Page 21 of Summer in Sunset Harbour
Josie wasn’t sure. She lay curled up in the middle of the boat, shivering with cold, feeling both humiliation at her stupidity, relief at being rescued, and embarrassment over being found in only her underwear, which was all now soaked through.
‘It’s all right,’ Robinson said. ‘Here.’
Josie risked a glance up to see him holding out a towel. She stuck out a hand and snatched it like a frightened child.
‘I’m sorry, it’s all I’ve got. I mean, you’re welcome to my shirt if you like—’
He reached up and started to pull the old polo shirt over his shoulders. She caught a brief glimpse of a toned, tight midriff before she blurted out, ‘No, it’s okay. I’m fine.’
The boat bobbed in the water. Josie slowly sat up, pulling the towel around her shoulders, trying to cover as much of herself as possible. Robinson, sitting at the stern with one hand on an outboard motor, watched her with a puzzled look. Had she not been so cold, Josie might have flushed with embarrassment. As it was, it was all she could do not to let her teeth chatter with cold.
‘Did you leave your clothes in there somewhere? I can take us in to the beach and run over to get them.’
‘St … stri … strim … strimm….’
‘I’m sorry, is that English? I’m afraid I don’t understand. You chose a really bad place for a spring swim. The rip tide is brutal on this side of the cove.’
‘Strimmer!’
‘What? I don’t—’
Josie managed to point, her arm shaking with cold. ‘My friend’s strimmer … it … it fell in the water.’
‘Your friend’s strimmer?’
‘For … cutting … cutting grass.’
‘Ah.’ Robinson nodded. ‘Ah, right. Hang on, we’ll run in and get it.’
He pulled a cord and the outboard started up. In a moment the boat was buzzing into the inlet between the ridges of slate. Josie pointed at the strimmer still hanging half in the water, and Robinson brought the boat in close enough to reach over the side and get a hold of it. He lowered it into the centre of the boat as they bobbed up and down, the swell more powerful now, making Josie only feel more foolish at her attempted rescue.
‘Come on, let’s get back to the beach,’ Robinson said. ‘I actually have some sandwiches and coffee. They’ll sort you out.’
Robinson steered the boat into the shore, then climbed out in the shallows and hauled it up onto the beach. Only when Josie felt the first sand bumping against the bottom of the boat did she think to get out, rolling awkwardly over the side into freezing cold, knee-deep water. She slipped on a rock and splashed down on her bum, soaking herself all over again, then jumped up with a gasp in time to see Robinson give a little laugh.
‘Be careful in there,’ he said, dragging the boat up onto the shore, the muscles of his powerful arms pressing through his shirt. ‘It’s a bit uneven. Not much of a swimming spot, this.’
Josie said nothing, just squeezed out the sopping towel and wrapped it around herself again. It was now wet and cold, but at least it kept the wind off.
‘I’ll go and get your clothes,’ Robinson said, jogging off across the beach before Josie could respond, bare feet moving nimbly from rock to rock. He reached the slate ridge and bounded up the steep, treacherous surface it had taken Josie forever to scramble, walked along the top of the ridge with his arms outstretched like a tightrope walker, then bent down, scooped up her clothes, and came running swiftly back.
‘I’m afraid your jeans had fallen into a rock pool,’ he said, holding them up to reveal a wet circle on the backside. ‘It’s a bit too chilly to dry them out in the sun, but if you want, I can lend you mine—’
He started to unbuckle a pair of tatty jeans, but Josie put up a hand.
‘No!’
Robinson stopped and looked up. ‘All right. Would you like a ride back to the village?’
Josie tried to speak, but no words would come. She wanted to thank him at the very least, but her neck and cheeks were prickling with shame. The best thing to do would be to make an excuse, grab the strimmer and her wet clothes and climb back up to the campsite, then gather a chainsaw or even a can of petrol and a match, and sort out the people in the treehouse once and for all, but all she could do was stare at the grey sand at her feet and wonder if it was easier to sit down than stand up.
She fell more than sat, bumping down onto the sand, the wet towel covering her legs and stomach, hiding as best she could a body that could no longer impress anyone, a body that had been divorced, tossed away, forgotten.
Abandoned, rejected, discarded—
She rolled onto her side, bringing her legs up. A strange, low wailing was coming from somewhere.
She lay there for a long time, the sand actually warm beneath her body, and something else—her jumper—lain over her other side. She wished the ground would absorb her, end her suffering, stop the slow, gradual torment.
