The Storm

by Amanda Jennings

  When he got to The Packhorse it was heaving with sweaty bodies crammed in like sardines, and the moment he pushed through the door, he realised he’d made a mistake coming. He would find Hannah, give Slim his knife back, and get out of there.

  He scanned the crowd but couldn’t see her. She said she’d be there as soon as she’d shut up the bakery for her dad. Where was she?

  When he felt a hand on his lower back, he turned expecting it to be Hannah, but it was Maisie, a pretty girl he’d been out with a couple of times, nothing serious, a few drinks in the pub and a couple of end-of-the-evening snogs which tasted of Juicy Fruit chewing gum. ‘Hey. How’re you doing?’

  He shrugged. ‘You know.’

  She sucked air through her teeth. ‘Mum says Martin actually died and they had to use those electric shock things to wake him?’ She shook her head. ‘Must have been bad out there.’

  ‘Not great.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re OK.’ She smiled at him with affection and he smiled back, grateful for the sliver of softness.

  Cam checked the door again and noticed young Lawrie Mould hovering nervously nearby. He looked shattered and far younger than his seventeen years. Cam raised a hand and got his attention. He pointed at the bar and mouthed ‘Drink?’ Lawrie smiled shyly and nodded.

  Cam went to the bar and ordered three pints and Lawrie came up beside him and hung at his shoulder like a shadow.

  ‘He the right age?’ asked Cora behind the bar, hair piled high on her head, one button too many undone, pointing at Lawrie who seemed to be trying to make himself invisible behind Cam.

  ‘Yup,’ lied Cam. ‘And this young man saved Martin from being crushed and killed by the rogue beam. Pushed him clear. Lad’s a hero and going to make a fine fisherman.’

  Cora nodded at the beers on the bar. ‘On the house, then. Need to keep our heroes happy,’ she said and winked at Lawrie over Cam’s shoulder.

  They located Davy and Geren at a table in the corner and squeezed through the gathered people to get to them. Cam placed one of the pints in front of Davy, who acknowledged the drink with a nod, picked it up, and downed half of it in one. He paused, seemed to consider the drink for a moment, then finished the rest.

  By the time Hannah and her friend Vicky arrived around seven-thirty, both dressed in versions of the same – denim skirts, cropped tops revealing trim midriffs, knee-high boots and hoop earrings – the men had put away another three pints.

  ‘Your bird’s here,’ Geren nudged Cam and pointed towards the door. Cam saw her searching the room and when she caught sight of him her face exploded into the widest smile.

  He stood and watched her pushing through the crowd to get to him and when she reached him she jumped into his arms and kissed him all over. ‘I’m sorry I’m late! Sorry, sorry. I didn’t finish until nearly six and wanted to make myself pretty for you and, well, it took ages!’

  She grinned and kissed him again. Geren and a few of the others jeered. Even Davy managed a lopsided smile, eyes wavering with drink and tiredness. The few hours kip the men had managed to grab between arriving back and going out weren’t nearly enough to make up for a sleep-deprived week at sea.

  ‘Anybody want a drink?’ Hannah smiled at the table. ‘I’ve been paid today so this round’s on me.’

  ‘How about a kiss instead?’ Geren grinned at Cam. ‘You don’t mind do you, Cam? Something nice to start the weekend.’ He winked at Hannah and drank some of his pint.

  Hannah laughed. ‘Cam doesn’t mind. And, hey, it’s Friday, you’re back and there’s fun to be had.’ She bent down and kissed Geren on the cheek. ‘Now, drinks?’

  ‘First a kiss for Davy.’

  Davy shook his head and made a face at Geren. Cam glared at Geren and took hold of Hannah’s hand.

  Geren shook Cam’s shoulder. ‘Lighten up, mate. It’s not like I’ve asked her to sleep with me or anything.’ He glanced at Hannah and raised his eyebrows. ‘Though, of course, if you fancy it?’

  Hannah laughed and shook her head with cheerful exasperation. ‘Blimey, I forgot what idiots you lot can be when you’re lathered.’

  ‘Go on. One kiss. His dad lost an arm; it’ll make him feel better.’

  ‘No, it’s fine—’ Davy started.

