It was several days after the kite surf incident before Marina saw Lachlan in the flesh again. She’d texted him that evening and received a short reply from him saying he’d needed to go home as soon as the lifeboat had taken the male casualty off the beach and asking her if she’d keep him updated on how the kite surfers were. She assumed that the helicopter’s arrival had been a trigger for him.
Luckily, she had plenty to distract her at work: exam season was imminent and she encouraged the students to go outside and get some fresh air and sunshine as a break from the stress.
She sat on the grass with her lunch and chatted to a colleague for a while before checking her phone in case Lachlan had messaged her again. His text had given no hint of when – or if – he intended to see her again. What a shame: she was disappointed as they’d been getting on so well and he’d seemed to be opening up to her.
Tiff revealed she’d seen him when she’d been to the post office, but they only exchanged a nod and a ‘hi’.
However, when there was still no message the following day, she texted him herself asking how he was. It was Friday and she’d taken the late afternoon shift at the lookout station. In late May, the coast was stunning. The shady banks were smothered in bluebells while the sunny areas popped with yellow gorse, white sea campion and mauve vetch. Pleasure craft joined the fishing vessels in the harbour and the beaches were busy every sunny weekend.
Holiday time for tourists meant more work for the Wave Watchers and the lifeboat crews, but Marina was used to the rhythm of the seasons in the station by now. Fortunately, that day’s shift with Gareth was uneventful.
‘See you later,’ she told Gareth, leaving him to hand over to Doreen and Trevor.
She had plenty of time to go home and change out of her uniform before heading down into town to meet up with some of the Wave Watchers for a drink at the pub. She strolled towards Coastguard Terrace, inhaling the salty sea air and listening to the choughs calling from the cliff edges, and the waves crashing onto the rocks below. Once again, she was struck by the contrast between the beauty and danger of the place. Nate wouldn’t have understood that: he was gung-ho about the sea, always telling her not to worry.
An involuntary shudder shook her and when she turned away from the cliff, Lachlan was approaching on the path from the direction of the Lizard. She wondered if he’d slowed at first, having spotted her, but then almost immediately, he jogged towards her.
‘Hello, stranger,’ she said lightly.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Aye. I have been a stranger … Marina, I’m sorry I rushed off after the incident. Once I was sure the casualties were going to be OK, I needed some space. I should have told you straight away, and not disappeared like that. Sometimes a little thing – or a big one – will trigger bad memories and I have to get away. It’s probably only a fight or flight thing …’ He toed the earth. ‘Though it always seems to be flight these days.’
‘We all need our space from time to time. I know I do. You don’t have to explain.’
‘It isn’t me – running away. It didn’t used to be me, anyway … perhaps I can’t get used to the changes in me. I know other people couldn’t.’
Marina left a gap in the conversation, hoping he only needed time to fill it, but he shrugged. ‘You don’t want to hear about me and my problems.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I’m on my way home. Do you want to try me?’
They walked together, chatting, and stopped to look out over the coast. Cornwall was at its finest on this glorious May evening, with the light mellowing and the colours intensifying as the sun sank lower. The sky was a cornflower blue, the breeze whispering through the gorse and carrying its toasted coconut scent.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Lachlan said, standing by her side.
‘It is. I do love it.’
‘Working up here, sometimes on your own. Does it not bring back unhappy memories?’ he asked.
‘Sometimes … though they are memories now. I made peace with myself a while ago. I accepted that I couldn’t change the past, but I could, even in a small way, help to change the future for someone else. That’s comforting.’
‘I wish I was at that stage.’
Marina found herself wishing he was too, but she understood better than anyone how much time he might need. ‘It will come.’ She waited for him to speak some more, perhaps unspool his fears and doubts, but he stayed silent – lips pressed together, eyes fixed on some nameless spot out over the waves.
‘Scotland must be very beautiful too …’ she ventured. ‘Can you believe I’ve never been?’
‘What? Ach, you must put that right. It’s quieter and wilder; there are far fewer people, which is fine by me. The mountains, glens and lochs have a way of seeping into your soul without you realising it …’ He shook his head, a little awkward. ‘I’m romanticising. I have to admit the weather is much better here.’
Marina thought he sounded almost lyrical, and she found it endearing. ‘We have our moments with the gales and high seas.’
He laughed. ‘Aaron’s dad loves telling me about the giant waves. They seem to get bigger every time Troy tells the tale.’
Marina smiled. ‘Well, those waves can be quite something. A few years ago, in one winter storm, the sea threw shingle over the cliff so high that our kitchen window was broken.’
