‘That was five years ago.’ He was studying his hands. ‘Time’s supposed to be the healer, isn’t it? Time’s supposed to make the difference. No chance. Kate had lost it. She became someone else.’
Lizzie nodded. This, at last, sounded familiar. She was getting to know a lot about strangers in her life.
‘Difficult,’ she said simply.
‘It was, believe me. And it was especially hard because I couldn’t see an end to it. There was no way Kate could make peace with what had happened because there was no peace to make. Ao Lok and Niran and all the rest of it had taken us to a place we could never get back to. And once that happens, believe me, you’re fucked.’
Lizzie reached for his hand. It seemed the simplest thing in the world.
‘So what did you do?’ she said.
‘In the end, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘I figured we had to do something big, something amazing. Double or quits time. The ocean again. Another crap decision.’
They’d saved like crazy for a couple of years and moved east to Cape Cod. Backers had paid for the boat and the provisions and everything else they needed, and they’d made contact with one of the charities that had sprung up after the tsunami. They’d put together a support team in a town called Woods Hole and spent a week or two rowing up and down the coast to get the feel of the boat.
‘And then?’
‘We went for it. April’s supposed to be kind, and to be fair the weather wasn’t that bad, but what nobody ever tells you about is the rowing, the routine, the sheer fucking monotony of going on and on, day after day, just on and on. If you’re not careful, if you’re not strong, something like that can break your heart.’
‘And did it?’
‘You’re talking about me?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I more or less survived.’
‘But Kate?’
‘Definitely.’
‘It broke her heart?’
‘Yes.’
He looked up. His eyes were glassy. He gave Lizzie’s hand a squeeze and then withdrew his own.
‘We had a couple of storms on the way over.’ He reached for his drink. ‘In that kind of sea there’s no way you can keep rowing so you get into this shithole of a cabin, the pair of you, and try and make sure the hatch is watertight, and just ride the storm out. This kind of stuff can go on for days. The cabin’s tiny, just room for the two of you. Kate had done her best to cheer the place up. She’d put photos everywhere, places we’d been, friends we were missing, but it’s dark most of the time because you’re trying to preserve the batteries, and the boat’s all over the place and you start to recognise the pattern of the waves, the intervals before they hit you, and you realise after a while that you’re just helpless, a sitting target, tense as fuck, waiting for the big one.’
‘And did it come?’
‘Yeah. Middle of the night. Turned us over. Total capsize. Kate was crying. She wanted out. She’d had enough. In the end the boat bobbed up again, righted itself, but she cried for hours, really quietly, no big drama. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say. She’d gone. It was hopeless.’
Lizzie wanted to know if this was when she disappeared. Pendrick shook his head. That happened weeks later. By the next day, he said, the storm had blown itself out. They did their best to get everything back together again, to lash stuff down, to figure out what was missing and what wasn’t, but the truth was that the fight had gone out of them.
‘You lose heart,’ he said. ‘Because you keep realising there’s something else you’ve lost, something else you can’t put your hand on. It’s a bit like being burgled. This stuff’s personal. It hurts.’
The worst, he said, was a stone that Kate had kept from the beach at Ao Lok. She’d hung onto it from the day Niran had disappeared, and now it too had gone.
‘We looked for it everywhere. We emptied the cabin, shook everything out, looked under the thwarts, tore the boat apart, but it had gone. That did it for her. After that, I knew she’d had enough.’
‘Meaning?’
‘She wanted to end it all. Slip overboard. Go where Niran had gone.’
‘And that’s what happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you talk about it? Before?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Good question.’ His glass was empty again. Lizzie wondered whether to buy him another Guinness but knew this wasn’t the moment. Her hand was back in his.
‘You know something about the sea?’ He nodded out beyond the promenade.
‘Tell me.’
‘It puts you to the test. Take on a voyage like we did, day after day, and if there’s the slightest weakness in the relationship, the sea will find you out. You set off on a high. You think you’re immortal. You think you’ll conquer the world. And then it turns out you’re wrong.’
‘So what happened?’
‘We got found out.’
‘Because of Niran?’
‘Because of me.’
‘You blame yourself?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I should have been bigger, stronger, more attentive, more loving, more understanding, more. .’ He shrugged. ‘What the fuck do I know?’
‘You know everything. Because you were there. And from where I’m sitting I doubt there’s anything else you could have done. We’re talking serious depression, right? Depression’s a horrible thing. It eats you away inside. You try really hard to get on top of it, you think you’ve got it nailed, and then you wake up next day and it’s still there. That’s Kate. . no?’
‘Yes.’ He was studying her. ‘So how come you know all this?’
Lizzie held his gaze. Then she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it.
‘Don’t ask,’ she muttered.
It was dark by the time Suttle decided to make the call. He’d put together a rudimentary stew and boiled a panful of rice. Twice he’d tried to call Lizzie but both times her mobile was on divert. There was no more Stella in the fridge and he couldn’t find the remains of Gill Reynolds’ Stolly.
‘Gina? Jimmy.’
‘Hi.’ She sounded far away. Non-committal.
‘I was just wondering about a meet.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yeah. We’re still on?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She paused. ‘Do you always call this time of night? Only I might have difficulty getting my head round that.’
‘Round what?’
‘Becoming your answering service.’
‘That’s not the way it is.’
‘Oh yeah? Tell me more.’
‘Like I said last night, I just need to talk.’
‘About Pendrick?’
‘About me.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s what I want to talk about.’
Another silence, longer this time.
‘Tell me something, Jimmy. Are you married?’
‘Yes.’
‘Kids?’
‘A daughter. Grace. She’s asleep upstairs.’
‘And do you love her?’
‘Yes. Very much.’
‘I meant your wife.’
It was Suttle’s turn to hesitate. The silence stretched and stretched.
‘That’s a no then,’ he said at last.
‘No to what?’
‘No to a meet. No to a conversation. I just thought. . you know. . sometimes you meet someone and you think there’s something there and you need someone to share stuff with and you lift the phone and. . whatever.’
‘That someone would be me?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you think I felt the same? When we met?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re still talking. Because you haven’t told me to fuck off.’
‘You think I’d do that?’
‘I do, yes.’
‘Good, because you’re right.’
‘You’re telling me to fuck off?’
‘No, Jimmy, I’m not. I’m telling you to sort out exactly what you’re after in that lovely head of yours and then pay me the compliment of a decent conversation. .’ she paused ‘. . at a reasonable hour.’
‘Like tomorrow?’
‘Like when you start to make some kind of sense. I’m in bed, by the way. If that’s important.’
The phone went dead. Suttle could hear Grace beginning to stir. Within seconds she was crying. Suttle brought her down and settled in the rocker again, trying to calm her.