Page 159 of Pull Me Under

I look at him – this man I’ve spent my whole life trying to please. Reuben Harding, pillar of Sea Salt Bay, keeper of tradition, captain of the family ship. I gave up the dream of Plymouth for him. Stayed here instead, hauling nets and sending invoices, balancing books, and slowly losing my mind.

For what?

For a man who looked his nine-year-old son in the eye and said, Your mother doesn’t want you anymore.

The door opens.

I don’t turn. Probably another nurse, another doctor, another person with a clipboard and a careful expression.

‘Christ, Jude. You look like shit.’

Kit.

I’m on my feet before I know I’m moving. He’s standing in the doorway – my brother, three thousand miles from where he should be, looking rumpled and exhausted and exactly like home.

‘Kit.’

He crosses the room in three strides and pulls me into a hug. Tight. Fierce. The kind of hug we haven’t shared since Jess’s funeral, when we held each other in the church car park and pretended we weren’t falling apart.

I let myself lean into it. Just for a second.

‘When did you land?’ My voice comes out rough. Unused.

‘Couple of hours ago. Dropped Maisie with Nina, she wanted to come straight here, but…’ He pulls back, studies my face. ‘I thought we should talk first.’

‘How is she?’

‘Knackered from the flight.’ Kit’s mouth twists. ‘She’s got opinions about aeroplane food. And she’s not afraid to voice them.’

That sounds like Maisie. I almost smile.

Kit moves past me, toward the bed. Stands there looking down at our father with an expression I can’t read.

‘He looks old,’ he says quietly.

‘He is old.’

‘No, I mean—’ Kit shakes his head. ‘I still picture him the way he’s always been. Indestructible. Now look at him.’

We stand there in silence. The machines beep. Dad doesn’t stir.

‘Have you talked to him?’ Kit asks. ‘Since it happened?’

‘No.’

‘Jude—’

‘I can’t.’ The words come out sharper than I intend. ‘Not yet. Not after what he said.’

Kit turns to look at me. ‘What do you mean? What did he say?’

Right. He doesn’t know.

I sink back into the chair. My chair. The one that knows the shape of my spine now.

‘Sit down,’ I say. ‘This is going to take a while.’

Kit doesn’t interrupt.