Storms

by Chris Vick

  ‘Stop, Goofy,’ Jake shouted.

  Goofy waved the paintbrush in the air, without looking back.

  Jake necked more beer then looked down the track again. Goofy had disappeared. Jake used the binocs, searching: the track, the boathouses, the hill behind them, the rocks below the harbour wall. Nothing. Goofy had vanished.

  Then he spotted movement. Goofy’s head appeared on the roof of Lancaster’s boathouse.

  ‘Shit!’ Jake looked around, frantically. There was an old guy down at the shore, scraping seaweed off some lobster pots. But there was no one else around.

  He looked through the binocs again. The side of the boathouse was painted a deep ocean blue, behind the logo for Lancaster Holdings, a huge silver anchor. Goofy was leaning over the edge of the roof, so far that Jake couldn’t believe he didn’t fall off. To the left of the anchor logo, Goofy painted a vertical line, about a metre long. Then he pulled the stick-brush back, reloading it with paint. He painted another long line, about a metre from the other one.

  What was Goofy doing?

  The stick-brush disappeared again; came into view again. Goofy painted a giant upturned V between the two lines.

  Jake put a can of beer to his mouth, tried to drink, but … realised what Goofy had done. He snorted beer out, spluttering. Shock-laughing. Seeing …

  A massive ‘W’, followed by a pic of an anchor.

  ‘Oh shit. Oh shit!’ Jake shook his head, laughing. He imagined Lancaster’s face when he saw it. Jake got a fit of the giggles. Bad.

  Two minutes later, Goofy appeared from behind the nearest boathouse. He looked around. ‘Sneaked back like a cat, I did. Anyone see me?’

  Jake shook his head, laughing.

  ‘Whatcha think?’ said Goofy, grinning, stick-brush in hand, looking up the track at his handiwork.

  ‘I think you’re mental,’ said Jake. ‘You know, he’ll know me and Hannah are finished. I think he’ll guess it’s us.’

  ‘Who gives a toss? Put a smile back on your face, didn’t it?’

  It had too. Jake felt human again, a bit like his old self. Getting out of that hospital, seeing the sea, drinking beer, watching Goofy behave like an idiot. It was a good mix. What he needed.

  He looked out to sea. The storms had gone, for a while at least. The horizon was lined with wind-ruffled water. Shafts of sunlight were poking through the clouds.

  He laughed some more. Told himself life could be better again.

  But as soon as he stopped laughing he felt that small, brief joy leak out of him.

  It was funny, what Goofy had done. Childish, stupid-arsed fun. And it had made a difference. But only for a minute.

  He tried to laugh. Forced himself. As if, if he didn’t, he might cry. He’d heard that before: If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. He’d never thought it might be a real thing.

  ‘Christ,’ he sighed, and opened another beer. ‘This isn’t doing the job. Get us some vodka, will you?’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes. You don’t know what it’s like, man. I never felt this. I never …’ He felt himself choking and tearing up, but pushed it away and breathed deeply. ‘I had it sussed, Goof, I had it all ready. I was going to help Mum. Now what? Losing the house? And Hannah? I loved the bones of her. Her skin, the smell of her. Her laugh. Now my guts have been torn out. My heart too. Get me some vodka.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’s like the sun, man. All the rest of it, my shitty life. I didn’t know anything about anything. She put sunlight on everything. And it was straight off with her, Goof. I swear. The second I saw her, I knew. D’you get it? I knew, man. She’s the one. She’s it. And I …’ He choked again. ‘Get me some bloody vodka.’

  ‘You’re not making much sense, dude. And still no.’

  ‘Bastard.’ Jake necked his beer, finishing it in seconds. Now the ground was spinning; it was working, he was getting drunk. Booze on top of painkillers. He was coming away from the earth. It was somewhere else. Or he was. Like a spaceman. He looked down at his leg, at the bandage below the shorts. It was someone else’s leg. Distant.

  ‘Time to get lost,’ he said, and put his hand out for another beer. Hoping it would be filled.

  He saw, from the corner of his eye, Goofy walk towards him. Jake kept his hand in the air, waiting.

  The ground was moving, slowly circling. And the deadness inside too. Moving away. He wanted more booze. He put his hand inside his jacket pocket and found the painkillers. He put them on the harbour wall, laid them there till he could get a beer to wash them down.

