He climbed out, pulling the brim of his cap over his eyes. ‘I heard the news about the little one. Unbelievable. Unbelievable.’
‘News travels fast,’ I said. But it was a platitude – Hannah had run to the jetty the previous evening, to tell every one of the whalechasers individually. They didn’t know the full circumstances, but they knew Liza had had a daughter in England who was to be returned to her, and they were astute enough not to look beyond what they had been told. Not obviously, anyway.
‘Arriving tomorrow night, is she?’
I nodded. He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. ‘Good on you, mate. I can’t pretend I like you but, strewth, I can’t argue with someone who brings children back from the dead, eh?’
He took a deep drag of his cigarette. We both stared for a minute at Whale Jetty, where only Greg’s boat remained.
‘Thanks,’ I said, finally.
‘Yeah. Well.’
Behind us, in the hotel, a telephone rang. Probably some future guest. It would not be Monica – she had been in the air for several hours. Kathleen had offered to put her up for as long as she wanted to stay. It was the least she could do, she said, beaming, and I felt suddenly envious of my sister. Tomorrow night she would be sleeping in what I now thought of as my room. Silver Bay was about to be consigned to memory. A strange little period in my life that I would look back on wistfully; a series of what-ifs that I would not allow myself to consider too closely.
Thinking about my sister made me remember my cases, and I went inside to fetch them. When I carried them out, Greg was still leaning against his pick-up. He looked down at my luggage, then up at me. ‘Going somewhere?’
‘London,’ I said, swinging them into my open boot. I closed it with a thud.
‘London, England?’
I didn’t bother to respond.
‘Staying long?’
I wanted to lie to him – but what would have been the point? He would know soon enough. ‘Yes.’
A slight pause, a few calculations. ‘Not coming back?’
‘No.’
His face actually lit up. He was as transparent as a child. ‘Not coming back. Well, now, that’s a shame. For you, I mean.’
I heard him take another drag on his cigarette, heard the smile in his voice when he said, ‘I always thought you were an odd one, mate, and now I know I’m right.’
‘Quite the psychologist,’ I said, jaw tightening. I wished he would get lost.
‘Leaving us all, eh? I’m sure you’ve made the right decision. Best to stick where you fit in, eh? And I’m sure Liza will get over it. She’ll be a different character now, I reckon. A whole lot happier. And, well, you don’t need to worry at all – I’ll make sure she has enough . . . attention.’
He raised an eyebrow at me, delight written all over his face. If it hadn’t been that Hannah might be watching us I would have punched his stupid face in. I knew he half wanted it. He’d been spoiling for a fight with me for weeks. ‘If I remember rightly, Greg,’ I said quietly, ‘it wasn’t you she was interested in.’
He took a last drag of his cigarette and spat it into the dust. ‘Aw, mate,’ he said, ‘Liza and I go back a long way. I’m a big guy. As far as I’m concerned, you were just a distraction.’ He held his finger and thumb about a centimetre apart. ‘A little blip on the old radar.’
For a moment, the gloves were off. It was as well that Kathleen emerged from the house. ‘Mike!’ she called, her voice indignant. ‘What are you doing with your cases? I thought you weren’t going till tomorrow?’
I tore my gaze from Greg and went towards her. ‘I’m – waiting for a call. Then I think I’ll head off.’
She stared at me. Then at Greg.
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Greg, grinning. ‘I’ve done me best to tell him just how much he’s wanted.’
‘You want to come in for a minute?’ she asked me.
‘Don’t mind me.’ Greg shrugged.
‘Never have yet.’
I followed her into the front room.
‘You can’t leave now,’ she said, her hands on her hips. ‘You won’t see Letty. You haven’t said goodbye to anyone. Hell, I was going to do you a little party tonight.’
‘That’s really kind of you, Kathleen, but I think it’s best if I go.’
‘You not even going to hang on till Liza gets back? Say goodbye to her?’
‘Best not.’
She stared at me, and I wasn’t sure whether it was sympathy or frustration in her face. ‘You really can’t hang on? Just till after lunch?’
I tried to think clearly over the sound of Hannah’s boombox, which was pumping out disco music upstairs, my heart still thumping with thwarted adrenaline. I could hear her singing, her reedy little voice breathless and faintly out of tune. I stepped forward and held out a hand. ‘Thanks for everything, Kathleen,’ I said. ‘If any calls come here for me this afternoon will you give them my mobile number? I’ll call you as soon as I know for certain about the development.’
She looked at my hand, then up at my face. I found it difficult to meet her eye. Then she hugged me, her old arms surprisingly strong as they held me to her. ‘You call me,’ she said, into my shoulder. ‘You don’t get to disappear just like that. Doesn’t have to be about the ruddy development. You call me.’
I walked out of the room, out of the hotel and into my car before the pain in her voice could change my mind.
I had to drive slowly down the coast road, not because its surface was potholed and uneven but because there seemed to be something in both of my eyes and I couldn’t see straight. When I got to Whale Jetty I stopped to wipe them, and found myself hoping against hope that I might see Ishmael coming round the head and into the bay, that I might, one last time, see the thin figure, the hair blowing under the cap and the dog, steering in. Just one little glance, before my life continued its own separate course on the other side of the world.
But there was only the glinting water, the strings of buoys that marked out the boating channels and, on the far side, the hillsides of pines stretching up to the blue sky.
I couldn’t think about what she would say when she returned to find me gone. I hadn’t even been able to write her a letter: telling her what I felt would have meant telling her the truth, and I couldn’t do that. You’ve done the right thing, I told myself, heading back on to the coast road. For once in your life, you’ve done a good thing.