‘That’s scary.’
‘It was a long night …’ She suddenly realised he was only in a running vest and shorts. Not that she wanted him to put more clothes on, but he must be getting cold. Plus she had promised to meet up with her friends in town.
‘You must want to get back after your run?’
‘I’m in no rush.’
This was promising. ‘I said I’d go to the pub with a few mates. It’s barbecue night at the Smuggler’s Tavern, and Drew’s band is playing outside on the quayside. He runs the sailing trust for his day job,’ she explained, in case Lachlan didn’t know who he was. ‘But he’s in a folk band too and they’re really good. In fact, I was on my way home to change out of my uniform. Would you like to join us?’
He hesitated. ‘I’ll not say no to a burger and a pint, but I don’t want to spoil a party.’
‘You won’t. There’ll be loads of locals there. Everyone turns up and joins in.’ She gave him time to refuse, realising that he’d only recently said that he found it hard to join in with community events. At the same time, she realised how very much she wanted him to say yes. ‘It’s pretty casual but don’t feel you have to.’
‘OK. Yeah, I’d like that. I need a shower first though or I’ll probably clear the whole pub.’
Marina didn’t think so. She thought he looked hot in the running gear and wished he hadn’t mentioned taking a shower because it was conjuring up images in her mind that she probably ought not to dwell on.
‘Great. D’you want to knock on my door when you’re ready? Half an hour, enough?’
‘It’s a deal.’
Back in her cottage, Marina showered, changed into a casual dress and was lacing up her pumps when Lachlan knocked the door. His arrival stirred a tickle of excited nerves in her stomach. He was in cargo shorts, a polo shirt and flip-flops: standard Porthmellow uniform, except that the vast majority of men in the town didn’t have a physique that had been honed by swimming in lochs, hiking and climbing. His scars were becoming part of him for Marina. It wasn’t that she ceased to notice them; more that her subconscious had accepted them like any other feature of his face and body.
If he was apprehensive about meeting everyone, he didn’t show it, although she supposed that could all have been an act for her sake.
There were already a couple of dozen people outside the Smuggler’s when they arrived, milling around the tables. On this balmy late May evening, the place was packed with locals and holidaymakers alike, their laughter and chatter ringing out along the quayside. Her nostrils twitched at the smoky tang of food and Lachlan was also hungry after his run, so they headed straight for the barbecue to collect plates of burger and salad. One of the Wave Watchers volunteers had already offered to buy a round, and their drinks were waiting when they joined a group of familiar faces on one of the pub tables.
The sun was warm on her bare arms, and reflections sparkled in the harbour. Porthmellow was on its best behaviour. So far. Marina realised that her arrival with Lachlan was bound to have some people jumping to conclusions about the nature of their relationship. She knew that a handful might even be curious about how he came by his injuries and less than tactful in their reactions.
No one in her group of mates would be that crass, however, and she genuinely enjoyed introducing Lachlan to Sam Lovell and Chloe Farrow from the Food Festival Committee, and to Jude Penberth and Scarlett Latham who shared a cottage on the harbourside. Lachlan already knew Scarlett a little because her older sister, Ellie, was Aaron Carman’s partner.
‘How’s Ellie?’ Marina asked Scarlett, noting her absence.
‘She’s fine. She’s nearly four months gone now but she’s feeling knackered tonight so she and Aaron decided to stay in.’
Lachlan chuckled. ‘Aaron’s like a mother hen with Ellie.’
Scarlett laughed. ‘Ellie does her own thing. She won’t let him wrap her in cotton wool.’
Marina realised that she envied Ellie. She had always wanted to have a family and after Nate had gone, she’d blanked that desire out, for the sake of self-preservation, she supposed.
Lachlan was chatting to Jude and found they shared a love of wild swimming and the great outdoors. Gradually, Marina relaxed. The sun began to slip behind the horizon and cast the harbour in shadow. Everyone pulled on jumpers but the twilight was also the cue for Drew and his musicians to start up.
They played a lively mix of folk and pop, together with the odd Cornish standard, that soon had people singing along, fuelled by plenty of local ale.
‘You were right. Drew’s band are pretty good,’ Lachlan whispered to Marina.
‘They’re not bad at all,’ Marina said, pleased that he was enjoying the music. She decided it was safe to tease him. ‘But don’t you miss the bagpipes?’
