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Nikki buried her face in the coats on the peg in the hall and let out a silent scream as Helen rushed to her eldest daughter’s side. How was she going to bear this double loss? How was she going to hide her secret grief? Could she hide it behind her father’s death? The reality of what she had done, and what she was going to have to face, made her tremble with fear. You deserve this hell, she told herself.
The others didn’t deserve it. Not her mum, or Graham, or Jess, who was suffering the same double blow: the loss of her father and her husband. Was that part of her punishment? Knowing she’d dragged them all to the brink of misery with her? Was that how it worked?
Life became a grey fog of despair and distress with no respite, beginning with that awful moment in the morning when she remembered, and her heart folded in on itself. She would start the day by taking tea in to her mum, lying on the bed next to her while she drank it, curling into the space left by her father.
She was in awe of her mother. Every day Helen got up as soon as she’d finished her tea, would shower and dress and put on her make-up and go out into the town to see who needed help and support. Seven men gone, but so many more people affected: there was barely anyone in Speedwell who hadn’t lost a relative or a friend. Tributes were flooding in: flowers lay piled up on the quay with heartfelt messages, and money was pouring into the lifeboat station. Cheques and five-pound notes and postal orders. The committee couldn’t process them fast enough.
And the press were crawling everywhere, trying to get to the heart of the matter, eager for personal tales of loss and the effect it was having on a small community. The nation was gripped by the tragedy. Somehow, with help from the chair of the lifeboat committee and the chief constable and the editor of the local newspaper, Helen called a news conference.
‘Everyone who died that night is a hero. They were each as brave as each other, whether rescuing or being rescued. They went down together, and they will be remembered, together, by all of us here in Speedwell. But it’s time for us to be left alone to grieve, to start our new lives without our loved ones by our side. We have each other, but what we would like now is privacy. To be able to heal without the eyes of the nation upon us. We truly appreciate all the messages of support, and the kindness that has been shown, but we want some time for quiet contemplation. We hope our wishes will be respected.’
Then she read out the names of the men who had been lost. Her voice didn’t waver, not even when she came to William’s. She stood at the front of the hall in her blue coat, cameras whirring, flashes popping, microphones waving, and spoke for the whole town. She was on every news station that night, and every front page the next morning.
As proud as Nikki was of her mother, she feared for her sister. Jess cried so much she made herself sick. Her skin was sallow, her hair greasy. The baby was less than a month away, so she couldn’t take any sleeping tablets. Nikki had been to the doctor for some for herself, for the nights loomed, so many hours to be filled with sleeplessness or nightmares – Nikki wasn’t sure which was worse.
William’s funeral had almost broken her heart. Graham had wanted to help carry the coffin, along with two of William’s brothers and the remaining crew from the station. Nikki had felt her mother’s hand squeeze hers at the sight of him, dignified and serious in the suit they had bought him from Medlar Brothers, the gentleman’s outfitters in the high street. Afterwards everyone went upstairs in the Neptune for egg sandwiches and scones and William’s favourite tea loaf thick with butter. Helen had spent the days before the funeral furiously baking, stirring bright glacé cherries into bowls full of currants and raisins and sultanas.
Jess had barely spoken or eaten for days.
‘I’m having my wedding dress taken out, for Rik’s funeral,’ Jess told Nikki. ‘And shortened.’
‘What? But it’s red.’
‘It’s what he’d have wanted,’ Jess insisted.
Nikki couldn’t bring herself to wear anything to his funeral that might draw attention. She wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. She was already panicking about how she was going to cope with the service. She imagined it again and again in her head to numb herself, so that when she actually saw his coffin at the front of the church, she would feel nothing.
It was Nikki who went to collect Rik’s mother from Bristol airport. It was Sabine who helped her keep it together, because how could she fall apart when Sabine had lost her only child. She was determined to be strong for her. It was hard, listening to Sabine talking about Rik, all those little details that made it impossible to believe he was gone. It was agony, sitting next to her in the church, but she held her hand tightly and kept her tears in check, somehow, through sheer effort of will.
It was the next day before she was able to go down to the beach and howl into the waves, screaming and raging until she exhausted herself, her own private ceremony for the man she had loved so desperately but hadn’t had the right to keep.
46
Now
As her story finished, Nikki sank back into the depths of the sofa. She was exhausted. By everything. By work, by the renovation, by the worry. The constant whirling in her head: clients, checklists, planning. And the menacing postcards reminding her that her come-uppance was long overdue. Was this it? The moment when everything would come home to roost, and her chance for something wonderful would be snatched away. Her teeth chattered. Reliving that time had brought a chill to her heart. She could almost feel the thick sea mist on her skin. The driving rain. The icy dread.
Adam didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he stood up. She couldn’t read his expression. It was grave, but what was underlying it? Disappointment? Disapproval? Disgust? Eventually, he smiled at her. A kind smile, but perhaps it was the kind of smile you gave someone you had misjudged while you thought about what the hell you were going to say to them?
‘Wait there,’ he said, and headed off into the kitchen. Nikki wondered if she should slip away quietly. Spare them both the agony of the post-mortem. They need never speak of it again. They could simply revert to being polite neighbours, taking in each other’s bins and signing for parcels with perhaps the odd social occasion when they could dilute each other with friends or family.
Just as she was about to make for the door, he came back in with two big mugs.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘It’s got a bit of a kick. Chilli and cinnamon and cloves. I call it White Witch hot chocolate. Like the drink she gives Edmund, in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.’
Oh, thought Nikki. He is so perfect. That had been one of her favourite childhood books. And she did feel as if she was being bewitched as she drank. It made her feel drowsy, but strangely comforted. All she wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. But Adam had begun to talk.
‘You do know,’ he said, ‘that everyone has stuff they’re ashamed of? Stuff that makes them squirm when they remember it. Stuff that makes them feel like a terrible person.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Shhh.’ He put a finger to his lips, but he was smiling. ‘When I had one of my first jobs, at a big ad agency in Soho, I had a fling with a married woman. It was so intense, and we didn’t think about anyone else. My girlfriend, her husband, her kids.’
‘Her kids?’ Nikki looked shocked.
He gave a wry shrug. ‘You see? I’m not very nice, am I?’
‘But it was—’ She stopped.
