The safe house Read online

  ‘Mmm. Good sailing weather.’

  I didn’t like the sound of that. Out in the estuary I could see the single small shape of a white-sailed dinghy, tipping alarmingly so that it seemed to stand up out of the water. There was no one else around at all. The horizon disappeared into a misty greyness. It was the kind of day when it never became completely light; a dank gauze lay across the water.

  Michael pulled the thick green tarpaulin off his boat (a Wayfarer called Belladonna, he told me, because of her black spinnaker; I didn’t ask what a spinnaker was). He leaned into the bottom of the boat and pulled out a life-jacket.

  ‘Put this on. I’ll just get her rigged.’

  He shook a large rust-coloured sail out of a nylon bag and started to push long flat sticks into pockets in its fabric.

  ‘Battens,’ he explained. ‘The sails would flap all over the place without them.’

  Then he unhooked a wire from the base of the mast and cleated it into the top of the sail; the bottom be threaded through the boom – I knew the name for that – and fastened firmly.

  ‘That’s the mainsail,’ he said. ‘We won’t actually haul it up until we push her into the water.’

  The next sail he buckled to another wire which he unclipped from the mast. He attached its outer edge to the forestay with lots of small hooks and left the sail puddled on the deck. Then he pulled a long rope through a hole at the base of its triangle and trained the ends along either side of the boat, pushing each through the handles, and tying a knot shaped like a figure of eight to stop it escaping. Finally, he produced a small black flag, tied it to a string secured to the mast and pulled it up until it wavered and then jerked into place on the mast’s tip.

  ‘Right, let’s pull her into the water.’

  I was struck by his air of authority. His hands were strong and meticulous, his concentration was all on the job. It struck me that he must be a good doctor, and I wondered how many of his patients fell in love with him. Together we pulled the Belladonna, still on the trailer, down to the water’s edge, where Michael pushed her into the choppy waves while I held the rope.

  ‘Don’t worry about getting wet,’ he called as he clambered into the boat and started putting the rudder in and hauling up the slapping expanses of sail. ‘You’ll actually feel warmer once there’s a bit of water between your suit and your skin.’

  ‘Right,’ I said in a quavering voice and waded into the sea, painter in my blue hands, which stung where they hadn’t turned numb, for I’d forgotten my gloves. ‘When?’ I yelled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When will I feel warmer? Ice is coursing around my body, Dr Daley.’

  He laughed, his even white teeth gleaming, the sails rolling wildly around him. Suddenly, as first the front sail and then the back one were pulled up the mast, the boat stopped jerking around and strained purposefully; it was no longer like holding a twitching kite; more like holding a dog who is eager to be off.

  ‘Push her nose out a bit,’ Michael called. ‘That’s the way, and then jump in. Jump, I said, not fall.’

  I landed in the bottom of the boat, flapping like a fish, and hit my knee. The boat keeled immediately and water slopped over the side. My face was about six inches above sea-level.

  ‘Come over to my side,’ instructed Michael, who did not seem unduly alarmed. ‘Now, sit on the side here, beside me, and put your toes under that strap there, it’s called the toe strap. That way if you lean out you won’t fall in.’

  He was holding the tiller in one hand, and with the other he leaned forward to push down the centreboard and gathered in the rope attached to the small sail and pulled it taut. The sails stiffened and I could feel the boat lose its sluggish sideways drift and pick up speed. Indeed, it picked up far too much speed for my liking.

  ‘Right, Sam, while we’re on this tack and the wind’s quite gentle…’

  ‘Gentle!’ I squawked.

  ‘It won’t really pick up until we’re around the point and out into more open waters.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘All you’ve got to remember is that we are using the wind to take us where we want to go. Sometimes it will be coming from the side, and that’s called reaching; sometimes it will be right behind us, that’s called running. And sometimes we will be almost going into it…’

  ‘And that’s called falling over, I suppose,’ I croaked.

