me down!” she said.

  “No, I saw the look on your face.”

  His scent, musky and filled with memories, hit her and she hid her face against his chest, certain it flushed red with embarrassment. He strode across the pontoon, his deck shoes gripping the wet plastic.

  “Here we are,” he said, loosening his hold and letting her slide to the ground.

  Carly looked at the boat. It had a seat, a wooden tiller and a single sail — a children’s dinghy, the type she learnt to sail in. Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled.

  “I thought we’d start on something sturdy, so I borrowed this from my uncle,” Daniel said.

  “Start?”

  “Yes, getting you sailing again.”

  A chill reached through the thick clothes she wore.

  “This is a one off, I’m not doing it again.”

  He remained silent and she stopped, hating the whine in her voice. But he put a hand on her arm and gave a gentle squeeze.

  “You can do it,” he said.

  Carly looked down at the sea. This was madness, it was December. Who sailed in December? She should be at home preparing for Christmas, not scaring herself stupid.

  “I know you can do this,” he said.

  She couldn’t bear him to think her a coward, so, clutching his hand, she stepped into the dinghy, tightening her fingers as it rocked beneath her weight. He stood still as she dragged her right leg over the gunwale and sat on the seat, breathing in the strong, fishy smell of seaweed and tasting the sharp salt on her lips from the spray.

  “You won’t let go of me if we capsize?” she said. “I can’t swim very well now.”

  “I’ll never let you go.”

  She shivered at the tone of his voice, so firm and filled with meaning. Untying the painter, he pushed off from the pontoon with a foot, standing in the moving boat. Carly grabbed the gunwale with her spare hand as it jerked.

  “Stop it, I have to go back!” she said.

  “Just relax, Carly, it’s fine.”

  His voice was soothing, reminding her of the years they had sailed together, first as friends, then lovers. Loosening her grip on the side, she watched their craft slide past the sailing club dinghies, which rocked on the waves.

  “Why did you change to solo?” she said, “you always sailed two handed.”

  He looked at her, his eyes matching the puffs of dark clouds above them. “Because I never wanted to sail with anyone else.”

  She turned her head away and stared into the harbour. The boat trembled beneath her as it picked up speed, cold, salt tainted wind driving against her cheeks.

  “Carly, look at me.”

  It was impossible to ignore him; she glanced back.

  “We’ve always been honest with each other,” he said.

  Heat rose to her cheeks and she swallowed.

  “I’ve never stopped loving you,” Daniel said. “But I don’t think you feel the same.”

  Carly inhaled sharply, closing her eyes. How did she feel? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. Her stomach lurched and she started to sweat, then as the boat juddered, she grabbed the bailer and vomited.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out a hand. “I’ll go slower.”

  Whether he meant the boat or his declaration, she didn’t know. Her mouth tasted foul. Holding the bailer, she turned around to empty it over the side and gazed at the green water bubbling alongside the boat. Her hand froze.

  “Let me rinse it,” he said. “You take the tiller.”

  “No. I can manage.”

  Clutching the gunwale, she trailed the bailer in the sea, her arm trembling as the hidden ocean currents tugged at the bucket. Sweating and shaking, she dropped it to the floor, putting her hands over her face. What must he think of her?

  “Are you all right?” he said.

  “Yes.” She straightened, tempted to put her hands over her ears to hide the sound of water bubbling under the stern. When could they go back? Gripping her seat, she moistened her lips, looking up at the seagulls soaring in the early morning mist above them. A ship hooted from the ocean beyond the harbour and she jumped, turning to see a distant, dark shape moving on the horizon.

  Black cliffs slid into view ahead, hazy under the fog and she stared at the sharp rocks sticking out of the sea beneath them, remembering the last time she had sailed here two years ago. Then the waves had swamped the boat, sails groaning under the weight of wet canvas, until the mast snapped with an explosive crack that capsized the dinghy, catapulting her into the freezing ocean. Her orange life vest dragged her to the surface, but high, strong waves crashed over her face, filling her mouth with salty water, burning her eyes and drowning her screams. A powerful undertow grasped her legs with strong watery fingers, dragging her to the cliff, smashing her helpless body into the sharp black rocks again and again, ripping the flesh from her thigh. Semi-conscious, the icy sea flooded into her lungs and she sank facedown into the green depths.

  Her last memories had been of Daniel dragging her to the surface, screaming at her to breathe, and of bright red water, glowing under the winter sun.

  Her stomach churned and she pressed her lips together, desperate not to embarrass herself again, but the recollection brought goose bumps to her skin and chilled her blood. Daniel had persuaded her to go out that day, but she was the one who lost several pints of blood and the use of her right leg.

  Carly looked at him as he sailed. He said he loved her, but he was in love with the girl he used to know, the risk taker who leant backwards over the edge of the boat, head inches from the waves, wind whipping her hair.

