‘Did you know she used to go out with that Cardew prick?’ Geren struck the cue ball hard to send the others ricocheting off in all directions, sinking two balls. He grinned.
‘Who told you that?’ Cam was taken aback by the violent jealousy which stabbed him in the gut.
‘Her mate. Vicky, isn’t it? She was telling Gem all about it. How he took Hannah for a meal at this poncy place up near Truro. Said it cost over a hundred quid.’ He shook his head. ‘A hundred fucking quid? I said to Gem, don’t you get any fucking ideas, girl. Jesus, that guy’s always been a little prick.’ Geren walked around the table, assessing his options, and puffing on his cigarette.
Nathan Cardew had been at primary school with them, same year, before his parents decided mixing with the likes of Geren and Cam wasn’t good enough for their precious boy. He had a tough time because of his habit of telling tales. Cam never understood why kids like Nathan made life so hard for themselves. Who wants to be a grass? Why choose to give the name of the boy who’d drawn cocks on the toilet walls rather than just keep your mouth shut? Was it worth the grief? But Cam didn’t care then and he didn’t care now. Geren was right, he was a prick. Cam should ignore him, but the thought of him with Hannah was enough to drive him insane. He needed to get out and fish. Needed money to take her out, somewhere nice, somewhere the waiters wore ties and lit candles and called them sir and madam when they brought out their steaks.
Geren potted the black and celebrated his win by giving Cam a dead arm. There was too much pent-up energy there. He needed a vent. Geren lived for the moment and was single-minded in his hunt for adrenalin, whether that was at sea or driving his bike too fast, filling his body with drugs and drink, or squaring up for a scat at the slightest provocation. At school he’d been in and out of the headmaster’s office for anything and everything, from smoking on the roof to swearing in class to drawing cocks on the toilet walls. Geren was finally expelled a few months before CSEs and left with an insolent shrug and a fist through a window. Predictable unpredictability ran through Geren like a vein of quartz.
They played another game of pool and at ten to five Cam finally said his goodbyes amid a barrage of good-natured jeering. He smothered a grin and nodded, before zipping his jacket and thrusting his hands into his pockets and pushing out of the door.
The rain had stopped but the wind still whipped the streets as he walked down towards the bakery. He thought of his father and the night he died. Weather like this. Stormy and dark. What must it have been like for him out there? He’d been in the engine room below deck when the trawler capsized. No way out. Martin had been on deck and was thrown into the sea and had somehow managed to claw his way onto the exposed hull where he’d lain in the pitch black, exhausted and shivering, listening to Scotty calling for help and banging on the metal which separated them. Martin once told him, after too many drinks, how the sound of his father’s desperate banging would haunt him for the rest of his life. There wasn’t a man or woman in Newlyn who hadn’t lost a loved one to the sea. And all for a bit of haddock? It was a mug’s game, but then again, what else was he good for?
Cam arrived at the bakery and pressed his nose against the window. He was a few minutes early. With previous girlfriends he would never have wanted to appear too keen, but with Hannah he no longer cared. He wanted her to know how serious he was. He wanted her to know that he’d never been keener on, or more serious about, anything before in his life. He had developed a ravenous appetite for her. The more of her he consumed, the less full he felt. Sometimes he wanted to swallow her whole so she’d be there inside him forever.
Despite the biting chill a warmth spread through his body from the pit of his stomach as he looked in on the brightly lit shop and watched her stacking empty crates and chattering nineteen to the dozen to someone unseen out back. He thought about the softness of her and the feel of her breath on the skin of his neck. He tapped on the glass. She looked up and beamed at him. Then she turned and leaned through the door which led through to the back of the shop, saying goodbye, Cam presumed, to her dad. She smiled at Cam again, then lifted her apron over her head, hung it up and buttoned her coat. She burst out of the shop and jumped into his arms, kissing him over and over as if she might never stop.
‘I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you,’ she said between kisses, her breath smelling faintly of mint.
Her joy enveloped him and his whole body stirred. ‘I’ve missed you too.’
They walked down to the harbour hand in hand and she told him all about her day. Every now and then she’d skip as she walked, her fingers stroking his, looking up at him with that smile of hers, something akin to wonder in her eyes. Hannah was made of goodness. She was uncontaminated, as if nothing bad had ever happened to her and this stroke of good fortune had rendered her pure, and her pureness was a salve which made him stronger.
They walked down the jetty to where his boat was docked. The boat was where they went when they wanted to be alone to kiss and talk and enjoy each other’s company away from the Garnetts. He’d bought it a few years ago, when he was drunk, for a hundred pounds from a guy in the pub who was drunker. It took him eighteen months to get it seaworthy, and there was still much to do – a repaint, a cracked window to replace, some brand new seat covers would be nice – and he loved it. The boat was his own space to retreat to when he needed to be alone. Or when he needed to be with Hannah.
He’d been down that morning and hosed the deck down, washing the dirt and fish bits out of the scuppers and making it all as clean as he could. He’d put some beers in the cool box, and grabbed a couple of blankets and a sleeping bag, and packed them all in the chest on board.
When they reached the boat, he climbed on and held out his hand.
‘Be careful,’ he said, ‘the rain’s made it slippery.’
They kissed as soon as they were both on board. Sheltering in the tiny wheelhouse and leaning back against its flimsy wall.
‘You know,’ she whispered into his ear, ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. All day. I was wrapping saffron buns earlier and all I could think about was sex!’
‘When you were wrapping saffron buns?’ He bent to kiss the curve of her neck.
She tilted her head to let him. ‘It’s true! And once I’d thought it I couldn’t unthink it. So basically I’ve been thinking about sex all day. Literally. Didn’t matter what I was doing, I was thinking about sex.’ She drew back and looked at him seriously for a moment. ‘Is that what they mean when they say men think about it twenty-four seven? Like you actually do? I never really believed them.’
He laughed. ‘Who’s them?’
‘You know. Them. People who say things.’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, though, it must be knackering for you all. Poor sods. I had to have a sit down with an emergency doughnut at two just to get through the afternoon.’
‘It is exactly that,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Knackering.’
‘And to think we let you operate heavy machinery and fly planes.’
Her attention was grabbed by something behind him. She reached over his shoulder, the soft skin of her upper arm brushing his cheek. He turned his head to kiss it.