by NC Marshall
“Looks like a nasty cut,” says the stranger, nodding down at my leg. Only when I fully look at him and come back to my senses, do I realise that he’s not a stranger at all.
“Tom? Tom Logan?” I ask timidly, my voice quivers.
“Do I know you?” he asks, confused.
I nod, as he takes a step closer to me. He hasn’t changed too much from how I remember him. The same dark hair and broad shoulders like Mark and the same big dark eyes. Though, he is much taller and clearly in a little better shape than his older brother.
“You, you used to,” I stammer and try to force a smile, however, I don’t think it radiates to my lips. “Emily Moore,” I whisper, when he still don't click, still looking down at the ground. Embarrassed, I continue, “You probably don’t remember me, I…”
“Of course I do,” says Tom warmly, moving so that he is now positioned directly in front of me. “Mark mentioned you were back in town.”
I take a cautious step backwards away from him to bring my feet onto the drier sand to stable my shakiness, but it doesn’t work, I lose my balance again and stumble backwards clumsily.
Tom grabs my arm before I fall again.
“Come on, let's get you inside, you need to get that leg seen to.”
I hesitate, but as I look back up to the cabins now far off in the distance I know that I won't be able to make it back up there without getting my leg strapped up first. I nod and take his arm as he wraps it around my waist and leads me to the tavern. He’s holding a small burnt out tea light candle in his other hand, which I now see is what I mistook for a cigarette earlier. He follows my gaze.
“I was just busy clearing up for the night,” he says, pushing the candle into the pocket of his jeans. “I heard you crying then saw you turn and start to run. I had to make sure you were okay. You look like you had seen a ghost.”
“I thought you were someone else,” I reply, quietly.
Tom doesn’t question my despair, which I now feel wholly ridiculous for. He silently leads me up the steps and opens the door to the tavern for me as I limp through.
“Take a seat,” he says. “I’ll just get the first aid box.” I hobble to the nearest booth and wince as I sit down.
“Everything alright, Tom?” asks a female voice that I can vaguely identify as the waitress who served me breakfast earlier today.
“Yeah, fine Tia, get yourself off home. I’ll finish up here,” replies Tom. His voice has hardly changed, still deep and husky like I remember.
The waitress bids him goodbye as she passes me and gives me a warm smile before heading out of the door and down onto the beach.
I glance around the tavern while I wait for Tom. It looks better at night than it did in the day. The bar in the centre is lit up and the tiny fairy lights woven through the fishermen's nets are now alight. Candles in glass holders dot each table and music plays quietly in the background.
“Got it!” says Tom, as he returns to my side with a green plastic box.
“Let's take a look at how bad it is.” Gently, he rolls up my trouser leg. His touch is warm against my freezing skin. I barely notice the pain as his fingertips round the back of my leg and trace my calf, pulling the wound closer for him to inspect.
“Is it bad?” I ask, peeking only quickly at the blood-smeared area. The sight of blood has never agreed with me and I already feel sick to the stomach as it is.
Tom shakes his head. “Nah, just a nasty cut, it won't need stitches.” He flashes a smile. “I think you’ll live.”
I manage a wry smile back, but still, I can't look Tom in the eye. I briefly wonder if it's because of the shock from believing he was Jake a few moments ago or maybe fear that my affection towards him all those years ago will come flooding back.
We stay silent as he cleans the wound and wraps it in a bandage. Tom eventually breaks the silence, and I finally bring myself to look him in the eye.
“You’ve changed since I saw you last,” he says quietly, still crouched in front of me, now rolling down the tight material over my neatly bandaged leg.
“Really?” I ask. I suddenly become very aware of my appearance. My blood-soaked sandy leggings and oversized football shirt. My tear streaked face and now almost dry, windswept frizz of hair. I picture myself as I was when I left. The last time I saw him I was stick thin and had waist-length light hair. My hair colour has now darkened naturally over time and my figure is much curvier since the birth of Lucy. Under my clothes, my belly still bears the thin silver lines left behind by stretch marks. I had never lost the majority of the weight I had put on during my pregnancy with her and developed wide hips, a now moderate sized backside and larger breasts that I had never possessed back then. I look down self-consciously and cross my arms over my stomach area. When I look back up at Tom, he is staring at me intensely.
“You a football supporter?”
“Sorry?”
He nods to the football strip I have on.
“Oh, no, not really.” I don't tell him it’s a hand-me-down from my daughter’s vast array of football gear. She took to following the sport from being small and has supported her home city ever since, something I have always found a little strange considering I have no interest and she has never had the influence of a father figure in her life.
Tom looks a little confused. “So you live up north now?”
I nod, not wanting to discuss it further. He notices my unease.
“All done.” he says, quickly moving away from me, clearing the first aid supplies and rising to his feet.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely, “and I’m sorry about before.”
“No problem as long as you're okay.”
I nod, “I’m fine. I should get going.” I move, attempting to get to my feet but once again go dizzy and stagger back into the booth.
“Whoa.” Tom moves back to help sit me upright. My face brushes across his cheek, rough from stubble as I bend my head forwards and bury it in my hands.
