Silver Bay(84)
Author: Jojo Moyes

‘You’d know,’ said Greg, as he hoisted it up on the winch so that the photographers could get a better picture.

‘Where did you say you—’

‘This, gentlemen,’ Greg said, gesturing towards her before Kathleen could continue, ‘is the world-famous Shark Lady of Silver Bay, Kathleen Whittier Mostyn. This lady here caught an even bigger shark some half a century ago. Biggest grey nurse shark ever caught in New South Wales, wasn’t it, Kathleen? How’s that for a story, eh?’

Kathleen stared silently at him. The bald malevolence in her eye would have been enough to send me scuttling for shelter. She knew she’d been set up, and she didn’t like it. But Greg rattled on regardless: ‘So, gentlemen, you see? Once again Silver Bay has a shark population. The wildlife people will be delighted, but I do want to warn our good citizens not to go swimming or windsurfing or, indeed, to take part in any kind of watersports without great caution while the threat of shark attack exists.’

The press gathered around Kathleen, their notepads and microphones in front of her. Several flashbulbs went off. Greg continued to pose beside his shark. After the horror of the ghost nets, the local newspapers had their second good front-page story in a fortnight, and you could hear the delight in their questions.

‘I forgot to add – this little beaut’s for sale, if anyone fancies him,’ he called. ‘He’s fresh as you like. Make a lovely bit of sushi.’

‘I thought you didn’t get sharks and dolphins in the same place,’ Mike said, as he and I strolled back to the hotel. The afternoon was clear and bright, the sea glinting benignly in the distance. I had had a couple of beers, and had eaten an unusually large amount. Half a mile ahead I could make out Hannah and Lara, performing some dance routine for Nino Gaines, and collapsing, giggling, on to the sand. Occasionally, on days like this, I could convince myself that the world I inhabited was a good one.

‘Sometimes I think the whole planet is topsy-turvy,’ I said, pushing my hair off my face and glancing up at him. I wanted to kiss him, then – I wanted to kiss him most of the time.

I must remember this, I told myself, and wished I could be like Mike’s little mobile telephone, stacked full of moments that I could replay with perfect clarity far, far into the future.

‘Don’t go,’ said Mike, that night. He was standing in the bathroom brushing his teeth, a towel wrapped round his waist, and I had walked in behind him to get a glass of water.

‘Go where?’ I said, sticking the glass under the tap. I had been thinking about the jobs I needed to do the following day. Stupid things I now had to think about, like making sure Hannah had enough school uniform to last several seasons, signing over power of attorney, sorting out a joint account for me and Kathleen. The solicitor had said I would be wise to get all personal matters in place before I talked to anyone, and the list of things that needed sorting out made my head spin.

‘Don’t do this. It’s madness. I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s madness.’ His reflection was staring at me from the mirror, and the rigidity of his naked back told me the tension I had thought I saw in his face that evening had not been imagined.

He had hardly spoken for several hours, although Greg had been so garrulous and the whalechasers so drunk it would have been hard for him to get a word in edgeways. I had thought Greg, doing his best to bait him, had prompted it. ‘No offence, mate,’ he would say, after each barb, and Mike would smile tightly at him. Only I saw the tic in his jaw. We could still hear them downstairs, although Nino, the true focus of the party, had long gone home to bed.

I sighed. ‘Mike, I don’t want to go through this now,’ I said. I wanted to enjoy the day for what it was, to savour it and go to bed in peace.

‘Nothing’s going to stop the development,’ he said, pausing to spit out toothpaste. ‘I know what Beaker’s like. They see big money in this, and when Dennis Beaker sees money, nothing stops him. It’s gone too far. And you’re about to ruin your own life, and Hannah’s, for no reason.’

‘What do you mean, no reason? Is mine and Hannah’s peace of mind worth nothing?’

‘But you’re fine,’ he said. There was toothpaste on his chin, but something told me he wouldn’t thank me for pointing it out. ‘You’re both fine. Maybe you can’t do everything you’d like to do – but, then, who can? Hannah’s safe and happy, surrounded by people she loves. You’re happy – the happiest I’ve ever seen you. This guy – Steven – is still alive and married with kids, which suggests that even he’s happy. No one’s going to recognise you, especially after all this time. We could be a couple, and stay here and . . . see how things go. Why risk all that for something you might not be able to pull off?’

‘Mike, we’ve been through this a million times. It’s our only hope for the whales. And I’m not talking about it now. Can’t we just go to bed?’

‘Why? Every time I mention it you say the same thing. What’s wrong with now?’

‘I’m tired.’

‘We’re all tired. It’s the human condition.’

‘Yes, well, I’m too tired to talk.’ I was irritated that he was speaking the truth. I didn’t want to talk about it: talking about it made me dwell on what I was about to do, and I was afraid that if someone challenged me too hard my resolve might vanish.

Downstairs Greg had broken into song. I could hear the others cheering him, Lance’s piercing whistle.

‘It’s not just you this affects.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ I snapped.

‘Hannah barely leaves your side. She was glued to you this evening.’

I glared at him. ‘I don’t need you to tell me anything about my daughter, thank you very much.’ My blood was up. I hated him for pointing that out. I hated him for seeing Hannah’s fear.

‘Well, someone’s got to talk to you. You haven’t even discussed it with Kathleen.’

‘I’ll talk to Kathleen when I’m ready.’

‘You don’t want to tell her because you know she’ll say the same as I have. Have you thought about what prison really means?’

‘Don’t patronise me.’

‘Being locked up twenty-three hours a day? Being labelled a child-killer by other inmates? You think you could survive that?’