Chapter One

Griff

The white horses of the English Channel were charging head first into the obelisk of Pulpit Rock, their remains spewing onto the cliff tops of Portland Bill, then receding, threatening to drag the winter tourists and spectators into the rough water below.

The wild spray reached as far as the toes of Griff Hendry’s boots as, under the gaze of the red and white striped lighthouse, he stood firm. His instinct was to keep vigil over the families and photo-opportunists gripped by the sight of the huge breakers – people like him, restless and eager to engage with the outside world following the festivities of New Year. It made no difference he was off-duty; his experience as a coastguard and his years of living in West Dorset meant he knew the risk; nature was sometimes a beast – raw, savage, and powerful. She was to be admired, but with reverence. Much like love.

Both could drown you without warning.

He pulled his ranger’s coat tighter as he signalled to a man with two small boys to retreat from the brink of the cliff. The wind was gaining strength, and the desperate waves were grasping at the land. One violent gust and the sea would snatch the weakest person away.

‘Get back,’ Griff shouted. ‘You’re too close to the edge.’

As he returned his attention to the water, he saw the worst possible scenario unfolding. A massive swell was heading directly for the Bill. And directly for the children.

‘Move!’ he yelled, covering the distance between him and the boys in seconds. He turned away from the onslaught, propelled the older child to the man, and grabbed the toddler. He thrust them forward, crashed on to the grass, and arched over the young boy, protecting him from the briny storm. He remained there until the noise of shifting shingle ceased, then he brushed the startled lad’s fringe from his eyes, and gave a smile of reassurance. ‘Okay?’

The boy stared.

Griff pushed away from the ground, wiped his wet hands along his thighs, and helped his ward to his feet. Crouching at the boy’s level, he checked him over. ‘Are you hurt?’ Silence. ‘No broken bones?’ Still no reply. ‘Can you lift your arms like this?’ Griff raised his hands over his head, made a play of losing his balance, and launched himself onto his backside. The resulting squelch and Griff’s exaggerated call of ‘Oh, man!’ produced the desired response; the boy’s fixed expression broke with a chuckle.

Having risen to his full height, Griff turned to the father. ‘He’s a little stunned, and his back is soaked, but he’ll be fine.’ He handed the lad over and accepted the nod of thanks the equally wet man offered. ‘It’s as dangerous as it is beautiful here,’ said Griff. ‘More so on days like this. Best to keep safe.’

As he waved to the departing father and boys, his thoughts turned to his own family. He’d kept a close vigil over them, but the undercurrents were far more subtle than in any ocean. From riding high on wave after wave of ecstasy, his relationship with Evie had sunk without trace.

And Griff hadn’t seen it coming.

He needed Evie to talk, to tell him what the problem was so he could fix it, but communication was limited. Her usual reply was a shrug, or a silent diversion, and the more he pushed, the further she withdrew. The death blow came when Griff finally forced the issue with a question. A foolish, instantly-regretted question. ‘Is it because of someone else?’

Evie, her green eyes fading to a silky grey, turned away and breathed her word into life. ‘Yes.’

It was after that she asked Griff to leave.

The fact it had been a week before Christmas – the week before the third anniversary of the day they met – proved to Griff the extent of Evie’s distress. Had she been thinking straight, she’d have put the children first, and she’d have kept the family together for the holidays at the very least.

There had to be more to the situation than she was letting on.

Griff raised his collar. Where had it all gone wrong?

The fortnight he’d already spent apart from her felt like a lifetime. Together for three years and married for just half that, the end was hard to accept.

‘I should be here with you, and Tess and Dylan,’ he said, the squall whisking his words out to sea. ‘And Ozzy.’ He’d lost count of the number of times he’d turned to call his dog to heel. Walking the Bill wasn’t the same without the lumbering beast hurtling around, making Dylan squeal. Or without Evie’s hand to hold. He even missed Tess’s teenage objections to taking some exercise.

As the icy January spray whipped Griff’s cheek, he stepped back, stiffness in his ankle eliciting a sharp intake of breath. He flexed his foot, releasing the old memory seizing his bones.

At sixteen, he’d jumped from Pulpit Rock.

