The Storm

by Amanda Jennings

Blind jealousy swooped in on Cam again. He shoved Geren hard on the shoulder. ‘Leave her the fuck alone.’

  Geren laughed, exchanged amused looks with Davy.

  ‘Hey,’ Hannah said. ‘Look, it’s OK—’

  Geren spoke. ‘Relax, lad. We’re only dancing.’

  Was that a smirk on his face?

  Cam pushed him again.

  ‘Easy, mate.’ He held his hands up.

  Cam squared up to him. Blinked hard. The room was spinning. Hannah stepped between them.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Cam breathed. ‘I thought you were supposed to be home with your wife?’

  Hannah opened her mouth, but Geren spoke first.

  ‘What the fuck’s up with you tonight?’

  ‘What up with me? It’s you two—’

  Hannah made a face at him. ‘What on earth have I done?’

  Geren furrowed his brow. ‘You know, you seem a little,’ he paused and leant into Cam’s face, ‘uptight. Maybe you should go and have a drink with that twat over there.’ Geren gestured towards the door. Cam turned and saw Nathan, back, staring at them, lip twitching. ‘Because right now? You’re kind of pissing on everybody’s party.’

  ‘You forgotten Martin? Lying in hospital with no fucking arm? Forgotten we nearly died last night?’

  Geren gritted his teeth. ‘Of course I haven’t forgotten, but I’m sure as shit not going to mope around like a loose fart in church, because how the fuck would it help?’

  ‘Go home to your wife.’

  ‘She’s pregnant. Tired. I was going to stay in but she told me to get out and blow off some steam.’ Then he shook his head. ‘Why the fuck am I explaining myself to you anyway? Piss off if you don’t want to be here, but I want to enjoy myself so chill out.’

  Geren walked off in the direction of the toilets, pushing aggressively past people to get there. Cam looked down at Hannah. ‘I’m done here. Come with me or stay. Your choice.’

  Hannah’s hands went either side of his face. His vision blurred. He blinked hard to refocus. She turned his head and stroked his cheek to get him to look at her.

  ‘Hey,’ she said again, applying more pressure to turn his face. ‘Look at me.’

  Finally he yielded and she smiled. He expected her to say she was coming with him.

  But she didn’t.

  ‘Don’t give Geren a hard time. He’s dealing with what happened in his own way.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Cam shook his head as if trying to clear it.

  ‘Maybe he’s right? Maybe you should try and relax? Have a dance. A laugh. You had a bad time out there, but you’re all home and – God – that’s something to celebrate, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hannah—’ Cam grabbed her arm.

  Distracted suddenly, Hannah looked over his shoulder and swore under her breath. ‘Why won’t he just leave?’

  ‘Stop worrying about Nathan fucking Cardew!’

  ‘Cam. You’re hurting me!’

  He hadn’t even realised he was holding her and he let go immediately. ‘I’m sorry. I—’

  She rubbed at her wrist. ‘Jesus, Cam. Enough, OK?’ She walked away from him and he watched her grab Vicky, who was sitting on some guy’s lap he didn’t know and whispered something in her ear. Vicky glanced over at Cam before saying something to the man she was with, taking Hannah by the hand and dragging her through the crowd towards the toilets.

  He sat at the table beside Davy. Slim’s knife dug into him. He pulled it out of his pocket and studied the handle. Yellowed whalebone etched with delicate black lines describing a clipper ship on the waves. He tilted the knife and stared at his distorted reflection in its tarnished silver surface.

  ‘Everything works out for you, doesn’t it?’ Davy said, his words slurred at the edges.

  Cam looked at him then back at the knife he was turning in his hand. ‘What?’

  Davy looked at him. ‘People loving you.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about.’

  ‘You know Dad would prefer you as his son. He’s so fucking proud of you.’ Davy leant forward and grabbed a drink with an unsteady hand. ‘It was you he reached for on the boat. Not me.’

  ‘I was the closest to him.’

  ‘When they kicked me out of the army, the first thing he said was, why can’t you be more like Cam Stewart?’

  ‘Kicked out? I thought you left?’

  Davy sniffed and drank his drink. When he put the glass down he tried to take hold of the knife, but Cam was too quick and pulled his arm back.