  ‘Just ignore him,’ Cam said. ‘Geren, maybe you need to go home?’

  Geren laughed and pointed at Cam. ‘That, my friend, is the exact opposite of what I need. What I need is more booze and a bit of marching powder.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Hannah then to Davy. ‘I’m sorry about Martin.’

  Davy looked up and nodded.

  She smiled.

  Cam saw Davy’s stare linger on her breasts – the clingy material of her top leaving nothing to the imagination – and the now-familiar stab of jealousy got him in the gut.

  Her friend appeared in a haze of giggling and breathless energy. ‘Come on, Han. We need to catch up with this lot. Tequila?’

  Hannah smiled and kissed Cam’s cheek. ‘Back in a sec,’ she said, and whispered something he didn’t catch.

  Geren watched her go and whistled through his teeth. ‘You need to keep an eye on that one.’

  ‘Fuck off.’ Cam drained his drink and pushed away from the table.

  He lit a cigarette and smoked it on the way to the toilets. Why was he letting Geren get to him again? This is what they did. They fished. They drank hard. They talked crudely about women. Why was he so wound up? Hannah wasn’t bothered by it. She’d taken the banter as it was meant. Lighthearted. He had to do the same. He trod his cigarette out on the floor and leant on the sink in the toilets, lifting his head to stare at himself in the mirror.

  ‘You look like shit,’ he breathed.

  He ran his hand beneath the tap, rubbed his face, then dried it with a couple of paper towels from the dispenser. His cut had dripped a little, and he rubbed at the smear of blood with the balled-up towels before throwing them in the bin.

  ‘And pull yourself the fuck together,’ he told himself.

  The atmosphere was charged with electric energy. People who’d finished work for the weekend had descended from all around on the infamous Packhorse for an evening of drink and drugs and dancing. He watched Geren laughing with Hannah and Vicky. Hannah turned her head in the direction of the toilets and caught sight of him. She smiled and patted the empty spot on the bench beside her. Vicky leant close to her and whispered something. Both glanced at Cam and giggled.

  ‘Cameron Stewart,’ slurred a voice. A heavy hand fell like a load on his shoulder. It was Slim, one eye half-closed, the other unable to focus. ‘Heading home, lad.’ He nodded and was unbalanced by the movement.

  Cam caught his arm to steady him. ‘You OK there, Slim?’

  ‘Yeah. Sure. You know…’ He stumbled to his left and bumped into a man holding a drink who glared at him. Cam mouthed a sorry then led Slim through the people and out of the pub, gripping him around the waist and under the arm, taking most of his weight.

  Outside, the icy cold raked Cam’s skin like sandpaper. The rain had finally eased and the moon shone off the wet pavement, and drips of water fell from the guttering with a steady beat.

  Slim crouched and leant back against the wall, head in his hands, moaning softly. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Drank too much. Jesus…’ He leant his head back and softly banged it against the wall. ‘Really fucked up.’

  Cam stared down towards the harbour and the snatch of dark water beyond. The white tops of the choppy waves like a dusting of snow. The streetlamps surrounding the harbour flickered over the black sea like party lights. He had a sudden flash of his father, the smell of him catching in the back of his throat, oil, unwashed clothes, the stench of drying fish guts, and the sound of his boots in the hallway as he returned from a trip with a twinkle in his eye and, in perfect imitation of his Scottish ancestors, would smile and say, ‘Aye, son, tonight we’ll be eatin’ like kings ’n’ drinkin’ like fishies.’

  Slim pushed himself off the wall and s
tood for a moment, swaying gently as he squinted to focus. ‘Home to the missus,’ he said. ‘Should get yourselves home too. Everyone’s wired. Geren. On the edge.’ He started walking away, his voice fading to a drunken mutter. ‘Davy needs his bed…’

  Cam watched him weave up the road and pictured the face of the long-suffering, short-fused Betty when she opened the door to his drunken hammering. With a sudden flash he remembered the knife. ‘Slim!’ he called. But the man didn’t stop his weave up the hill.

  The girls were sitting at the table when Cam returned. Geren and Hannah were squashed tightly together, his arm around her shoulder, gesticulating wildly with his cigarette as he told them all about the storm and the accident. Everybody was rapt, Davy too, staring fixedly so it was obvious to anybody who knew these things he’d dropped a pill or taken a line.

