The Drowning (6 page)

“The big lifeboat?” Her heart lurched. “You’ll bring the big one in? The one where you set off the maroons?”

“That’s right.”

Jenna closed her eyes. How often, lying on her narrow bed in the attic room opposite Benjie’s, had she heard the two dreadful thunders of the maroons, the finality of their boom; felt the way they made her heart beat and her room shake with the sound? How often had she thought,
Please God, whoever it’s for, keep them safe.

Now St Ives would hear that sound again – only this time it would be a cry of help, a warning of danger, a call for her own brother.

The second lifeguard patted her shoulder reassuringly. His hand felt cool against her burning skin. “Don’t panic. I’m sure your brother’s wandered off with some of his mates. Nine out of ten cases turn up again and no harm done.”

Jenna said through icy lips, “And what if Benjie’s number ten?”

“We’ll do everything we can,” the lifeguard said briskly, doing his level best to keep up Jenna’s spirits. “Don’t forget we’ve also got air-sea rescue capacity. A helicopter can be with us from Helston in eight minutes.”

“I must go and tell my parents.” Jenna shook with terror at the thought of what they would say to her. “They own the Cockleshell Tea Room.”

“We’d prefer you not to leave the scene. You’re what we call our first informant. Could you get one of your friends to go?”

Jenna spotted Imogen and Morvah walking despondently up the beach towards her.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll go for me.”

As Jenna waited, the sound of the maroons rang through the streets, once and then again. People had gathered along the road above Porthmeor Beach, staring, pointing, gossiping.

Mum and Dad, with Imogen and Morvah behind them, fought their way through the crowds.

Dad clasped Jenna in his arms.

They stood and watched.

They stood and waited.

There was nothing they could do but watch and wait.

And pray.

I don’t know what’s happened to you,Benjie,but please,please come back to us. Just turn up on the beach, or come marching through the door of the Cockleshell with some silly excuse. Any excuse will do . . .

I should have looked after you. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I didn’t mean to. I was going to take you for a swim.

We’ll do that tomorrow. After you’ve come back and you’ve had your tea and a good night’s sleep, we’ll come down here in the morning and we’ll go for a swim.

The small inshore lifeboat circled the rocks off the Island.

The offshore Mersey lifeboat roared in to give it back-up.

High overhead, the rescue helicopter zoomed into the sky.

Jenna said through icy lips, “That was quick.”

She screwed up her eyes. She could see the helicopter’s whirring rotor blades as it searched the immediate area; heard its patient, insistent drone.

Suddenly it hovered in one position. A diver slid like a snake down the wire and into the water. The inshore lifeboat closed in.

The crowd fell silent.

Somewhere in the distance a voice shouted, “They’ve found him!”

The diver emerged with a limp body. The inshore-lifeboat crew helped him lift it into the lifeboat. After a few moments, the diver, carefully holding the body, was winched up into the helicopter.

Jenna turned her head away.

I can’t look any more . . . I can’t bear to look.

She hid her face on Dad’s shoulder. He gripped her waist.

“Hold on, Jenn . . . It’s going to be all right.”

The second lifeguard stood awkwardly in front of them, his arms hugging his bronzed body.

“They’ll take Benjie to Truro Hospital,” he said slowly. “They’ll do everything they possibly can for him.”

Her face chalk-white, her lips a purple-grey, Mum said, “Get me to Truro, Elwyn. Now. Quickly. As fast as you can.”

Dad said, “Of course, dear . . . Anything you—”

“Benjie isn’t dead, Elwyn. The minute he sees me . . . He’s going to be just fine, you’ll see.” Her eyes glittered, black as polished coal. “Now, as fast as you can.”

Jenna began to hurry with them back along the Digey. Mum elbowed her out of the way.

“
She,
” she hissed at Dad as he took her arm, “can stay behind . . . I don’t want her beside me, I don’t want her in the car or at the hospital. Just get her out of my sight.”

Jenna opened her mouth to plead with Mum, but no words came.

She dropped behind on the narrow street, the crowds threatening to swallow her. She could hear Dad saying, “Come
on,
Lydia. Benjie will want us
all
to be with him . . . Jenna never meant this to happen.”

Mum pulled her arm out of his and marched ahead of him.

They reached the tea room.

Dad swung round to Jenna, his eyes pleading. “Do you mind, Jenn?”

Her fury with Dad bubbled to the surface. “Of
course
I mind! I’m
desperate
to see Benjie!”

Dad shook his head, took her hands, pressed the keys into them. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

She watched helplessly as Dad opened the car door for Mum; climbed into the driving seat; hurtled the car into reverse, its horn blaring; drove out of the Digey and away.

The keys throbbed in her fist. The three tables outside the front of the Cockleshell were littered with dirty cups and plates. On one of them sat a small pile of coins. Jenna stared down at them, wondering confusedly why the money had not been taken or the tables cleared.

Imogen and Morvah came racing up to her.

“Is there anything we can do?”

Imogen’s face was streaked with tears. Morvah looked exhausted.

Jenna stood huddled in their arms for a moment, willing herself not to cry.

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll ring you.”

She released her friends, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead.

“I need to be on my own.”

“Are you sure? We could help. Just tell us what—”

Speechless, Jenna turned away.

Imogen called,“Ring me. Any time. Promise me, Jenn. The minute you have news.”

Jenna unlocked the tearoom door and closed it against the sun.

The room baked in the afternoon heat. A fly buzzed angrily above one of the tables, then settled itself noisily in a pot of cream.

She walked stiffly into the kitchen. The sweet scent of pastry filled the air, making her feel sick.

She threw open the door to the inner courtyard.

