by Robyn Neeley
“Cashmere,” she said. “The pink one would suit Ali, she’s been in several times admiring it, but Steve’s wages won’t stretch that far.”
He shook the sweater out and held it up. “Would it fit her?” He frowned.
Carly grinned. “It’s for after the child’s born. She’ll want some nice things to wear to remind herself of the days when she didn’t used to be covered in baby sick.”
“What size?”
“Go for a twelve. It you buy too small, it’ll break her heart, or make her crash diet.” She taped the last box. “What else do you need?”
“Presents for my young cousins, I was wondering about your wooden ships in the window?”
“Your sister’s already bought those, but I’ve got a matching train set in the back you could give them as a joint gift. It’s quite big.”
“May I see it?” He wanted to prolong his visit.
She went through a doorway behind the desk and he heard a loud bang. Should he offer to help? But it had annoyed her last time, instead he looked past the counter, drawing back when she emerged pushing a small wheeled trolley with a large box on top. Removing the lid, he glanced at a red wooden train and black painted tracks. Great, the kids would love it.
“How much?”
“Thirty pounds.”
Opening his wallet, Daniel held out a cash card, it felt strange to be paying her, but she took it easily and beeped it through a machine. Of course, she took money from people she knew all day.
“Receipt,” she said.
He reached out to take it and his fingers brushed against hers, the soft touch sending a jolt up his arm. She spoke and he leaned closer, certain he had misheard.
“Coffee?” she repeated.
“I’d love some, it was cold out on the water today.”
She nodded and he cursed himself for his lack of tact. It would have been better not to mention his morning sail. She didn’t comment though, going instead to the door and turning the sign to ‘closed.’
“We’ll drink it in the back,” she said. “Warmer.”
Daniel followed her into a small yellow sitting room with a coral sofa, gas fire and black granite work shelf fitted above a fridge. A tree decorated in silver and blue stood in the far corner.
“I was expecting an upturned orange crate and a flask,” he said.
“I keep my stock in the cellar.” She smiled and he saw a glimpse of the girl he had known. “I often sleep here during the summer months, there’s a small shower room out the back.”
An image of her showering appeared in his mind and he sank onto the sofa, grateful that she couldn’t read his thoughts. Carly poured the coffee, placing the cups on a low wooden table in front of him.
“We need to talk,” she said.
He jumped and spilled droplets of coffee on his trousers.
“Why did you come back?” she said, sipping her drink.
“I wanted to see you.” There was no point pretending otherwise. “To check you were all right.”
“I’m fine, as you can see.”
He rubbed hard at the split coffee. She didn’t want him here, and it hurt, even though he shouldn’t have expected anything else. Just because the sight of her made his heart race didn’t mean she felt the same.
“Your mother told me you felt responsible for the accident,” she said. “You mustn’t, it was my fault too, I knew the waves were too strong for sailing, but I thought we could handle it.”
The kindness in her voice brought a knot to his throat and leaning down, he touched her leg, the useless twisted leg, ripped to the bone by the black cliff rocks.
“You did blame me because you broke off our relationship. You hated me because I persuaded you to go out that day against your own, correct, judgement.”
Her head ducked down, but not before he had seen the glint of tears. How often had she cried these last two years?
“I never hated you, never,” she said.
“Then why did you order me to go?”
“Because I was jealous.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“What?”
“I couldn’t cope with watching you succeed, I worked so hard at sailing and gave up so much to win.” She stared at the floor. “You came into the hospital to tell me about your place in the Nationals, wearing your wet weather gear, smelling of salt and fresh air, skin glowing, exhilarated. I was in my dressing gown, hair lank and greasy, pains shooting up my leg, a walking frame beside me. And I knew then that we were moving in different directions, I couldn’t bear to watch you sail and looking after me would have held you back.”
Daniel’s shoulders slumped. He’d been so excited to be picked for the team, he rushed to the hospital to tell her. So wrong, so utterly tactless, no wonder she told him to go.
“You don’t want me here, do you?” he said.
She looked at him. “I thought my life was over when they told me I’d never sail professionally again, but since you’ve been gone I’ve gone back to college and opened the shop, which is doing well. I’ve got great friends who support me.” She smiled. “I even managed to watch the Olympics and cheer for you.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.” She’d been obsessed with winning gold, even more than him.
