by Chris Curran
And suddenly Oliver was behind her, clutching at her, his hands strong and hard on her waist. No. She kicked back at him and jerked her head towards where his face must be, but it was no good, the water cushioned everything into soft slow-motion.
Then those powerful hands lifted her and the sea poured out of her clothes as she clutched at the ladder and dragged herself on board.
Fay! The man swimming away wasn’t Oliver, but thank God, thank God, they were still out there: Oliver holding Fay. He couldn’t hurt her, surely. On her knees, her clothes squelching as she moved, her head hurting as if her skull was broken, she dragged herself to the table. The food and the champagne bottle were still there. How could this be happening?
And there was her bag, and her phone. As she rang 999, she tried to be calm, but all the time she was watching Oliver and Fay as they moved further out. She shouted to him, begging him to come back, her voice little more than a croak, and crawled back to the swim ladder. She had to get to Fay, somehow. But someone was in the water with them already and the other one, the man who’d helped her, was closing in on them too. Please, please help my baby.
Joe
Joe pushed himself away from the boat. If only he was a stronger swimmer. He was already exhausted from helping the woman. But Hannah and the man with the kid were out there and he had to get to them. As he drew closer there was so much splashing he kept going under, swallowing salt water, his arms and back screaming with pain.
The man must be panicking because he was clinging to the child as Hannah tried to take her. Joe came up close behind. The little girl was conscious now, gasping and crying as she tried to swim. She lashed out with one arm, hitting the man in the face and that was enough to let Hannah grab her.
She thrust the kid at Joe. ‘Take her.’
He held the child tight. ‘It’s all right. Let me help you, sweetheart.’
At that she seemed to relax in his arms. He held her still for a moment, then tried to turn on his back. He couldn’t do it, but the kid was swimming and he pushed her towards the boat, staying beside her as she moved through the water. She was crying and gasping, but she was a strong swimmer, better than him, and she got to the boat first. The woman leaned over the edge and grabbed the little girl’s hands, and Joe pushed her up onto deck then turned back to the others.
They were gone.
A lifeboat bounced across the water, but it would be too late. He struggled out again to where he left them, fighting his way through the water. When he dived it was into a fog of churning green. Oh Hannah. He didn’t even know if this was where they’d been.
As he surfaced, he was calling her name, but it was no good and he dived again and again till he could do it no more. Then he let himself slip under the water. He had to rest for a minute. And it was calm and warm as he sank deeper. Only his chest ached now and he could bear that.
Loretta
Loretta stood on the concrete pier, staring out to sea, her eyes sore with straining. There was a PC beside her, asking what she knew, but she shook her head. The woman on the boat was kneeling and clutching the child. Further out a lifeboat circled and a helicopter hovered. Searching.
Rosie
When they finally prised Fay from Rosie’s arms, they said the little girl would be all right and so would she. Marion, too, was going to be fine. Oliver must have slipped her some sleeping pills as well and on top of the booze she was still groggy. As they loaded her mum into an ambulance, she gripped Rosie’s hand.
‘Call your dad. Tell him we’re all right.’
Rosie nodded. ‘I will.’ She brushed a strand of hair from Marion’s face.
In the second ambulance, she sat by her daughter. Even under the foil blanket they’d wrapped round her she couldn’t stop shivering. They hadn’t found Oliver and she forced herself not to think of him, not to think of anything except Fay. Fay was going to be all right. That was all that mattered.
Joe
Joe walked up to the ambulance. Funny how you could still do things, think of things you should do, even at times like this. The woman, Rosemary Weatherall, was holding her daughter’s hand, and like him they were wrapped in foil cloaks. She gave him a little smile, her eyes misty.
‘Thank you so much. We’d have died without the two of you.’ She looked down at the little girl. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Joe nodded. What could you say?
He turned away and there was Loretta. How did she get here so quick? It didn’t matter; he was just glad to see her. Had to swallow to hold back the tears. He couldn’t let them come yet. Loretta put her hand on his arm and squeezed. Her brown eyes were brimming.
‘They haven’t found Hannah. I’m so sorry, Joe. She’s gone.’
‘I know.’ He couldn’t say any more, couldn’t think anymore.
Loretta nodded towards the ambulance where the mother leaned forward to kiss her child. ‘I’m sure Hannah knew though,’ she said. ‘Knew she’d saved someone else’s daughter.’
As they watched, the little girl’s eyes fluttered open and she reached up to put her arms around her mother’s neck.
Joe was driving too fast, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. When Loretta had offered to take him home, he told her he was OK: wanting to say there was no home for him now. Not without Lily and Hannah. He took his foot off the accelerator. What was he hurrying for?
It was a beautiful night, stars glittering above; the road silent; empty of everything but the twisting cat’s eyes and the flickering shadows of trees.
Then – a searing light. A blast of sound. And a car: headlights swerving away. He glimpsed the woman driver’s shocked face and pulled onto the verge, the breath catching in his throat. He’d been on the wrong side of the road, nearly killed them both.
And as he sat there, he thought of Lily and heard her voice, very clear. You can do it, Dad. He shook his head. What if he didn’t want to?
But it wasn’t just him. If Lily could really talk to him she would ask him to help Samuel. Poor lad had no one. And there was Rosemary Weatherall and her daughter: the little girl with Lily’s clear eyes. It was going to be so hard for them.
He looked up at the stars for a moment then pulled back on the road and headed home.
Acknowledgements
Sending huge thanks to Lorraine Mace, Jo Reed and Michelle Romaine for creating the wonderful Writing Asylum and to all the brilliant writers I met there and who continue to support and inspire me.
Particular thanks go to my most long-suffering Victims: Sheila Bugler, Jill Marsh, Tricia Gilbey, Claire Whatley, Justine Windsor, Amanda Hodgkinson, Karen Milner and Liza Perrat.
To the whole team at Killer Reads, especially my brilliant editor, Finn Cotton. To Janette Currie and Mike Topping.
To Moira McDonnell: best friend and essential reader.
To Jim Curran and Estelle Hughes for turning up come rain, shine or gale force wind as a constant threat to unwary passers-by.
And always to Paul, for the never-ending supply of love, encouragement and Earl Grey tea.
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About the Author
Chris Curran has worked as a teacher, an actor and scriptwriter, and now reviews fiction for various publications and blogs. She is a published short story writer and her most recent, The Thought of You, was shortlisted for the 2017 CWA Margery Allingham Short Story Competition. An early draft of her debut novel, Mindsight, was shortlisted for the Yeovil Literary Prize in 2013. Her Deadly Secret is her third novel.
@Christi_Curran
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