In the Blood (9 page)

Gabriel’s boat was empty.

The dream was nearly over now and she was calm again, staring out through the bars towards the river, looking for Gabriel until guilt began to rise like poison from deep within her.
 
Why didn’t I go with him?
 
The bars became soft to her touch, melting.
 
Why couldn’t I save him?
 
The questions tormented her.
 
Then the bars were gone and the storm cleared as suddenly as it arrived.

When it left, Amy was her incomplete self again.

As she sat now with her thoughts, looking out across the quiet water from her elevated position above the ferry pickup at Helford Point, the images of that dream remained fresh in her mind, constantly reminding her that she was so very alone.
 
Soon she would take the ferry, not on its usual journey across to Helford Passage, but elsewhere, pausing to place her flowers as she had on this same day the previous year - the first time;
Gladioli, G.Communis,
known locally as
Whistling Jack,
an explosion of vibrant magenta picked from their own garden as the last offerings of a warm summer.
 
They were Gabriel’s favourite.

Wrapped around the flower stems, clutched so tightly that her knuckles strained her skin, was a familiar newspaper cutting; the start of their journey.
 
The cutting was from the Western Morning News, dated October 3rd.
 
She’d kept it these past three years.

The title ran:
Rare Business Opportunity
.
 
It invited offers for the ferry business and a number of river moorings, including pontoon ramps and beach kiosks, with an option to purchase associated equipment such as vessels and marine equipment.
 
According to the Truro based selling agents it would secure the buyer a new way of life, suiting somebody looking for a lifestyle change.

Beneath the main advertisement was a brief history informing prospective buyers that the Helford Ferry, now a foot ferry primarily for tourists,
had been in continuous service since the reign of King Canute in 1023, serving as a working horse ferry and a valuable link to Falmouth.
 
It had seemed perfect - it was perfect.
 
If only for the briefest of times.

Amy’s stare remained fixed somewhere out on the twinkling water; countless sail boats were little more than white blurs.
 
Silently she wished she could give everything back in exchange for the hurried lives they used to know - used to share.
 
The lengthy, often delayed commutes during hot and sweaty summer months, carriages overburdened with like-minded commuters affording no time to one another - no interest.

“Morning!”
 
Two walkers approached along the path, hand in hand, bringing her immediate surroundings back into focus.
 
“Lovely day.”
 
And it was.
 
It might still have been August.

Amy made a fist, still sensing the memory of Gabriel’s hand around hers, wrapping it, protecting and comforting.
 
She longed just to hold his hand again, to feel his skin, his warm breath on her lips before a kiss.
 
She smiled at the couple through choked eyes, making no contact, the corners of her mouth barely lifting.

The man waved a collapsible walking pole towards her in friendly gesture as they passed and Amy turned away again, looking down to her watch: a Cartier Lanières, worn for the occasion.
 
Twenty round-cut diamonds bordered the long hexagonal face, linked by a slim, three-row 18ct gold bracelet.
 
It was a present from Gabriel and a reminder of her past life.
 
The black, sword shaped hands told her it was nearly time.

She rose slowly from the bench.
 
Then she sat down again, unable to bring herself to what she knew she must face.
 
Where’s Martin?
 
She would wait.
 
As she sat, the sun caught the bright gold of her wedding ring, drawing her eye.
 
They were Gabriel’s idea: matching Celtic bands depicting a circle of delicately engraved interlocking hearts, each inverted against the other.
 
It meant so much to her.
 
The tangible symbol of their love that she had toyed with constantly, affectionately, for the last twenty years.
 
Now she flicked at it anxiously with the edge of her thumb nail and recalled how both their parents had urged them to wait.
 
She was barely nineteen, another year or so, just to be certain...

Amy had never been more certain of anything in her life, then or now.
 
Without warning the tears came, like it had only just happened.

Across the water at Helford Passage, a twenty-six foot glass-fibre catamaran was being untied from its moveable pontoon.
 
The first of its kind, it was powered by two 25hp engines and was designed to land passengers on the beaches of Trebah and Glendurgan via a bow access ramp.
 
It allowed business expansion to include trips to the gardens, and due to its design could cope with rough weather and still operate at low tide.

The ferry was not operating just now, though.
 
A crude, hand-made sign carrying the words ‘Not in Service’ confirmed the fact to anyone who tried to board.
 
On the pontoon beside it, Martin Cole was about to cast off.
 
Martin was the skipper now.
 
He’d looked after the ferry business for Amy over the last two years - since she could no longer face it.
 
He was fast approaching forty and felt very average.
 
His clothes came off the shelf in medium sizes.
 
His hair was mid length and brown, neither too tidy nor too unruly, and his build was neither fat nor thin.
 
Average.
 
He looked over at Simon, his assistant, sitting on his hands behind the wheel, looking like he wished he was somewhere else.
 
The logo on his vivid royal-blue t-shirt read,
Rip Curl
- a suggestion of where that somewhere else might be.
 
Since taking Simon on at the start of the season, Martin wished some of that twenty-something spirit would return to him.

He threw off the stern line and gave the catamaran’s rear end a firm push with his Derry boot.
 
“You might have worn something appropriate,” he said, stepping aboard.
 
Simon’s three-quarter length, baggy grey shorts, and the bright t-shirt fell far short of his expectations.

