The Storm

by Amanda Jennings

‘Ten days?’ came Lawrie’s plaintive moan.

  Cam laughed.

  ‘Should have listened to your mummy when she told you to work hard at school,’ Geren shouted.

  Lawrie was sick again.

  ‘Jesus,’ Davy said. ‘How much puke can one wanker throw up? If he was in the army we’d have beaten the crap out of him for this.’

  The latrine door opened and Lawrie appeared, green as peas, wiping his hand across his mouth.

  ‘Ah, here he is! The seasick fisherboy!’ Geren raised his mug in a toast.

  Lawrie walked hesitantly into the galley and started to sit at the table.

  Geren stretched his arm out to block his way. ‘Woah! You’re not sitting anywhere near me. What if you puke on my toast?’

  Perhaps it was the sickness or perhaps Lawrie was just a crazy motherfucker, but rather than nod and move away, he pushed against Geren’s arm and scowled at him. ‘I’m not going to be sick, OK?’

  Martin looked up in surprise at Lawrie’s tone.

  Geren blazed. He stood up, both hands on the table, and leant close to Lawrie’s face. ‘Can’t you hear properly, you twat? I said, fuck off, and when you’ve fucked off, you can fuck off some more. You little pussy.’

  The atmosphere in the galley had chilled as the laughs had faded and Geren’s anger poisoned the air. Cam was about to tell Geren to take it easy, but Geren predicted it and snapped around to face him. ‘You want him sitting next to you, eh, Cam?’

  Cam glanced at Lawrie, who had lost his earlier defiance, and was horrified to see tears gathered in his eyes. Cam shook his head almost imperceptibly in the hope of sending a silent plea to this lad who was no more than a child.

  Don’t do it, Lawrie. For fuck’s sake don’t cry.

  ‘Sure, he can sit next to me.’

  Cam ignored Geren who hissed through his teeth and shifted himself over, reaching for Martin’s discarded paper, pausing to wait for permission to borrow it. Martin nodded and stretched, wincing a little as he uncoiled himself. But before Lawrie had a chance to sit down, he clutched his stomach with one hand and put the other over his mouth before tearing back to the latrine. Moments later the noise of retching filled the galley.

  Davy collapsed with laughter and Geren gave a derisive shake of his head. ‘Jesus, what a fucking tuss.’

  ‘Maybe you could give him a break for an hour,’ Cam said carefully. The tension in the galley was wearing him down; it was bad enough having to leave Hannah without having to listen to these grown men squabbling like kids.

  Geren snorted and knocked back the dregs of his coffee. ‘You’re joking, right? I’m not letting a little prick like that off the hook. I mean, Jesus. He thinks he’s got what it takes to be a fisherman? My Gem would be more use than him and she’s seven months pregnant. And, anyway,’ he said, with the sullen voice of a tantruming child, ‘he came at me. You saw that look he threw me. Who the fuck does he think he is? Snotty little dickhead.’

  Cam glanced at Geren. ‘I just think you could take it easy for a bit,’ he whispered softly, so Lawrie Mould wouldn’t hear.

  Geren turned on him. ‘Take it easy? What the fuck are you on about? You remember being a deckie learner, Cam? Anybody take it easy with you?’

  Cam sighed. ‘Look. I get it. The lad won’t make a fisherman. But he’s here now and we’ve got to live like sardines for the next two weeks and you lot ribbing him all the hours until he cries isn’t going to make that any easier.’

  Geren and Cam’s eyes locked. Cam’s body stiffened and his hands instinctively balled on the table. Geren clocked the movement and a questioning look passed over his face like a cloud. ‘So you’re taking that little tuss’s side over mine?’

  Cam hesitated. There was a furnace burning in Geren and he didn’t want a fight with him, not because of some kid who’d likely never step foot on a trawler again. He relaxed his shoulders and shook his head. ‘No, I’m not. Just thought you could let him quit throwing up first.’

  Geren reached for the pot and topped up his mug. ‘Love has turned you soft, mate.’

  Cam wondered if it had. He wouldn’t usually give a shit about Geren giving a deckie learner a hard time. He was about to smile when Geren added: ‘Or is it the sex? I bet that one’s a beast in the sack. She’s got that look about her.’