It was that jump that broke his ankle.

It was that day he lost his best friend to the undersea rocks.

Twenty-four years on, and Griff hadn’t forgiven himself for allowing it to happen.

And he wouldn’t forgive himself if he lost Evie.

He raked his fingers through his hair and flicked the glacial drips to the ground. He’d grown tired of battling the gale for his hood, but his resolve to fight for his wife, his family, the life he loved, was greater than ever.

‘All right?’ The landlady of the Harbour Inn paused at Griff’s table. ‘Can I get you a fresh coffee? That must be stone cold.’ She nodded at his mug.

Griff nudged it across the dark varnish. ‘No, thanks. I’m done. I should get going. I want to take Ozzy for his walk while the rain’s holding off.’

‘Good luck with that. I’ve never known weather like it. How’s your dad managing?’ The landlady claimed the cup and hooked it on her finger. ‘He’s in Burton Bradstock, isn’t he? There’s been dreadful flooding there.’

Griff sighed. ‘There’s been terrible flooding everywhere. This place survived, though.’ He scanned the pub. ‘Good to see the storm shutters work.’

The Harbour Inn, a ten-minute drive from Portland Bill, was situated a path’s width from Chesil Beach. Griff, with one leg resting on the bench and the other tucked beneath, was sitting by a window, peering at beachcombers searching for treasure in the flotsam and jetsam washed or, in recent days, thrown ashore.

‘The only drips that breached our defences were those from last night’s stag party.’ The woman’s eyes widened. ‘It’s a wonder they didn’t get swept out to sea.’

Griff hummed in response as he gazed across to the horizon. ‘It’s been wild. Strong winds and a spring tide.’

‘Have you seen the dead cow?’ The landlady leaned against the table, and it pushed into Griff’s thigh. He swung round and planted his feet on the floor. ‘How on earth did it end up on the pebbles?’

‘Probably fell off a cliff, or was washed into a river.’ Griff shrugged. ‘There are dolphins too. And birds. It breaks my heart.’ Several times already, he’d walked the stretch of Chesil the recent bout of storms had affected most. ‘I’m shocked at the amount of debris.’ It was as if the sea had finally got sick of all the dumped waste and vomited it onto the shore. ‘It’s us. Humans. We’ve contaminated the ocean. Poisoned nature. And she’s had enough. She’s throwing it back.’ He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. ‘I’ve seen reports on social media about a washing machine. I’ll show you.’ He checked his mobile, grimaced at the lack of messages, and touched the application headed EweSpeak. After a few seconds of searching, he positioned the screen for the landlady to see. ‘Someone’s posted a picture of it.’

‘How the …’ Bewildered, the woman raised her empty hand to the air, sighed, and returned to the bar.

Griff swept his thumb over the image, vanquishing the washing machine to the ether. He cast an eye to his messages again, and returned the phone to sleep mode. Still no word from Evie.

He toyed with the wild thought that was waving the red rag behind his eyes – that Evie was with another man – then he chastised himself. She was a busy woman. She’d only contact him if there was something wrong with the children or Ozzy. She didn’t bother him with news of his father unless it was urgent.

It was no less than Griff expected. Evie was either at his dad’s or at the baby and toddler group with Dylan, supporting all the new mums. She couldn’t help herself. Griff flinched at the thought. It was harsh, but accurate. But it was also why Evie had become his father’s carer. That, and Logan’s damnation of all care firms in England and Wales.

‘You’re a stubborn man, Dad,’ Griff muttered as he left the pub.

His coat had dried in the hour he’d spent inside, but his jeans, still damp and clingy, pulled tight against his thighs as he walked along the shore. It was unpleasant, and it was cold, especially with the cutting wind slicing through the denim, but he gritted his teeth, and continued the uncomfortable journey to his car.

As he neared a small group of people, each armed with grey litter pickers and black bin liners, he saluted. ‘You’re doing a great job,’ he said, entering the busy circle of workers.

‘Watch out. Here comes the only Welsh Highlander in the village.’ A spritely man with silver hair and a twinkle in his eyes put his bag on the stones, straightened his back, and gave Griff an appreciative pat on his shoulder. ‘Thanks for your help with this yesterday.’

