15 Evie

15

The storm arrived when we were sleeping. It came bashing on the hatches and flooding across the decks, trying to get inside. The boat moved like it wanted to break free from the sea, bucking and heaving, creaking and groaning. Trapped below deck, we were tossed around like marbles in a rolling jar.

People were sick. Mama was the worst, retching into the same bucket until it overflowed, and the hold reeked of vomit and sweat and human waste. Mama's skin grew cold and clammy, sunken in places and clinging to the bones of her face. I gave her a spoonful of water at a time, holding it to her lips, but it dribbled down her chin and onto her blue coat, which Aunt Polina had brought back from Italy.

I prayed. Agnesa prayed. The storm raged; the wind and the waves were relentless. We hammered our fists against the hatches, trying to signal to the crew, but nobody came to let us out.

‘Tell me about the crew. How many of them were there?' asks Cyrus.

‘Four.'

‘Did you see their faces?'

‘Not at first, but the masks came off.'

‘Did you hear their names?'

‘Only the youngest. Cam.'

‘What did he look like?'

‘He had pimples and pale skin and soft hands. He was nervous around Agnesa. He said she was a good cook, like his mother, and told her he was going to university to study engineering.'

‘What about the others?'

‘They drank a lot and played cards.'

‘You saw them?'

‘Once, before the storm.'

‘Why were you on deck?'

‘At night, if the seas were calm, they let the women and children out of the hold. And sometimes I would help Agnesa prepare the meals.'

‘What did you see?'

‘Four men at a table. They were playing cards for money. Poker. I knew the rules because Aunt Polina taught me. I knew when to bluff and when to fold and how to ride out a run of bad cards. We never played for money – only for matchsticks or biscuits.'

‘What do you remember about the men?'

‘They drank a lot and swore.'

‘Was one of them Angus Radford?'

‘He had a beard and dirty hair and hooded eyes.'

‘Did he have burns on his neck?'

‘No, but he had a mermaid tattoo just here.' I point to my biceps. ‘The tail curled down to his wrist, and when he bent his arm, she looked like she was swimming.'

‘Picture the table. Where were they each sitting?'

‘It was shaped like a horseshoe. Finn sat facing the stairs. He was eating baked beans from a saucepan. Spooning them into his mouth, wiping his chin. Another man was on his right, but I only saw the side of his face. Angus and Cam were next to each other.'

‘Go back to the storm,' says Cyrus.

‘I don't want to.'

‘It's important.'

I force myself, returning to a time when everything shook and rocked and heaved. Water had begun leaking through the hatches and sloshing back and forth as the boat moved.

We were yelling for help. Cam opened one of the hatches and emptied the bucket. Agnesa begged him to let Mama out of the hold. She needed fresh air. A horizon. A sky to focus upon. He said it was too dangerous.

Time passed. Mama's pulse grew rapid and feeble, and her legs could no longer support her. More water entered the hold. First it came to our ankles and then our knees, sloshing from side to side as the boat rolled. Again, we screamed for help and hammered on the hatches. Nobody came. We thought the crew had abandoned us, left us to drown.

I was afraid of dying, but I was more afraid of living for another minute or an hour in that horrible place. Nothing before or since has matched that terror and that includes hiding in a secret room, hearing them search for me, ripping up carpets and knocking holes in walls, calling my name.

My chest heaves and I feel myself scream. I'm halfway across the room when Cyrus catches me. Holds me. Whispers, ‘You're safe, Evie. You're here with me. Shhhh.'

‘I almost remembered.'

‘I know, but it's too much. We can try again another time.'

‘No. Take me back. Please.'

‘I won't risk damaging you.'

‘I want to go back. You said I was strong.'

He leads me to the sofa. Again, I lie back, listening to his voice. Cyrus tells me to breathe. Relax. Clear my mind. He has me picture things – the trawler, the hold, the rising water. My heartbeat slows and I fall back into that half world between now and then, back to the endless storm. One image swirls and floats to the surface. A body lying against me. Mama. Something is wrong. I can't wake her up. I can't breathe. There is a poison in the air, filling my lungs, squeezing my chest. I try to sit up. I topple over. The poison is stinging my eyes and choking me, making me cough and inhale and cough and inhale.

Mama's chest sighs and gurgles and a bubble of spit pops in her mouth. From somewhere nearby, I hear a muffled whump! sound and the boat shakes. There is a secondary sound, a buckling groan, as if something has broken or given way. In the darkness, I see a man pushing against a hatch. He raises his face, pressing his lips against the edge, sucking at the seal, trying to get air. Someone joins him. Another man. They are bashing on the hatches, clawing at the painted metal and at the hinges, desperate to get out . . . to breathe.

Mama slips sideways. I hold her head to keep her face above the water. My cheek is pressed against her chest. A button from her coat was curled inside my fingers.

I am losing touch with her. My fingers are numb. My eyes are closing. The screams are fading. I feel myself being lifted away from Mama. I cling to her. My arms and legs are prised loose. My fingers uncurl.

‘Wake up, Evie! Wake up!'

And then it's gone – the darkness, the poison. Cyrus is leaning over me. He is holding my face, telling me to wake up.

‘No,' I groan.

‘That's enough,' says Cyrus.

‘Did you hear?'

‘Yes.'

‘I thought it stayed inside my head.'

‘No.'

He pushes hair away from my eyes. ‘You were there when the boat caught fire.'

‘But how did I get off?'

‘What's the last thing you remember?'

‘Voices.'

‘What were they saying?'

‘I couldn't hear them properly. I couldn't open my eyes or speak.'

Memories crowd in on me, overwhelming my thoughts entirely. Worlds within worlds, bleeding into each other. Here and there. Then and now. For years I have blocked out the details, but they've come back to me in a rising wave, carrying debris and driftwood and the bodies of the dead.