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Now on dry land but still heaving for my next breath, I watch as the two men go in, stroke after strong stroke, reaching Jago. One of them takes the boy from him, while the other makes sure that Jago is OK.
Thank God for Max being such a smart dog! He must have realised that something was wrong with Jago not coming back, and called for help. Are they going to be OK? Up until now, I always thought of Jago as a strong man, physically. What if they’ve been out there too long and—? Of course they’ll be OK. They have to! I know that Jago has this self-destructive streak, but I know that deep down he truly wants to save himself. And know that someone else cares as well. I care. Who wouldn’t, right? Because the thought of something happening to him… and Starry Cove being without him… it just wouldn’t be the same around here!
The sound of a siren reaches the beach, just as the rescuers touch dry land. Jago and the other rescuers hand the boy over to the paramedics spilling out of the ambulance. It all happens so fast I’ve hardly time to register what’s going on.
But the boy is safe. Jago Moon is safe. There really couldn’t be a better start to this day. I want to rush to Jago and throw my arms around him, but I don’t. Instead, I turn away and burst into tears.
‘Hey,’ comes Jago’s soft drawl. He is wrapped in a foil blanket, his hair plastered to his head, his eyes red from the sea salt and exhaustion, but he’s otherwise unharmed. He could have died! The boy could have died…
‘You saved his life!’ I cry as I lose my poise and throw my arms around him, too late to remember I’m supposed to hate him. ‘Are you OK?’
His own arms envelop me in his blanket. ‘AreyouOK?’ he echoes. ‘You should never, ever have done that!’
‘I thought I could help…’
‘Sam! We need to check her, too.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say as Jago hauls me into the other ambulance, where the paramedic puts a blood pressure cuff around my arm and a clip on my thumb to check my oxygen levels.
‘Fit as a fiddle,’ the paramedic reports back. ‘Your turn, Jago.’
Someone pushes a hot drink into my hand. It’s Ralph, the owner of The Rolling Scones.
Jago turns back to the paramedic. ‘The boy’s vitals?’
‘Stable. He’s halfway to the hospital. Now it’s your turn, Jago.’
‘I’m fine,’ he barks, swatting the man’s hand away and then turning to me with a slow grin. ‘Not bad for a Sunday outing, is it? Where the hell did you learn to swim like that?’
I shrug to deflect the attention on me. ‘Swimming lessons, of course. Why is it that you have so few friends and yet every time I see you, you’re doing something nice for someone else?’ I ask.
He shrugs. ‘Maybe I’m doing it for your benefit.’
‘My benefit?’
‘Yeah. I see you and go and do something nice just to prove that everyone is wrong about me.’
‘I thought you didn’t give a hoot about everyone’s opinion on you?’
‘Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Why do you care so much about what people think about you? Because in all honesty, I can see the weight of the world on your pretty little shoulders.’
Pretty little shoulders – the nicest thing he’s said to me so far, and still I’m not convinced he meant it as a compliment.Au contraire.
‘What’s any of this got to do with me?’ I ask, already regretting it. ‘And for someone who doesn’t read, you have a lot of opinions.’
‘I don’t need to read to have my own opinion on what’s right and wrong in life.’
‘Oh? Then what do you believe, Jago Moon?’
‘I believe that people are fundamentally good but weak-minded and actually blind to the truth. And I don’t need a book to tell me that.’
‘Right.’
‘Plus, I have my own experiences to go by. I know what I’ve done wrong and I know that no amount of grovelling will fix any of it.’
‘Are you sure? Many still believe in you, if only you showed a bit of remorse for whatever it is you did or didn’t do.’
‘Aren’t you just dying to know?’ he says, suddenly smarmy. ‘Why is it that you care so much, Emmie Nightingale?’
