Page 109 of A December to Remember
“Great! That ought to make it easier to find him. Come on.”
Patrick pushed himself away from the glass. “He’s not in there. I spoke to one of the concierges. Most of the passengers have gone into town, some have gone to find hotels. The ones who can afford it are heading back to Folkestone to catch the Channel Tunnel instead. He could be anywhere.”
Simone tried not to let the disappointment show on her face even though it dragged through her from her head to her feet. She had so wanted to make things right for her sister. She cast her eyes around the port. Where would he go? It was a huge area to search, with no guarantee that he hadn’t simply checked into a hotel in Dover to wait out the storm. In one last desperate attempt, she tried his phone again. It went straight to voicemail as before. Joe didn’t want to be found.
Patrick was looking at her for answers, and she was all out.
“We tried, sweetheart, we really did. I guess we’re just not going to win this one.”
“But we can’t give up! I have to make this right.”
“You are not to blame for this. Your delivery was a bit shit, but Joe made his own mess. The best thing we can do now is head back and help your mum and Star with the festival.”
Patrick’s shoulders sagged, but he agreed.
“Let’s get back to the van before we blow away. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get a brush through my hair after this wind.”
“Want me to shave your head?”
“You may have to.”
With heads bowed, they made their way back toward the van. Waves smashed against the sea wall, sending explosions of spindrift into the air like a shaken champagne bottle.
They were almost to the van when a prolonged beep broke through the din of the storm, making them both jump. Simone put her hand to her eyes to shield them and squinted at the articulated lorry that was pulling up next to them. The passenger-side door opened, and a man with a hood pulled low over his face jumped down and approached them, pulling his hood back as he did so. Joe had dark half-moons beneath his eyes.
“Simone? Patrick? What are you doing here?”
“We’ve come to get you!” she called over the noise of the storm. “Why don’t you answer your phone?”
“I forgot my charger, my phone died. Did Maggie send you?” For a moment his bloodshot eyes brightened.
“No,” she said, and Patrick shook his head.
The light in his face blinked back out and was replaced with grim resignation. “Does she know you’re here?”
“Well, no.”
“Listen, I appreciate you coming all the way over here, but I think you’ve had a wasted journey. Maggie made it clear that she wanted me gone, and I don’t blame her. I’m not going to force my presence on your mum if it’s unwelcome, Patrick. You get that, don’t you?”
“I’ll explain it all to her,” Patrick said with feeling. “I know what you tried to do for us; I overheard Gilbert in the pub this morning.”
Joe raised his eyebrows. “Why was my uncle in Rowan Thorp?”
“He said he wanted to talk to you.”
Joe shrugged. He had the look of a man for whom life holds no more surprises.
“Come back with us,” Simone implored. “It’s ridiculous foryou and Maggie to be apart—anyone with eyes in their head can see how much you love each other.” She cast a sideways glance at Patrick.
The driver of the lorry leaned over and shouted, “If you wanna lift to the Channel Tunnel, we’re gonna need to make a move, mate. You coming or staying with them?”
Indecision fleeted across Joe’s face. Suddenly Patrick was climbing the steps to the cab. He grabbed Joe’s duffel bag from the footwell and heaved it out.
“He’s staying with us,” Patrick told the driver.
The driver leaned over again. “Joe?” he asked. “You good? I don’t wanna be witnessing a kidnap and have to tell the old Bill that I did nothing to help you.”
Joe laughed uncertainly. “Ah, no, it’s all good, thanks, mate. Not quite sure what this is, but pretty sure it’s not a kidnap.”