  ‘Cam! Jesus.’

  Hannah was behind him.

  ‘You nearly took my bloody eye out. What the hell are you doing with that?’

  ‘It’s Slim’s. His lucky charm. I have to give it back to him.’

  ‘Well, put it away for God’s sake. You’ll hurt somebody.’

  ‘Some lucky charm,’ he whispered. He stared at the knife then, without warning, brought his hand down hard and drove the blade into the table. He shimmied the knife back and forth to release it and, when it was free, slammed it down again.

  People were starting to look. Cam worked the knife free again, but Hannah stilled his hand. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘maybe you should go outside for a smoke. Get a breath of fresh air and calm down. OK?’

  Cam didn’t need fresh air. All he needed was her to take him away from the chaos and hold him somewhere quiet. But instead of telling her this, he nodded with a disdainful sneer said, ‘Sure. Whatever.’ As he walked away from her his stomach filled up with self-loathing. He was being a dick and he couldn’t stop himself.

  When he reached the door, he came face to face with Nathan. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said. ‘Just leave her alone!’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Hannah. She’s my girlfriend. And she thinks you’re a wanker. So leave her the fuck alone.’

  Cam pushed past him, shoving him hard, shoulder to shoulder, and once outside, he rested his forehead on the rough wall. His cut throbbed. His head spun with alcohol and disorienting jealousy. He breathed deeply, trying to slow his heart which was racing unnaturally fast. Gradually the peace outside the pub, the wind and the roar of the sea beyond the harbour wall, diluted his anger. When his mind stilled, he remembered Slim’s knife, and swore silently. He’d left it jammed into the table. He had to go back in and get it; Slim would kill him if he lost it. And he had to apologise to Hannah. He was an idiot to take his bad mood out on her. It was unfair. She’d done nothing wrong and he’d been a dickhead all night.

  He was vaguely aware of the pub door opening. The voices and music inside The Packhorse filling the air for a moment or two before the door closed again and muffled the noise. Footsteps approached him. Please be Hannah, he thought. But it wasn’t Hannah. It was Nathan.

  He stood, silently, clearly agitated as he pulled at his shirt sleeve, eyes flicking left and right, unable to settle.

  ‘What?’ Cam said in a caustic voice.

  ‘You’re…’ Nathan hesitated. ‘You’re not good enough for her. She deserves better.’ His voice was thin and weak. ‘She deserves better than you. You can’t look after her like I can.’

  Cam pushed himself off the pub wall and stepped close to Nathan. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘She’s too good for a no-hoper like you.’ Nathan’s voice trembled. ‘She needs someone… like me.’

  ‘Are you serious—’

  ‘I studied at one of the top universities in the country. I’m a lawyer. I own a large and beautiful home. I can give her the very best life. And you? What can you give her? A fisherman with nothing. I bet you don’t even own your own house?’

  Cam baulked.

  ‘I knew it, you see?’ Nathan said with an unmistakeable note of victory. ‘You have nothing to offer her.’

  Every nerve in Cam’s body was fizzing.

  ‘Do the decent thing and step aside and let her be with someone worthy of her. There are plenty of women more suited to you. But Hannah? She’s—’

  Cam di
dn’t wait to hear what Nathan Cardew had to say about Hannah. He drew his fist back and launched it at Nathan’s face and caught him on the lower right-hand side of the jaw.

  Nathan stumbled and fell into the wall of the pub. He lifted a hand to his mouth. Looked down to check it.

  ‘Yeah, you’re bleeding, you fucking arsehole.’

  ‘You hit me?’ There was a strength in Nathan’s voice now, as if he were vindicated, as if Cam had proved he was no good.

  Cam hadn’t hit anybody – not properly – since school. Jesus. He’d let this little prick get to him? How? Why? Who gave a shit about Nathan Cardew? Cam swore and shook out his hand.

  ‘I’m sure Hannah will be very interested to know what kind of man you are,’ Nathan said.

  ‘She’d have hit you too if she heard what you were saying. But, yeah, sure, grass me up. Let’s see how impressed she is by some princess who gets his arse handed to him without even fighting back.’

