Page 85 of Take Me Away

He grins. ‘I’ve always been the smart one. You were just too thick to notice. So what are you going to do with your Sunday of breaking Harding traditions?’

I glance over at the boat shed. There’s a lurch in my stomach that’s impossible to ignore. ‘Will you help me get Jessie’s Dream down into the water?’

Jude’s gaze flicks between the shed and me. ‘What are we waiting for?’

She’s on a ramp in the shed, a glossy azure blue, and untouched for the best part of three years. Jess had been too sick to go on the water once chemo started, and I haven’t felt the urge to take her out since. It doesn’t take long for Jude and me to put her on the trailer and pull her down the ramp to the water’s edge. Jude sighs as she kisses the water, bobbing gently. ‘She looks good. I hope she behaves. She might sulk, you know. Boats are temperamental.’

I’ve got a lump in my throat the size of an oar. I turn when a hand squeezes my shoulder. Peter has snuck up next to me, in worn fishing jumper and jeans, the fisherman’s uniform, gripping a coffee in a travel mug, nodding at the sight of Jessie’s Dream dancing under the October sun. ‘That makes me so happy.’

I nod again. The three of us stand there and admire Jessie’s Mirror dinghy for a moment.

It’s not as hard as I thought it would be, although I still think I’m going to turn and see Jess come down to the harbour’s edge, her dark hair streaming gently in the breeze, flask and picnic basket in her hands. The ache that comes with that expectation, the searing scorch of loss, has ebbed. In its place is a space to breathe.

‘Right.’ I clear my throat. ‘I need to make a picnic. Reckon Dot’s got much in?’

‘Yeah.’ Peter shakes his head, lips turned down in disappointment at my lack of planning. ‘If you want some nearly out of date packaged cookies and a Ginsters sausage roll.’ He slides his phone out of his pocket. ‘Leave it with me.’

He turns and walks off.

‘He’s a handy guy to know,’ Jude says with a laugh.

‘You know he’s just calling Nina.’

‘Best shortbread in the South West. Reckon your picnic could turn out all right. Just make sure we don’t have to come out to rescue you.’

I almost feel the blood drain out of my face. ‘Fuck. I’m on call.’ How the hell have I forgotten? I’ve never forgotten a call-out shift in all the time I’ve been on the lifeboat crew.

Jude claps his hand on my shoulder and gives me a pitying look. ‘You owe me.’

‘Really? You’ll take my shift?’

‘Anything to see my brother smile.’

The giant lump in my throat makes me think I’m closer to crying than smiling.

‘Wow, she’s so pretty!’ Isla is running her hand along the polished edge of the dinghy, while Maisie is bouncing on her toes, almost bursting with pride.

‘She was my mum’s, well, Dad’s really, but Dad bought it for Mum and named it after her.’

I plant my hand on Maisie’s rain hat, steer her to the hull, haul her onto the small deck, and place Nina’s picnic basket in after her. ‘Stand still, Maisie, we don’t want Isla throwing up before we leave the dock.’

I laugh at Isla’s side-eye as I help her up. Her hand scorches in mine, my hand on her waist, lingering until I’m starting to warm up on the inside.

‘This is beautiful,’ Isla says, reverent as she takes in the immaculately restored planks of the deck. ‘This must have taken you ages to restore.’

‘It was a labour of love.’ I glance out at the sea, focusing on the churning water and not on Isla’s face. She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze.

‘I’m sure it was. And it’s definitely a step up from the inflatable dinghy you used to try and drown me in.’

I snort, shake my head. ‘Bet you never forgot it, though.’

I glance back at her face and then wish I hadn’t because the expression there is wistful, sad. ‘Never.’

‘Right.’ I clear my throat, ‘Let’s get out before the wind picks up and we end up just making it to the buoys before turning back.’

An hour later we are moored in a smuggling cove, sheltering under blankets, watching Maisie gather seaweed into a gigantic pile. The heather-crowned headland protects us from the westerly wind as Isla crams lavender shortbread into her mouth. ‘How does she make this?’

‘Why do you look like you haven’t eaten since you arrived?’