Revenge of the Tide (27 page)

‘Changed my mind,’ he said gruffly, when he’d caught up.

The boat was freezing cold. I busied myself with the woodburner while he brewed coffee. I glanced around the cabin when I thought he wasn’t watching. The boat looked the same as it always had – untidy, cobwebby in places, but not as though it had been searched.

The fire crackled and spat, the flames brightening the room. I shut the glass door and watched the fire for a moment.

‘You should think about putting central heating in,’ said Carling.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘It didn’t seem that important in the summer. It’s daft really: the weather’s turning, I should be sorting out the bathroom but the next thing that’s going to get done is the conservatory.’

‘I’ll help you with the bathroom, if you like.’

I smiled. ‘Thanks. That’s a kind offer.’

He put two mugs of coffee on the table and sat down with a sigh.

‘I’m just going to get changed,’ I said. My jeans were soaked.

I left him in the saloon and padded down to the bedroom. Waited for a second, then carried on to the hatch – just to see the box, if nothing else… I just needed to look. I could check properly later.

The space was cavernous and dark. I opened the door enough and stood away a little to let the light shine in. I could see the shape of the box at the end. Had it moved? Was it more visible than it had been? I’d thought the other boxes had been grouped around it, hiding it, but from here I could just about make out the words written on the side…

‘Everything okay?’

‘Yes, yes, fine,’ I said quickly, shutting the hatch door with a bang. ‘I was just – um – looking for something.’

My cheeks flushed. I must have looked about as guilty as it was possible to be.

He gazed at me steadily, then a quick but deliberate up and down my body, taking in my wet socks and my wet jeans and my wet top, then he said, ‘Your coffee’s getting cold,’ and turned to go back to the saloon.

I went into the bedroom with my heart thumping in my chest. I would have to be careful. I’d almost given it away just then – so stupid. He wasn’t daft, he must know there was so much I hadn’t told him. And Dylan, too – I’d almost told him about Dylan…

I wrestled my sodden jeans down my legs, then got my socked foot caught on the hem of the other leg of the jeans and before I knew what had happened I’d slipped and landed with a crash and a yelp against the chest of drawers.

Jim was in the doorway within a second; he stood there looking at me for a moment, in a heap with my jeans bunched up around my knees, and then he laughed.

‘It’s not funny, you piece of shit!’

He crouched down next to me. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said, still laughing.

I couldn’t help laughing too, even though my back hurt from landing against the drawers. He offered me his hand and hauled me to my feet. ‘Come and sit down, I’ll give you a hand.’

He helped me shuffle over to the bed and while I sat on the edge he pulled my jeans down. They were so wet, the denim was heavy and glued to my skin. He tugged and heaved and I held on to the edge of the bed, but not tightly enough because the next thing I knew he’d pulled me right off the bed and I landed with a thump with my backside on the floor.

I was laughing and crying at the same time, and he could hardly move, his shoulders shaking. ‘Oh, God… I’m sorry… are you alright?’

I nodded and shook my head, and then before I could say anything he was kissing me, hard, catching his breath, pulling me against him.

‘You are so sexy,’ he said quickly, ‘so sexy. You don’t even know what you do to me…’

I was lying on my back, looking at the dark night sky through the skylight over my head, and feeling the
Revenge of the Tide
moving gently as the water rose up the estuary from the sea and lifted the boat from its muddy cradle.

Jim had woken me, climbing out of bed. I watched him turn left out of the door, heading for the bathroom, and turned over in bed, pulling the covers up.

I dozed for a while, and when I opened my eyes again he had not come back. I wondered if he’d gone home, then I caught the sound of his voice – where? On deck?

The skylight was grey now, light enough in the room to see Jim’s T-shirt and sweater on the chair, his jeans missing. I sat up in bed and strained to hear. Silence. And then – a few words. A laugh?

Just as I was considering getting up and going to see if I could hear any better from the doorway, I heard his footsteps in the cabin and I lay back down again quickly, covers up. I listened to the sounds of him taking off his jeans, the chink of the belt buckle as he folded them and put them back on the chair. Then the creak of the bed as he lifted the covers and got back in beside me. His cold hand slid over my stomach. ‘I know you’re not asleep,’ he said softly. ‘I can tell.’

