Silver Bay(28)
Author: Jojo Moyes

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘can I say something?’

‘Not now, Mike,’ said Kathleen, briskly. ‘We’re a bit busy.’

‘Go on, Officer,’ said Greg. He stepped forward, placing himself between Mike and the police. ‘I’ll take any kind of test you want. Blood, breathalyser, whatever.’

‘I just wanted to tell the police something,’ Mike said, louder. I thought, with horror, that I had no idea how he felt about what I’d done. I hadn’t spoken a word to him the whole way back, my brain humming with the reality of what I’d done, wanting to get to shore as fast as I could.

The same thought had occurred to Kathleen, I could tell. But it was too late. He was pulling something from his pocket.

‘I don’t think this is anything you can help with, Mike,’ she said, firmly. But he appeared not to hear her.

‘Mike—’ I felt sick.

‘While we were out on the water,’ he said, ‘some kind of party boat came close by. It was making enough noise and commotion to frighten the whales. I believe there are regulations about such things.’

The first policeman crossed his arms. ‘That’d be right,’ he said.

Mike allowed himself a small smile. He held up his mobile phone. The Englishness in his voice gave him a kind of gentle authority. ‘Well, I thought you might like the evidence. I filmed it all on my phone. You can hear the level of noise.’ As we gaped, his little mobile phone displayed a clip of the Night Star, showing the speed at which it had been travelling, revealing the outline of the revellers on deck. You could hear the thump of the music. I had never seen anything like it.

‘The whales seemed distressed by it. Not that I’m an expert or anything,’ Mike said.

‘Look,’ I said, pointing at the little image, ‘you can see it’s round by the headland. We did try to radio the coastguard, but they didn’t get out there in time.’ My voice was squeaky with relief.

‘I can send you a copy,’ said Mike, ‘if you want to use it to prosecute anyone.’

The two policemen examined the image, nonplussed. ‘Not sure what you’d send it to,’ said one, ‘but give us your number and we’ll let you know. Who are you?’

‘Oh, I’m just a guest,’ Mike said. ‘Michael Dormer. Here on holiday from England. I can get my passport, if you like.’ He held out his hand. I’m not sure that many people offer to shake hands with the police out here. The stunned faces that accompanied the handshake suggested not.

‘That won’t be necessary just now. Well, we’ll be getting on. But make sure you lock up your flares securely, people, or you’ll be getting another visit. A less friendly one.’

‘Two locks,’ said Greg, waving his keys.

‘Thank you, Officers,’ said Kathleen. She stepped after them. ‘You take care, now.’

I couldn’t speak. As they climbed back into the truck and reversed, a long, quivering breath escaped from somewhere high in my chest and I realised my legs were shaking.

‘Thank you,’ I mouthed at Greg, and nodded at Mike. Then I had to bolt for the back of the house because I had run out of words altogether.

There are many things I love about Australia. I’m not about to spout off like a parody of the Pom who never went home, because it’s not the usual things – the weather, the light, or the wide-open spaces – although they’re a bonus. It’s not the good food and wine, or the scenery, or the leisurely pace of life, although those things have made bringing up my daughter here more of a pleasure. For me it’s that, in a quiet corner like Silver Bay, you can live out your life without anyone paying you the slightest attention.

Despite our shared heritage Australians, I had quickly discovered, are unlike the British in many ways. They will accept you at face value, perhaps because there’s no class thing to measure yourself against, so no careful analysis of where you might stand in relation to someone new. If you’re straight with them, by and large, they’ll be straight with you. From almost the day I pitched up at Kathleen’s, with my exhausted daughter in tow, she was able to introduce me as her niece, and I said hello and they all said hello back. With the barest of explanations, we were drawn into the Silver Bay community.

It helped me to be part of this seafaring community. Half of the crews were transient, used to flitting in and out of people’s lives. The others might be there for their own reasons. Either way nobody asked too many questions. And if you chose not to answer those that were asked, well, that seemed okay too. I knew I hadn’t always been careful enough to hide my feelings, and I was grateful that the whale crews, with the intuition of all the best hunters, had understood that some things were better left unpursued. In five years, only Greg had grilled me over why I’d left England. I’d been so drunk when we’d had any kind of intimate conversation that, to my shame, I couldn’t remember what I’d told him.

I’d guessed instinctively that Mike Dormer would upset that. I’d panicked when I overheard him asking Kathleen all sorts of questions about who worked in the bay, how long people tended to stick around, how long we’d lived there. He’d said he was on holiday, but I’d never known a holidaymaker ask so many focused questions.

When I told Kathleen so afterwards she said I was being dramatic. All the years of having us here had lulled her into believing we would always be left alone. She’d said it was all in my imagination, and her unspoken look said she understood why.

But I suspected that Mike wasn’t going to respect my boundaries. When I take a group out on Ishmael, they talk to each other. When it’s just me and one other, they want to talk to me. They want to ask questions, take home part of me, along with their seafaring experience. That’s why I don’t generally take people out alone.

As Greg well knew. ‘So, what was your cosy little trip for two about, then, huh?’ He had to go and ruin it. We were sitting on the bench, watching, as Hannah made Milly chase bits of bladderwrack up and down the shore in the fading light. Mike Dormer was in his room, and Kathleen had gone for more beers. He spoke quietly so that Lance and Yoshi couldn’t hear.

‘Money, mainly.’

Evidently Greg thought that saving my bacon gave him the right to ask. He was so transparent. I pulled the wad of notes from my jeans pocket. ‘Five hundred,’ I said. ‘For one trip.’

He stared at it. Thought about his words, which was unusual for Greg. ‘Why would he pay that much to go out with you?’