“Look around you,” Brix said. “Look at their faces. Can you imagine waiting here knowing there were two generations of your family at sea on a night like this? It wouldn’t be right. Dad and Abel never went out together in a storm.”
Calum swallowed. He hadn’t taken much notice of the lifeboat station, or the RNLI stickers in every shop window. It had all seemed like part of the furniture. He’d never stopped to wonder why they were there, or what it meant to the local folk—Brix and Kim, perhaps Jory. Fuck. Jory. He was a native Porthkennack lad, young and fit. For all Calum knew, the young apprentice could be out on the boat too. “What happens now?”
“We wait,” Kim said when Brix failed to answer. “It’s gonna be a long night even if they make the rescue. The boat’s only got room for three extra, and there’s twelve crew on board the tanker.”
“Are there no more boats?”
Kim’s gaze darkened. “The next boat along got wrecked four months ago. Lost two men. They ain’t raised the funds to replace it yet.”
Who the fuck paid for lifeboats? Calum had no idea, and shame swept over him as he cast a glance around the station, taking in the distress of the waiting families. If the Porthkennack boat didn’t return, what would happen to these people? “Would another boat make a difference?”
“Aye,” Kim said. “The Sea King is up in the sky, but they can’t winch anyone up in this wind. That boat is the only chance that tanker crew has got. If the Bonnie Sue can’t get to them, they’ll go down with the ship.”
“What’s the tanker called?”
“Black Star.”
Calum’s heart stilled. “What?”
But Kim’s attention had been diverted by activity on the control screen. He leaned forward. Calum expected Brix to do the same, so Brix’s cool hand in his startled him.
“I could sit here all night and not have a fucking clue what they’re talking about.”
“Yeah?” Calum glanced at the convoluted dash of flashing lights and coordinates. “Not much of a sailor?”
“Hell no. I spent most of my life trying to avoid it. Even a dinghy makes me hurl.”
Brix looked pretty close to puking now. Calum squeezed his hand. “Can I get you anything? Call anyone for you?”
If the word on the street was anything to go by, the Lusmoore clan was huge. Surely they’d want to know one of their own was out at sea?
But Brix shook his head. “Anyone who wants to know will by now. They’ll come in their own time, or not—I don’t give a shit, to be honest. I could do with some air, though. Come with me?”
“Of course.”
Hands still clasped, they made their way out of the station and onto the sheltered rocky outpoint. Calum shivered. They were safe from the rain, but the wind was still vicious, biting and cruel, reminding them, as if they could forget, that the men on the boats were facing far worse.
Brix shuddered too. Calum pulled him close and absently kissed his hair. Brix froze briefly enough for Calum to wonder if he’d imagined it, then rested his head on Calum’s chest with a heavy sigh.
“I don’t even like my dad most days. I love him, because he’s my dad, and I respect him as much as he deserves, but I don’t like him. If he wasn’t my father, I’d think he was a cunt.”
“Why?”
“’Cause he’s the same backward, racist, sexist arsehole he’s always been.” Brix sighed again. “He always liked Abel better, though. Still does. Reckon he’s counting the days till he gets out and he’s not stuck in the pub with me anymore.”
“Thought he told you he was proud to have a pint with you?”
“Oh, he is. Don’t mean we’ve got jack-shit in common. We only ever talk about chickens.”
A flashing light in the distance caught Calum’s attention. “Is that them?”
Brix peered in that direction. “Nah. That’s a ferry.”
How he could tell, Calum had no idea, and his chance to ask was interrupted by Kim.
“Just got word they’ve got the first lot of crew off. Taking them into Port Isaac before they go out again. It’s gonna be a long night, Brix. Go home. Sleep. I’ll check in every half hour, I swear.”
Calum half expected Brix to refuse, but he didn’t. He nodded slowly, then detached himself from Calum to embrace Kim. “You’ll call me?”