‘How can you tell?’ I murmured, still half pretending.

‘From how you breathe.’ He was kissing my neck, my throat, my shoulder, pulling me round towards him.

‘Who were you talking to?’ I asked, my voice muffled against his skin.

‘Work.’

‘Mm. What do they want at this time of the morning? Your hands are cold.’

He didn’t answer my question. I sat astride him, reached up to the wood cladding over my head, put both my hands flat against the ceiling to give me balance, and he cupped my breasts with his hands and watched me move, and let out a sound that might have been a word, or might just have been a groan.

T
he sunlight streaming through the skylight on to my face woke me up. The bed was empty. I squinted across to the chair. Jim’s clothes had gone.

I lay still for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of the sun, remembering what we’d done the night before. He was good at it. He was getting better and better, in fact.

I heard noises coming from the galley – washing-up noises. Then the radio went on, the sound down low. Just enough for me to hear the music.

I got up and found some clothes, ran a hand through my hair to flatten the bits that were sticking up.

When he saw me he put the kettle back on the stove. ‘Morning,’ he said.

‘Good morning to you too.’ I leaned over him and kissed his jawline. He smelled of warmth and yesterday’s aftershave.

I took a tea towel from the railing on the door of the stove and dried the cups he’d washed up, putting them away in the cupboard. I felt all domesticated and homely, the sunshine streaming in through the skylights, creating shafts of light and warmth. I loved my boat. Even the wooden boards under my bare feet were warm.

He poured me out a coffee and put the mug on the table.

‘I could do with a shower,’ he said.

‘You could go and have one over by the office.’

‘By the office?’

‘There’s a shower room. It’s quite nice, and clean. Better than my hose, anyway.’

‘I should really go home. I need clean clothes, and I’m back at work this afternoon.’

‘Oh. Alright.’

He was staring at me, his dark eyes unfathomable.

‘What?’ I said, thinking I might have said or done something wrong.

‘I don’t want to go.’

I smiled, kissed him again. He had two days’ worth of beard, his chin scratchy. ‘I don’t want you to go, either.’

‘How about,’ he said into my throat, his hands up under my top, ‘I go and have a quick shower now, and later I can just dash home and get changed on the way to work?’

I made a noise that might have been assent; it was enough to satisfy him. When he let me go I went to find him a clean towel, some shower gel. He took it and climbed the steps to the wheelhouse.

‘Want me to come with you?’ I asked.

‘Not unless you’re going to shower with me,’ he said.

I let him go.

I went back to the bedroom and made the bed, shaking the tangled duvet over the creased bottom sheet. I opened the skylight to let in some fresh air. I was cleaning my teeth a few moments later when I heard it – a buzzing noise. Toothbrush sticking out of the corner of my mouth, I went into the main cabin. It was louder in here.

On the seat of the dinette, a mobile phone on vibrate was buzzing and flashing. I picked it up and my first instinct was to answer it, but it wasn’t my phone. It was Jim’s.

I stared at the phone in my hand, at the number that was illuminated on the display. Caller ID was listed simply as ‘d’. On the table was a pile of papers, envelopes, receipts. I grabbed a pen from a broken-handled mug on the shelf in the galley and wrote down the number on the back of my credit card bill just as the phone stopped vibrating.

One missed call.

I put the phone on the seat, chewing my toothbrush thoughtfully. I went back to my poor excuse for a bathroom and rinsed my mouth. In the mirror above the sink I caught the look in my eyes. My heart was pounding.

I found yesterday’s jeans in the bedroom and, in the back pocket, Dylan’s phone. I scrolled through to the address book. Looked at the number for
GARLAND
. And then at the number written on the back of the credit card envelope.

I jumped up the steps to the wheelhouse and peered across the boats towards the office. No sign of anyone. The marina was deserted, the boats bathed in bright sunshine. I couldn’t see the door to the shower room from here, but there was no sign of Jim.

Back in the cabin, I picked up Jim’s phone, activated the screen. He didn’t have a password.

One missed call.

I worked my way through unfamiliar menus – call history? That was it – and there it was… missed calls. And the last number, the one I recognised.

I selected the icon that looked like a handset and within a few moments I heard a ringing tone as the call connected.

