The Storm

by Amanda Jennings

  Who would the truth help?

  Nobody.

  The truth was no good to any of them. It wouldn’t bring Davy back and it would destroy all their lives. He glanced at Hannah, at the silhouette of her shivering and numb, damaged irreparably.

  She looked at him and the look stuck in his gut like a fish-bone. Was it anger? No. Maybe blame? He could see it in her eyes. This was his fault. He never should have left her. Never should have allowed his pathetic jealousy to take control of him. If he’d stayed with her none of this would have happened. It was all his fault.

  Now he had to make it better.

  ‘We need to call the police,’ she breathed again.

  His mind raced. He had to get rid of Davy. Hose the boat down. Wash away the blood. Clean Hannah’s hands. What about her clothes? Get her somewhere safe. It had to look like an accident. Davy was drunk. Took his boat out. Fell in.

  Stupid man.

  ‘Cam? Please. Call the police.’

  ‘We’re not calling the police.’

  ‘But I killed him.’

  ‘Listen to me, Hannah. I want you to do exactly what I say. I’m going to deal with it. I’ll take care of you. I promise. It’ll be OK. But I need you to listen and do everything I say.’

  A car engine started up not far from the harbour. More noise as a group of people emerged from the pub and their drunken voices carried over to them, fading as the merrymakers walked away towards Penzance.

  They didn’t have long before daybreak.

  If he was going to make this OK, he had to hurry.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Nathan

  Did he tell you he punched me in the face and split my lip? Nothing which followed surprised me at all.

  It was easy to walk away from him. I’m not the type to resort to violence. If you can’t win an argument with words and intellect, if you have to use your fists, you’ve lost. Self-control, Hannah. That’s how you measure a man. Don’t get me wrong, I was angry. More angry than I’d ever been. But I am able to handle myself with class.

  I sat in my car for a long time, going over it all in my mind, repeating everything you said to me. You were so confused. On one hand telling me how lovely I was and that I’d make the perfect boyfriend. You said I was funny. You said I was interesting.

  But then you told me there was someone else.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Nathan.’

  I didn’t mean to get emotional in front of you. I was embarrassed about it, if truth be told. But that’s how much you meant to me. It felt as if you’d dug into my chest and pulled out my heart. And what type of man had you chosen over me? A violent thug. It didn’t make any sense.

  I remember studying myself in the rearview mirror. My lip was swollen. There was a bruise developing on my jaw and a streak of blood crusted my chin. I thought of my sister. She’d have liked you. And you, of course, would have adored her. You reminded me of her in many ways and as I thought about her, staring at my face reflected back at me, I had the sudden and overwhelming realisation that I wasn’t going to give up on you. Certainly not for a man like that.

  I loved you and I was going to fight for you.

  I braced myself against the chill wind and rain which had started up again and walked back down the hill into the centre of Newlyn. The pub was still full. I scanned the room, but couldn’t see you, only that friend of yours acting like the common slut that she is. But there was no sign of you and there was no sign of him. It could have been the stench in the place, thick with body odour and cigarettes, or maybe it was the thought of the two of you together somewhere, but a wave of sickness swept over me. I went outside and breathed in fresh air. I don’t mind admitting I was nervous of Cameron Stewart reappearing. But I told myself to be brave.

  You love her. She is meant to be yours, I kept saying. She’s meant to be yours.

  A movement caught my eye. Down the road. A man moving through the lamplight into the harbour car park. It was hard to make him out – he was a distance away – but by the size of him, the way he was carrying himself, I was certain it was Stewart.

  Was he on his way to meet you?

  I recall hesitating. My split lip had started to pulse angrily. The image of his twisted face as he hit me came at me again and again. Would he hurt you? What if you were down there, already hurt? I couldn’t walk away. Not now I knew what Stewart was capable of. What kind of man would I be to turn my back without checking you were safe?

  When I got to the harbour, I was careful to keep myself concealed in the shadows, tucking myself in behind the office buildings. It was then I heard low voices. His and yours. For a while I kept still and tried to listen. But it was too hard to make out what you were saying. I crept around the edge of the building, slowly and silently, careful to keep myself hidden.

