Page 113 of Take Me Away

I was alone on the Mary Jane. Should have taken crew, but I didn’t.

Told myself it was just a quick trip – check the pots, haul a few strings, be back before lunch.

Head full of Isla. The way she’d looked at me that morning, sleep-soft and smiling. The dangerous hope blooming in my chest that maybe, maybe this time would be different.

I missed the weather update. Didn’t check the forecast at noon like I always do. Didn’t notice the barometer dropping until the squall line was already visible on the horizon.

By then, the Mary Jane’s engine was sputtering. Fuel line issue – something I should have caught during maintenance, would have caught if I hadn’t been so fucking distracted thinking about Isla in my bed instead of the job.

Engine died completely twenty minutes later. Dead in the water with a Force 9 bearing down.

The rest – the waves, the lifeboat, Peter jumping in to get the line on me, the wave that took him – that all happened because I went out alone, distracted, negligent.

Because I was too busy thinking about a woman to do my fucking job properly.

The guilt’s alive. Coiled tight in my gut, chewing through whatever’s left of me, tightening around my throat, crushing my ribs from inside.

It’s a fact so achingly obvious it’s gnawing into my bones.

People leave me. It’s a fact.

I can still see Mum’s suitcase by the door. Still hear her voice, tight and exhausted: ‘I can’t do this anymore, Christopher. I just can’t.’ I was ten. Jude eight. The spring before Isla arrived. Mum just … walked out.

I didn’t cry. Just sat on my bed and started making a list of all the ways I could be better. Good enough for her to come back.

Dad found me on the harbour wall that night, staring at the water like it had answers.

‘She’ll come back,’ I’d said. Desperate. Believing.

He shook his head. Slow. Final. ‘No, son. Some people just … leave.’

And they do. Mum. Isla. Jess.

Now Peter.

People leave because I’m not worthy of them staying. And Peter – loyal, steadfast, honourable Peter – has now gone because I’m not even worthy of calling myself a fisherman.

‘I love you, Daddy.’ Maisie squeezes her arms around my waist and I kiss the top of her head.

‘I love you, too, Mais.’

I do love her so much, but I’m not worthy of her either. Definitely not worthy of the implicit trust she puts in me every day.

With a final squeeze of her arms and a kiss on my cheek, she slips away, leaving me staring at the wall.

‘Kit.’ Jude appears in the doorway, mug in hand. ‘Drink this.’

I shake my head. ‘Not thirsty.’

‘It’s not a request.’

The tea tastes like nothing. Like the nothing that’s hollowed me out since they pulled me from the water. Since I watched them search for Peter long after I knew – we all knew – he was gone.

Jude sits on the coffee table across from me, leaning forward, elbows on knees. ‘You need to eat something. And then rest.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You don’t have a choice,’ Jude says. ‘Not with Maisie watching. Not after what Nina’s lost.’