The wind is up now. It has come on quicker than Timothy thought possible, and spray from the tips of waves he cannot see blows in over the sides of the boat. There is no more fishing to be done, and the Great Hope’s hold is as empty as when they had left. Ethan has returned to the wheelhouse now and Timothy feels the cough of the engine through the soles of his feet as they turn back towards the shore, into the oncoming waves. He is unprepared for the first as it breaks over the bow and is glad he is holding the guard rail such is the shock of the cold and the force with which the water hits him. He wonders momentarily whether Ethan is pushing them on into the waves in the hope one will wash him overboard as it breaks over the deck. He pushes the thought from his head and concentrates instead on anticipating the next wave. The boat heaves from one peak to the next now, lurching forward and unable to find a rhythm, and waves break over the boat with no warning or sign of their approach. Timothy feels sickness rise up from his feet and radiate in towards his core from hands that are now starting to freeze. He looks back towards the wheelhouse hoping Ethan will swing the boat up out of this rough furrow so he can move back without fear of going overboard, but Ethan is busy pushing them on towards the shore, or is ignoring Timothy’s plight on the deck. He looks out of the boat to the sea all around and tries to catch sight of the others, but the dancing lights have all disappeared now, and he wonders whether the other crews turned back before the sea had worked itself up like this.
Timothy edges himself backwards, his hand still gripping the guard rail, avoiding being drenched by the waves breaking over the sides. A crate that has worked its way loose from where it was secured slides across the deck and back. He is aware that this is not a storm, but just what the fishermen would call heavy weather.
Eventually, he manages to pull himself round into the shelter of the wheelhouse and sits himself down on a crate. There is barely room for two in the cabin and he is not sure he wants to be with Ethan in any case — Ethan, whose mood changes as quickly and erratically as the sea. He will sit out the weather on deck, in the lee of the wheelhouse. The journey back to shore drags and Timothy shivers as water soaks up beneath his coat and into the sleeves of his jumper. He tries to concentrate on keeping an eye out for the other boats, but there is still no sign of them, and the violent rocking of the boat overcomes him and he vomits, his head between his knees, onto the deck, over and again.
13. Ethan
AS THEY RETURN towards the cove, Ethan jams the wheel, comes out from the cabin and watches Timothy for a while. Timothy is in a deep and uncomfortable sleep, wedged against a coil of rope on the thin walkway between the foredeck and the cabin. He shows no sign of waking, though Ethan checks a few times the closer they get to shore, and even as the Great Hope is dragged up the beach on the winch Timothy does not stir. Before he jumps down from the boat, Ethan lays an oilskin over the sleeping man. Then he makes his way up through the village towards Perran’s. He is aware he might be seen, though the chances of it getting back to the incomer are slim.
At the side of the house, he tries the door and it opens. He is surprised, and stands for a moment with the handle held gently, before pushing through into the house. He has reached this point before and turned back so many times over the past ten years.
Inside, he has to check himself that this is the same house he knows, though he has only been inside once before, and under different circumstances. The shapes of the house — its walls, joints, lintels — are familiar, but inside looks different in the light and everything else is a reimagining, like a portrait in which the artist has seen his subject only at a distance and in poor light. It is an unfinished canvas and in places he sees the blank workings of the structure showing through. It feels raw and uncomfortable, but a different raw from the one he felt before. He is struck by the thought that the Perran he knew is being erased.
Ethan watches from behind the curtain in the front room as the procession of villagers winds its way up past the house towards the service that is to take place on the hilltop above. There is no priest now, but those who knew him best will talk of Perran, of who he was and what he meant to them. There are some who will understand Ethan not being there, others will not. They will talk not only of Perran’s absence, but of his too. Ethan can think of nothing he could say to the crowd gathered around the beacon and when the last of the procession has passed the house, he waits a while to see whether anyone else is following behind before turning his back to the window. As he waits for his breathing to calm, he tries to make out details in the darkness. Someone has been in and closed all the curtains and at the door of the living room his hand hovers over the light switch, but he lets it drop back to his side. He works his way slowly through the house, room by room in the darkness, learning the shapes and feel of the place. He treads carefully, slowly, so as not to disturb the furniture, though there is little enough of it to avoid, just a few darker shapes against the darkness. The stairs are steep and uneven, and as he makes his way up, he feels he is going to fall backwards.
Upstairs, he moves from room to room off the small landing until he finds the one that had been Perran’s. It is at the front of the house, with a window overlooking the village, and beyond it the sea. Ethan stands for a while in the doorway, and sees, by what light enters through a gap in the curtains, a bed and by it a small table with a few items, indistinct in the darkness, a chest and little else. He looks around, to fulfil the purpose for which he came here, looking for some memento to take, a token that will allow him not to forget the events that brought him to this moment. There is nothing obvious. There are no small trinkets lying around, no personal belongings sitting on chests or tables, as though the house is resisting Ethan’s attempts. He considers moving something, just to mark his time there, but finds he is unable to bring himself into contact with any of Perran’s belongings, or anything that was connected to him. Instead, he sits on the bed for a while and feels the metal cold against his legs where they come into contact with the frame. He sits as waves of panic rise and crash over him, and stays hidden in the darkness of Perran’s room for as long as he can stand it. When the feeling threatens to overwhelm him, he stands from the bed and walks quickly back through the house, crashing down the steep stairs, and out through the kitchen door. By the time he reaches the garden his breath comes in ragged coughs and he stands and breathes in the cold air and looks out through the branches and leaves that are left on the trees, to the cove below and the sea which he knows is there but can no longer see.
He leaves, retracing his steps, as though Timothy might be able to sense he was there if he strays from the path he had trodden on the way in, and part of him wants to close his eyes as he does so and superimpose onto the house the Perran he knew. Part of him wants to close his eyes and to see nothing. As he walks down back through the garden, he sees, beneath the tall tree, a patch of earth newly turned over, neat and sad, and feels he has come across something that ought not to be disturbed.
Walking down the hill into the village, he watches seagulls tacking silently into the wind, broad wings outstretched, sometimes gaining ground, sometimes being pushed back and circling round to try again.