  Cam turned on his heel. Adrenalin pumped through him. He swore again and again as he went, one foot in front of the other, walking faster and faster until soon he was running, pounding the pavement down towards the harbour and along the road which headed out of town in the direction of Mousehole. As he left Newlyn behind him, the streetlamps ended and the road was plunged into darkness.

  When he finally stopped, he leant over and caught his breath, his head spinning with the exercise and alcohol. The road ran parallel to the sea. He climbed off the narrow pavement and down on to the rocks, where he sat and stared out over the black water and the moon which bounced off it in shards of white.

  ‘Fuck!’ he screamed into the darkness. ‘Fuck!’

  All he could think about was Nathan telling her. He could hear his reedy voice whining on about how Cam had gone for him with no provocation. What details would he add? A look of enjoyment in Cam’s eyes? An extra punch? Would she feel sorry for Nathan? Would she go to the bar and ask for a cloth and gently clean up his blood?

  The thought made him sick to his core. He was an idiot. That prick was right, he didn’t deserve her.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Hannah, 1998

  ‘He’s been ages,’ she said, her eyes on the door. ‘I think I should check on him.’

  ‘Leave him be,’ said Davy, turning Slim’s knife over and over in his hand.

  Geren, now back at the table, smiled. ‘Don’t worry. Cam’s fine. Honest. He’ll be back in no time. It was bad out there on the water. We’ve all had it rough. He’ll take a walk, blow off some steam, have a smoke, then come back for you. I know him like my own brother.’ Geren patted her shoulder. ‘He’s mad about you. And, hey, if he doesn’t come back, I’m always here?’ He grinned.

  Hannah wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond, but as Davy laughed she assumed it was no more than a joke, so gave an awkward smile. She was beginning to feel angry with herself. She’d missed Cam so much and had been desperate to see him. Why the hell had she let Nathan Cardew of all people ruin their evening? She should have ignored him like Cam told her to. She’d been selfish and not at all sensitive to what Cam needed; she’d been a terrible girlfriend.

  ‘You know, I’m going to try and find him.’ She held her hand out towards Davy. ‘If you give me the knife, I’ll take it back to him.’

  ‘It’s Slim’s, not Cam’s.’

  ‘I know. I’d still like to give it back to him, a sort of peace offering. He can give it to Slim in the morning.’

  Davy shrugged, unbothered, and handed it over. His eyes wavered with drink. Poor sod, she thought. Must have been awful to watch his father get injured like that. Sheila’s sister told Vicky’s mum his arm was like tenderised steak before the doctors took it off with a hack saw. She dropped the knife into her bag.

  The pub door opened and caught her eye. She hoped it was Cam and dreaded it being Nathan, but it was just two girls. She checked her watch again. It was nearly half an hour since Cam left.

  ‘Want me to come and look after you?’ Geren asked, giving a flick of his eyebrows over the rim of his glass.

  ‘No, I’ll be fine, thanks. Safe on the sleepy streets of Newlyn.’

  ‘Or maybe you don’t trust yourself?’ he laughed.

  Hannah forced a smile. ‘Well, yeah, there is that. I mean what woman could resist?’

  He winked and rested his hand on her lower back. She shifted, moving herself away from his touch. ‘Now, now. Hands to yourself. And, anyway,’ she said, ‘shouldn’t you be getting home to Gemma?’

  He winced and shook his head drunkenly. ‘The last thing Gem wants is me piling in like this. She hates me drunk.’

  She laughed.

  ‘So if this is goodbye, a kiss before you go?’ he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

  He was drunk, that was all. Drunk. But also annoying. She was aware that if Cam walked in and saw him touching her he might kick off again. ‘Let go, Geren.’

  His smile verged on a leer.

  ‘Please let go.’

  He held on for a moment, but then released his grip and raised both hands in mock defence. ‘Fair enough, but you’re missing out. You won’t find a better kisser this side of the Tamar Bridge.’ He smiled. ‘Hey, relax, girlie. I’m joking. Surely you can take a joke?’

  She forced herself to laugh. It was so much easier to appease drunk men than take a stand. Getting annoyed never worked. It just wound them up. ‘Give my love to Gemma,’ she said.

  Geren nodded drunkenly and lifted his pint in acknowledgement.

