Silver Bay(27)
Author: Jojo Moyes

He began to protest.

‘Really,’ she said, and there was something steely in her tone. ‘We need a few moments alone.’

I felt his eyes on me. Then he took a few reluctant paces away and stroked Milly, as if unwilling to go altogether.

‘What do I do?’ I whispered.

‘Let’s not overreact,’ she said. ‘They might just caution you.’

‘But they’ll want to take down my details. There might be some kind of database . . .’

I could see from Kathleen’s face that she’d already considered this. And hadn’t yet been able to find an answer. I felt a rising swell of panic in my chest. I glanced behind me to where the Suzanne and Moby Two were berthing. ‘I could just go,’ I said. I had a sudden wild notion of loading myself, Hannah and Milly into the wagon. But then the sound of a different kind of engine drew my attention to the other end of the bay. Headed up the coast road, bearing its distinctive headlamps and logo, I saw the white pickup truck of the New South Wales Police.

‘Oh, Christ,’ I said.

‘Smile,’ she said. ‘For God’s sake, smile and say it was an accident.’

There were two officers, and they climbed out of the cab with the relaxed air that belies serious intent, their badges glinting in the late-afternoon sun. I had always been excessively careful to stay on the right side of Australian law, could not even claim knowledge of a parking ticket, but even I knew that firing a distress flare illegally and at another vessel had not been a good move.

‘Afternoon, ladies,’ said the taller man, tipping his cap as he approached. He looked at us, letting his eyes linger on my storm jacket, the keys in my hand. ‘Greg,’ he added.

‘Officer Trent,’ said my aunt, and smiled. ‘Beautiful afternoon.’

‘It is,’ he agreed. The creases in the sleeves of his blue shirt were as sharp as knives. He gestured down the jetty towards Ishmael. ‘That yours?’

‘It certainly is,’ said my aunt, before I could speak. ‘Ishmael. Registered to me. Has been for seventeen years.’

He looked at her then back at me. ‘Had a call from two other vessels who say distress flares were fired at them from a boat matching her description this afternoon. Could you tell me anything about that?’

I wanted to speak, but the sight of that blue uniform had stuck my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I was dimly aware of Mike Dormer, watching from a few feet away, and that the policeman was now standing squarely in front of me, waiting for an answer. ‘I . . .’

Greg was beside me. ‘Yes, mate,’ he said firmly, tipping back the peak of his cap. ‘That’d be my fault.’

The policeman turned to him.

‘I was out with a group of whale-watchers. I knew the kids would be trouble, but I wasn’t watching them close enough. While I had my back turned, searching for the whales, the little buggers let off two flares.’

‘Kids?’ the officer said sceptically.

‘I knew I shouldn’t have let them on,’ Greg said, and paused to light a cigarette. ‘Liza here said they’d be trouble. But we like to let all the kids see the whales and dolphins. Educate them, you know.’ He met my eye briefly, and what I saw in it filled me with gratitude, and a little shame.

‘Why didn’t you notify Marine Rescue, let them know what had happened? You know what would have happened if we’d instituted a search-and-rescue?’

‘I’m sorry, mate. I just wanted to get back here soon-as, so they couldn’t do anything else. I had other passengers aboard, you know . . .’

‘Which boat is yours again, Greg?’

Greg gestured. Our boats were both forty-eight-foot cruisers. Since I had helped him paint out his home-made graffiti, they bore a band of the same colour.

‘Okay, so what were the kids’ names?’ The policeman took out his notebook.

Kathleen broke in: ‘We don’t keep records. If we wrote down the details of every person we took out on our boats we’d never get out on the water.’ She placed a hand on Trent’s arm. ‘Look, Officer, you know we’re not some fly-by-night operation, working off this jetty. My family’s been in this bay for more than seventy years. You’re not going to penalise us for one pair of idiots, are you?’

‘Why weren’t your flares secured, Greg? They should be in a locked box if you’ve got kids mucking around below decks.’

Greg shook his head. ‘Little buggers had my keys from my pocket. I always carry a spare set, see? Just to be on the safe side.’

I was sure the policeman didn’t believe a word of it: he frowned at the three of us in turn, and I tried hard to look aggrieved rather than terrified. He peered at his notebook again, then up at me. ‘The caller said a woman was firing at them.’

‘Long hair,’ said Greg, quick as you like. ‘You can’t tell them apart, these days. Bloody hippies. Look, Officer, it was my fault. I was minding the wheel and it was my responsibility. I guess I took my eye off the ball. No harm done, though, eh?’

I tried hard to keep my breath steady in my chest, and began to examine a small cut on my hand. It was something to do.

‘You realise the use of a distress flare as a weapon is an offence under the Firearms and Dangerous Weapons Act, leading to a charge of assault under the NSW Crimes Act?’

‘That’s what I told them,’ said Greg. ‘Big mistake, that was. It meant they legged it as soon as we got back here.’

‘That’s two thousand dollars and/or twelve months in gaol. And you could be charged under the Maritime Services Act if we wanted to be really picky.’

Greg appeared penitent. I had never seen him so conciliatory with a policeman.

‘This better not have involved alcohol. I’ve not forgotten your caution from June,’ the man went on.

‘Officer, you can breathalyse me, if you want. I don’t touch a drop while I’m working.’

Suddenly I ached for him. I sensed his humiliation – and I was responsible for it.

The two policemen glanced back at their truck. The shorter one turned away to take a message on his radio.

‘Tell you what,’ said Kathleen, ‘why don’t I get some tea and you can decide what you want to do while it’s brewing? Officer Trent, do you still take sugar?’

At that point Mike Dormer approached. My heart leapt into my mouth. Go away, I told him silently. He had no idea what we’d told them. If he opened his mouth and blurted out the truth we’d all be sunk.