“Take your time, I've got nowhere I need to be.” He moves back away from me towards the bar. “I’ll get you a drink. You look like you could do with it. It’ll calm your nerves.”
He returns from the bar with a whiskey and hands me the glass. I can't help but notice he is left-handed and that he doesn’t wear a wedding ring. I’m shocked. As he pulls his hand away, I catch a glimpse of a white scar on his wrist. It had been made by a close encounter with a Bunsen burner in the science lab at school—I had been the first one to see he had hurt himself and rushed over to help him rinse it under a cold tap.
I take the tumbler from him and sip the drink. It tastes disgusting and doesn’t come anywhere near to calming me down.
“I thought you’d be married by now,” I blurt out after draining the remainder of the whiskey and resting the cold glass against my now scalding forehead.
Tom smiles. “Nope. Not even close.” He pours himself a small scotch, before refilling my glass, then pulls up a stool at the bar opposite me and climbs onto it. I throw back the second whiskey, now firmly in the sort of mood to get hammered.
“I'm sorry to hear about Ali,” says Tom. “Mark said you had come back to try and help with the investigation.”
“Yeah, me too,” I reply, trying to push the image of the photo back at the cabin to the outskirts of my mind, for now.
“She used to be a great girl, although I haven’t seen her in a very long time,” he says, looking out of the window to the beach. The moon casts a white glow against the large waves, which are increasing in height.
“I’m sure they’ll find her, Em.”
I nod, tears filling my eyes again.
“Come on. It's getting late, let's get you home.” He moves from the stool and helps me to my feet. “You're staying up at Ceaders, yeah?”
“Yes, but don’t worry, I can manage—”
“No, you can’t, I’ll walk you back up.”
I nod gratefully. Even though I assume Jake no longer lives in the area, the chanc
e of bumping into him tonight suddenly seems very plausible.
Tom puts a jacket around my shoulders and locks up before we leave the bar behind. I pull it tight around my neck, nuzzling into the warm lining, searching for a sense of security I feel I need. I can smell his aftershave against the fabric every time the sea breeze brushes through it. I quietly inhale and lock the scent into my mind.
The walk back to Ceaders cabins takes three times as long as it had taken to get down to the beach and I now regret not going directly back to cabin after talking to Rose and Claudia. Tom leaves me at the steps to my cabin and waves as I unlock the door and let myself inside. The stifling heat hits me as soon as I am in, but tonight instead of it causing me to be uncomfortable, it feels welcoming and safe. I head straight to bed, emotionally exhausted from the events of the last twenty-four hours and it doesn’t take long for me to pass out and enter another restless night.
Chapter 14
Well, well Emily what a mess you got yourself into tonight!
I watched, as you strolled along the beach, bathed in moonlight. God, even dressed in an old ratty football shirt you still looked gorgeous, but then you always did look good, no matter what you wore.
I nearly came to see if you were alright when I saw you fall, but then I knew you would be, you are stronger than you know. For that I admire you.
Once again, you didn’t see me watching you from the shadows, perched on the cliffs above the bay. You really need to take in your surroundings more, Emily. You miss so much walking around with your head bowed to the ground the way you do. I really wasn’t very far away at all. In fact, at one point you looked up from the rocks when you fell and I thought for a brief moment that you had seen me. But you hadn’t.
I watched you as you left the tavern and walked back to the cabin with Tom Logan. What a handsome man he has turned into, hasn't he? Then, he was never exactly ugly even as a teenager. I even watched through the window as you got changed for bed. Your shoulders are a little burnt from the strength of the sun, you really need to take more care.
I waited until you fell asleep knowing that you were safe. I hope you sleep well tonight Emily, because I need you here as long as you can be and I don’t want you tired. I'll be in touch, please be careful.
See you soon.
Chapter 15
The following day I wake with a tight knot buried in the pit of my stomach. Guilt, anxiety, fear; I'm not sure what I’m feeling. I know what I have to do today and it's going to be hard, but I can't face this alone anymore and I am utterly confused by Ali’s actions from the past couple of days. I’ve hesitantly decided to give up trying to figure this out alone. I know I am taking a huge risk going against Ali’s request not to involve the police but I can't do this on my own, I need help. Mark picks up his mobile on the second ring.
“Hi Em, what’s up?”
“Mark, hi, erm, I need to speak to you. Are you free at any point this morning?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m heading to Cranley a little later, but I should be around till midday. If I’m not, then Chrissy will be.”
“I’d rather talk to you… if that’s okay?”
“Aren’t you heading back home today?”
“Not till later on. So, is it okay if I pop into the station?”
“Yeah, sure. You alright, Em? You sound a bit upset.”
I take a deep breath to steady my shaking voice. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be there in half an hour.” I hang up on Mark and drag myself out of bed. Pain shoots up my injured leg and my whole body aches from head to toe.
In the bathroom, I splash water on my face and try to avoid my reflection in the mirror above the sink, where I know puffy eyes and dark circles will greet me. I can't shake the image of Jake from my head. Even though it wasn't even him I saw last night, it made me anxious and I know I need to get out of Sandbroke as soon as I can. Ali was at the holiday park yesterday, that’s obvious. She’s not hurt and she’s certainly not dead, but she is trying to send me a message which I clearly am not clever enough to figure out. That’s why I need to hand it over to the police, which I should have done from the start.