Sensing his cue, like an automaton with a new coin, Simon animated himself to the wheel and threw her into reverse.

“Could have smartened yourself up a bit too,” Martin added over the accelerated engine noise.
 
He thought Simon’s hair looked like hay pulled from a horse’s feed bag.

Simon looked over his shoulder and shrugged.
 
“Don’t have a black t-shirt.
 
She don’t pay me enough to buy one specially.”

Martin shook his head.
 
He slipped a Leatherman multi-tool from a worn leather holster on his hip and dexterously flicked open one of blades with his thumb.
 
“You must have been able to find something less colourful than that!” he said as he sliced through the frayed end of the stern line and pulled a lighter out from his shirt pocket.

“What can I say,” Simon said.
 
“I’m a colourful guy.”

Martin sealed the fibres, pressing the hot nylon between his thumb and forefinger.
 
Though he couldn’t see Simon’s face, he knew the smirk that lived there.
 
He lifted a seat lid and pulled out a heavy, navy blue marine performance jacket.
 
“Put this on!”

The jacket thumped into Simon’s back and dropped behind him.
 
When he realised what it was, he looked out at the clear late morning sky and protested, “You’re kidding, I’ll fry!”

“Just put it on!”
 
Martin pointed a warning finger.
 
“And when we get there, remember...
 
No one else gets on.”

“I know.”

Martin had his doubts.
 
He checked the time and realised they were later than planned, but they were okay.
 
There was still thirty minutes to spare.
 
He looked across to Helford point, his gaze fixed.
 
By halfway he could see a few people at the bottom of the steps near the pick-up point, no doubt waiting to cross.
 
Today, they would have to wait.

As they drew closer, Martin saw another figure descending the steps - a lone figure moving slowly and deliberately, head sunken, clutching her flowers.
 
He felt for Amy, for what he knew she was going through.
 
He thought of that well coined phrase, ‘Time is a great healer’, but he’d seen no change in her since it happened, no sign of letting go and moving on with her life.
 
Two years today...
 
Where does it go?

The engine revs dropped.
 
A quick shift into reverse jolted Martin back from his thoughts; memories of a morning nothing like this.
 
The catamaran sidled up to the jetty.
 
A glance at his watch again told him they had twenty minutes left.
 
Perfect.
 
The two walkers waiting to cross seemed to get the picture.
 
Clearly, they had seen the signs; seen Martin in his black shirt and black jeans, and seen Amy with her flowers, also in black: an ankle-length skirt and boots, with a black turtle-neck sweater finished at her slim waist by a narrow black velvet belt.
 
No words were exchanged.
 
The walkers respectfully stood back.

Martin pulled the boat close to the jetty and his eyes fixed on Amy.
 
He thought how good she looked despite everything.
 
Her bright eyes - a palette of greens and blues that matched the colour of the river beneath the full sun - shone out through the glow of her earlier tears and he wanted to comfort her.
 
He felt suddenly ashamed at the inappropriateness of his thoughts.
 
He wanted to say he was sorry again, like he’d said so many times before.

As Amy approached, he stepped up and offered his hand to steady her aboard.
 
He smiled an understanding half-smile that mirrored hers exactly.
 
Amy did not speak as she sat down, and Martin could feel her hand trembling in his; see her white knuckles tight around the flower stems.
 
At the wheel, Simon kept to his business.
 
The engine revved up again and they were soon heading out towards the mouth of the river, weaving between anchored sailboats towards Durgan and beyond to Toll Point where Gabriel’s fishing boat had been found.

Toll Point...

Christ!
Martin thought.
 
That was a dark day.

Reaching above the north bank of the Helford River, Toll Point offers little more than a small shingle beach and a quiet place to anchor.
 
If Rosemullion Head to the north and Nare Point to the south delineate the mouth of the Helford River, then between the headlands of The Gew and Toll Point is the river’s sometimes gargling throat.
 
In bad weather it can be a dangerous place for the ill-prepared.

But not today.

As Amy arrived at that fateful place the water was as calm as the sky that sighed gently over it.
 
A cormorant swooped past, low on the water.
 
Then it rose and folded its wings before darting beneath the surface without making a splash.
 
Not much was said on the way.
 
What was there to say?
 
Martin had offered his support as he always did - had suggested, as he had this past year, that she needed to move on with her life.
 
She knew he meant well, but she didn’t want to hear it.

The boat was steady, engine shut off.
 
A gentle sway now and then was all that gave the river’s presence away.
 
Amy felt cold despite the sun.
 
She rose slowly from her seat as though frail with old age and leant out over the water.
 
Martin came to her side and Simon approached, mimicking, like he didn’t know what use to make of himself.

Amy reached out to place the flowers.
 
Her hand dipped into the water, breaking the seal - cold.
 
Her thoughts drifted and she wondered, as she always did, what it must have been like; what Gabriel had gone through before peace finally found him.
 
Her fingers were numb.
 
She could not let the flowers go and she only knew she had when she saw them float away - drifting like her thoughts.
 
Where is he?
 
Where is Gabriel?

She watched the newspaper cutting sink out of reach and wondered how her heart continued to beat.
 
She swallowed, dry and painful, forcing back the lump that had risen in her throat.
 
Then she turned away and collapsed onto the seat, burying her head into her lap, unable to quell the shiver than ran continually through her.