  I peered around the edge and, down on the jetty, I saw him – Cameron Stewart – on a boat. It was hard to make everything out. I crept as close as I could and then, when the moon came out from behind the cloud, I saw you in the boat and a dark mass between you. Cameron Stewart was agitated. Rocking. Looking up at the sky. Something was wrong. I crept back into the shadows and watched.

  A few minutes later he helped you back to the car. I took a risk, but when you were gone, I ran quickly down the jetty and peered into the boat. There was a shadowy mass. It was a man. No. It was the body of a man. A motionless body of a man who stared up at the sky with unblinking eyes. I panicked then. My heart thumped. I ran back to my hiding place. I couldn’t let him see me. I couldn’t let him hear me. Who knew what he would do if he discovered me?

  He walked past, head lowered, arms bare, just a T-shirt wet through with freezing rain. I watched him climb into the boat. He started the engine. It moved slowly over to another tether. Was he untying a boat? A dingy, maybe. It was hard to be certain in the snatches of muted light. Then his boat chugged out towards the harbour wall. The second boat was being dragged behind. He disappeared through the gap in the wall and the pitch blackness swallowed him up.

  I waited.

  When the boat returned. There was no dingy. He washed the boat down. Spent time doing it. Bending and getting into every crack and crevice. Then he climbed off the boat and walked like a condemned man up the jetty. When he passed my hiding place, I saw how shaken he was. His hands fluttered at his sides. His knees seemed almost unable to support his weight. He paused. Didn’t move for a while. Then started up again and went back to the small red car.

  ‘Oh, Cameron Stewart,’ I whispered. ‘What have you done?’

  It didn’t take much to work it all out. I could see it all so clearly. I should have been a detective. After he assaulted me, Stewart went back into the pub. He saw you dancing with another man. Flew into a jealous rage. He lured him down to the harbour – somewhere quiet where he knew he wouldn’t be seen – and beat him to a lifeless pulp. It didn’t surprise me. I’d seen the violent red mist which overwhelmed him. I moved my hand to my chin and I rubbed my aching jaw.

  Moments later the car drove off, out of the car park and up the hill, away from Newlyn towards Mousehole.

  I leant back against the freezing brick wall and stared up at the sky, which was growing lighter as the dawn set in. I closed my eyes and listened to the incessant roar and crash of the open sea, the gulls, a truck on the road, the sound of a couple of drunks singing tunelessly as they wandered home to their beds. When I finally stepped out of the shadows, I couldn’t help but smile, and there was a definite spring in my step as I walked.

  Getting you back was going to be much easier with Cameron Stewart behind bars.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Hannah

  Nathan blinks rapidly. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I killed him.’

  Nathan continues to stare at me. His eyes flicker as the conviction he’s held unequivocally for all these years disintegrates like ash
in the wind. Watching him wrangle with what I’ve told him gives me a strange sense of satisfaction.

  Then I look at my son and his look of childlike bewilderment as he faces everything I’ve fought so long to shelter him from skewers my heart.

  ‘Hannah. I don’t think—’ Cam starts to speak, but I interrupt him.

  ‘No, Cam. No more lies.’ I try to reassure Alex with a smile. ‘A man died. Nearly sixteen years ago. He went missing and his dingy was found on some rocks the next day. Everybody saw him drinking. They assumed he got drunk and took his boat out. That he fell overboard and was drowned.’ I pause and take a breath. ‘But that’s not what happened. He didn’t drown. He was killed. And…’ My voice trembles. ‘It was me who killed him.’ I pause to gather myself. Each of them seems about to speak so I force myself to continue. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

  Sharp fragments of that night attack me. A recollection of the creeping horror which seeped into me as I realised what was going to happen. My utter helplessness. A flash of pain as I tried to push him off me. A moan which sounded like pleasure. The billowing sickness when he thanked me and the eerie thud as he fell on the deck.

  Then the worst bit of all.

  The terrifying stillness.

  ‘He…’ I hesitate, my voice no more than a whisper. ‘He forced himself on me.’