He snorted. ‘Bagpipes? Oh God, spare me. I can’t stand the things. They give Scotland a bad name, along with tartan trews and tinned shortbread. I never minded a good ceilidh though. We used to have them on the base for the families and I went to my fair share in the town …’ Lachlan stopped. Marina guessed that the thought had awakened memories of his previous life – good and bad.
While they listened to the music, the table rang with singing and laughter. Lachlan seemed to be fitting in well. Craig stumbled past them and into the Smuggler’s Tavern with a couple of his mates. By the looks of his unsteady walk, he’d already visited some of the other pubs in town beforehand. It wasn’t long before he came outside again, a pint in his hand.
The band took a break and Craig lumbered over.
‘Evenin’, Marina.’ He nodded to the others before staring at Lachlan’s face. He might simply have been trying to focus but Marina stiffened, dreading him saying anything about Lachlan’s scars.
‘Lachlan, isn’t it?’ he slurred. ‘You Schottissh, then?’
‘Last time I looked,’ said Lachlan.
‘Not wearing your kilt, though?’ He snorted. ‘What do you wear under it?’
Oh no, thought Marina, but Lachlan laughed.
‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’ He smiled. ‘I’m joking, pal – I don’t even own a kilt.’
Craig gave a wobbly salute. ‘No offence, mate.’
‘None taken,’ Lachlan said pleasantly.
He turned to Marina. ‘I see you’re moving on from Nate,’ he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Marina was too shocked to reply but Craig was quickly gone regardless, loudly demanding that one of his mates get the next round in.
‘Anyone want another drink?’ she piped up. ‘It’s my turn.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Lachlan.
Lachlan took the orders and they ducked under the granite lintel of the door and joined the queue at the bar. It was stuffy after the fresh air of the harbour and her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dimly lit interior.
‘I’m sorry. Craig’s an old buddy of Nate’s and he took his death hard,’ Marina said.
‘Aye. I can see that …’
‘He’s all bluster though,’ she added, glossing over the fact she’d been genuinely rattled by Craig.
‘It takes more than that to rile me. I’m tougher than I look,’ he said. ‘Though it’s hard on you to have to put up with that sort of stupid comment.’
‘Craig was drunk and he’s an idiot,’ she said, annoyed that Craig had tried to spoil their evening by implying that she ought to be loyal to Nate. ‘Let’s forget it.’
Marina determined to enjoy the rest of the night, but she was convinced that Lachlan had become quieter since the incident with Craig. By ten, the barbecue had run out of burgers and the band had played their finale. In the twilight, it was also growing cold on the quayside. Marina shivered despite her hoodie and finished her Coke.
They said their farewells and headed back home. Lachlan had left the pub smiling. Marina felt that he seemed to be more comfortable with Porthmellow life than she’d expected, which gave her hope that he might stick around long enough for her to get to know him much better.
Perhaps Craig hadn’t got to Lachlan as much as she’d feared.
They walked side by side along the harbourfront, where the lights of houses and restaurants twinkled in the darkening water. It was a warm evening, and there were plenty of people strolling along the waterfront and sitting outside the two pubs. Laughter and Greek music spilled from the balcony of Gabe Mathias’s restaurant and delicious aromas wafted into the evening air.
All too soon, they reached her cottage, but he showed no sign of bidding her goodnight. Everywhere was quiet apart from the whisper of the waves on Porthmellow beach, below the cliff.
‘Thanks for asking me, tonight. I wasn’t sure whether to come at first but I’m glad I did. I really enjoyed it.’
‘They’re a great bunch, though you were lucky enough to get some of the less weird ones tonight … apart from Craig of course.’
‘I’ve already forgotten him,’ Lachlan said, which gave her heart. ‘I like your mates, but I’ll confess the pleasure of the evening was largely down to the company I’m with now.’
A flush rose to her face. She wasn’t used to being complimented in this way, but she liked it. She thought for a moment that maybe he was going to ask her to his house for a coffee, or even lean in for a kiss.
A moment later, he’d shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘It’s work tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’d better let you get home.’
‘Oh. Yes.’ She deflated rapidly.
She left him, cursing herself. She’d read the signals wrong. He had seemed to be moving closer to her – or her to him – but had pulled away at the last moment. They were like kites dancing in the wind, soaring high, almost touching, then diving apart again.
Perhaps it was simply way too soon after Lachlan’s accident for him to think of anything beyond friendship. But she couldn’t help wondering if Craig’s comments about Nate really did have something to do with Lachlan’s reticence to let her get closer.
Even if she was ready to move on from the past – and from Nate – some people in Porthmellow never would.