I see her leap overboard, then Trescothick’s frantic attempts to throw her a safety ring. I can tell he’s about to dive after her, stripping off his waterproofs as our boats draw level.
‘Stay on deck, Joe,’ I yell. ‘You won’t make it. Let the coastguard find her.’
He’s on the prow as the boat pitches, clinging to the handrail. He looks terrified, too afraid of losing his girlfriend to value his own life. His boat should be facing the oncoming waves, but with no one steering, it’s spinning like a cork in a whirlpool. My only chance of saving him is to get on board, before it capsizes.
I have to wait until we’re alongside before making the leap. I steer as close as possible, then let Kinsella take the wheel. There’s a deep gulf between the vessels as I stand on the bow, waiting for the right moment. If I fall, I’ll be crushed like a butterfly, the two boats grinding together with the next high wave. It’s a leap of faith when I take my chance, overbalancing as I hit the deck. I try to guide Joe’s boat into the oncoming sea, but he’s still in danger. His waterproofs have washed overboard, rain soaking him to the skin as he yells for a girl who never really existed.
Relief floods my system when I hear the rescue helicopter’s engine, until it dawns on me that their first duty is to find the killer, despite the lives she’s claimed. They won’t carry me to Nina. The symbol Ruby carved into her victims’ skin has a different meaning now. Craig Travis used it as a warning to his gang: three strikes and you’re out. But the square slashed through with vertical lines looks like a cell window too, covered in bars. Ruby’s father died behind them, but she never intended to suffer the same fate.
I only start to relax when the lights of a second helicopter arrive. Eddie must have scrambled the Cornish police to send their only chopper. The RNLI are on their way too; the lifeboatmen will sail both boats back to harbour safely. Joe Trescothick is in no state to get home alone. I can’t imagine how he’ll feel when he learns the truth about his girlfriend, whether she’s dragged from the sea dead or alive.
I’d enjoy the adventure of being winched into a helicopter, on a normal day, but Nina’s my only thought as I dangle from the rope, with the sea sprawling below me. Even the revelation that Maeve killed Louis Hayle as revenge for his abuse drifts from my head. The medic’s face is compassionate when he puts a silver blanket round my shoulders, even though I’m too numb to register the cold. I tell him not to bother dressing my wounds, but he does it anyway, swiping iodine into the cuts on my jaw and shoulder, then covering them with bandages.
‘We’ll get you sorted properly at the hospital,’ he yells over the engine’s scream.
The sea’s still churning fifty metres below us as Land’s End comes into sight, but I may already have missed the birth. Over an hour has passed since Eddie told me to go to Penzance. My hands are shaking with delayed shock.
When the helicopter lands on the hospital’s roof, I run under the spinning rotor blades towards a nurse who’s beckoning me. The chopper’s engine is deafening as we rush down the emergency stairs, then through brightly lit corridors and wards reeking of bleach. Then I hear a woman’s scream, the sound low and guttural.
Nina is surrounded by monitors, yelling at full blast, when I crash through the doors of the delivery room. The sight of her makes the skeleton on Badplace Hill and Ruby Travis’s killing spree vanish like mist. I feel calmer when she screams at me. Anyone who can curse that loudly can’t be in danger.
‘You bastard. You almost missed the whole fucking thing.’
‘I’ll never leave you again, I promise.’
‘Get me an epidural, before I kill you.’
A consultant appears in the doorway, looking concerned. I watch as she checks the monitors then turns to Nina.
‘Your blood pressure’s still a little too high. I’ll give you some more pain relief then take you to theatre for your C-section. Everything’s set up.’
Nina barely responds while she battles the next contraction, and a wave of panic hits me. She must have signed consent forms already if they’re doing a Caesarean.
‘You got here just in time,’ the medic says. ‘Scrub up now, please, if you want to see your baby born.’
‘He does,’ Nina says through gritted teeth.
When I catch sight of myself in the mirror above the hospital sink I see a giant with wild eyes, sea-blown hair, and a bandage on his jaw that’s saturated with blood. I look more like a Cornish pirate than an expectant dad, but I’m determined to see our kid arrive, so I pull on the blue scrubs the doctor hands me.
Calmness settles over us once Nina gets her epidural, but her exhaustion shows. Her olive skin is grey with tiredness. It takes ten more minutes of grovelling until I’m forgiven. My feelings for her slip from my mouth unedited for once.
‘You’re all I want. We’re getting married this summer, whether you like it or not.’
My announcement seems to amuse Nina, but her smile fades when she’s wheeled into theatre. I focus on her instead of the surgeons working behind their screen. Something about her reactions worries me. Her eyes are glassy; she barely responds to the nurse who stands opposite telling her how well she’s doing.
I only transfer my attention to the birth in the final moments. Our baby emerges from Nina’s belly blue-faced and furious, with a cap of black hair, and white streaks of grease marking his skin. He’s punching his small fists at the air like he’s won his first prize fight, and the knot in my stomach releases at last. I reach for him, but a nurse carries him away. When she returns, he’s wrapped in a blanket, his face wiped clean.
‘Congratulations, he’s a healthy eight-pound boy. No one would guess he’s a week or two premature.’
‘Let me hold him, please,’ Nina says.
The surgeons are still stitching her wound when a nurse places the baby on her chest, and my relief is bone deep. The joy of seeing our son for the first time wipes the exhaustion from Nina’s face. She touches his tiny fingers, cooing at him, then beams up at me. I’ve been gripping her hand so hard through the procedure my knuckles ache, but I’m too elated to care.
It’s only now that something changes. Nina’s eyes are rolling back, her jaw suddenly rigid. One of the monitors releases a high-pitched alarm, then they all ring at once, filling the room with their electronic scream. A nurse reaches out to seize our baby.
‘Her pressure’s down,’ the anaesthetist calls out. ‘She’s flatlining.’
The nurse dumps the baby in my arms, then hustles me towards the exit. I’m so busy looking over my shoulder, watching the medics caring for Nina, that the experience of holding my son for the first time barely registers. The kid is gurgling to himself as the nurse grabs my sleeve.
‘Wait in the corridor, please. Your wife needs our help.’
‘I’m not leaving.’
When I stand my ground, she soon rushes back to the circle of blue-coated medics, all working fast, trying to rouse Nina. Her eyes are still closed, and my gut tells me that our son is losing his mother already, just like Ruby Travis did. The sensation feels like water flowing down a drain, taking me and the baby with it.
‘Stay with us, for fuck’s sake.’
The words hiss from my mouth unnoticed. But the second time, my plea is loud enough for a nurse to spin round and stare. The doctors’ faces tell me that she’s already gone. One of them looks close to tears as they place the pads on her chest. When they shock her again, my own body is rigid with tension. The heart rate monitor is silent when a sound leaves my mouth. I couldn’t stop it if I tried. It’s like Shadow’s loudest howl, raw and ugly, but it has an effect. The monitor clicks back into life, its bleep fast but regular. When two of the doctors step away from the table, there’s relief on their faces. Nina’s eyes open slowly, and I witness the ghost of a smile on her face as she sees me clutching our baby, who is now fifteen minutes old.
My system is still flooded with adrenaline and relief, but the drama hasn’t affected our son at all. He is observing me through hazy blue eyes. His skin smells of honey, his minute fingers grasping the air, and I realise he needs a different name than any we planned. He’s risen into the world triumphant, while Ruby Travis sinks to the ocean’s depths.
‘It’s good to meet you, Noah,’ I whisper.
He lies still in my arms, warm and sleepy, oblivious to any type of danger.