  “I need to go back,” she said.

  Reaching into his bag, Daniel held out a flask of coffee. “Drink this first.”

  With trembling fingers, she poured a cup, breathing in the rich sweet scent. Thick with sugar, it settled her stomach and as the waves raced past, she clutched the warm cup to her like a safety belt. Against her own wishes, she had sailed again, not completely successfully, but it was a start; next time it might be easier.

  Wrapping her jacket tighter around her shoulders, she watched him alter the sail. Behind him, in the distant town, street lamps were switching off as the pale sun rose high in the sky. She and Daniel had always sailed early, creeping out their houses to meet on th
e common, grasping hands so they could run to the harbour, hair flying, legs racing. Daniel used to kiss her before they set sail, his lips warm against her cold mouth.

  He had been the centre of her world, she needed no one else, neither her mother nor her absent father. In her young dreams, she pictured them winning together and later, married with children of their own. But that terrible December day had changed everything; the life she had planned out wasn’t going to happen anymore.

  Their small boat drew level with the harbour entrance and she stared at the ocean, its waves choppy under an increasing sea breeze. Grey shapes flickered in the mist above, crying out with the peculiarly mournful lament of a sea bird, and brief flashes from the lighthouse shone in the distance. They had come far, further then she intended.

  “Do you want to take the tiller?” Daniel said.

  “Not today.” But another day, she might.

  “Going about.”

  Carly ducked as the boom swung over and automatically sat on the opposite seat, it had been an easy move, one twist of her good leg did it.

  “Home now,” he said.

  Weak winter sun glowed from the water, Carly rubbed her cold hands together and pulled her hat down over her numb ears. Daniel swung the tiller to avoid a buoy, long muscular hands on the wood, a narrow white scar on his wrist. It was a rope burn, she remembered. What other scars did he have? Raising her head, she caught his gaze and excitement bubbled in her stomach like the water under the stern. With a bump, their dinghy hit the pontoon and Daniel tied it up, before reaching for her hand. She shivered at his touch.

  “Shall I carry you again?” he said.

  She shook her head, not sure she could handle him so close.

  “I’m freezing,” she said, rubbing her hands. “Do you want to come back for a hot shower and drink?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Separately.”

  He smiled.

  Carly locked the shop door behind them; the last thing she needed was a customer finding her in the back room with Daniel Edwards.

  “You shower first,” she said.

  With a click, she turned on the gas fire and took off her wet jacket. In the next room, the shower switched on and she had a vision of him naked under the steaming water. Hastily, she started to make tea and after a few minutes, the rattle of water stopped and Daniel strode out, wearing jeans and a jumper, rubbing her towel over his hair.

  “Feels better,” he said.

  Looking away, she pointed to the mugs.

  “Make yourself at home, I won’t be a minute.”

  Steam filled the shower room and she undressed, standing in a puddle of water left on the bathroom floor. The blast of hot water against her chilled body chased away the goose bumps and pouring shower gel into her hand, she rubbed it over her skin, flesh tingling under her fingertips. The fragrance of roses filled the room. Carly smiled; he would smell lovely.

  Washing her legs, she circled around her thigh where the flesh was red and scarred with a piece missing. She never got used to it, even after two years.

  Daniel was lounging on her sofa when she walked in.

  “Warm?” he said.

  She sat down beside him, knowing it was too close. “Yes, better,” she said.

  His gaze travelled up her body and he shifted in his seat. Did he feel the same way she did? Tingling, as if a thousand invisible fingers were stroking her skin. With a clink, he put his cup down and grasped her hand, she tried to move away, but he held it tight, raised it to his lips and kissed it. She caught her breath at the soft touch, the brush of his stubble, then he gazed at her with an expression of desire that froze her muscles and left her with no escape.

  He explored her mouth with his tongue, holding her so tight his heartbeat echoed in her chest. Unable to stop herself, she wove her fingers into his wet hair.

  His hands moved across her shoulders and down to her breasts, thumbs stroking through the fabric. Her breath quickened. It was wrong, but she could do nothing about it. Raising her hands, she ran them over his upper arms and back, the wool of his sweater soft under her fingers, muscles tensing beneath.

  With a gentle touch, he undid her buttons, brushing her nipples, which hardened and a jolt of pleasure, so sharp it was almost painful, shot down her stomach and between her legs. Catching her breath, she grasped his jumper, yanking it over his head. Underneath, he wore nothing and Carly traced her fingers across his chest, the muscular panel of a professional sportsman. A soft line of hair snaked down to his jeans and she followed it with her nails as he groaned. With a tug, he pulled off her cardigan. The room was bright and she wrapped her arms across her breasts, but he moved them apart.

  “Let me see you, I’ve dreamt of you since last time.”

  But not scarred as she was now, it had been dark then.

  “It’s all right,” he said, softly.

