One morning while I watched yet another people-mover pull up with a group of unidentified people, who got out and walked around with clipboards talking into phones, I turned to find Kathleen standing beside me. This must feel like an invasion to her, I thought. After a lifetime with just the sea for company, she had the prospect of a never-ending stream of strangers on her doorstep.
She said nothing, her weathered profile sharp as she eyed them. When she spoke, she kept looking straight ahead. ‘So, when do we need to start packing?’ she said.
My stomach lurched. ‘It’s not over yet, Kathleen,’ I said.
She said nothing.
‘Even if we lose the battle over the development, there are lots of things we can do to minimise the impact on your hotel. I’ll do a business plan. We could think of some ways to modernise—’
She put a hand on my arm, cutting me off. ‘I’ve got a lot of respect for you, Mike Dormer. I’d have a whole lot more if I could bank on you to tell me the truth.’
What could I say? Yoshi was in contact with the whales and dolphins organisations, who were trying to speed up a report they were compiling on the disruptive effect of sound on cetaceans. She had asked if there was anything they could include on the effects of motorboat or jet-ski engines. We had a petition with almost seventeen hundred signatures. We had a website that scored several hundred hits a day, and attracted messages of support from all over the globe. We had other whale-watching communities sending letters of objection to the council.
After school Hannah sat emailing other schools, trying to get other children involved. My computer was virtually hers now, and I spent as many hours as I could on the telephone, trying to persuade local townspeople to go against it. I had done as my sister suggested, and was trying to generate local and national attention. None of it had seemed to make any difference. Every time I stepped outside, that scarred area seemed the focus of renewed attention. There were more besuited people, more construction workers in hard hats. Advertisements had appeared in the local paper, promising not only the exciting new development but asking for local tradesmen to get in touch ‘and be part of the adventure’. Two empty local shops had new for-sale signs, perhaps hoping to capitalise on their proximity.
I shook my head. ‘It’s not over yet.’ I was trying to convince myself as much as anything.
She began to trudge heavily back up the path to the hotel. ‘Sure sounds like a fat lady’s vocal cords to me,’ she called, over her shoulder.
As predicted, Hannah’s Glory had gone down that night, swamped by the tall waves, its rudder entangled in the ghost nets. When I looked out to sea now I found the sheer emptiness of the waves above it overwhelming. The sea swallowed things whole, and it was as if they had never been. No little boat, no nets, no dying sea creatures. Nobody talked about the little boat, once its resting place on the sea-bed had been established. Greg, I think, still felt awkward about his unwitting part in Hannah’s close shave, as did I. It was too easy to imagine her out there with it.
Then, apropos nothing, Liza had announced over breakfast that she was going to find Hannah a boat.
‘What?’
She didn’t mention Hannah’s Glory.
‘I think you’re old enough. I’ve asked Peter Sawyer to keep an eye out for one. A little cutter, like Lara’s. But you’re to take lessons. And if I ever catch you going out on the water without permission that will be it. No more boat, ever.’
Hannah dropped her spoon with a clatter, leapt from her place at the table and threw her arms round her mother’s neck. ‘I’ll never go anywhere without telling you,’ she said. ‘I’ll never do anything. I’ll be really good. Oh, thank you, Mum.’
Liza tried to make her face stern, as her daughter squeezed her, bouncing with pleasure. ‘I’m trusting you,’ she said.
Hannah nodded, eyes shining. ‘Can I call Lara and tell her?’ she said.
‘You’ll see her at school in half an hour.’
‘Please.’ Her mother’s hesitation was all the confirmation she needed. We heard her feet skipping joyfully down the hallway, then her high-pitched exclamations on the phone.
Liza looked down at her breakfast, as if she had been embarrassed by her volte face. Kathleen and I were still staring at her. It is possible that my mouth had dropped open.
‘She lives by the sea,’ Liza said. ‘She’s got to learn some day.’
‘True enough,’ said Kathleen, turning back to the stove. ‘Peter will find her a good one.’
‘Besides,’ said Liza, her eyes briefly meeting mine, ‘it’s only sensible. I might not always be here to watch out for her.’
Liza and I had not talked about ‘us’. Several weeks in I assumed there was an ‘us’, even though by unspoken agreement we displayed no affection in front of Kathleen, Hannah or the whalechasers. The southern migration had begun, albeit a trickle, and sometimes, in the day, if I needed a break, I would go out on a trip with her, sitting on the deck of her boat, a silent assistant, and watch as she moved surefooted around it. I liked the lilt in her voice when she told stories about the whales, the affectionate, offhand way that she rubbed Milly’s ears as she steered, the joyous cry she still gave when she caught the familiar flume of water. I was acutely physically aware of her when she brushed past me, her sinuous movements as she spun the wheel or hung over the rails. I liked the way the boat became an extension of her, the way she was utterly at ease with every part of it. The protest, ironically, had made them all busy, with passengers morning and afternoon, but every time I went out with her it might have been just ourselves for all the notice I took of anyone else.
Except Hannah. I loved Hannah as an extension of the way I loved her mother. I also felt an overwhelming urge to protect her, to screen her from the kind of terrors she had already endured. And I understood what Liza had meant, and why she would have given up everything to keep her safe. Hannah knew about her mother and me and said nothing. But the way she grinned at me conspiratorially and occasionally snaked her hand into mine left me choked with pride at her tacit approval. If I ever had a child, I wanted one like Hannah. I wanted to stay in her life, if Liza would let me.
We had not mentioned love, but my every nerve ending throbbed with it, and I carried it in a cloud around me, like sea mist. The lifting in Liza’s manner, her ready smiles, her blushes told me she felt it too. I didn’t need to make her say it aloud, as Vanessa had promped me. This woman, who had lost nearly everything, whose trust had been so violently betrayed, had allowed me access not just to her physical self but to her heart. Most nights she would pad silently down the corridor to my room, and in the dim light, I would peel back my bed covers and let her in. When she touched my face with her fingertips, her expression serious and slightly disbelieving, I knew it mirrored my own.