Chapter 14

Calum stood by the door in the lifeboat station, shoulder to shoulder with throngs of Porth Ewan folk he'd never seen before. Men, women, children. Old and young. Where the fuck had they all come from?

Then he remembered he spent most of his time in the studio, or at home with Brix and his menagerie. He hadn't mixed much with the locals. I haven't even met his dad. And given the haunted faces around him, there was a real possibility he wouldn't get the chance.

Calum glanced at Brix by the control centre with Kim, listening intently to an RNLI officer, like he had been since they'd shouldered their way into the crammed station. Face drawn, eyes tight with worry. Calum wanted more than anything to stand with him, but Kim was there instead, his hand on Brix's shoulder, nodding to things Calum didn't understand as Brix brought both hands to his head, looking for all the world like the worst had already happened.

Something inside Calum snapped.

Fuck this emmet shite.

He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against and strode across the crowded room. Kim saw him coming, squeezed Brix's arm, then stepped aside, like he'd been expecting Calum to take his place all along.

Calum dropped into the seat next to Brix and leaned in close. "What's going on?"

Brix met Calum's gaze with a tense frown. "The boat's still out."

Calum had figured that much, but gestured for Brix to elaborate. "Why? What's happened?"

"Explosion on a tanker a few miles out. They're taking on water. The mayday came through an hour ago."

"Why did your dad go? I didn't know he was part of the crew."

"He's a reserve," Brix said hoarsely. "S'posed to be retired, but Kim's old man wasn't there, and the only other able seaman was Sol Bosanko, and no one was going to let him get on that boat with his dad already skippering."

"Why not?"

"Look around you," Brix said. "Look at their faces. Can you imagine waiting here knowing there were two generations of your family at sea on a night like this? It wouldn't be right. Dad and Abel never went out together in a storm."

Calum swallowed. He hadn't taken much notice of the lifeboat station, or the RNLI stickers in every shop window. It had all seemed like part of the furniture. He'd never stopped to wonder why they were there, or what it meant to the local folk. "What happens now?"

"We wait," Kim said when Brix failed to answer. "It's gonna be a long night even if they make the rescue. The boat's only got room for six survivors, and there's twenty-two crew on board the tanker."

"Are there no more boats?"

Kim's gaze darkened. "Porth Luck used to have a bigger vessel, but it got wrecked four months ago. Lost two men. They ain't raised the funds to replace it yet."

Who the fuck paid for lifeboats? Calum had no idea. "Is there nothing else that can help?"

"The Sea King is up in the sky," Kim said. "But they can't winch anyone up in this wind. That boat is the only chance that tanker crew has got. If the Bonnie Sue can't get to them, they'll go down with the ship."

"What's the tanker called?"

"Black Star."

Calum's heart stilled. "What?"

But Kim's attention had been diverted by activity on the control screen. He leaned forward. Calum expected Brix to do the same, so Brix's cool hand in his startled him.

"I could sit here all night and not have a fucking clue what they're talking about."

"Yeah?" Calum glanced at the convoluted dash of flashing lights and coordinates. "Not much of a sailor?"

"Hell no. Even a dinghy makes me hurl."

Brix looked pretty close to puking on dry land. Calum squeezed his hand. "Can I get you anything? Call anyone for you?"

If the word on the street was anything to go by, the Lusmoore clan was huge. Surely they'd want to know one of their own was out at sea?

But Brix shook his head. "Anyone who wants to know will by now. They'll come in their own time, or not—I don't give a shit, to be honest. I could do with some air, though. Come with me?"

"Of course."

Hands still clasped, they made their way out of the station and onto the sheltered rocky outpoint. Calum shivered. They were safe from the rain, but the wind was still vicious, biting and cruel, reminding them, as if they could forget, that the men on the boats were facing far worse.

Brix shuddered too. Calum pulled him close and absently kissed his hair. Brix froze, but it was brief enough for Calum to wonder if he'd imagined it, before Brix gave in and rested his head on Calum's chest with a heavy sigh.

"I don't even like my dad most days. I love him, because he's my dad, and I respect him as much as he deserves, but I don't like him. If he wasn't my father, I'd think he was a cunt."

"Why?"

"'Cos he's the same backward, racist, sexist arsehole he's always been." Brix sighed again. "And he liked Abel better. Still does. Reckon he's counting the days till he gets out and he's not stuck in the pub with me anymore."

"Thought he told you he was proud to have a pint with you?"

"He did. He is. Don't mean we've got jack-shit in common. We only ever talk about chickens."

A flashing light in the distance caught Calum's attention. "Is that them?"

Brix peered in that direction. "Nah. That's a ferry."

How he could tell, Calum had no idea, and his chance to ask was interrupted by Kim.

"Just got word they've got the first lot of crew off. Taking them into Porth Luck before they go out again. It's gonna be a long night, Brix. Go home. Sleep. I'll check in every half hour, I swear."

Calum half-expected Brix to refuse, but he didn't. He nodded slowly, then detached himself from Calum to embrace Kim. "You'll call me?"

"Every half hour. Before, if anything changes."

Calum didn't miss the fact that Kim offered no reassurance that everything would be okay. He wondered if the Porth Ewan boat had lost men before, or if the crew who'd perished in the next town along had been friends. Everyone seemed to know everyone in Porth Ewan. Who knew how far that stretched?

Calum nodded farewell to Kim and followed Brix to the footpath that led back to the main town. The cottage was a ten-minute walk away, but it seemed to pass in a flash, and he barely noticed that they were both soaked to the skin . . . again.

Inside, they peeled off damp outer layers and hung them by the fire. Brix poked at the embers, his gaze distant. Calum moved to the kitchen. He was far from hungry, but if Kim's prophecy proved true, Brix needed to eat.

He found pasties and a jar of Branston, and took them to the living room.

Brix looked up and managed a thin smile. "You made dinner?"

"Nah, someone else did. Probably just as well, eh?"

"You can cook. Just don't know it yet."

"Righto. Want tea?"

"I'd rather have a whiskey."

"I can fix that."

Brix shook his head as Calum set the plates on the coffee table. "Don't reckon I'd stop at one. Sit down, mate. I'll make the tea in a bit."

They ate in silence. The pasties were good, but they were lost on Calum as he forced them down, and he imagined it was ten times worse for Brix. Unable to watch him struggle, and despite Brix's spiritless glare, Calum got up and made the tea anyway.

"Thanks." Brix accepted his mug and pushed his plate away. "I don't know what I'd do without you these days."

"Whatever you did before. It's me that needs my arse wiped."

Brix snorted, but his humour faded, and for the dozenth time since Kim had thumped seven bells out of the front door, Calum saw how tired he was.

"Kim told you to get some sleep."

"Who died and put him in charge—" Brix shuddered. "Don't answer that."

He got up and stomped to the foot of the stairs, peeling off his T-shirt as he went and tossing it in the vague direction of the kitchen.

Calum prepared himself to let him go, his gaze lost in the web of intricate ink on Brix's back, then Brix turned, his hand on the bannister, and fixed Calum with a stare that set his every nerve on fire. "You coming, or what?"