‘Hey, no problem, Frank.’ Griff poked a foot at a tangle of frayed and twisted turquoise fishing net. ‘I bet Olivia’s making great use of this.’

Frank chuckled. ‘You know Olivia. Never one to miss an opportunity.’

Griff looked over to the buildings bordering the beach. Olivia’s shop, painted summer-sky blue, was a hive of activity. Children, wrapped in winter coats, hats and scarves, with driftwood, deformed lumps of plastic, and assorted tattered rope in their mittened hands, were disappearing inside, and then bursting out carrying overflowing cups and treat-laden plates. ‘Squash and biscuits in exchange for sea treasure?’

‘My darling lady’s been supplying the volunteers with food and drink all day. Tea, coffee, cake, soup. She’s kept us going.’ Frank blew onto his hands and rubbed them together. ‘And she’s putting the money she makes from this terrible mess straight back into our conservation fund.’

Griff wasn’t surprised. Olivia DeVere was generous with both her time and money. It was a mystery how Chiswell Craft Centre remained a viable business. ‘She’ll make some wonderful art from this. Tell her I’ll call by in the week. Perhaps she can enlighten me as to the workings of a teenager’s mind.’

‘I’m sure she can. She’s taught a few in her time.’ The older man retrieved his bin bag and returned to work. ‘But you’ve nothing to worry about with your Tess. She was here earlier. She grafted for two hours.’

‘Really?’ Tess was a stroppy, bold, defiant fifteen-year-old. She only emerged from her room on a Saturday if there was something in it for her. Evie said all teenagers were the same. Her advice hadn’t helped. Griff wasn’t stepfather to all teenagers. ‘I trust she behaved.’

‘Impeccably. You’ve a good one, there. She has your passion for the sea.’

The last statement drew Griff up short. Tess never expressed an interest in anything he did. She took every opportunity to mock his beliefs and belittle his pursuits. But she loves the sea. It was a start. Common ground they could walk together. Three years Griff had known her. Finally he was having a positive effect. Never give up, Hendry. He grinned.

‘Right. I have to go before the storm kicks off and the road’s closed again. Don’t get cold out here, old man.’ Scuffing the stones as he turned, Griff laughed and waved goodbye.

Climbing into his Land Rover, he pinched the damp jeans away from his skin, settled into his seat, and set course for Abbotsbury. Ozzy would be waiting for him at the cottage. He could rely on a warm welcome from his faithful dog. It was more than he expected from Evie. Chances were she was at his father’s house. She often took Dylan to visit on a Saturday, in addition to her thrice-daily duty calls. Hopefully, the road to Burton Bradstock was passable, and neither she nor Logan was stranded. The odds increased in extreme weather.

On the last occasion when the road flooded, leaving Logan cut off for several hours, Evie suggested they all might like to live together. Neither Griff nor his father responded well to that. Thankfully, she accepted their apologies, and their well-rehearsed explanation that living together would put extreme pressure on their already-strained relationship.

It was a partial truth. Griff and Logan didn’t get along, but what was never revealed to Evie was the sense of betrayal Griff had lived with since the loss of his mother. He’d had six years of trying to understand why his father didn’t fight for her. Six years of trying to make peace with what happened.

‘I wish I had Evie’s accepting nature,’ Griff said, halting his car at a give way sign. ‘But I can’t forget what you did, Dad. Mum was the love of your life, the woman of your dreams …’ He released his grip on the steering wheel, flexed his fingers, and rotated his watch so the face was visible. Bloody thing, always rolling under. Three-twenty. Not as late as he thought. The dark skies were misleading.

Checking the way was clear, he pushed down the accelerator and started the final few miles home.

Evie was the woman of Griff’s dreams – warm-hearted, compassionate, sexy. She only had to breathe and he was turned on. He used to tell her that, and her ever-changing eyes would dazzle like cut emeralds, but in recent weeks, any suggestions of intimacy made her frown, agitating her eyes in to the stormy grey of the winter sea.