  Shame sweeps over me. I’ve fought this shame ever since he appeared out of the shadows on the jetty. Accusatory voices in my head hounding me constantly. Why did you wear such a short skirt? And your top left nothing to the imagination. You drank too much. Dancing and flirting like that? Well, what else did you expect? But now I’m able to push them away. It wasn’t me. It was him. It’s taken me years to realise that he was the monster. What ifs plague me. What if I’d stayed at home with Cam? What if I’d left when Cam wanted to leave?

  What if Davy Garnett hadn’t attacked me?

  ‘I had a knife,’ I continue. ‘It wasn’t mine but it was in my bag. He came at me again. I told him to keep away. But he didn’t…’

  Cam is agonised, as if each of my words is a dart. I hear his voice repeating the same thing over and over as we lay in numbed silence in his car at Lamorna.

  I shouldn’t have left you.

  I’m so sorry.

  I stare at Alex. I can see from the look on his face he has finally pieced it all together, and now, standing on the landing in this hateful house, he knows exactly who his father is.

  I open my arms to him but his eyes well with tears and he shakes his head. ‘The man,’ he says flatly. ‘Who is he? Does he have family here?’

  I think of Martin and Sheila Garnett. Sheila – lovely, stoic, gentle Sheila – who passed away from breast cancer a few years ago. I heard the news from Vicky, whose mum was one of her closest friends.

  ‘It’s so sad,’ Vicky had said to me. ‘She never got over Davy’s death.’ Then she’d lowered her voice, preparing, I knew, to deliver syrupy gossip. ‘You know, Mum told me a few days ago that he didn’t quit the army at all. He was thrown out. Apparently he assaulted one of the girls who worked in the barracks kitchen. Sheila only told her quite recently and swore her to secrecy. They didn’t want anybody to know. Well,’ Vicky said, with a sad sigh of understanding, ‘I suppose you wouldn’t, would you? It’s not exactly the type of thing you broadcast around a small town. To be honest, there was a look about him; I didn’t trust him at all. Still, poor bugger, shouldn’t talk ill of the dead.’

  ‘His mum died a few years ago,’ I say. ‘His father is alive. He still lives in Newlyn. He was badly injured in an accident on a fishing boat.’ I glance at Cam who looks at his feet. ‘The community is kind to him.’ I think about the times I’ve seen Martin Garnett. Thin and gaunt, moving trollies at the new supermarket, his one empty sleeve pinned up as if pledging allegiance to an American flag.

  ‘Let me get this straight.’ Nathan makes an exaggerated expression of trying to understand. ‘While you were with me and carrying on with him,’ he gestures in the direction of Cam, ‘you screwed someone else?’

  Cam takes a step forward and Nathan raises his eyebrows and shakes his head disdainfully. ‘Oh, here we go, coming to beat me up again, defending the honour of a cheap slut.’

  There is an deafening shriek as Alex runs at Nathan. I try and grab at his arm but he yanks it out of my grip. He hurls himself at Nathan, teeth gritted, one balled fist raised to hit him. ‘Don’t talk about her like that.’ His voice rumbles like distant thunder. ‘Never – ever – again.’

  Nathan’s features settle into an amused snarl. ‘You’re going to hit me? Perhaps you really are Cameron Stewart’s son.’

  Alex draws his arm back a little further, a fire blazing in his eyes.

  ‘Alex, it’s OK,’ I say. ‘We all need to calm down and talk about this.’

  Alex hesitates and blinks hard. Then the tension leaves his body and his arm lowers.

  ‘All of us. Together.’ I look first at Nathan, then Alex. ‘OK?’

  Alex shakes his head. ‘It’s not OK though, is it? It’s the opposite of OK.’ His eyes are reddened and brimmed with tears. ‘And no amount of talking can change that.’

  Then he pulls away from me and tears down the stairs. I call his name and run after him. Beg him to stop. But he’s out of the front door and away from me before I’m even off the staircase. From the doorway I watch him haring out of the gate, which bangs shut behind him and swings repeatedly against the catch. My stomach churns as I scream his name. I run down the path, lean over the gate, and see his lithe figure disappearing down the lane. I shout for him again, but he ducks to his right, jumps over the drystone wall into the field, and is gone like a dog from the traps.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Hannah

  ‘For God’s sake, leave him.’

