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Toby heard the voice as if from a great distance.
“Wasn’t sure I’d have any crab pots left. Still don’t know. After I took a look at him, I knew he was in a bad way, and I’d best row back to the harbor.” The slow speech and soft local accent made the finding of a half-drowned man sound like an everyday occurrence.
“I thought that the cliff falling like that would have done for my crabbing, but, well, you know how it is, we need the money, so it seemed it was worth a try. So I went out at dawn and found him floating on a big old tree branch. He’s lucky the current had him and brought him around the headland, or he’d be halfway to France by now.”
The owner of the voice coughed and spat and continued his story. “I had a hell of a time with him. He was holding that branch like his life depended on it.”
“I expect it did. Has he said anything?”
Toby recognized the London accent of the second voice. Slater!
“Just mumbo-jumbo,” said the crab fisherman. “He’s a big lad. I had a time of it getting him into my boat, and then he just collapsed like all the wind had gone out of his sails. Don’t know how long he’d been in the water.”
“He went in just before the mine exploded,” Slater said. “Someone should give him a medal, but I doubt they will.”
Toby felt a hand on his shoulder. “Can you walk?”
It was time to open his eyes; time to face the truth. Had he bought enough time? Had Carol escaped from the Hall? He had no doubt about the Hall collapsing; masonry was falling all around him as he swam clear of the cave, angling across the pull of the tide, until he bumped into a floating branch. After that he had seen nothing; thought of nothing; felt nothing as he lost the use of his legs. If his hands had not been locked in frozen rigor around the branch, he would have been unable to hold it. By the time the old fisherman had pulled him from the water, amid a chorus of inventive curses and some strong words for how much Toby weighed, he had been unable to move a muscle to help him.
The hand squeezed his shoulder. “Can you walk?”
“I don’t know.”
“Give it a try.” Slater’s voice was not unkind. “I’ve an ambulance on the way. They’ll bring a stretcher if you want, but it might be good if the young lady could see you walking. Might put a stop to the tears.”
Toby opened his eyes to the fresh wash of dawn light. He lifted his head and saw the fuzzy outline of boats at anchor in the harbor, cliffs rising beyond, and an old man’s face very close to his own.
The old man spoke under his breath. “Come on, lad, the policeman can’t help, not with just one arm, and me, I’m out of puff from pulling you out of the water, so see if you can get your feet under you.”
Toby made an effort; not because he cared about Slater’s one-armed problem, and not because the old man was out of breath, but because he could see two figures on the beach. The morning sun turned her hair into a soft red corona around her barely discernible face, and it was mirrored in miniature on her daughter. For her, for them, he would do it.
He stepped out of the boat and felt the shingle beach beneath his bare feet. When did he lose his shoes and socks?
He could stand but he couldn’t move forward. It didn’t matter; she was coming to him. He waited and watched two faces come into focus; mirror images. Everyone would know now. The road ahead would be hard.
He buried his toes in the shingle to steady himself as he gathered them both into his arms.