The Drowning (13 page)

“Cool,” Jenna said airily, trying to pretend she got asked out to supper all the time. “See you then.”

And he was gone.

Can’t wait . . . Twenty-six hours to go . . . Wish they would hurry by.

Jenna summoned up her courage.

“I’m going out tonight.” She glanced shyly at Dad as they finished breakfast. “For supper.”

“That sounds exciting . . . Anyone I know?”

“Don’t think you’ve met him,” Jenna said vaguely. Then, quickly, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Why should I mind?”

“Because we usually . . . I mean, it’s been months . . . I haven’t been anywhere at night since . . .”

The unfinished sentence hung in the air like the smell of rotting eggs.

“Neither have I. What with Mum and this place and everything.” Dad pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Matter of fact, thought I might spread my wings a bit myself. Hester . . .” He cleared his throat. “You remember I told you, she used to work with me here, before Mum arrived on the scene. Hester’s been pestering me for ages to have a meal with her, catch up on old times.”

“You never told me. Why haven’t you been before?”

“Didn’t like to leave you alone, Jenn. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“Well, call her, for God’s sake.” Jenna grimaced. “We’ve both been dancing round each other, haven’t we?”

Dad grinned. “Just a bit.”

“D’you know what?”

“What?”

“You’re free to go out whenever you like!”

“Same goes for you, Jenn.” He reached for her hand. “Same goes for you.”

At six o’clock Jenna beat Dad to the bathroom by the skin of her teeth. She bathed, changed into her new trousers with a red V-necked top, brushed her hair until it shone.

She tried to remember the last time she’d had a date. She’d been to a party with Imogen and Morvah, when was it now? Easter! And then there’d been the party, Denzil’s party, that none of them had gone to, the night that –

The day I met Meryn. Think of it like that,not in any other way.

I can’t go through the rest of my life measuring what’s happening against the day Benjie died.

For a brief moment she stood at her desk, pulled out Benjie’s diary and stared down at it.

Benjamin Pascoe.

You’d have liked Meryn.

He’d have done anything to save your life, I know it.

I wish you could meet him now.

At the Café Pasta they sat opposite each other at a table by the window.

Jenna felt Meryn’s eyes on her face.

Overwhelmed by sudden shyness, she looked away from him. “I want to say something I should have said a long time ago.” She held up her hand as he began to interrupt. “No, hear me out. Afterwards, after Benjie . . . I should have come to thank you. You know, for your help.”

“There was no need.”

“There was
every
need. I can’t think what came over me.”

“It’s called grief.” Briefly, Meryn’s fingers touched hers. “People cope with it as best they can.”

“That’s no excuse . . . It was a terrible afternoon for both of us, yet I never once thought what it must have been like for you.”

“It was grim, of course it was. It always is, when something like that happens. I watched you dashing away with your parents, pushing through the crowds, and my heart went out to you. We still hoped that—”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Then me and the boys talked about the problems of those rock pools, how we can’t see round the Island, whether we should have another lifeguard permanently out there.”

“Could you?”

“We haven’t the manpower. . . There are only five of us, and when Porthmeor Beach is as crowded as it was, we could double our number and that’d still not be enough.” Meryn shrugged. “I sometimes wonder why accidents don’t happen more often. Every day that passes safely in the summer is like a minor miracle.”

“Just before you picked me up tonight, I made myself a promise.” Jenna’s eyes stung with tears. “That I’d never talk about the accident again, not to you, not to anyone.”

“Why? Does talking about it make it any worse?”

“Yes . . . I can’t stop blaming myself for what happened. But I guess . . . I
know
I must stop it, if I’m ever going to move on.” Jenna turned her head to look out of the window at the harbour, twinkling with evening lights. “I’ve given up everything. My career, everything I really wanted to do. It’s like I’ve shut myself into a box and now I can’t get out.”

Meryn sat back in his chair and looked at her.

He said, “We’ll have to see about that.”