  This was Daniel, her best friend, there was nothing to fear. Her shoulders relaxed and she tilted her lips upwards.

  “I like to see you smile,” he said.

  His arms slid around her waist and traced up her spine, he eased down the cup of her bra to kiss her breasts and she groaned at the heat of his skin. He undid the clasp and her underwear dropped to the floor.

  “Cold?” he said.

  “A little.”

  Daniel lowered his warm mouth to her breasts, closing his lips over her nipples. Pinpricks flashed across her skin and she gasped, desperate for him to touch her, knowing how much he wanted her.

  “Come here,” he said and lifted her onto his lap, placing her knees each side of his thighs, facing him, his warm hands stroking down her bare back, fingers creeping under the band of her jeans.

  “Does this hurt your leg?” he said.

  It ached, but she shook her head then wiggled off his lap and stood in front of him so he could reach for her belt to take her trousers off. He breathed in and she closed her eyes. He hadn’t seen her leg before.

  “Oh, Carly,” he said.

  Smoothing his palms over her damaged skin, he trailed his fingers up the back of her thigh, down her hips, across her bottom. Tracing his hand back, he brushed the crotch of her knickers and then slid a warm finger under the material. She trembled, leaning against his knees as he stroked her labia and then used two fingers to brush her clitoris. Carly moaned and stripping off her pants, he slid his fingers slid inside her, spreading wide; she wiggled and they withdrew. Where had he gone? She opened her eyes.

  He was taking off his own clothes, putting his mobile on the table. She stared, eyes wide open, at the perfection of his body, recognising old marks, learning new. He smiled, holding her gaze, as he fitted his naked buttocks against the cushions, penis hard and upright. Reaching out, he supported her hips so she could slide onto his lap, astride him, then he thrust up with a single hard push and she groaned, arching back, taking him inside her. Sweat gleamed on his shoulders and he thrust deep, hands tangled in her hair, pulling her against him. She tightened her knees to meet him, leg aching. Dismissing it, she rose up and down, waves of pleasure flooding her pelvis until she could take no more. Moaning, her hips bucked and she cried out, breathless, as he came hard inside her.

  Soaked in sweat, panting, she curled up against him. If only they could stay like this forever, but her leg hurt, forcing her to move and she sat on the sofa, her back against him while he stroked her shoulders and she shivered.

  “I think we might need another shower,” he said, as sweat trickled down her body and her legs gleamed, wet and sticky.

  A rattle came from the shop door as a customer shook it, soft rain pattered on the windows and the glow of Christmas lights filled the room. Rising, she picked up her cane and stood in front of him.

  “Shower?” she said.

  They made love again under the warm w
ater, her back against the tiled wall, left leg hooked around his waist, his hands supporting her bottom, suds of rose scented shower gel flowing down their bodies. She squirmed when he used the body sponge to stroke her skin, making her wet and dazed, their hair tangled together.

  Dragging her clothes on, Carly lay beside him on the sofa, eyes closed, body aching, unable to believe what they had done and how much she wanted him again.

  There was a loud knock on the shop door. “I must open up,” she said. “People will need last minute gifts, it’s Christmas Eve.”

  “I’ll finish my shopping in the harbour shops. Will I see you later?” he said.

  “Come to the flat tonight, we can spend Christmas Eve night together.”

  He kissed her lips.

  “Go!” She drew back, laughing.

  With a click, he unlocked the door and spoke to the customer, telling them to wait for her. Reaching for her shoes, she pulled them on and hurried out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Carly wrapped her coat tighter around her shoulders as sleet drove across her face. Daniel’s hand rested in a warm spot against her back. He wasn’t quite hugging her, but people still glanced at them and she resisted the urge to shrug him away. After spending Christmas together, mostly in her bedroom, she could hardly object, but she wasn’t ready for a public declaration, not when she still didn’t know if she could be with him. It would be hard to accept his job and she couldn’t ask him to take up another occupation. It would be a cruel thing to do, as if she was using his guilt against him.

  Two fishermen strode past her, swinging bags and looking at her curiously. Their families must have stayed at home, but she wanted to see Liam off on his first day of a new job. Stepping forward, she peered over the edge of the harbour at the murky green water beneath, topped with a layer of scum and two floating crisp packets. She could look at it now without trembling, even if she didn’t feel ready to try sailing again yet.

  “All right?” Daniel said, touching her shoulder.

  She nodded, finding it comforting that he knew why she had peered over. A choppy wave broke against the bottom of the steps beside the rusting fishing trawler and she jumped. But she used to skip down those stairs without a second thought once, and going out in the boat with Daniel left her believing that she could, possibly, sail again. Shane had suggested visiting the doctor. However, she had a strong feeling that the answer to beating her phobia lay here in Haven Bay, that tablets and counselling wouldn’t help her regain the trust she had lost in the ocean, in Daniel and in herself.