Griff squared his shoulders, and locked his elbows. It was a mistake thinking of sex when he and Evie weren’t having any – hadn’t had any for weeks – not even the hot, fast, in-between-family-dramas sex they’d previously enjoyed, and they’d had a lot of that because with not enough hours in the day, or lockable rooms in the house, speed was of the essence.

Maybe that was the issue – their love life was nothing more than speed dating between the sheets. But if that was the case, why hadn’t Evie told him she was unhappy? Why shut him out? She could talk to him about anything.

Griff stabbed at the window button and breathed in the cool, wet air.

That wasn’t right. She couldn’t talk to him about his father. He’d cut her off rather than risk his resentment and anger towards the man spilling into their world.

‘I love you for wanting to fix things,’ he’d say to her, ‘and I care about my dad, but we don’t get along. Not all fathers and sons do.’ Then he’d kiss her, and change the subject, leaving her to believe the rift was a result of too much testosterone in one family. He was maintaining the illusion he’d created when they’d first met. It was simpler and less painful than revealing the whole truth.

‘Bloody fool, Hendry.’ He thumped the steering wheel as it occurred to him he was now a father to a son himself. Evie was bound to worry the same thing would happen between him and Dylan. That would account for her quiet but persistent requests for Griff to visit Logan, to set aside their differences and get on. To prove he was capable of being in the same room as another Hendry male.

Griff had declined every time.

‘Is that what this is about?’ he said, trying to see things from his wife’s perspective. If it was, she probably felt snubbed, ignored, and anxious for the future, but what did Griff know? These were mere theories. ‘I need you to talk, Evie,’ he said, glancing at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. ‘And I need to listen. Be a better husband. And a better son.’

His first promise would be a joy to fulfil. The second, more of a trial.

The country road, with all its dips and peaks, took him safely into Abbotsbury, past two pubs, and round to a busy back street. With cars parked along one side, and buildings the other, the road was narrow, but navigable, and to Griff, always interesting. Unlike the generic town flat in which he was now living – having moved out of the family home a fortnight ago – no two properties were the same, their single connection being the beautiful golden stone from which they were constructed. Roofs were thatched or tiled, apart from the row of disturbing corrugated asbestos-topped garages, and there was an eclectic mix of craft studios, shops and houses.

The cottage came into view as Griff reached the allotments, as did Evie’s old, battered, and totally unreliable red Mini, abandoned on the gravel drive. Griff hadn’t expected to find his wife home – he’d expected to take Ozzy for his walk while the house was otherwise empty, but perhaps it was the perfect time to confront Evie. Their time apart had provided them both with space to think. If she missed him as intensely as he missed her …

He squeezed his Land Rover next to her car.

‘Evie?’ he called as he opened the front door. ‘We need to talk.’ He dropped his keys on the phone table, hung his coat on the reclaimed tree root stand, and headed for the kitchen.

There she was, her shoulders hunched, and the waves of her red hair trickling onto the large, oval table. She remained still and silent.

In the far corner, snuffling and fidgeting on a large pet bed, an Old English Sheepdog released a short, sharp bark.

‘Hey, Ozzy. We’ll play later.’ The dog snapped his jaws together in response. ‘Good boy.’ Griff signalled for him to settle, waited for his instruction to be obeyed, and then turned to Evie. His promise to listen started now. ‘Hard day?’ He crouched beside her. ‘Has my father been difficult?’ Leaning in to see her reaction, he caught the gentle scent of baby powder drifting around her. ‘Dylan okay?’ He pulled out a chair, settled himself, and crossed his ankles.

‘Dylan’s fine.’ Evie raised her head. ‘I thought you were here to walk Ozzy.’

‘I will.’ Griff narrowed his eyes. ‘But don’t you think we should talk? I hate all of this conflict. I hate being apart from you. I miss my family.’ He hooked his feet around the chair legs and cast his gaze around the kitchen. Everything was in its place. Work shifts permitting, he’d been back every day for the last two weeks to walk Ozzy, and put Dylan to bed, and he had yet to see evidence of another man. Evie had invented the reason she’d abandoned their marriage, and Griff needed to know why.

His eyes were drawn back to her as she swept her hair behind her ears, adjusted the collar on her polo neck, and joined her hands together.