  Someone arrived at the table with a tray of shots.

  ‘Cam!’ Hannah cried, staring up at him gleefully.

  He noticed her smile had loosened up with drink.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Her fingers closed around a shot glass, which she thrust out towards him, some of the liquid sloshing out and spilling on the table.

  He shook his head, glaring at Geren who held the cigarette in his lips and squinted against the smoke as he passed the drinks around the table.

  ‘I’m done in. Let’s split.’

  ‘Noooo! It’s too early!’ Her voice rang with a slight whine like a child begging for sweets. ‘Do a shot with me?’ she said.

  ‘I said no.’

  Her face fell.

  Geren picked up a shot. ‘Ignore the prick. I’ll do one with you.’

  Her momentary sadness was replaced with a beaming smile as they clinked glasses and knocked back the clear liquid. She grimaced, lips and chin shining wet with spilled alcohol, as she stamped her feet and shook her head against the bite of the liquor.

  Geren laughed and slammed his glass down on the table hard enough to break it. He handed one to Davy who did his shot obediently. Hannah laughed and leant playfully against Geren who clapped Davy on the back.

  Cam tensed. He was about to ask her again to leave with him, but then noticed something had caught her eye. Her face fell and she raised her arm to try and obscure her face, whilst glancing again at whatever it was she’d spotted. Cam followed her gaze and saw a man standing at the entrance of the pub and scanning the room.

  Was that Nathan Cardew?

  He looked out of place, uptight, dressed in navy suit trousers and an open-necked shirt, like some ponce from London. Cam watched his face relax into a smile when he saw Hannah. He waved and walked through the drinkers towards her. Hannah muttered something under her breath and Geren’s face fell into a dismissive sneer.

  Nathan cleared his throat and attempted to speak to her, flapping at the cigarette smoke which hung horizontally like a layer of sea mist.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ said Hannah. Cam noticed she was making an effort not to sound drunk, finishing her words distinctively, her smile vanished.

  ‘Oh.’ He was clearly taken aback. ‘You said to meet you here?’

  Cam’s body tensed.

  Nathan squirmed under the hostile glares of the men in the pub, who sneered unkindly at his ridiculous clothes and posh-boy haircut. Cam might have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t seething at the balls of the prick. Walking into The Packhorse of all places? On his patch, to meet his girlfriend.

  ‘You invited me to come. Remember? You said when I got back from Paris.’ He said the word ‘Paris’ with emphasis. Geren snorted with laughter and Nathan glanced at him, momentarily faltering, before continuing. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. Counting the hours, if truth be told.’

  His voice was polished, tainted with notions, as Sheila Garnett would say, and any Cornish accent he might have had growing up was now buried beneath his fancy education and affected manner.

  Cam could see Hannah panicking as she searched for something to say. It reassured him.

  ‘Maybe we could talk for a moment?’ Nathan asked hesitantly. ‘Outside?’

  ‘Can we talk here?’

  ‘It’s a little—’ he hesitated and cast his eyes warily around the people at the table who all stared at him as if he were some sort of alien, ‘—noisy. Just a few minutes?’

  Hannah nodded reluctantly and eased herself out from the table. Cam grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him as she walked passed him. ‘What’s going on?’ he hissed.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Nothing,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘It’s fine. We had, like, one dinner out – and only because he kept hassling me – and now he thinks we’re in love or something. It’s sad. I thought he was OK, but he’s weird and really creepy. I’ve had a letter every other day from him since he left.’ She tapped the side of her head and made a face like Nathan was nuts. ‘I’ll send him on his way. Back in a bit.’ She kissed him.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Tell you what?’ She looked perplexed. ‘That a guy likes me?’

  Cam didn’t reply.

  ‘Look, it’s my fault. I should have just told him I wasn’t interested but he didn’t want to listen. I knew he was going away and I thought he’d get bored and meet a French girl or whatever. I should have been clear. He’s—’ she hesitated, ‘—desperate, if I’m honest.’ She paused. ‘Can I ask you a favour? Can you not let on we’re together? Not tonight. Let me get it sorted. I don’t want to upset him more than I have to.’

  Cam stared at her.