  Davy was hunched over the table. He looked exhausted and sad. Her heart went out to him. ‘Take care, Davy.’ She rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘And I’m sorry again about your dad.’ She leant down and kissed his cheek. ‘See you around.’

  Vicky was at the next table kissing the guy she’d been dancing with. Hannah tapped her on the shoulder and she turned and grinned drunkenly. ‘Sorry,’ Hannah said, ‘just to say, I’m off.’

  ‘What? No! You can’t go! What will I do?’

  Hannah laughed and looked at the man who was busy concentrating on getting his hand underneath her top. ‘I think you’ll be OK.’

  Vicky glanced over her shoulder as if surprised to see him and pushed his hand away, pretending she was appalled. ‘He’s called Phil, but he’s not as fun as you.’

  ‘Liar.’

  Vicky laughed and turned to resettle in their clinch.

  It was freezing outside. The rain had eased but the air was damp and icy. She didn’t have enough clothes on – stupid not to take a coat or wear tights – and rubbed her arms as she looked up and down the empty street. There was a figure standing in the shadows by the wall. It looked like a man. When the orange tip of a cigarette flared in the darkness she thought it might be him.

  ‘Cam?’ she called hopefully, but he didn’t respond and when she drew a little closer she could see it wasn’t him.

  She tried to think where he’d have gone. Not back to Martin and Sheila’s, not without her. They hadn’t had that big a row. He’d just needed to cool down. No, she was convinced he was, as Geren said, walking it off. If it were her, she’d have walked to the beach. But then she thought about his boat, moored down at the harbour, no more than five minutes’ walk away. That made sense. She could imagine him there and he would know she’d look there if she was going to try and find him. A thrill wriggled though her as she recalled his hands on her body, skin peppered with goosebumps, beneath that old tarpaulin. As she thought about it, it made more and more sense that he was there. Cooled down, waiting for her with a couple of beers and their makeshift bed.

  Away from the pub, the street was quiet and eerie, like a ghost town, and her footsteps echoed on the concrete pavement, giving the illusion somebody was following her. She turned to check behind her, but there was nobody. Just her. The harbour was dark beyond the streetlamps. She walked quickly past the offices and the shadowy heaps of lobster pots, fish boxes, and discarded nets. She was careful not to slip on the wet wood of the
jetty as she made her way down to his mooring. Her heart sank when she saw the boat bobbing dark and empty with no sign of Cam. She stepped on to the deck and sat down, angry at herself. She’d been such an idiot. She tried to work out what to do now. Where was he? Perhaps she should just head home and make it up to him in the morning.

  Then, as she stood to leave, she heard footsteps.

  ‘Cam?’

  No answer.

  The moonlight was obscured by thick cloud, but in the dimness she could see a figure walking towards the jetty.

  ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Cam? Is that you?’

  The figure moved down the jetty and as he approached the boat she recognised him.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, unable to hide her disappointment. ‘I’m looking for Cam. Have you seen him?’

  Davy was silent, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

  There was something unnerving about him. Something alarming about the way he was looking at her.

  ‘Has he got beers down there?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Beer. He keeps some on board, doesn’t he? Sure he wouldn’t mind if we had one.’ Davy stepped on to the edge of the boat and jumped down.

  ‘I’m heading home, actually. I think Vicky’s waiting for me.’

  ‘Your friend? She went already.’ His voice was raspy and faraway, not quite connected to his body. ‘With that guy she was with.’

  ‘Oh, then I should probably get going.’

  Hannah stood and tried to move past Davy, but he grabbed her shoulder.

  The rest? Well that happened in a blur.

  A bang to her head when she was thrown downwards. Booze and stale breath. The weight of him. His hand clamped over her mouth. Too hard. Snatches of voice whispering. Telling her to relax. Telling her she was pretty. That Cam never needed to know. It was their secret. When she scratched his face he slapped her.

  ‘Sssh,’ he whispered. ‘It doesn’t need to be this way.’

  Chapter Forty

  Hannah

  Cam’s face is torn in two by the sadness which pushes up inside him. He steps towards me but I’m not interested in his sadness, guilt, or pity. And I’m not interested in addressing Nathan’s anger which crackles like a fire. All I care about is my son. I push Cam aside and go to Alex.