Page 48 of Deep Waters

They kissed on the lips and said goodbye.

* * * *

“It’s not looking good, is it?” said Jake Wrangler when Christian had placed the bumper breakfast order.

“Tom seems hopeful that the fog will clear.”

“Fingers crossed.”

There were around twelve customers in the Seagull. Harry knew that in another half hour, the place would be packed. The smell of frying bacon, eggs and fresh coffee was delicious.

He suddenly realised he was starving. He had worked up quite an appetite during the night. Christian had been insatiable. They both had, dosing for an hour or two, before one of them would reach over and they would start again. He smiled at the memory. He had fucked Christian one last time before they’d risen this morning. Harry worried about hurting him. He’d always found getting fucked to be more uncomfortable than any real pleasure, but Christian couldn’t get enough of it. They were definitely well matched beneath the covers.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Jake remarked, breaking the hot memory.

“Aren’t I always? You know I’m a morning man.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. His expression was as roguish as Tom’s had been earlier. “Yeah, right?”

“How are you doing, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk since Monday.”

Jake shrugged. “You know what it’s like. You try not to dwell on the rescues that don’t work out and just hope and pray that the next one turns out better.”

“You were amazing…really. You did such a good job—how calm you were and the way you tried to stop Niko’s bleeding. I don’t think I would have handled it as well.”

“You were there, Harry, and you did. Other captains might have panicked, but you kept your head and did what you could for him, too.” He placed two takeaway coffees on a tray and set about the next two drinks. “How has it been for you? Going back on the boat, I mean.”

Harry leaned on the counter. “It was a little strange on the first morning, but I’ve tried not to give it much thought. When I’m on the boat, it’s work, and I can shut my mind off from what happened. It sounds cold, right? Heartless, even, but that’s just the way it’s been.”

Jake gazed over his shoulder while continuing with the drink’s order. “It’s not cold at all. If that’s what it takes for you to get on with life, then it’s fine. You know what I was like after the thing with Vince? I could have sold the yacht and moved on, but I didn’t. I got back on board because I love that boat and wouldn’t let a bad experience spoil that.”

Harry nodded. Jake had been the subject of a lifeboat rescue himself last summer following a nasty incident with his ex-husband onboard his yacht, The Golden Lady. He was right. Harry couldn’t let the tragedy ruin his livelihood. He lovedThe North Star. As awful as Niko’s death had been, he couldn’t let it destroy that love.

“You can always come to me,” Jake said, “if you want someone to talk to or even just to rant. After a trauma like this, part of the healing process usually involves anger. And it doesn’t always come straight away. You might find you’re mighty pissed off in a month or two, rather than now. I’m probably the only person here who understands a bit of what you’re going to feel, so I’m here if you need me.”

Harry was overwhelmed with gratitude. Emotion balled in his throat. He swallowed and coughed. “Thank you. I appreciate it. And I will. Maybe not just yet, but sometime.”

Jake smiled kindly. “The door is always open.”

“How has it been in here?” Harry asked. Another obvious change of subject, but he didn’t want to dwell on these emotions. “After what happened on Monday, I mean.”

Jake added another two coffees to the tray. “Honestly? It’s been like sitting through a really bad Agatha Christie adaptation. I’ve heard the most barmy theories you can imagine. It seems everyone in Nyemouth is an amateur detective all of a sudden, and they’ve worked out who the killer is or what motivated them—crimes of passion, organised gangs, drug debts, people smuggling, a Tinder killer, suicide. I’ve heard it all. I’m glad the Jasinski family hasn’t been in to hear the kind of shit people are saying.”

Harry grimaced. “Crikey. Stew Wallace has been spouting some crackpot theories around the harbour, too, but not as mad as those.”

“Oh yeah, work in a café long enough, and you’ll hear it all.”

Harry left in good spirits, though it was a struggle to carry the four coffees and a bag full of food. The fog was as thick as ever. It was quarter to eight now, so he doubted it would clear in time for the scheduled departure. Hopefully, the food and drink would keep the punters happy, and they might get away before nine.

It was lighter now, the fog seemed less ominous after sunrise, and there was traffic on the road, cars and vans moving slowly through the dense cloud. The forecast had been for a bright day ahead of further storms tomorrow. Hopefully, now that the sun was up, the fog would disperse quickly.

Harry picked his way along the harbour. As he passed Quay House, his thoughts returned to Christian, and he started smiling again. He wondered what he was doing now. Maybe he’d gone back to bed. He hadn’t got much sleep the previous night. He was probably knackered, the poor man. Though he hadn’t eaten either, maybe he’d gone in for breakfast at the hotel. Whatever he was doing, Harry had to forget him for a few hours and focus on the work ahead. They would be together soon enough, with an afternoon and a whole evening ahead of them.

Harry reachedThe North Star’smooring point. There was no one on deck.

“Hey,” he shouted down, “Tom. Your breakfast is here. Give me a hand, will you? I can’t carry all this down the ladder.”

He waited, and there was no answer.

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