‘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.’
