Page 169 of Pull Me Under

‘They’re nautical charts. For navigation.’

‘Boring. Where are the pictures of Daddy when he was little?’

Dad’s face does something complicated. Kit’s does too.

‘Upstairs,’ Dad says finally. ‘In the spare room.’

It’s the most Dad’s said in days.

Training is on Monday.

I almost don’t go. The thought of standing in that boathouse, seeing her empty spot⁠—

But I’m crew. That’s how it works.

Tom’s taken over her station. He’s competent – more than competent – but he’s not her. Doesn’t have her instincts, her precision, the way she could read the sea like a language.

Afterwards, he catches me by the kit room.

‘Heard anything?’

I don’t pretend not to know who he means. ‘No.’

‘Nina says she’s gone to Bristol. Some family thing.’ He pauses. ‘You know anything about that?’

‘No.’

It’s not entirely a lie.

Tom studies me for a moment. ‘She was good for you, mate. Whatever happened … might be worth fixing.’

He walks away before I can respond.

That night, Kit turns up at the cottage with a bottle of whisky and a look on his face that means trouble.

‘We need to talk.’

‘I don’t want to⁠—’

‘Not about feelings.’ He pushes past me into the kitchen.

‘So what about?’

‘And I’ve been thinking.’ He takes a drink. ‘She found letters at her cottage. Letters from Mum to her father. That’s how she knew where to look.’

I see where this is going. ‘No.’

‘The letters are probably still there.’

‘Kit—’

‘She took herself to Bristol. She didn’t take the evidence.’ He leans forward. ‘Don’t you want to know what they say? Don’t you want to read Mum’s words for yourself instead of hearing it second-hand?’

I stare at my untouched whisky.

The truth is, I’ve thought about nothing else. What was in those letters. What Mum tried to tell us. What Dad destroyed, one envelope at a time, until all that was left was silence.

‘It’s her cottage,’ I say. ‘We can’t just break in.’