‘He’s been ages,’ she said, her eyes on the door. ‘I think I should check on him.’
‘Leave him be,’ said Davy, turning Slim’s knife over and over in his hand.
Geren, now back at the table, smiled. ‘Don’t worry. Cam’s fine. Honest. He’ll be back in no time. It was bad out there on the water. We’ve all had it rough. He’ll take a walk, blow off some steam, have a smoke, then come back for you. I know him like my own brother.’ Geren patted her shoulder. ‘He’s mad about you. And, hey, if he doesn’t come back, I’m always here?’ He grinned.
Hannah wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond, but as Davy laughed she assumed it was no more than a joke, so gave an awkward smile. She was beginning to feel angry with herself. She’d missed Cam so much and had been desperate to see him. Why the hell had she let Nathan Cardew of all people ruin their evening? She should have ignored him like Cam told her to. She’d been selfish and not at all sensitive to what Cam needed; she’d been a terrible girlfriend.
‘You know, I’m going to try and find him.’ She held her hand out towards Davy. ‘If you give me the knife, I’ll take it back to him.’
‘It’s Slim’s, not Cam’s.’
‘I know. I’d still like to give it back to him, a sort of peace offering. He can give it to Slim in the morning.’
Davy shrugged, unbothered, and handed it over. His eyes wavered with drink. Poor sod, she thought. Must have been awful to watch his father get injured like that. Sheila’s sister told Vicky’s mum his arm was like tenderised steak before the doctors took it off with a hack saw. She dropped the knife into her bag.
The pub door opened and caught her eye. She hoped it was Cam and dreaded it being Nathan, but it was just two girls. She checked her watch again. It was nearly half an hour since Cam left.
‘Want me to come and look after you?’ Geren asked, giving a flick of his eyebrows over the rim of his glass.
‘No, I’ll be fine, thanks. Safe on the sleepy streets of Newlyn.’
‘Or maybe you don’t trust yourself?’ he laughed.
Hannah forced a smile. ‘Well, yeah, there is that. I mean what woman could resist?’
He winked and rested his hand on her lower back. She shifted, moving herself away from his touch. ‘Now, now. Hands to yourself. And, anyway,’ she said, ‘shouldn’t you be getting home to Gemma?’
He winced and shook his head drunkenly. ‘The last thing Gem wants is me piling in like this. She hates me drunk.’
She laughed.
‘So if this is goodbye, a kiss before you go?’ he reached out and grabbed her wrist.
He was drunk, that was all. Drunk. But also annoying. She was aware that if Cam walked in and saw him touching her he might kick off again. ‘Let go, Geren.’
His smile verged on a leer.
‘Please let go.’
He held on for a moment, but then released his grip and raised both hands in mock defence. ‘Fair enough, but you’re missing out. You won’t find a better kisser this side of the Tamar Bridge.’ He smiled. ‘Hey, relax, girlie. I’m joking. Surely you can take a joke?’
She forced herself to laugh. It was so much easier to appease drunk men than take a stand. Getting annoyed never worked. It just wound them up. ‘Give my love to Gemma,’ she said.
Geren nodded drunkenly and lifted his pint in acknowledgement.
Davy was hunched over the table. He looked exhausted and sad. Her heart went out to him. ‘Take care, Davy.’ She rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘And I’m sorry again about your dad.’ She leant down and kissed his cheek. ‘See you around.’
Vicky was at the next table kissing the guy she’d been dancing with. Hannah tapped her on the shoulder and she turned and grinned drunkenly. ‘Sorry,’ Hannah said, ‘just to say, I’m off.’
‘What? No! You can’t go! What will I do?’
Hannah laughed and looked at the man who was busy concentrating on getting his hand underneath her top. ‘I think you’ll be OK.’
Vicky glanced over her shoulder as if surprised to see him and pushed his hand away, pretending she was appalled. ‘He’s called Phil, but he’s not as fun as you.’
‘Liar.’
Vicky laughed and turned to resettle in their clinch.
It was freezing outside. The rain had eased but the air was damp and icy. She didn’t have enough clothes on – stupid not to take a coat or wear tights – and rubbed her arms as she looked up and down the empty street. There was a figure standing in the shadows by the wall. It looked like a man. When the orange tip of a cigarette flared in the darkness she thought it might be him.
‘Cam?’ she called hopefully, but he didn’t respond and when she drew a little closer she could see it wasn’t him.
She tried to think where he’d have gone. Not back to Martin and Sheila’s, not without her. They hadn’t had that big a row. He’d just needed to cool down. No, she was convinced he was, as Geren said, walking it off. If it were her, she’d have walked to the beach. But then she thought about his boat, moored down at the harbour, no more than five minutes’ walk away. That made sense. She could imagine him there and he would know she’d look there if she was going to try and find him. A thrill wriggled though her as she recalled his hands on her body, skin peppered with goosebumps, beneath that old tarpaulin. As she thought about it, it made more and more sense that he was there. Cooled down, waiting for her with a couple of beers and their makeshift bed.
Away from the pub, the street was quiet and eerie, like a ghost town, and her footsteps echoed on the concrete pavement, giving the illusion somebody was following her. She turned to check behind her, but there was nobody. Just her. The harbour was dark beyond the streetlamps. She walked quickly past the offices and the shadowy heaps of lobster pots, fish boxes, and discarded nets. She was careful not to slip on the wet wood of the jetty as she made her way down to his mooring. Her heart sank when she saw the boat bobbing dark and empty with no sign of Cam. She stepped on to the deck and sat down, angry at herself. She’d been such an idiot. She tried to work out what to do now. Where was he? Perhaps she should just head home and make it up to him in the morning.
Then, as she stood to leave, she heard footsteps.
‘Cam?’
No answer.
The moonlight was obscured by thick cloud, but in the dimness she could see a figure walking towards the jetty.
‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Cam? Is that you?’
The figure moved down the jetty and as he approached the boat she recognised him.
‘Oh,’ she said, unable to hide her disappointment. ‘I’m looking for Cam. Have you seen him?’
Davy was silent, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
There was something unnerving about him. Something alarming about the way he was looking at her.
‘Has he got beers down there?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Beer. He keeps some on board, doesn’t he? Sure he wouldn’t mind if we had one.’ Davy stepped on to the edge of the boat and jumped down.
‘I’m heading home, actually. I think Vicky’s waiting for me.’
‘Your friend? She went already.’ His voice was raspy and faraway, not quite connected to his body. ‘With that guy she was with.’
‘Oh, then I should probably get going.’
Hannah stood and tried to move past Davy, but he grabbed her shoulder.
The rest? Well that happened in a blur.
A bang to her head when she was thrown downwards. Booze and stale breath. The weight of him. His hand clamped over her mouth. Too hard. Snatches of voice whispering. Telling her to relax. Telling her she was pretty. That Cam never needed to know. It was their secret. When she scratched his face he slapped her.
‘Sssh,’ he whispered. ‘It doesn’t need to be this way.’