  I don’t say anything, but grab my phone and jacket from the hook inside the kitchen door.

  ‘Hannah! What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me? You’re not going anywhere. He’ll be back, but right now you and I need to talk.’

  ‘I heard you.’

  His eyes widen at the sharpness in my tone. He opens his mouth to reply, but I speak first.

  ‘We’ll talk when he’s back.’

  ‘And if I call the police in the meantime?’

  ‘Then I guess they’ll be paying me a visit.’ I attempt to keep my impatience at bay but I’m unsuccessful; I have no time for this game of Nathan’s. ‘But right now, I’m going to find my son, who’s just heard the most horrendous thing. There’s no way I’m sitting here like a hopeless idiot waiting for him again.’

  Cam follows me. ‘I’ll help.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s—’

  ‘Christ!’ cries Nathan, turning his glare on Cam. ‘What are you even doing here? Just leave us alone. This is between me and my wife.’ He turns back to me, ‘Hannah, we need to talk—’

  I fix Nathan with a hard, unbending stare. ‘First, you are going to help me find him,’ I say through gritted teeth.

  ‘For God’s sake, this is what he does. It’s his thing. Running away for attention. He’ll come back when he’s blown off steam.’

  ‘Nathan, he ran off in a dreadful state. He needs us. You are his father, the man who brought Alex up. Not Cam. Not Davy Garnett. You. Please help me find him. Stop thinking about your bruised pride and help me. When he’s back we’ll talk. God knows I want to talk about everything as much as you do, but not until I’ve got my son home safely.’

  The tension is palpable. It’s remarkable how much hatred is contained in this small area. The calm of last night on the hidden beach feels a million years ago. Here, now, is the culmination of years of lies and guilt and shame all stemming from what Davy Garnett did to me. I’ve agonised over what happened, tried to relive it, willed time to reverse so I could prevent the sequence unfolding. For so long I blamed myself, feeling pity, guilt, sorrow even, for what happened to him. But nobody made Davy Garnett do what he did, and the consequences changed the cours
e of my life. Now I have an opportunity to reclaim whoever it is I am. Behind bars or not, one thing I know, things are going to change again. I’m going to reconstruct myself sinew by sinew until I’m as near to restored as possible.

  ‘I’ll follow him into the fields. Nathan, take your car and drive down to the station. Make sure he’s not there. Can you head to Newlyn, Cam? There’s a chance he’ll go looking for Martin.’

  I don’t wait for them to answer before walking out of the door. It crosses my mind briefly that perhaps they might fight, but frankly I don’t care if they do or they don’t. Right now they can tear each other limb from limb. All I want to do is find Alex.

  As I climb the stile and follow the direction Alex headed in, my mind begins to whir. Things would have been so different if we’d called the police that night like I’d wanted to. That night is blurred in parts, some of the facts are hazy, some gone, others exaggerated, possibly beyond reality, but I’m not sure why I let Cam do what he did. Taking Davy and his dingy out to sea, making it look like an accident, concealing the truth despite me asking him to call the police again and again.

  As I stare down over the fields towards St Michael’s Mount, the sea shimmering silver, so still, like a painting, I recall the words Cam spoke from beside the bloody body of Davy Garnett.

  ‘I’ll take care of you.’

  The same words Nathan said to me when I sent Cam away, terrified, shell-shocked, my body still sore, days after, from where Davy Garnett forced himself on me.

  I’ll take care of you.

  All those times I’d fantasised I was married to Cam Stewart. Pretending it was him I shared a house with, cooked for, made love to. Perhaps even in the cave on our hidden beach I had that thought in the back of my head, that I’d leave Nathan and end up with Cam. But as I follow the footpath across the fields in the direction of Penzance, it isn’t a new life with Cam I’m craving: it’s my freedom. I don’t want to be taken care of anymore. I want to make my own choices and fix my own mistakes. I want to be the mother my son deserves and someone he can be proud of.