They ate chicken risotto, leafy green salad, crème brûlée, talking all the while, as if that particular evening was going to be all they ever had. Yet Jenna knew there would be many more; that somehow Benjie’s accident had linked them in ways that were very special, that would prove difficult to break. Talking about Benjie to Meryn had been easier than she’d thought it would be. She felt better, not more miserable, for having done so.

Meryn told her about his work. “For eight months of the year I’m a fitness instructor. I’ve just taken a job at Tregenna Castle, running their health club. For four months, in the summer, I work for Penwith Council as a lifeguard. Then it’s back to normal life.” He swirled the wine around his glass. “Well, kind of normal. I also work as a volunteer for the RNLI. It means—”

“You’re a hero.”

“Dunno about that.”

“You’re constantly on call, twenty-four hours a day.”

“I feel it’s the least I can do. My dad did the same. He gave his life to save somebody else.”

Jenna gave a little gasp. “When?”

“Nine years ago. I was only twelve years old. Some fishermen came to St Ives, people nobody had seen before. I remember Dad saying they were using what he called ‘a dog of a boat’, he didn’t like the look of it at all. While it was in the harbour he went to check on it. He warned them it needed a lot of repairs, but they didn’t take any notice.”

Meryn gave a bitter smile.

“This doesn’t get any easier to talk about either . . . The fishermen were out in it one December afternoon. Glorious weather: clear skies, the sea flat as a sheet of glass. The fishermen had a huge catch. They pulled the nets on board and the whole boat went over. A ship spotted them and rang Lifeboat House. Dad was called out immediately. The fishermen were rescued – but Dad drowned.”

“I’m so sorry—”

“Mum had three of us to look after: me and my two little sisters. They never found Dad’s body, which made everything worse. Although we knew he’d never be coming back, we couldn’t say goodbye to him properly. For months we went on hoping.” Meryn’s mouth puckered. “Every time I’m called out, I think of him.”

“But you’re putting your
own
life in danger. What if your mother loses
you
as well?”

“She won’t.”

Meryn gestured to the waitress for the bill.

“Enough of all this morbid talk. I want to hear about that career you say you’ve abandoned . . . And I’ve got something to show you.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve just moved into an old cottage, right on the harbour, near Lifeboat House. Dewy, one of my best friends, he’s getting married next month. His future father-in-law’s buying him and Wenna a house in Carbis Bay, so he’ll be moving out – and I’m taking over his cottage.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“It does. It is.” Meryn left money for their meal. Then he stood up and held out his hand for her. “Come and see it for yourself.”

“I don’t know about that,”Jenna said shyly. “Maybe next time.”

“Come on, Jenna Pascoe. Take one step outside that box you’re in.”

“OK.” She smiled. “You’ve talked me out of it.”

They reached the bottom of St Andrews Street.

Meryn pushed at the front door.

“Come in. Dewy’s off somewhere with Wenna, as usual, organising their wedding.”

He took her jacket. A thrill of excitement,mingled with anticipation, surged through her at their first moment alone together.

“This place is old as the hills. Nobody’s sure when it was built, it’s just always been here. Our landlord made a fortune wheeling and dealing on the Internet. That’s when he bought this, before all the dotcom companies went bust. Now he lives in California and leaves the running of the cottage to us – to people he can trust.”

Jenna said teasingly, “I’m sure you make ideal tenants.”

The cottage smelt strongly of mice, with the hint of sandalwood above it, maybe from scented candles.

“There’s a bedroom and a bathroom on the first floor. The kitchen’s down there, in the basement.”

He led her through an untidy dining area and up a shallow flight of stairs. He turned on the lamps.

“There! Isn’t it great?”

An enormous room spread before her, its ceiling arched with old oak beams. In one corner slouched a comfortable-looking bed, covered in a striped woollen throw; in another, armchairs slumped low and inviting. A huge fireplace held sweet-smelling logs. An old sofa sat facing a wide window which looked on to the harbour.

Jenna moved towards it and peered out. She could just make out the lights of a boat dipping far away at sea, a cloudless sky scattered with handfuls of stars; heard the soft grumbling waters of the ocean as they slapped against the wharf.

Meryn touched her shoulder. She wanted to lean back into him, feel his arms around her.