  He grinned at me.

  ‘Your only job is to hold this jibsheet’ – he tossed the rope attached to the small sail into my lap – ‘and control it. The more we go into the wind, the tighter you pull the sail in. When we are running, you let that sail right out. When I shout “Go about”, all you have to do is let out the sail, and then pull it in on the other side. I’ll look after everything else. Right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘There are some spare gloves in the bow.’

  I edged forward to get them, but the boat suddenly keeled further over.

  ‘Lean back; no, Sam, lean back so we keep the boat upright. Sam, back.’

  I leaned and I felt as if I were suspended over the water, held only by brittle toes. My hands crabbed in the cold, my curved back ached, my neck lolled so that if I rolled my eyes I could see the water underneath me, alarmingly far down. The centreboard was lifting out of the water; if I looked forward, I could see water on the other side slopping into the boat. I shut my eyes.

  ‘We’re going about, Sam. When I say “Lee-oh”, you pull your rope free and let it flap. Then you move swiftly across to the other side as she swings around. Got it?’

  ‘No. If I move, the boat’s going to fall over.’

  ‘Capsize.’

  ‘You fucking call it capsize; I call it fall over.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Sam, we’re not going to capsize; it’s not so windy.’ I didn’t like the patronizing patience in his voice.

  ‘OK, let’s go!’ I shouted and tugged the rope out of its cleat. The sail flapped wildly, the boat bucked, the noise was deafening. I lunged into the middle of the boat and tripped over the centreboard. Michael pushed the tiller across and calmly stepped over to the other side, pushing my head down as he did so. The boom whipped past just above me; Michael pulled in his sheet, then mine. The noise subsided, the flapping ceased, the boat lay flat and trim on the grey water. I moved over to join him. If my hands hadn’t been stiff with cold they would have been shaking.

  ‘Next time, why don’t you wait until I say Lee-oh?’ he said mildly.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You’ll soon get the hang of it. This is all right, isn’t it?’ The boat was quite level now and scudding along with its sails bellied and taut. ‘Just sit back and enjoy it. Look, there’s a heron. I often see it when I’m sailing. Over there’ – he pointed to a distant outcrop of rocks in the dark water – ‘is Needle Point. That’s where two currents meet. Very tricky area; especially at spring tide.’

  ‘We’re not going there now, are we?’ I asked nervously.

  ‘I think,’ he replied gravely, trimming his sail, ‘that we’ll save that for another day.’

  For a few minutes, as long as the Belladonna kept on that course and all I had to do was sit still and watch the water coursing by and Michael’s steady profile, fair hair slicked away from his high, calm forehead, I did almost enjoy myself. The waves slapped underneath us in a steady rhythm, a finger of sun pointed through the leaden sky. Another dinghy passed behind us and the two sailors raised their gloved hands in a comradely fashion, and I managed to wave back, a cheery smile fixed to my face. Once we even had something approaching a conversation.

  ‘You hate to be in someone else’s hands, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t actually trust that many people’s hands,’ I replied.

  ‘I hope you trust mine.’

  Was he flirting? Because this wasn’t very good timing.

  ‘I’m trying to.’

  ‘You must be a difficult woman to live with, Dr Laschen. Does Danny find you difficult?’


  I didn’t reply; a damp wind stung my cheeks and the grey sea galloped past.

  ‘Though he seems quite able to look after himself, protect himself. A worldly kind of chap, I should imagine.’

  If my mind hadn’t been so fixed upon the far-off shoreline and the dip and thrust of the boat, the word ‘chap’ would have struck a false note. As it was, I just nodded and fiddled with the soggy knot on my rope which lay idly in my lap.

  But then Michael pulled the tiller towards him until the wind was right behind us, pulled up the centreboard with one smooth movement, let out his sail until it opened like a luscious, over-blooming flower and told me to pull my sail across so that it filled with wind on the other side.