  He looked up. Goofy was looming over him like a giant vibrating shadow – moving sideways – staying still – moving again. Jake put a hand on the wall, to steady himself.

  How many beers had he had, and how quick? It didn’t matter.

  ‘Come on, Goof, gissanother …’

  The slap hit him hard and clean. His face sang with smart pain. He took a few seconds to get his breath, to speak.

  ‘What was that for?’

  Then another. Bam! Stinging.

  He swung an arm out. Goofy stepped neatly back. Jake lost his balance, and had to steady himself.

  ‘Grow up, Jakey.’

  ‘What you doing?’ He glared at Goofy.

  ‘Judging you.’

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘I know what I said.’

  ‘You do know Hannah chucked me? That she’s in debt now? That I ain’t going to Hawaii. What can I …’ He was losing it now. The tears were running. ‘I lost her, Goof!’

  ‘Sort it out, then. Get her back.’

  ‘How?’

  Goofy sighed and shook his head, like he was dealing with an idiot, or a child. ‘That’s the growing-up bit. I don’t know how. You don’t know how. You promise yourself you are going to do it and you work it out. You stop feeling sorry for yourself.’ They stared at each other for long seconds. ‘Grow up, man. Stop whining like a kid. Have a few drinks, sure. Pity yourself … for a bit. But you’re taking the piss. Now man up. Sort this shit out.’

  Hannah

  ‘HANNAH, THEY’LL BE here soon.’ It was Mum’s voice, muffled by the bedroom door. Some sharp raps followed. ‘You will come down soon … Hannah …? Hannah?’

  Hannah. Hannah. Knock. Knock. Knock. Hannah. Hannah. Like an alarm clock, breaking the silence of early evening. ‘Hannah!’ The door opened. ‘You’re still in bed!’

  She wasn’t. She was lying on it, in her PJs. With her dress next to her. And make-up on the dresser, lined up ready to use. She just hadn’t had the energy to put on either. Those tasks seemed like oceans that couldn’t be crossed. She just wanted to lie there. Forever.

  ‘Really, sweetheart.’ Mum came and sat on the side of her bed. She held Hannah’s face in her hands and rubbed at her cheeks with her thumbs. ‘You’ve been crying again. Your face is puffy.’

  Hannah tried to smile. ‘Yeah, sorry.’

  Mum sighed. ‘I know it’s hard. But we’re here for you. We love you. In a few days you’ll be on that plane. You can put all this behind you.’

  ‘I don’t know if I want to put it behind me.’ She sat up and drank some water. Her mother’s face was wide-eyed with panic. ‘Don’t fret, Mum. I just mean the memories. Not … Jake. He is behind me, now.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Well …’

  It was awkward. Mum and Dad had been trying to disguise their relief; trying not to look actually pleased. Trying.

  ‘You’d better get dressed. And, Hannah, dear, I’m not sure that’s the right dress.’

  She had picked one at random, not caring what she wore for Simon and his parents. Only now did she see she’d picked out her Roxy summer dress. The one she’d worn for Jake the night they’d first made love.

  Mum walked to the wardrobe, riffled through Hannah’s clothes and picked out two dresses, both of them black, simple and smart. She put them down on the bed, picked up the green Roxy, folded it and put it in a drawer.

  ‘Do put on a brave face, H
annah. We’re celebrating tonight. Please don’t spoil it for your father.’ Mum left.

  Hannah was annoyed by this bossiness, this pick-yourself-up attitude, but she knew she had no right to be. She had moped for long days. And Mum had been so kind: running her baths and bringing her thick sandwiches and steaming soup. She’d held her as she cried, as if she was a child again. Mum had indulged her, covering her with a blanket of care and kindness, trying not to ask too many questions, but unable to help herself.

  What went wrong, Hannah? I don’t want to talk about it.

  What did he do? Nothing, Mum. I just don’t want to talk about it.

  Is it final? Have you finished for good? Is it over? Yes. Yes. Yes.

  She picked up one of the dresses, got out of her PJs and put it on. Some make-up too. Enough to hide behind.

  She heard the doorbell. The cooing, the ‘welcome’s, and ‘darling’s.

  ‘Hannah, they’re here.’ Dad’s voice. Not messing: Come down. Now.