“Linda put the programme on, not me, but when I saw you battling those huge waves, I prayed for you to win, so all this — ” she tapped her leg “ — hadn’t been for nothing.”
“My medal is stuffed in a drawer at home, it means zilch, because to win it I had to lose you. I’d give damn thing back tomorrow if it meant you’d be well again, that we could be together again. You should have told me how you felt, because if you wanted me to stop sailing, I would have.”
Carly put a hand on her stick.
“I didn’t just lose my chance of a medal that day, I lost my entire world. Sailing was my life. It’s easy to say you would have given it up for me, but I know how hard that actually is.” Her green eyes shone but she held her head high and cleared her throat. “I’ll never race again, but I do want to get some of my old life back. Before you go home, I want you to take me sailing.”
Daniel stared at her, mouth open. “Of course, how about tomorrow?” He mustn’t give her chance to change her mind, how wonderful it would be to see her take a boat around the harbour again.
She hesitated. “I haven’t got any waterproof clothes.”
“I’ll borrow Ali’s, she certainly won’t be wearing them at the moment. We could go first thing in the morning, when it’s quiet, unless the weather is bad. I promise we won’t go if it’s blowing a gale.”
“You’d be lucky to get me walking around the harbour in bad weather.”
He grasped her hand, squeezing it tight in excitement. Laughing, she looked up through a fall of bright red hair, so silky it reflected the Christmas tree lights and his smile faded. She was so beautiful. Reaching down, he touched the crimson strands, weaving them between his fingers, soft against his skin. Lifting her hair back, he gazed into her green eyes, the colour of the stormy ocean. Thick sooty lashes lay in an arc over her cheek and beneath them, her mouth. The urge was too strong.
He pressed his lips to hers, tasting her mouth, so familiar and yet so unknown. Pushing his hand into her hair, he kissed deeper, pulling her against him, catching his breath.
But Carly pulled back. “No,” she said, her voice gentle. “This isn’t right, too much has happened. We can’t change the past.”
“We can have a future.”
She looked down at her leg and to his horror, shook her head.
“I’ll meet you tomorrow; you can help me with the phobia and then we’ll go our separate ways.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.” Her voice shook.
“I came back for
you.”
“After two years, Dan. Two years! That’s a long time, I’ve seen pictures of you laughing and chatting, your arm draped over Imogen — you didn’t look like you were suffering. The only reason you came back was because you felt guilty.”
Huddled into the corner of the sofa, she looked younger, more vulnerable, but in reality she hadn’t changed that much. Inside, she was still the most obstinate woman he had ever met.
Standing up, he strode out the shop, slamming the door behind him and marching down the street. So stubborn! Always so stubborn.
Then he stopped and touched his lips, remembering the feel of her mouth, the way it had fitted his so perfectly, as if their lips had been designed to be interlocked.
CHAPTER TEN
Yellow fingers of sunrise reflected on the green waves of the harbour, rippling under a light wind. Carly rested her elbows on the shop windowsill, sweat gathering on her palms. It was perfect sailing weather, but would he come after yesterday? Did she want him to?
Wiping a circle in the steamed glass, she peered through and drew a sharp breath. Muffled in a hip length blue jacket, feet thrust into heavy boots, Daniel strode along the cobblestones, a large sports bag in his hand. The promised wet gear, or was he leaving Haven Bay again?
Stepping back from the window, she grabbed two jars of jam from a display and pretended to be arranging them as the door opened and he walked in. Wind had ruffled his hair, he was unshaven, his eyes dark and grim. It was so tempting to run over and comfort him in her arms.
Daniel put the bag down. “Waterproof clothes for both of us. The wind’s calm, but there’s a spray in the air.”
Nausea rose in her stomach and she looked out the window at the green waves, remembering their salty tang, their coldness against her skin. It had been so long since she sailed, but she had to do this to stop him from feeling guilty. If he thought she was better, he’d leave Haven Bay to return to his own life. And she wanted that, didn’t she? Carly took a deep breath.
“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 t
he 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 the 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.