  ‘A spot of running now, I think,’ he said. ‘Move across; our weight should be evenly distributed.’

  The bow of the dinghy lifted, and we creamed through the waves.

  ‘Be alert, Sam. If the wind shifts we’ll have to jibe.’

  ‘Jibe? No, don’t explain. Just tell me how to stop it happening.’

  Michael was concentrating, now glancing up at the flag to check the direction of the wind, now adjusting his sails ever so slightly. The boat queasily rolled; we lifted and fell with a yawing motion that did strange things to my innards. My tongue was starting to feel gravelly and too large for my mouth.

  ‘Um, Michael.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Can you stop this boat moving around for a bit? I feel a bit…’

  ‘The wind’s shifting, we’re going to jibe. Let your sails flap.’

  It could only have taken a second. For a brief moment we seemed to stop dead in the water while the sails hung limp. Then I watched in horror as the boom swung from its outstretched position and flung with a great sideways swipe towards us. The boat heeled over sharply. My stomach lurched and I stood up, thinking only that I had to get to the edge of the boat before I threw up.

  ‘Duck, Sam,’ said Michael.

  The boom cracked me just above the ear with such ringing force that for a moment the world went black. I careered across the boat, tipping it wildly, and the boom swung back again. This time it missed me (I was already down and almost out) but smacked into Michael’s head as he rose to rescue me. We ended up sitting in the dinghy’s watery bottom like two large black beetles, the boom banging above us, both sails loose and wild. It felt much safer when I couldn’t see what was happening.

  ‘Sit still,’ he commanded.

  ‘But…’

  He put up one hand and very gently, very carefully, hooked a dislodged ear-ring safely back into my ear lobe.

  ‘Who else would wear such absurd dangly ear-rings out sailing? Are you all right?’

  Actually, I was all of a sudden and quite without reason feeling perfectly calm. The queasiness in my stomach was subsiding; the bang of my frightened heart was diminishing; only the side of my head felt swollen and sore. The boat still bucked in the gusts, but with the sails adrift the wind could get no purchase. Michael was such a solid presence near me, so sure of himself. I could see the faint graze of his stubble, the emphatic bow in his upper lip, his large pupils in his grey eyes.

  ‘I wouldn’t put you in danger, Sam,’ he said softly, staring at me.

  I managed a grin.

  ‘On our next date, Michael, perhaps I could take you to see a film.’

  Twenty

  Michael and I were silent in the car on the way back to the house. I felt I’d disappointed him, and I hate so much to disappoint anybody that it makes me bad-tempered, and I was afraid I would snap at him and I didn’t want to say anything I would regret, so it was better to say nothing at all. He put on a tape of some classical-sounding music and I pretended to be absorbed in it. Dusk was turning into night and as we wound through the lanes that followed the line of the coast I caught tantalizing glimpses of glowing interiors of the houses we passed. The darkness concealed the oddness of the landscape and made it seem almost reassuring, the way countryside is meant to be. By the time we arrived, I felt that the volcano in my chest had become dormant once more. I took a deep breath.

  ‘I don’t think I’m a natural sailor.’

  ‘You did very well.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. And Nelson was sick every time he went to sea. But it was really nice of you to take me out.’ Michael stayed silent with a half-smile on his face, and I babbled to fill the gap. ‘Let’s try it again some time. I’m sure I’ll be better.’

  Bloody hell. What had I committed myself to? But Michael seemed satisfied enough.

  ‘I’d like that very much,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll soon have me tacking and jibing and booming like nobody’s business.’

