Page 108 of Take Me Away

I’m being unfair to him by not telling him the truth.

Can I tell him the truth?

Can those words find their way out of my mouth and into the air, into existence?

I’m folding the cardigan carefully, thinking about keeping it instead of donating it, thinking about the words I could tell Kit. It’s late afternoon – he should be on his way back soon, before the worst of the weather hits.

That’s when the sound cuts through the cottage like a knife.

The RNLI siren.

One long, wailing note that sinks into my bones and refuses to let go.

I freeze, cardigan falling from my hands.

Kit.

The siren wails again.

I’m down the stairs and at the door, shoving my feet into boots, grabbing my coat.

I yank open the door and the wind nearly tears it from my hands.

Outside, it hits with the vicious lash of a personal vendetta. Rain lashes sideways, sharp as shrapnel. The wind steals your breath and doesn’t give it back. The sky’s gone black, like someone dropped ink over the sun, and the lane is already turning into a river. It’s hard to breathe. Harder to see.

But doors are opening, boots splash in puddles, and people come. Silently. As one. Like tide following moon.

Sea Salt Bay knows this drill. And somewhere ahead of me, past the rain, the wind, and the warning wail of the storm alarm⁠—

He’s out there.

I don’t know how I know. I just do.

The pavement is slippery as I launch myself down the lane, around the corner and towards the door of the Ship. Inside, bodies are packing in tight, voices low and tense. Busier than a Friday night, busier than the quiz. Steam curls from soaked coats, the fire trying its best to fight back the cold. It’s losing.

I scan the room, my pulse counting out names.

Ayo’s passing out mugs like it’s the war all over again. Whisky. Tea. Doesn’t matter. People need something to hold. Maisie’s curled on the bench by the fireplace, hair still in its braid from school, too pale, no colouring book in sight.

My heart thumps. Once. Twice. Then I think it ceases beating altogether. There’s a silence outside of me, inside of me, that’s threatening to swallow me up.

A fear.

Unwarranted but niggling under my skin.

The familiar shape of Reuben moves in my peripheral vision and I spin to face him. ‘Where’s Kit? Did he make it back to the harbour before the storm hit? Is he out with the rescue?’

Reuben looks up. And for the first time, in his gruff, bear-like face I see something I never have before.

Fear.

Reuben doesn’t blink. ‘Isla, love.’ But there’s hesitation there as he leaves his friends and steps over to me, hands on my shoulders, firm and soothing. Except the look in his gaze, the pain, it’s putting the fear of God into me.

‘Isla.’ Every word seems to take an age. ‘Kit. Didn’t. Make. It. Back. Before. The. Storm. Hit.’ His words are coming up at me as though from the depth of the sea. Muffled. Incoherent. Just noises that don’t make sense.

‘No, he said he’d be back by tea. He said he would.’

Reuben’s face crumples momentarily, before smoothing out into his battered but stoic fisherman’s mask. ‘He radioed saying the engine failed. Dropped a beacon. We lost him after that.’