‘Logan is never difficult,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘You asked if your father’s being difficult. I’m telling you he’s not. He’s had a tough few days and needs someone with him.’ Her lips pinched together and the blood diffused into her cheeks. ‘He asked after you. I told him you were working.’

A prickle swept across the back of Griff’s neck at the lie. He flicked it away and directed his attention to his watch. It was face down again. ‘Can wrists lose weight?’

He melted at Evie’s touch, as she teased the watch into position. It sent a whole different kind of prickle through him.

‘Sorry.’ She tucked her hands away and stared at the floor.

Griff adjusted his position, swept his fingers through his hair, and loosened his shirt from his back. Sexual tension was constricting his thoughts. Hell, it was constricting everything. He leaned his elbows on his knees, rested his forehead on his interlocking fists, and breathed out to the count of five. When he looked up, Evie was standing by the sink.

‘Logan would love to have you and Dylan there together. Three generations of Hendry men in one room. You could go in the morning. Take Ozzy, too.’

The shaggy-coated, grey and white dog sat upright at the mention of his name.

‘The four of you could go for a drive.’

Ozzy yapped.

‘Not now, boy.’ Evie shook her head to reinforce her words. ‘I can spend some mother-daughter time with Tess. We can cook a roast. You could bring Logan here, and we’ll sit down to lunch as a family. I’ll take him home after tea.’

Griff hesitated while he considered what the correct response should be. He very much doubted his father would be happy to see him, and he could imagine Tess’s reaction to being asked to help with Sunday lunch. No. This was Evie asking him to demonstrate he could remain civil in Logan’s company. She’d said it herself; Three generations of Hendry men in one room.

‘Family dinner?’ He chewed over the idea. ‘Dad doesn’t know, does he? About our …’ Griff searched for the term. ‘Separation. You’ve not told him, have you?’

Evie fiddled with the cuff of her jumper, poking its fake button in and out of its fake slit. ‘I haven’t told anyone. Have you?’

Griff shook his head. In the days when he believed his dad was a superhero, his parents were the epitome of perfect coupledom, and until a few weeks ago, Griff was happily matching his father’s example of a good husband. Or so he thought. He had no desire to lose face by telling Logan the marriage had faltered. That would be admitting defeat. Griff never admitted defeat. Not without a fight. Worse still, he had no real, definitive explanation for the split. His assumptions about Evie’s emotional needs were guesswork. All he could hope was that by showing willing with his dad, her door to communication would open and the talking would begin.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll take Dylan to see him tomorrow and we’ll come back for lunch.’ He rose from his chair, tapped his thigh to bring Ozzy to heel, and headed into the hall. As he unravelled the dog lead from the coat stand, he caught one of Tess’s much-loved black hats. It landed on the floor with a soft thump. He retrieved it, brushed it down and returned it to its peg.

Evie hovered in the kitchen doorway, her hair tucked into the left side of her neck, loose wisps kissing the soft skin Griff’s lips knew so well. No longer permitted to go there, he refocused and set his attention on Ozzy, clipping the lead to the collar. From under his brow, he saw Evie fold her arms and rest against the wooden surround.

‘What about Tess? It’s not right to expect her to lie,’ he said.

‘I’ll speak with Tess. Explain we don’t want to worry Logan.’ Evie’s head bobbed very slightly up and down as if convincing herself it was the right thing to do. ‘It’s a necessary lie. She’ll understand.’

Griff mirrored his wife. His nod was as imperceptible as hers. If he was right about her need for a deeper connection, their relationship could be fixed. She wasn’t the only one craving intimacy. As much as he enjoyed the drive-by-sex, he missed the quiet moments with her even more – the midnight raids on the fridge when they’d sneak downstairs for a snack; singing along to the radio as they washed the dishes; his arm wrapped around her as they walked along the beach – simple pleasures that were ailing under the demands of work, children and an aging parent. Assuming he and Evie were heading in the same direction, surely it was only a matter of time before they were back together, and what his dad didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. A necessary lie.

He ruffled Ozzy’s ears. ‘I agree. It’s for the best. Until we work out what we’re doing.’

Evie stood erect from the doorframe. ‘We’re not doing anything, Griff. I just can’t be with you.’