“It’s too dark for you to see much now, but in the daytime you can sit here and see for miles. Sea, sky, sun, clouds, boats in the harbour, an ever-changing landscape, sunsets to die for. Beats a boring TV programme any day.”

Jenna murmured, “It’s a fantastic room. It’s almost like
being
on a boat.”

“It is, exactly . . . Sit over there . . . I’ll make us some coffee. And then I want to hear the story of your life.”

Jenna drank the coffee. She told Meryn about her childhood in St Ives; how hard she had worked; how everything had gone according to plan until the day of Benjie’s death; how, since then, her life seemed to have collapsed like a fragile house of cards.

I don’t want him to think I’m a whinger. People who constantly complain are so boring. But the most exciting part of me has gone and I’m not sure I’m left with very much.

“You can’t possibly give it all up.” Meryn sat on the floor, leaning against one of the old armchairs. He drained his coffee cup. “All those years of gruelling work. They’re irreplaceable.”

“Could
you
leave your father if he was in the same position as mine?”

“I know exactly what you’re saying, and the answer has to be yes.” Meryn pursed his lips. “When my dad died, I thought I’d have to stay at home for ever to look after my little sisters and my mum. I’d have to become the only man of the house.”

“And what happened?”

“For a time I suppose I was. Or tried to be. I was only twelve, for God’s sake, but I did my best to be as manly and supportive as I could. Then one Sunday, Mum and I went for a walk together. She told me she didn’t want Dad’s death to make any difference to my ambitions.”

Jenna shook her head. “You weren’t responsible for your father’s death. I fell asleep on the beach. I let Benjie wander off. It was all my fault. I’ve got to pay for it the only way I can.”

Meryn said slowly,“Benjie wasn’t a baby,Jenna. He was eleven years old. Nobody dragged him away from his crossword puzzles. He could easily have stayed where he was. He joined his friends because he wanted to – and then things went terribly wrong. Why do you have to pay for that with your entire career?”

“I just do.” Jenna looked across at him, at his long legs stretched out along the floor, his bronzed face, his lean fingers as they held his cup. “I’ve made my decision and I’ve got to stick to it. There’s nothing more to say.”

“That’s all very black and white, Jenna. The world is full of greys.”

“What d’you mean?”

“There’s never
one
answer to anything. Things change. You can’t set your future in stone because your brother is dead.”

“You think that’s what I’m doing?”

“Yes.” Meryn put down his cup and scrambled to his feet. “Come on. It’s getting late. I’ll walk you home.”

Jenna linked hands with him. “Thank you.”

He drew her close, smoothed her fringe over her forehead. “On one condition.”

Again, she wanted to dissolve into his arms, to be held and kissed and comforted.

“Which is?”

“That you come here to lunch on Sunday . . . You’ll be able to see how wonderful this room looks in daylight.”

“I’d love to.”

“And you know what we’ll do?”

“What?”

“We’ll push back the furniture and you can dance for me. Anything, any of your routines – or maybe something new. That’s it: I’ll buy a new CD specially for you and you can improvise.”

Jenna froze. “I can’t!”

“I really want you to.”

She shook her head. “Impossible. I haven’t danced since Benjie . . . since July.”

Meryn said firmly, “Exactly. So Sunday will change all that!”

“No,” Jenna said. “
Nothing
will change all that.” She pulled away from Meryn, putting a safe distance between them, forcing herself to stick to her guns. “My dancing days are over. If you don’t understand that, you haven’t understood anything I’ve said to you all evening.”

“I see. ”Meryn looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to . . . you know, put my foot in it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Do you still want me to walk you home?”

“No, thanks,” Jenna said. “I think I know the way.”

She turned to leave.

“What about Sunday?” Meryn called bleakly after her.

Jenna swallowed. “I’ll be too busy,” she said.

Jenna got home at midnight.

She tiptoed past Dad’s room, then realised it was still empty. She hurtled her way upstairs.

In her bedroom she threw off her new jacket and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her hair a thick tumble to her shoulders, her eyes wide and angry. Her head raced with the speed of her thoughts.