The sky is grey as I leave the holiday park and make my way as fast as my leg will allow to the main high street. I hope Mark hasn’t been called away, although I know he will be furious that I kept information about Ali from him I know he will understand and at least I'm coming clean and telling the truth now. I was foolish to go against my instincts and lie. I know that now.
Rain starts to fall heavily and the wind increases tenfold in its strength once again as I near the street where the station is located. The sky instantly turns black as the forecasted storm makes its way obstinately towards Sandbroke. I didn’t bring an umbrella and curse myself as the rain quickly soaks through the thin fabric of the cardigan I have on. The street soon becomes completely deserted. The few people who have braved today’s weather run into a nearby café to take cover from the downpour or rush to head home and batten down the hatches until the storm passes.
I pick up my pace and try to jog, but pain shoots up from my shin so I am forced once again to slow my tempo. I look both ways before stepping out onto the road to cross to the station, that’s how I don’t know how I don’t see it coming. Maybe because it is going so fast.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see a flash of colour—red, I think—and small, I’m not sure of the model, possibly a Mini. I don’t even get the chance to fully look at the car before it rounds the corner and swerves onto the wrong side of the road heading towards me. I manage to take a small step backwards, avoiding the full collision. As the car's bonnet clips me, I feel myself flying into the air and back toward the pavement that I have just left. Through my blurred vision and the sheets of now suddenly torrential rain, I see the car speed off as an approaching police car pulls up near me and a woman gets out and runs towards me.
“Emily, Emily, can you hear me?” a voice I recognise but can't place asks. I try to nod my head, but I’m not sure if the thought has successfully made it into an action. Everything becomes fuzzy as voices slowly fade into the background before disappearing completely.
Chapter 16
Lightning strikes, brightly illuminating the small room I am in. Rain continues to pour down outside the window in never-ending transparent sheets. The sky is still pitch black, even though it's only just gone lunch time, and the wind is howling loudly adding to the drama of the storm that has now brewed to full strength overhead. A doctor takes my blood pressure and shines a small light to check my eyes, for what has to be the tenth time in two hours. I’m growing aggravated now. I've insisted that I'm fine, but they are keeping me in hospital for observation just to be sure.
Chrissy called an ambulance as soon as she found me on the side of the road. I had blacked out, but only for a few minutes and the doctors think that was just from the pure shock of what had happened. The accident keeps coming back to me in small flashbacks, but everything happened so quickly it is almost impossible to put the pieces together. Sharp pains shoot behind my eyes, another side effect of shock, so I’m told. I am in a state of confusion, but one thing I know for sure, what just happened to me was no accident, the driver didn’t stop and the car sped off. I’m struggling to understand why I was the victim of a hit and run.
“Hi, Em,” says Mark, as he rounds the corner of the A&E unit of Sandbroke General carrying two cups of coffee in a cardboard takeout holder, a concerned look on his face.
“Hi Mark,” I say, propping up the pillows behind me to sit more upright, as I take one of the cups from him and briefly smile as I see Logan’s Tavern’s name emblazed in bright lettering on the side of the container.
“Tom says he hopes you are doing okay.” Mark grins, when he catches me looking at the logo. I feel myself flush.
“They said when you can get out yet?” he asks. He carefully removes the plastic lid on his cup and gives his drink a quick stir. I notice he has dark circles under his eyes and that he looks
in desperate need of a good night's sleep. I suppose just one of the many results of working as a as a chief inspector; you sign up to the stress the day you accept the badge.
“No, not yet,” I answer. “My blood pressure has come down and they can't find any injuries apart from my leg, which happened before the accident. Apart from a little bump to the head and some bruises, I’m fine.”
“You're one lucky woman,” says Mark, as he sits down on the bottom of my bed and takes a sip of coffee. I bite my lip and look out of the window.
“I know.” If only he knew.
“So, can you trace the car’s registration?” I ask, hopeful.
“No, we’ve already looked, but the CCTV outside the station wasn’t working.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“I know, the station is due to be revamped in the autumn. Unfortunately the CCTV is in the plans to get replaced. The system is probably almost as old as you are. Plus, it was knocked out of position by the wind from the storm.”
I remain silent and nod. “Did nobody see what happened?”
“There was nobody around. The car had sped off by the time Chrissy got there.”
“Is Chrissy still here?” I ask. She had brought me here and ensured I was attended to. But I hadn’t spoken to her properly yet.
“Just passed her as I came in. She’s on her way back to the station. She’s adamant she’s going to find the driver, but I think she’s wasting her time. Just stupid kids passing through. The car is more than likely stolen. No doubt we’ll find it abandoned somewhere along the coast.”
“Will you thank her for me, when you see her?”
“Of course.”
Mark shifts his weight on the bottom of my bed and takes a quick look at his mobile before returning it to his pocket.
“You should get going,” I say, feeling guilty for taking him away from his work.