  Davy smirked and flared Cam’s anger.

  ‘You know what, Geren?’ Cam slammed his fist down. ‘You can be a prize fucking dick sometimes.’

  He pushed away from the table and stormed out of the galley and on to the deck. As the boat rocked and pitched he splayed his legs enough to brace himself and rolled a cigarette then cupped his hand against the wind to light it. As he inhaled he caught sight of Lawrie Mould sitting on his haunches against the rail of the gunwale, head bowed, hands clasped around the back of his neck.

  Cam drew on his cigarette and regarded the pathetic figure of the crouched boy with disdain. He shouldn’t have told Geren to back off him. There was no place at sea for a man who couldn’t stand up for himself. Nobody had given Geren or Cam or Slim an easy ride when they started out. The ribbing was a rite of passage. Fishermen had to be brave and tough, have the mettle to survive in the harshest conditions, but they also had to get on with people, know how to fit in and work as a team. It was those same men who gave the new kids hell who taught them all they needed to know to survive the sea. If they wanted to make it as fishermen, the youngsters had to respect the experience of the crew. They had to watch, listen, and learn from them. If they didn’t, mistakes would be made, and mistakes could be fatal.

  Cam finished his cigarette and threw the end over the side then walked across the deck. He pulled his tobacco out of his back pocket and held it out towards the boy. The lad was no doubt too sick to smoke it, but it was a peace offering of sorts. Lawrie glanced up and they held each other’s stare for a moment or two. The boy looked even younger out here. Did his mother have any idea what her son had let himself in for? Perhaps she didn’t care.

  ‘You’re here to learn, lad. You got that? Slim and Geren. Martin. Davy. Me. We know what we’re doing and we’re some of the best at sea. If you want to learn you need to start listening. Quit puking and lose the attitude. It’s not doing you any favours. You’ve got a chance to do something with your life. Don’t blow it. Understand?’

  Lawrie glanced at the tobacco and reached out to take it. Cam held on. Lawrie hesitated then gave a nod and Cam released his grip.

  ‘Thanks,’ the boy whispered.

  ‘And don’t be a dickhead, OK?’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hannah

  ‘Get inside the house, Alex.’

  Nathan’s anger is palpable.

  ‘I said get in the house.’

  Alex hesitates. He glances back over his shoulder at the man – at Cameron Stewart – who is standing at our gate. My whole body is shuddering and my knees threaten to buckle beneath me as I stare at him, lit by a soft light from the open front door. His skin is craggy, the whites of his eyes are watery – too much drink or too little sleep – he’s lost weight, his cheeks are more gaunt, his black hair has thinned and lost its youthful shine. Though unmistakably him, he is haggard and old.

  Do I look as aged? As haunted? I suppose I must.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ Nathan’s bark makes me jump.

  ‘Alex…’

  I hear myself whispering my son’s name, but it sounds displaced, as if somebody else is speaking from a vantage point a little way away. Nathan steps beside me. The fug of merlot on his breath turns my stomach as he rests a heavy hand on my shoulder. I want to shrug it off, but it’s taking all my strength to withstand the barrage of emotions I’m feeling. Relief and happiness my son is home, mixes with panic, confusion, horror and fear. Part of me is desperate to throw my arms around Cam’s neck and never let go. Another part wants to scream at him and drive him away.

  You can’t be here, I want to screech. Why are you here? You promised me. You promised me you’d n
ever come back!

  Guilt engulfs me like a mudslide, suffocating me, making each breath torturous. Memories strike like balled fists. Cam standing over the unmoving body. His tears shining in the scant moonlight. The way his hands raked his hair, fingers scraping his scalp, muttering, his voice low and shaky, repeating breathed words over and over.

  I can make it OK. I can make it OK. I can make it OK.

  Blood pounds my ears as the ground tilts beneath me.

  Mum?

  Alex’s voice comes from somewhere distant.

  Mum?

  Cam’s eyes bore through to my centre. It’s as if he’s slit me from throat to groin to expose everything inside. Everything else melts away: the house, Nathan, Alex; all of it shrinks to nothing.

  There is only me and Cam.

  Nathan steps forward. His hand on my shoulder. Pulling me back. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’

  I can’t move or speak. My body has solidified.