And then –

‘Yeah?’

I stood there immobile, the phone pressed to my ear. Just that one word – could I be certain?

‘Dylan?’

‘Who is this?’

It was him; all my doubts vanished with those three words. ‘It’s me.’

There was silence on the other end. I half-expected him to ask,
Who?
but he didn’t. He knew my voice as well as I knew his.

‘Where’s Jim?’ he asked.

‘Hang on – how the hell do you know Jim? And why is your phone switched off all the time? And where the hell are you? And what am I supposed to do with this… this parcel you left here?’

I heard him sigh, above the noise of the wind blowing across the phone.

‘You’re supposed to trust me,’ he said.

‘How can I trust you when you never answer your bloody phone? Some men came on to the boat. They tied me up.’

There was a pause before he answered. He probably already knew, after all. He spent enough time with Nicks and the others; he knew everything that was going on in Fitz’s world. Still, he played dumb.

‘What do you mean, they tied you up? Are you alright?’

‘I am now. But I’m afraid, Dylan! What am I supposed to do? What do you want me to do?’

‘Is Jim there?’ he asked then.

‘No, he isn’t!’

‘Get him to ring me when he gets back,’ he said.

‘Dylan! What’s going on?’

But he had disconnected the call.

There was something – a noise – some small sound behind me. Jim was standing at the foot of the steps, hair damp, towel in one hand and his shoes in the other. He was looking at me with an expression that might have been reproach.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ I demanded.

‘Is that my phone?’

He took a step forward, took it from my hand, fiddled with the buttons. I thought he was going to say something, shout back at me, but instead he held the phone up to his ear.

‘Yeah, it’s me,’ he said, as the call connected. ‘I know. Where are you? … Yes, you know you can…’

He looked up at me then. I could hear Dylan’s voice through the phone, but couldn’t make out the words.

‘She’s alright. No, of course not. It’s what we said, yeah? When? … Alright. I’ll sort something out. Okay, mate. Bye for now.’ All through this he didn’t take his eyes off me. All my righteous anger at having been somehow set up, made a fool of, was dissolving into feelings of unqualified guilt at picking up his phone in the first place. And what made it all worse was that he was standing in my cabin, his jeans unbuttoned, his hair wet.

‘Genevieve –’ he said.

‘No,’ I said. ‘This is all wrong. Why…?’

He shook his head.

‘You’re using me,’ I said.

‘No.’

‘You’re using me to get to Dylan.’

‘How? Don’t be ridiculous. Who did he phone just now, you or me?’

That hurt, more than if he’d slapped me across the face. ‘You shit. You complete bastard.’ Tears stung my eyes, my hands balling into fists.

‘Genevieve. I didn’t mean it like that…’

‘Why does nobody ever tell me the truth about what’s going on?’

I couldn’t stand to look at him any more. I went back to the bedroom, pushed the door shut behind me. But he caught it, caught me by one arm, pulled me round to him.

‘Don’t walk away,’ he said.

His face was close to mine. I could feel his breath on my cheek.

I struggled against him, but he held me tighter, bruising my arm. ‘Let me go!’

He released his grip. And I stood there like an idiot, looking up at his impassive face, tears of fury and misery pouring down my hot cheeks. ‘You didn’t tell me you knew Dylan,’ I said, sobs catching every other word.

‘Neither did you.’ He was so calm, so infuriating, I wanted to smack him.

‘You knew about me and Dylan. You knew all along…’

‘I didn’t know how you felt about him.’

‘Did he tell you about me?’

He nodded.

‘What did he say?’

‘He asked me to look after you.’

‘What?’ I said. I was so angry I could barely get the words out. ‘When?’

‘He rang me when he heard about Caddy’s body being found here. He asked me to keep an eye out for you, because he knew – I mean, he thought that things might get difficult for you. After that he turned his phone off and went out of contact.’

‘Why?’

He looked at me for a moment, as if debating how much of this he was prepared to share with me. ‘He’s done this before. When things get a bit tricky, he switches his phone off. He’s a pain in the backside sometimes, you know that, don’t you?’

‘So you came here and thought it would be a good idea to fuck me, yeah? Is that what you thought he meant by looking after me? Give me something to take my mind off him?’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘Why are you here? What do you want from me?’