  He laughed, and we both got out of the car and walked towards the house, Michael holding my arm. It was dark now and through the window I could make out signs of movement inside. I stepped forward and looked. The fire was blazing. Danny was sitting in the armchair to one side. He had his back to me and I could see little more than the back of his head and the bottle of beer that he was balancing on the arm of the chair with his right hand. But I knew what his expression would be. He would be dreamily staring into the fire. Elsie was in her pyjamas, her hair washed and combed flat, her face red and blotchy with excitement and with the reflection of the flames. She was piling up her wooden bricks. I could hear nothing but I could see her lips moving in a constant chatter directed at Finn who was lying beside her, also with her back to me, so I couldn’t see if she was talking back. Probably she was just lying there with her eyes half closed. I suspected that Elsie responded to Finn’s sense of repose as well as her youth. They were two girls together in a sense that I would never be able to be. It was a lovely scene, so much so that I felt an ache of exclusion, or was it guilt at being absent?

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. Michael.

  ‘What a beautiful family group,’ I said, with more than a hint of dryness.

  Michael took some time to reply. He just looked, with fascination, at the fireside scene. His jaw clenched with obvious satisfaction.

  ‘It’s you, you know,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When I was first talking with the police and we asked around, everybody said how wonderful you were. And you have been. I can’t believe what you’ve done with Finn.’

  I gave a frown and pushed Michael back in a half-jocular fashion.

  ‘I don’t need your flattery, Dr Daley. Besides, I’ve supplied no treatment of any kind. Anything Finn has done, she’s done for herself.’

  ‘You underestimate yourself.’

  ‘I’ve never underestimated myself in my life.’

  ‘You’re wrong, you know. As a GP I often think of what the job was like a hundred years ago when there were no antibiotics, no insulin, just morphine, digitalis, one or two other things. A doctor had almost nothing in his bag that could change the course of an illness. What he was was a healer. He would sit by a patient and by his presence would help him, maybe just holding his hand.’ Michael’s face was just inches away from mine now, he was speaking in barely more than a whisper. ‘You’re a bloody-minded woman. You’re arrogant. You’re accomplished. You can be harsh with the rest of us. But you’ve got it, you know, that healing human quality.’

  I didn’t say anything. Michael raised his hand and with just a finger lightly touched my hair. Was he going to kiss me, out here, with Danny just a few feet away? What would I do? In what must have been less than a second I imagined myself having an affair with Michael, us naked together, and then all the conflicts and anguish and betrayals. I took his hand in a friendly, sisterly fashion.

  ‘Thank you for the compliment, Michael, however misconceived. Come in and have a drink. Grog, or whatever you sailor types like.’

  He smiled and shook his head.

  ‘I must get back, and out of these things. Good night, clever woman.’

  I went into the house feeling that glow that you can only experience when you have been flattered grossly.
As I pushed the door of the living room open, three heads, three expressions, turned towards me. Danny, with a hint of an ironic smile. Was he rebuking me for something? Elsie’s whole face glimmered as if the fire were inside her. Finn rotated slightly, like a cat that had appropriated my hearthrug and been partially stirred from a long sleep. I felt a quiver of disquiet deep inside me.

  ‘Look, Mummy, look,’ said Elsie, as if I had been there all the time.

  ‘It’s incredible. What is it?’

  ‘A secret. Guess.’

  ‘A house.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A boat.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A zoo.’

  ‘It’s not a zoo. It’s a secret.’

  ‘So how has your day been?’

  ‘I went out with Dan and Fing.’

  I looked expectantly at the grown-ups.

  ‘We built a sand-castle,’ said Finn. ‘With stones. And tins.’

  ‘Thanks, Finn,’ I said. And I went and sat on the armchair and kissed Danny on top of his cross head. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘I’m going into town tomorrow,’ Danny said.

  ‘Work?’

  ‘No.’

  It was an awkward, unsatisfactory moment, with Finn and Elsie just beside us.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I murmured.

  ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’ Danny replied in that normal tone that I found so difficult to read.

  ‘No reason,’ I said.

  There was a slightly unpleasant silence, during which I saw Finn and Elsie exchanging smiling glances.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked.

  ‘Ask Elsie what’s hanging on the door,’ Finn said.

  ‘What’s hanging on the door of your safe house, Elsie?’