  She duly walked down the stairs and found the visitors in the kitchen. She forced a quick, brave smile at Mum. Don’t worry. I won’t let you down.

  There were hugs and kisses from Simon’s mum and dad, Lottie and Richard. There was warmth in it. Real affection. The families were old friends. She did feel better, a bit. Simon just stood there, smiling awkwardly.

  ‘Hann, sweetheart,’ said Lottie. ‘You’re a hero. The whales! I saw it on the news. They talked about you. Said you organised the whole thing. How come they didn’t interview you afterwards?’

  ‘They wanted to. I said no.’ They were examining her. Like Mum with her questions, expecting more from her than she could give. Hannah tightened her lips. A voice inside her begged: Stop asking me these things. Talk about something else. Question someone else. Please.

  Silence.

  Dad clapped his hands together, getting their attention. He opened the fridge. There were multiple bottles of champagne in there. He got busy with one, unscrewing the wire and peeling off the foil.

  ‘Well, our families have much to celebrate.’ Dad was being good-natured, theatrical.

  She looked at the table in the connecting dining room, laid for six and perfectly decorated with blue glass plates and marine-blue napkins. There were different glasses for different wines, and dusted bottles of red on the table. One had the same label as the bottle she and Jake had stolen. No, Jake had stolen. These were Dad’s best.

  Dad stood with everyone around him in a semicircle. He coughed to get their attention. ‘Hannah, has, in spite of everyone’s doubts, yes, including mine, pulled off an amazing rescue of stranded whales. Simon has got into Oxford. And the marina project is finally on its way.’

  Pop. The froth exploded. Lottie and Mum whooped, as if a firework had gone off.

  Dad looked different now. The lines of worry were still there, the greyness in the skin. But he looked lighter, somehow. His eyes were lit by a brightness that Hannah hadn’t seen in months.

  ‘Yes, the marina,’ said Mum. ‘Your father said we shouldn’t make a fuss, but I absolutely insist.’ Her voice was high-pitched, excited.

  ‘Why, what’s happened?’ said Hannah. Dad looked sheepish. Almost embarrassed.

  ‘Go on, Pete. Tell her,’ said Mum.

  ‘Well … I didn’t want to worry you, nor did your mother. But for a while it really looked like the marina might not happen. Money. Investments not coming through. That kind of thing. Very dull. And if it hadn’t … well, it would have landed me … er, us, in very hot water.’

  ‘But now the money has come through,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Yes. Well … not as much as we were expecting, but enough to keep things moving in the right direction.’

  ‘That’s great, Dad. You said you would do it. You said you’d get there.’

  She needed to feel good about something. It was hard, but she was pleased. For Dad. And to be here, with family and friends, drinking champagne.

  ‘Look,’ Dad said. ‘I don’t want to be American about the whole thing, but, well, in a few months we’re all going to be raaaaather well off.’ Dad and Richard laughed, like this was the biggest, funniest understatement ever. ‘And, Hannah, I’m going to help you. With the money for the whales.’

  Don’t say it, she thought. Don’t say ‘because that ex-boyfriend let you down’.

  Dad didn’t say it. He didn’t need to. He smiled. He was being playful and bright. Very unlike Dad. The Dad of the past few months, anyway.

  And that was good too.

  He poured the champagne. Mum raised her glass.

  ‘To Hannah. To Simon. To the marina.’ They clinked, and drank.

  The parents started chatting. Glasses were quickly topped up.

  The older folk gathered in a tight group, leaving Hannah and Simon together.

  This same show had been played out a hundred times. The ‘grown-ups’ leaving them together. It was how she and Simon had ended up an item in the first place.

  They stood, glasses in their hands.

  ‘Hi, Hann.’

  ‘Hi, Simon.’

  ‘Great about the whales, well done.’

  ‘Thanks. Great about Oxford.’

  They clinked glasses.

  ‘And the money,’ he said. ‘Your Dad helping. That’s great too. I would have helped, you know, if … well, sorry to hear about things not working out with … him.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  He smiled. ‘All right. Truth be told, I’m not.’

  Hannah laughed. At least Simon was honest.

  ‘How’s it going with Bess?’ she said. Simon’s smile dropped off his face. ‘Oh, come on, Si. It was obvious. And I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.’

