Chapter 64
Hidden Chapter
“Young un, pass me that bucket.”
The sea is spitting and roiling under the boat.
“Which one?”
Jesus, these kids must be raised in a bubble. By the time I was Kane’s age, I was skippering by myself, not a deckhand. Apprentice, I should say. More paperwork than fishing and the lad seems to have leaned sweet fuck all.
“Maggots.”
He wobbles, picks up the bucket like they might eat him alive and narrows his eyes.
“Whenever ya ready.”
He wobbles again.
I swallow down the frustration. “Remember what I said lad, the key to your sea legs is your core. Like a tree in the belly.” I punch myself in the stomach. I might be old but I’m solid as a rock.
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He steadies himself and takes slow steps towards me, clumsy in his waterproofs, like he’s walking on the moon. Eventually, he reaches out with the bait.
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“Thanks,” I say. “You think you can remember how to cast?”
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The water is angsty like it’s flexing its muscles, reminding me how powerful it is. How endless. I flinch as spray lashes up over the side, cold needles against my skin, and I shiver hard. Kane’s not dressed for this, not even close. Just a T-shirt and shorts, bare legs already burning from the cold. I’m not sure I’ll ever make a fisherman out of this kid. His eyes are almost colourless like a fish himself. Wonder what he sees in my face? An old man? One of those boring old farts who thinks everything was better in his day?
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“Can you help me, Hamish?”
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He’s fumbling with the gear and grunting with the effort. How old did he say he was? 17? Fuck’s sake.
I take a deep breath. “‘Ere, let me show me you again. Be plenty of cod in this weather. Good haul to be had.”
He nods but he’s looking past me.
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“Like this, are you watching?”
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“What’s that, Hamish?”
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I turn to see what he’s pointing at, half expecting him to be asking me what a fish is.
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“What you looking at?”
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The sea rolls and dips, then I see it.
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“Oh Jesus.” It’s a body. Seen a few in my time but this wet wipe won’t be able to cope, especially if it’s all bloated and eaten.
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“Is it a person?” he asks, lip trembling.
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There’s a coat, tented with water and a hand protruding from the sleeve. “Aye lad, it is. Help me get it in.”
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The boat lurches hard, a violent judder through the hull that nearly takes my feet from under me. Kane yelps behind me. Something clips the side.
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“What was that?” I ask.
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“Dunno, but I think that person might be alive.”
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I follow Kane’s gaze, and for a minute I think he’s right, a flailing. A lurch for breath. Then nothing. No splash of arms. No thrashing. Just gone.
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My heart slams so hard it hurts. I’m already moving, shrugging out of my oilskins, yanking at the life jacket. If I go in with that on, I’ll never reach him. Kane’s shouting my name, but I’m over the side before I’ve properly thought it through.
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The sea punches the air from my lungs, cold and brutal, a shock that makes my body scream to turn back, to surface, to breathe. The water’s black down here, thick with churned silt. My eyes sting as I force them open. I hate swimming under, always have, but I push past it, kicking hard, driving myself down.
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Something drifts past my hand and my heart leaps then sinks. A rucksack. Empty. Useless.
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I surface, gasping, sucking in air so fast it hurts. I hear Kane shouting at me again, but I don’t listen. I don’t answer. I fill my lungs and dive again.
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And then I see him.
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He’s below me, drifting, limp as seaweed, coat floating up around his face. I stretch for him, fingers brushing fabric, missing, then catching. I grab hold and haul with everything I’ve got.
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My legs are on fire. My lungs feel like they’re going to burst. We break the surface together and I drag his head above water, choking, spluttering, half swimming, half drowning myself. Kane’s hands appear taking some of his weight, and between us we muscle him onto the boat.
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I collapse on the deck, chest heaving, hands shaking so bad I have to clench them into fists. But there’s no time to stop. I roll the man onto his back, tilt his head, clear his airway the way I was taught years ago.
I lower my face to his. Nothing.
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No breath. No rise of his chest.
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His lips are blue and his skin has taken on the texture of porridge. There’s a huge gash on his head. Hard to tell if it happened before or if he hit a rock in the water.
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I check for a pulse. “He’s still alive!”
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A shallow flutter under my fingertips.
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"Come on,” I whisper, my breath fogging in the cool air.
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I press my palms to the centre of his chest.
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“And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.”
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His body stays limp, water bubbling faintly with each pass of air I try to give. I taste the salt on his lips, feel the coldness of his skin against mine.
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“And we’re stayin’ alive…” I mutter, the rhythm keeping me steady when my head wants to run away from me.
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Again. And again.
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Water bubbles from his lips. My arms are screaming now, shoulders burning, but I don’t stop. He’s someone’s boy. Someone’s whole bloody world.
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Then.
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He jolts.
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A harsh, choking sound rips out of him and water pours from his mouth. I freeze for half a second, shock locking me up, then I roll him onto his side as he coughs and gasps, body shaking.
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“I’ve got you,” I murmur, hands still trembling. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”
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“Kane,” I bark. “Get me a blanket.”
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The lad moves like lightning.
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Maybe I’ve misjudged him after all.
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“Here.” I wrap the silver shroud around the drowned man as he tries to shuffle further into sitting. His shirt is clinging to his skin, translucent and stained the dirty red of blood.
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“Take it easy.” I pat him like he’s a spaniel or sumat, not sure what to do next.
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He tries to speak. It’s barely a sound, more a rasp than a word, and his throat rebels instantly. His shoulders tense with another violent cough.
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“No need to say anything, lad. I’ll get you back to shore and to the hospital. You’ll be right as rain.
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“You think you can get us back to land?” I ask Kane, glad we haven’t travelled far – plenty of fish in the shallows this time of year.
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“Yeah.”
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“You warming up?” I ask, wondering if I should try him with a flask of tea.
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The man shifts, trying to push himself up, but I gently ease him back down. “Don’t,” I say. “You don’t have to move. We won’t be long.”
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His gaze clears, just a little, and he blinks at me. The faintest crease appears between his brows, like he’s trying to piece everything together.
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“I’m Hamish by the way.” I study him now. Not a local that’s for sure. Mid-forties – drinker I’d say judging by the broken blood vessels on his cheeks.
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He sucks in a shaky breath, and this time it doesn’t catch as sharply. He tries to roll onto his hands and knees, his movements clumsy, his hair dripping.
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“Wait! Hey, stop,” I whisper, trying not to panic. “You need help. You almost—”
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Dejected, he slumps back down on the deck.
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“I need...” he rasps.
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“Aye we can get whatever you need when we get back on dry land.”
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Kane is already pulling into the harbour, cutting through the dark blue sea. With the engine off, all I can hear is the sea hitting against the boat; not even the sound of seagulls
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“I need,” his voice is a little stronger. “I need to find my daughter.”