  Nathan digs his fingers into me and turns me roughly to face him. His mouth moves but the words are scrambled, too hard to decipher, distorted as if we are underwater. He shakes me.

  ‘Hannah?’ Finally, his voice comes into focus like a tuned radio. ‘Take Alex indoors. Your son needs you. He’s been missing for two days and you need to look after him.’

  A movement grabs my attention. Cam has stepped forward. His hands are held up as if surrendering to an invisible gun.

  ‘I’m not staying.’ His voice is unaltered, its gravelly texture caressed at the edges by that soft Newlyn accent. ‘I just wanted to make sure he got back safe.’

  His words flick a switch inside Nathan.

  ‘Why do you have our son?’ he shouts.

  I flinch and watch Nathan walk up to Cam as if watching a film. He grabs Cam’s sweater with both fists, pushes them up to his chin, presses his face close to his. Alex draws in a sharp breath. I should take my son inside. I should make him hot chocolate and butter him some toast. Run him a bath. Call the police to tell them he’s home safe and sound.

  Why can’t I move?

  Cam doesn’t react to Nathan’s assault. He stands, impassive, arms loose at his sides, face tipped back from Nathan’s rage.

  Alex cries out for Nathan to stop. I should intervene. I should step between them and pacify my husband. Tell Cam to leave.

  What’s wrong with me?

  ‘The lad came to me. To my place in Reading,’ he says then. ‘He turned up out of the blue. I got home and he was on the wall outside the block of flats.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that? How the hell did he know where you live?’

  I have a sharp image of Alex looking through my box at the care home. Opening my diary. Turning the pages. I see him studying the photograph of me leaning against Cam, the two of us laughing as we squint into the sunlight.

  Why can’t I remember who took the photo?

  ‘He told me who he was. It was late so I fed him and let him sleep on the sofa.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call the police?’

  Cam swallows and lowers his gaze.

  ‘Oh yes, I remember. You don’t like the police too much, do you?’ Nathan scoffs with contempt. He loosens his grip on Cam’s sweater, shoving him hard as he releases him. Cam stumbles and catches his fall on the gatepost.

  ‘I had to go to work in the morning,’ Cam carries on. There is a vulnerability in him which tugs at my heart. ‘He watched TV in my flat. I told him to eat what he wanted and we left as soon as I got home. I stopped to fill up with petrol, but otherwise we drove straight here.’

  ‘You didn’t think about how worried we were? You didn’t think to telephone?’ Nathan appears to be getting stronger as Cam diminishes. I want to shout at him and tell him not to falter.

  Don’t let him weaken you. Stand tall. Stay strong.

  ‘Well?’ Nathan’s anger is burning. ‘Why didn’t you telephone to let us know he was safe?’

  ‘Because I told him I’d called you!’ shouts Alex, biting back tears. ‘I lied and said I’d told you where I was and that I was on my way home.’ My son’s visible distress jumpstarts me. I walk over and wrap my arms around him.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I whisper, rubbing his back. ‘It’s OK. Don’t cry.’

  ‘I should have called you, but I was worried he’d pick up and I didn’t want to talk to him.’

  Nathan ignores Alex and addresses Cam again. ‘Hannah told you she never wanted to see you again. She told you to keep away. What bit of that did you not understand?’

  Cam glances at me. It’s the briefest of looks – a split second – but in that moment I can see a world of pain.

  Do my eyes hold as much pain as his?

  Unwanted recollections bombard me. People laughing in the distance. Music carried on the biting winter chill. Footsteps in the harbour. The smell of old fish and engine oil and damp nets. The sickening silence. Then Cam’s face. The horror. The sound of him throwing up.

  I can make it OK.

  ‘Get the hell off my property!’ Nathan yells. ‘Leave us alone or I’ll call the police.’

  The threat galvanises me and I snap out of my stupor. I walk towards them, my gaze on Nathan unwavering. ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘He brought Alex back to us. It’s late. They’ve driven a long way. Let’s have a cup of tea and something to eat. We all need to calm down and go indoors.’

  Horror blooms on Nathan’s face. ‘What? You think I’m letting that man set one foot inside my house?’

  ‘Nathan—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Cam says, interrupting me. ‘I’m not coming in.’

