Page 8 of The Rising Tide

TheLazy Susanbobs beside the breakwater, salvage pump still spitting. Beth McKaylin, the RNLI volunteer, is standing on the breakwater’s inner wall. She’s talking to the coastguard, the harbour master and two police officers.

Where are you, Daniel? Where did you go?

All morning Lucy’s been trying to figure out how to save him. Is this his attempt to save her? To save their house, and Billie’s and Fin’s lives in Skentel? By vanishing into a storm and bequeathing them a pay-out?

She can’t believe that. Won’t believe it.

Because their house is just a house. And they can pickup their lives anywhere, but they can’t be a family without him.

Tasting bile, Lucy hauls out her phone. She often gets a bar or two of reception on the quay. Right now, even that has gone. When she peers back over the rail, she notices Noemie Farrell outside the Drift Net, snug inside a grey woollen poncho. Lucy calls out to her friend.

At the bottom of the switchback steps they embrace. Then Noemie pulls back. ‘My God. I’ve been trying to call. Where’ve you been?’

‘I just finished talking to your brother.’

‘Jake?’ Noemie blows out a breath. ‘Right, Jesus, so you know. I’m so sorry, Luce. It’s ridiculous. I didn’t believe it when I heard. When I couldn’t get hold of you, I came straight down. You just know Daniel’s going to be out there somewhere, floating around in that swanky life raft, embarrassed to hell about all the fuss. Probably why he hasn’t shown up yet.’

Lucy’s jaw muscles clench. It’s good to see Noemie, but her forced jollity is awful.

‘Did Jake have any update?’ Noemie asks. ‘I know a lot of the fishing boys just headed out.’

‘No one’s heard from Daniel since the distress call.’

‘When was that?’

‘Around half twelve, Jake said.’

The brief silence is loaded with meaning. Noemie’s tight smile can’t paper over it. ‘He only bought the life raft recently, didn’t he?’

‘It’s pretty much brand new.’

‘Doesn’t it have its own fresh-water system? Probably even churns out a decent latte.’

‘Location light, thermal floor, ballast pockets, torch andsignal mirror.’ Lucy grimaces. Joining Noemie in this optimistic little deception feels like a mockery. Abruptly, she recalls something else from the Seago sales brochure. The realization is a knife sliding between her ribs.

‘They’ll find him,’ Noemie says, turning her eyes to the sea. ‘I know they will.’

Doubtless she also knows – just like Lucy and everyone else around here – how strong the currents are along this stretch of coast, how brutal the North Atlantic is in late winter. Skentel, after all, has a one-thousand-year tradition of losing its residents to the sea.

‘I haven’t seen him since Billie’s party,’ Noemie adds. ‘How’s he been?’

‘Fine,’ Lucy lies. ‘Better. Much better, actually.’

‘What about things with Nick? And the business generally? Did Daniel—’

‘I need to speak to the coastguard,’ Lucy says. ‘Beth McKaylin, too.’

Noemie hesitates, nods. ‘In that case I’d better tag along.’

They cross the quay and walk out along the breakwater. TheLazy Susanexhibits no signs of damage. Forty years old, with a fibreglass hull as tough as a Sherman tank, most of the essentials have long been replaced. Everything looks orderly and neat, just as it should.

As Lucy approaches, the group beside the yacht breaks off its discussion.

Beth McKaylin is first to speak, eyeing Lucy’s borrowed RNLI jacket with obvious disapproval. ‘You’re bloody lucky we found her. Another ten minutes and she’d have been on the bottom.’

Among Skentel’s natives, Beth’s surliness is well known.But this is personal – the pair have history. Anger rises like a welt in Lucy’s throat. ‘I don’t give a shit about the boat,’ she says. ‘Daniel’s still out there.’

‘Aye, and we’ll find him, sure enough – if that’s what he wants.’

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