  ‘Honestly. Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine. Nothing happened. We ate some food I didn’t like which cost the earth in a restaurant you had to whisper in. I thought he was harmless when I met him, but he’s strange and I’ve no idea why he’s got such a thing for me.’

  While she was gone, Cam drank his pint slowly, eyes glued to the door, and waited for her to return. When she finally came in, her face was pale, lips tight, arms crossed over her body protectively.

  ‘You OK?’ Cam asked as she neared him.

  She grimaced. ‘God,’ she said, her voice lowered. ‘He cried.’

  Cam couldn’t stop a small smile at the thought of that prick in his fancy shirt and stupid haircut crying like a baby outside a pub full of fishermen, but then a flash of doubt crossed his mind. Surely no man would be that cut up after only one meal out? Was she lying to him? Was there more to her and Nathan than she was letting on? ‘What did he say?’

  She drunkenly waved her hand and shook her head dismissively. ‘You know what? I can’t be bothered to talk about it. It’s done now.’ She reached across the table to grab one of the last remaining shots which were dotted among the empties and knocked it back. Then she glanced over towards the door, turned back quickly, and dropped her head. ‘Jesus, he’s back. Why won’t he get the message?’

  Nathan was looking around the pub, agitated, chewing the thumb of one hand, the other flapping manically against his thigh. The jukebox had gone on and people were starting to sing and dance, arms slung around shoulders, swaying and singing tunelessly to some eighties track Cam couldn’t stand.

  Hannah cast her eyes over at Nathan again. Cam leant over and tried to kiss her. She drew back sharply. ‘Don’t. Not now.’

  Irritation bowled into him. ‘I thought you didn’t care about him?’

  ‘What?’ she said, putting her finger to her ear.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, making sure she could hear him over the racket in the pub. ‘This place is doing my head in tonight.’

  ‘Stay for a bit?’

  ‘I’m knackered.’

  Hannah was distracted. Eyes on the door. Cam turned and saw Nathan pushing out of the pub.

  ‘Right, he’s gone. Let’s leave.’

  She took hold of his hand and squeezed it. ‘One more drink. Please? I want to make sure he’s gone. Seriously, if he’s waiting outside and he sees us leaving together—’

  ‘Then what? So he knows. Who cares?’


  ‘Hey, lovebirds,’ said Vicky, interrupting them as she piled over in a rush of drunken excitement. ‘What’s up?’

  Hannah groaned. ‘Nathan Cardew won’t take no for an answer. He’s hanging around trying to talk to me. I tried to get rid of him and he said he loves me.’

  Cam bristled.

  ‘Loves you? How could anyone love you?’ Vicky grinned. ‘He’s gone anyway.’

  Hannah stared at the door with a doubtful expression. ‘He might be outside though. I don’t want to see him. He might start up again. I seriously think he might be a bit mental,’ she said.

  ‘He’s certainly a persistent little prick,’ Vicky said with a laugh.

  Hannah snorted and raised her empty glass in a toast. ‘Here’s to getting rid of persistent little pricks.’

  Cam sat there, ears ringing, body exhausted, the cut on his head throbbing in time with the music, wishing he was able to rub away the sourness of the fishing trip. The sounds of the pub, the clamouring voices, the music, weighed down on top of him like a collapsed cliff. Hannah said something to Geren. Geren nodded. Vicky laughed. Davy knocked another drink back. Geren leant close to Hannah and whispered. She laughed. The two of them got up. She winked at Cam as she stood. Geren held out his hand to her. She moved to take it but stumbled, too drunk, and he caught her fall. They started to dance. Davy joined them, swaying as if he was back at sea.

  As Cam watched them dancing, he became aware of how people around them were looking at her. The men. Staring. Hungry. Wanting to do things to her only he was allowed to do.

  He stood and went over to her. Put himself between her and Geren. Leant close to her. ‘OK? You ready?’ he shouted over the music.

  ‘Ten minutes?’ Hannah tapped her wrist to mime the time.

  ‘Can’t we just go?’

  ‘What?’ she shouted.

  ‘I want to go!’

  She spun away from him as Geren expertly twirled her then dipped her back. She laughed. Eyes half closed. Body gyrating like a belly dancer.