  ‘Okay. But … it wasn’t … isn’t serious. It was just a brief summer thing. I’m off to Oxford, so we couldn’t carry on anyway.’

  Hannah thought of Jake, how he’d once said he’d wait for her while she was in Hawaii. ‘Anyway,’ she said, wanting to not-think about Jake. ‘Good news about the marina.’

  ‘Weren’t you worried?’

  She shrugged. ‘I didn’t know how big an issue it was till you told me in town that day. And I thought Dad would sort it, to be honest. He always does.’

  ‘Really?’ Simon scrutinised her face. He looked sideways at the ‘grown-ups’. He closed in, talking quietly.

  ‘They were screwed, Hann. Mum levelled with me. They were up to their necks in debt. There was no money to carry on with it and huge contracts to pay. They were going bust.’

  ‘Come on, Si. This is the dads we’re talking about. Pete and Richard. They’d have sold a cottage or two, maybe a yacht. Some shares.’

  ‘No. You don’t understand. They were in for millions. Millions. Over their heads. They’d have gone bankrupt.’

  ‘And it all just magically got better, did it? The money just turned up?’

  ‘Yes. Something happened. But I don’t know what.’

  ‘What are you two whispering about?’ Dad came over and filled their glasses.

  ‘The marina, Dad. We’re just pleased it’s all come good.’

  ‘So am I, so am I.’ He put the bottle down, wrapped his arm round Hannah, squeezed her and kissed her cheek.

  *

  The table was set beautifully. And she hadn’t eaten properly in days, in spite of Mum’s efforts.

  Tuna carpaccio. Lobster and salad. Amazing wines. Hannah settled into the evening. She promised herself to make an effort, to put the last few days behind her. Because maybe that was what you had to do with a broken heart: decide you would put it behind you, then work hard at doing just that.

  The memories of the storms – of Jake, of the whales – all those hard realities seemed a little more distant now. So different from the life she now had in front of her, perfectly laid out like the dinner table.

  She had needed those days, though. Without make-up, lying in bed, or walking Beano on the beach. Thinking. Being alone. She had been through so much.

/>   But maybe it was okay to enjoy this now. The simple, elegant, fresh seafood. The cool lemon and vanilla wines. Gold and apple-coloured liquids that made her taste buds sing and her skin tingle.

  Dad had lit a fire in the hearth, to keep them warm when the sun went down.

  Old family friends brought a different kind of happiness to the one she’d had with Jake, but it was happiness all the same.

  A feast. Of all the good things in her life. Things she had taken for granted, even forgotten, while she and Jake were chasing Beano on the beach. Sand between your toes was a delicious thing. But it wasn’t real. It was holidays, not life. And it couldn’t have lasted.

  Meeting Jake. Whales. Jake getting shot. Danger. Storms. All that was an adventure all right. But you had to have somewhere to come back to. Somewhere safe. A home.

  And that was this, now.

  She even enjoyed Simon’s company: his attention, and the familiar, clumsy flirting. Occasionally he touched her arm, or his leg brushed against hers. She pulled away from these small intimacies, but always slowly and carefully, wanting neither to lead him on, nor to hurt him.

  Everyone was in a good mood.

  She told herself it was good, this life.

  She had once told Jake it was a prison. How foolish had she been?

  ‘Being a bit quiet, Hannah,’ said Dad. ‘More wine?’ She pulled her gaze away from the fire. She had been lost in its flames, thinking.

  ‘Sorry, Dad. Just stuffed.’ She patted her stomach, which was tight as a drum. ‘No more just now, thanks. I’m fine.’ She covered her glass before he could top it up.

  Dad and Richard carried on talking about the marina. The oyster bar they’d open. The regatta they’d run every year. They were buzzing with booze and plans – their old selves.

  ‘Shall we leave them to it?’ said Simon.

  ‘Sure,’ said Hannah. ‘Fancy a cup of tea? Then maybe take Beano out. Get some air?’

  Hannah half listened to the boisterous chatter as they walked to the kitchen:

  ‘… Caribbean connection.’

  ‘… Offshore stocks …’

  ‘Charlie came through for us in the end.’ A clink of glasses at that comment. Sniggers and guffaws. The mums politely clinking too. ‘You two leaving us?’ Dad shouted.