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Tom Bickleigh watched the entire thing too, hood up, his cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, looking extremely put out to realise he’d gone to all the trouble of getting his mate Charlie over from Bideford this morning to help start work on the boat when Alex, the mysterious woman from the sea – who he’d been telling everyone he was sure he had a chance with – in fact had a boyfriend.
They’d all converged on the shore at the same time this morning; the result of Bovis’s quick-thinking phone call to the coastguard last night.
Bryony had been immediately alerted, and she’d left her post at the quayside cabin and run to tell the Thomases the good news.
Ben and his dad had wasted no time in jumping in the car and driving the eighty miles to where Alex had been spotted but could find no one out and about in Clove Lore to direct them, except for Jowan who’d been attempting to drag Aldous (who hated the rain) outside for his night-time pee.
Jowan had invited them into his cottage and out of the weather, telling them she’d likely not be long coming back and feigning innocence about where Alex might be.
The awkward evening hours had passed – during which time Ben had filled Jowan in on the story of Alex’s impetuous overreaction – until the fact that she wasn’t coming back to the cottage that night couldn’t be ignored and Mr Thomas and Ben had been forced to bed down at Jowan’s until morning.
At dawn, Tom Bickleigh and Charlie – who’d driven over specially to help his old mate – had started work on making theDagalienwatertight, which was all they’d manage today in this weather. They’d been surprised to discover the strangers on the shore shaking their heads and wringing their hands at the state of the Port Kernou ferry they knew so well.
Jowan had taken the opportunity to slip away and recover his missing houseguest and now tempers were flaring as strongly as the winds were blowing.
‘Get your hands off me, Ben,’ Alex yelled, forcing as much fury and volume into her voice as she could, but Ben seemed to be hearing something entirely different over the boom of the wind. He was smiling indulgently.
‘Let’s get you inside, you poor thing. You’re soaked. Come on,’ he told her.
Mr Thomas held his hands out behind his son and his girlfriend, as though shepherding sheep, and even Jowan joined in trying to get Alex to move, though perhaps more out of pity and a sense of decorum than wanting her to do what these strangers were telling her.
‘I’ll make us some tea,’ Jowan shouted over the wind. ‘At the cottage. It’s perilous to be out in this weather.’ At this, a loose slate from the roof of the Siren smashed down on the harbour wall.
‘Please come inside, won’t you?’ Jowan added, more softly, and Alex let herself be led through the rain towards the B&B that only a day ago had felt like a sanctuary to her. Now it looked like what it was: Jowan’s cosy home where she’d intruded, breaking in on his peace, overstaying her welcome and spoiling Isolde’s memory by touching all her things and getting in the way.
She began to wonder as they fussed around her with towels and brought extra coal for the fire and hot sweet tea if, in fact, she did still belong with them.
All their talk about getting back to Port Kernou for Christmas left her wordless. Everyone had missed her so much, Mr Thomas told her, and there were presents under the tree waiting for her from all the family, and wouldn’t it be nice to sleep in her own bed under her own roof and get changed into her own clothes once more?
Ben kept his distance, furtively packing her few belongings in a plastic bag.
The car was waiting in the beach car park behind the pub, Mr Thomas told her, and they’d be home in a couple of hours if they got on the road now.
TheDagalienwas going to be taken by trailer to Bideford where it could undergo repairs to its hull in the New Year. By then the insurance would be through, and life could go back to normal.
They had it all figured out for her, and then Ben’s mum was suddenly on the phone. Someone held it to her ear, and she was sobbing so much that Alex started to cry too, and she’d tried to say, ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ but all she’d managed was to sob and shiver as though she’d only just been pulled from the sea a few moments ago.
What had she done, hurting all these people who loved her and wanted her home so badly? They were all crying and so relieved to have her back and she felt something like relief too, and if not relief, at least the mindless numbness of not having to make any decisions and being swept along in other people’s plans for her. It was certainly easier than putting her foot down. Hadn’t she lived this way for years? Wasn’t this the way of things?
It didn’t occur to her that their love felt so tight she could hardly breathe. Instead, she let herself be patted dry, made to stand and moved about. She only stared at their faces, not really understanding anything other than her growing awareness of how wild and reckless she’d been lately, how unthinking and selfish.
Her vision swam and the warmth from the blankets and Jowan’s fire made her drowsy. It felt like being loved very much, even if there was something nagging at the back of her head, stopping her from being happy. Mr Thomas took her cup and helped her into a pair of her old slipper boots he’d brought from his house where she left them for visiting after work. The sight of them, pink and fluffy, made her somehow deeply, deeply sad and sorry.
‘Don’t cry, my love. We’ve got you now,’ Mr Thomas said, helping her to the door. ‘Let’s get you home before this storm really hits.’