Dusty crouched in a shady corner, his yellow eyes circling the erratic flutters of a butterfly.

Jenna scooped the cat into her arms. She held his slender body against her face, smoothing the fur between his ears, murmuring into them.

“Benjie didn’t want to go. He told me. He said it scared him – the noise, the beach, the crowds. I didn’t listen, did I? I promised I’d look after him.”

Jenna’s legs gave way beneath her.

“Oh, my God, Dusty. What have I done?”

Jenna lay curled up in a ball in the middle of her studio floor.

As if she were in a trance, she’d fed Dusty, cleared the tea room of its half-eaten meals, piled the dishes into the dishwasher, tidied the kitchen, bundled a tray of freshly baked jam tarts into the freezer. She’d polished the tables, swept the floor, emptied the tiny vases of daisies, counted the money in the till, bagged it up and stacked it in the safe.

Sweat dripped down her back. Her grazed heel smarted, her shoulders burnt.

She’d picked up the phone and asked for the number of Truro Hospital. The pencil broke as she scribbled it down. It didn’t matter. She knew she’d never find the courage to dial it.

Upstairs, she’d stood for a long time in the doorway to Benjie’s bedroom, watching Klunk and Splat scuttle around their cage.

She’d taken a shower and washed her hair, put on cotton pyjamas, made a cup of tea, waited until it was stone cold before she swilled it down.

The sickness at the bottom of her stomach subsided into a dull ache.

She felt numb.

When the phone rang she leapt to answer it.

“Dad?”

“I’m so sorry, Jenn.” His voice choked. “They did everything they could. The helicopter crew, the staff at the hospital. They’ve all been marvellous. Benjie had—” His voice petered out.

“Dad, talk to me . . .”

“It looks as if he’d got himself caught . . . trapped under one of the rocks . . . There was nothing they could do for him. It was just too late.”

She hauled herself upstairs to her studio and shut the door.

The slow twilight had begun. Through the window she could see gaggles of tourists, strolling, laughing, out for their evening meal; couples with their arms around each other, kissing in doorways; gangs of teenagers carrying cans of beer, jostling their way down to celebrations on the Saturday-night beach.

I’d forgotten . . . It’s Denzil’s party . . . I said I’d ring Imogen . . .

I should ring Tammy . . .

I can’t . . . I can’t do anything . . .

If I lie on the floor, I’ll still be able to hear Dad’s car when they get back.

She must have fallen asleep.

The studio door opened.

“Jenn? . . . Are you all right?”

Dad bent over her.

She blinked at the light shining from the landing behind him.

She sat up. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

He knelt beside her,took her hands in his. “Mum’s gone straight to bed.”

Her voice hoarse and rasping, Jenna said, “How could you leave me here, all on my own?”

“I’m sorry, Jenn.” Dad hung his head. “You know what Mum’s like when—”

“You’re
scared
of her.” She pulled her hands away. “You
never
have the guts to stand up to her, no matter what she does.” Desperately, she forced the words out of her dry mouth. “Now I’ll never see Benjie again.”

“Why are we fighting?” Dad’s mouth trembled. “We shouldn’t be. Not now. Not over this . . . Please, Jenn . . . I haven’t got the strength.”

Jenna looked at him. She’d never seen such misery in his eyes. She held out her arms.

They clung to each other although no tears came.

Jenna lay sleepless on her bed, on top of it, in her pyjamas.

It was too hot even for a sheet.

She stared at a sliver of moon which shone, still and quiet, in its inky sky. Its thin, clear light filtered through her attic window, floating the room in blue-black shadows.

Round and round in her head, in hideous repetitive swirls, spun the same questions.

What had happened to Benjie?

Who had he gone off with?

Why had he gone so far round the craggy boulders of the Island? Cold, often surprisingly deep, their pools were hard to wade in. Once he’d turned the corner, he must have known he could not be seen by people on the beach, nor could he see them.

Was he on his own by that time, and if so why?

If he’d got into trouble, why hadn’t he shouted for help? If he’d been with friends, why hadn’t
they
fetched someone when they saw there was a problem?

And then the final question, the one that refused to let Jenna’s eyelids close.

Why had she broken her promise to Benjie not to let him out of her sight?

As the moon’s light faded and dawn broke, Jenna sat up. She felt aching and cold, her heart hardening to the tasks she had to do, that had to be done.

Stiffly, she climbed into jeans and a cotton sweater, scraped her hair into a ponytail. As she crossed the landing, she heard rustling coming from Benjie’s room. Shivers of surprise and dread leapt down her spine. She pushed at the door.

Klunk had somehow managed to escape. He was on the bed, beavering his way across a pillow, weird, lumpy, like a large black-and-white mouse, looking for food – maybe looking for Benjie himself.

Jenna flushed. After several vain attempts she managed to catch him in the palms of her hands, felt his tiny feet scrabbling against her skin. She put him back in his cage, watched as Splat emerged from the igloo to greet him.

I forgot to feed them last night. They must be starving.

She picked up the cage and carried it downstairs to the inner courtyard.

It’s cooler down here. Benjie kept their food in a special cupboard in the kitchen. I’ll remember to feed them. I’ll be able to keep an eye on them, say hello to them every now and again . . . Poor little things.

Dusty sniffed at the bars and mewed against her legs.

She bent to pick him up.

“Mouths to feed,” she murmured into his fur. “But not Benjie’s. Not ever again.”

“Mum’s still in bed,” Dad said an hour later. “The hospital doctor gave her a sedative. It’s knocked her out.”

He stood in the middle of the tearoom kitchen, looking bewildered.

“Thought I’d bake some special walnut bread . . . Where did I put the flour?” His voice broke. “Can’t remember . . . Can’t seem to get my act together.”