He looked at me and didn’t reply at first, then he ran a hand through his hair and turned away from me, took a few paces. Then he seemed to find the most appropriate answer.

‘I was looking for Dylan. When he turned his phone off after he told me about Caddy, I thought he might have still been in touch with you.’

‘I don’t understand. He just rang your phone, didn’t he?’

‘He’s only rung me twice since that day. Both times, he was in a public place, somewhere busy, impossible to get a trace on him. The rest of the time his phone’s off.’

‘Well, I think that means he doesn’t want to talk to you, doesn’t it?’

‘Or you, it seems,’ he said.

I bit my lip and glared at him.

‘Genevieve…’ He touched my bare arm, running his hand up under the sleeve of my T-shirt to my shoulder.

‘Don’t touch me,’ I said, pulling away.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘he always thinks he knows what he’s doing, right? He does things his way. Much as I try to help him out, try to get him to play by the rules, he’s always done it like this. Despite that, I trust him, and you should too.’

He took a step towards me again. I wanted to move away but I couldn’t. There was something different in his eyes now. I wanted to believe every word, but it was so hard.

‘You should have told me all this before,’ I said, trying not to sound imploring. I wanted to sound cold, pissed off, mad at him. But instead, through sniffs and tears, it sounded weak.

‘I didn’t think this was going to happen.’

‘What?’

‘You know what I’m talking about; don’t play games.’

I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You still should have told me that you knew Dylan.’

‘I don’t have to tell you about anything, much less something related to an investigation.’

‘Oh, fuck off! You’re investigating Dylan? Think it’s a good idea to be fucking me, then, do you?’

‘Of course it’s not a good idea!’

‘So – what? You were just going to wait for Dylan to show up, and then piss off and leave me behind?’

‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’

I grabbed my jeans from the chair and pulled them on roughly. They were still damp but I didn’t care.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

‘Just – just leave me alone.’

He caught up with me just as I was about to go up the steps to the wheelhouse. Both arms around my waist. He pulled me back, pulled me tight against him, and as I struggled he held me tighter.

‘Genevieve,’ he said, his voice just a whisper against the back of my neck. ‘Don’t.’

I felt myself melting, softening against him. He held me. And I turned in the circle of his arms and put my arms around his neck and rested my face into his chest, breathing him in. He pulled my T-shirt out where it had been tucked into my jeans and pressed his hands into the small of my back. Without thinking about what I was doing, I slid my hands under the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer. His mouth was an inch away from mine, his warm breath on me. I could have moved a fraction towards him and our mouths would have met. But I wasn’t about to give in. He leaned towards me. I moved back – just slightly. He hesitated, his breath quickening. I could feel him, hard against my body. Inside his jeans, my hand squeezed his backside, my nails digging in. Then he moved one of his hands from my back to my neck, holding my head so I couldn’t pull away.

He pushed me back, stumbling, against the steps. My hand felt for a step I could perch on as he pulled my jeans down, then his. When he pushed inside me I gasped, my head back against the top step. For a second the thrill of it held me steady, but there was something wrong with this position, frustrating – I kept slipping down. I pushed him, and when he didn’t respond immediately I pushed him harder, pushed him away so I could turn around, kick my jeans off and kneel on the third step, presenting him with my rear view at exactly the right height. He didn’t pause but slid inside me, gentler this time, but for just a second. And then it was hard and fast and powerful, pushing me against the steps with his whole body. It didn’t take very long. When he came inside me he let out a sound against the back of my neck, through gritted teeth.

For a moment neither of us moved. Nothing but the sound of his breathing against my hair, the pounding of my blood through my ears.

He slid away from me. I turned awkwardly on the stairs, my knee aching from where it had been scraped against the cladding by the force of him driving into me. He pulled his jeans back up.

He held out his hand to me. ‘Come with me.’

I took his hand and he led me back to bed, took his clothes off again and climbed in beside me, pulling me close. For a long time we kissed and didn’t speak. Eventually his hand between my thighs made me forget everything: the anger, the million questions buzzing around my head, the sound of Dylan’s voice on the other end of Jim’s phone.

Over our heads the skylight showed clouds across the deep blue of the sky; white clouds, then grey… darkening to an ominous black, threatening rain.