  His voice catapults me back in time and another barrage of memories. Us on the beach. A damp blanket wrapped around our shoulders as we throw stones into the roiling sea. Gulls fighting over the bits of sandwich we’ve thrown them. Our sandy feet rubbing against each other softly.

  ‘I called the hostel in Penzance. They have a room. I’m staying there—’

  ‘No, Cam—’

  ‘Hannah!’ Nathan grabs my wrist and pulls me backwards.

  Cam turns and walks towards his car. Small and battered. A Volkswagen Golf. Red. The same car? Bile billows up and burns my throat. I’m back there, sitting in the passenger seat, numbly staring through the windscreen at the darkness.

  ‘He’s a great kid,’ Cam says, as he climbs into the car. ‘You should be proud of him.’

  He closes the door and the engine fires. He grasps the wheel with both hands and for an instant he seems to hesitate. We stare at each other through the window for a moment before he shifts the car into gear and pulls away.

  Panic flares in the pit of my stomach. Without stopping to think, I run out of the gate and shout for him to stop. Nathan calls my name. Cass barks frantically. For a horrible moment I think he isn’t going to stop, but then the brake lights flare like two monster eyes in the dark.

  But Nathan has appeared at my side. ‘Don’t you dare.’ He grabs my arm.

  ‘Nathan, please. He brought Alex home to us. I have to thank him. We have to thank him.’

  ‘The man is a cold-blooded killer, Hannah. I don’t want him anywhere near any of us.’

  ‘Shush! For goodness’ sake,’ I say sharply, glancing back to make sure Alex isn’t in earshot.

  ‘How did Alex know where to find him?’ He leans in, anger drilling into me like a laser. ‘Why did he go to him?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  It’s not a lie. I know Alex found my box of memories. I know he saw the photos and read my diary. But I don’t know why he went to find Cam. I’ll talk to Alex later, when we’re alone, and I’ll ask him the same questions Nathan just asked. ‘I promise I don’t. But I have to thank him for bringing Alex home to us.’

  I wrench free of his grasp and run to the car. Cam has turned off the engine and wound down his window. He turns his head slowly to look at me and I am hit by the weight of our history. There’s so much I need to say. So much I want to say. But how do I even begin? Once again, it�
�s as if my tongue has been cut out. Over the last fifteen years I’ve imagined hundreds of conversations, but standing here now, face to face with him, my mind is blank.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say quietly.

  His face is devoid of expression. ‘No problem.’ He puts his hand to the ignition key.

  ‘Wait. I need to talk to you.’ I glance back at Nathan whose shadowy figure is silhouetted in the light from the house.

  ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  My stomach clenches. ‘Cam?’

  He turns the engine on. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Tears bite and I swallow them back as I shake my head. ‘Are you… OK?’

  He blinks slowly. ‘Am I OK?’ His words are laced with bitterness.

  ‘Hannah!’ Nathan’s shout makes me jump. I glance over my shoulder and see him approaching. ‘For God’s sake!’

  Panic mushrooms inside me. No. He can’t leave. Not yet. This isn’t right. We need to talk.

  Nathan draws up behind me and rests his hands on my shoulders and I stiffen.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says. His voice is eerily calm and flat, his composure restored. ‘For bringing my son home.’ He rubs the tops of my arms. ‘We’re very grateful. Have a safe drive back.’

  Cam nods and shifts the gear.

  As he drives away the air in my lungs chills to ice.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hannah

  I sit on the edge of Alex’s bed and watch him devour the ham sandwich I made for him.

  Nathan is downstairs on the phone to the police, his voice coming in breathy snatches with the effort of repressing his anger. When we came back into the house and closed the door, he was visibly trembling, and his skin pale. The only words he spoke, uttered to Alex in a low growling tone, ‘Get up to your room and stay there.’

  Nathan was always going to be angry with Alex for running away, but knowing he ended up at Cam Stewart’s? I can only imagine the corrosive anger eating him from the inside. Somehow I’ll need to diffuse him, massage his ego and ease the rage, but not until I’ve talked to my son.

  I let him finish his sandwich without talking. I am so grateful he’s safe, and sitting here with him in comfortable silence is bliss after the hours I’ve spent worrying. But I have so many questions and it isn’t long before I have to break the quiet.