Читать книгу Storms - Chris Vick, Chris Vick - Страница 12

HANNAH’S FAMILY LIVED in one of the old merchant houses on the cliffs near Whitesands Bay.

Jake got a good look at it as he walked down the drive in the evening sun. It was huge. Three storeys high, a covered porch, freshly painted white walls and a tall hedge surrounding the gardens. You’d need a sit-down mower for a lawn that size.

Amazing, the money you could make, owning boats and renting out cottages.

Jake knew there was no one there apart from Hannah, but he still felt on show. Watched somehow.

The security camera over the porch door didn’t help.

He rang the bell, and waited.

He was wearing jeans, but they’d been ironed. Mum had cleaned his shoes with a damp cloth. His shirt was crisp and white. He’d even trimmed his beard into trendy stubble. He had a bottle of wine in his hand, notes for a cab home in one pocket and condoms in another. Just in case. He didn’t expect it. But …

They hadn’t shagged yet. Almost, but not quite. The beach was no-go. His place was a dead end; even if Mum was cool, Sean would listen through the walls.

Tonight they were alone. It might be different.

He rang the doorbell, again.

‘Hellooooooo!’ It was Hannah’s voice, through an intercom. ‘I’ve been watching you.’ He looked up, smiled at the camera.

The door opened. She was wearing a green Roxy summer dress, light and clinging. She had smoky eye make-up on. And lippy.

‘Wow. You look proper … I mean … Amazing. You look amazing.’

‘A change from shorts and a T-shirt, right?’ she said, curtseying. ‘You dressed smart.’

‘Um, yeah.’ He felt like an arse. Like he’d tried too hard.

‘You look great, Jake. Handsome. I’m glad you made the effort.’ She smiled, kissed him and took the wine. ‘Sancerre, niiice. Come on,’ she said, and led him into the house.

He’d known the family had money, but this? Bloody hell. Just the hallway was massive. In a corner was a large bronze statue of a nude girl. On the walls framed photos of the family sailing, a huge modern-art painting of the nearby cliffs, an ancient drawing of a girl selling fish at the quayside.

It wasn’t just money. It was taste.

His shoes thunked on the chequered marble floor as he followed Hannah. The kitchen was huge too, with black granite surfaces, a wooden work station and a breakfast bar. At the far end of the kitchen was an old oak table, set for two.

Nu-folk music drifted out of unseen speakers. He smelt herbs and candles. Good smells. Hannah’s dog, Beano, was sitting, strangely quiet in a basket in the corner, as though even he had to behave himself in this place.

‘The house is fantastic,’ said Jake.

‘Um, yeah. I guess. I’m making you steak.’

‘But you’re a pesky whatsit.’

‘Pescatarian. I’m having swordfish.’ She smiled and waved her hand over the table, like a magician’s assistant showing the final part of a trick.

‘This is all a bit grown-up,’ he joked. He felt out of place. Weirdly wrong about being there.

Hannah came up and stroked his cheek, then laughed.

‘Don’t worry, Jake. The folks aren’t here,’ she said. ‘No grown-ups. Just us.’

‘Yeah.’ He relaxed. This was just him, and Hannah. They could do what they wanted.

He opened the wine.

‘My dad collects it,’ she said as he poured. ‘That and boats. It’s like an obsession with him. He’s got loads. A cellar, full.’

‘Can I see?’ he said.

‘If you like. Follow me.’

She led him back to the hall, then into another hall, down curving stone steps and through a smoked-glass door into a cellar.

Three walls were covered floor to head-high with racks. Hundreds of bottles.

‘Holy shit,’ said Jake.

‘We can have some if you like. I’m not bothered, but if you want?’

‘Maybe later.’

‘Dad won’t mind us taking one, as long as it’s not one of those.’ She pointed at the top row of the rack that was furthest from the door. ‘The pricey ones.’

They all looked expensive to Jake. Everything about this place looked expensive.

*

They ate salmon pâté she’d made herself, on tiny squares of toast.

They drank the wine, with the steak and swordfish.

They talked, a lot. About surf, dolphins, the sea. His mates. Hers. The usual stuff.

But all the time Jake was working up the courage to ask about Hawaii. They’d never planned anything beyond the next day’s picnic.

He knew they needed to talk about it – she was headed off in September.

He took off his shoes and stroked her leg under the table.

‘So,’ he said. ‘You got your ticket yet? A date for going?’

‘I told you. September.’

‘You never said the date.’

‘Why? Are you planning a leaving party?’

Hannah stared at Jake, looking a little scared. He stared back.

The words leaving party had cut through their evening like a knife.

Neither of them spoke for a while. No one filled the heavy silence.

They hadn’t talked about ‘goodbye’. Or a future. Jake downed his wine and poured himself another.

‘Jake.’

‘What?’

‘This is difficult. You don’t know … look. Do you even know what I’ll be doing there?’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘Going on boats looking for whales?’

Hannah sighed. ‘Dr Rocca takes four interns a year. Hundreds apply. You spend five hours on the boat, every two weeks. The rest of the time you sit on a cliff watching for whales to dive so you can take photos of their tail flukes, to ID them. You listen to hours of whale song and make notes. You spend days at the computer filing ID shots. That’s the fun bit. When you’re not doing that, you scrub floors, you make food for Paul and his team. It’s hard. You earn nothing. You sleep in a bunkroom with the other interns. You live it and you breathe it. You don’t get time off.’

Jake couldn’t believe how serious Hannah sounded.

‘Why do it, then?’

‘You get close to the whales. You get contacts, experience. A chunk of data for your degree. Do you know how many people want to be marine biologists? No one can get the experience you need. No one.’

‘Why you telling me this?’

‘Because …’ She spoke slowly, carefully. ‘If you came … Well, like I said, there isn’t even time off, really. We’d never see each other. It wouldn’t be fair on you.’

He took his foot off her leg. So that’s what this evening was about. This summer was as far as it went. She was letting him know. Gently as she could.

‘You don’t want me to come?’ he said.

Hannah dropped her fork, wide-eyed with shock.

‘What? Jake, no! No. I didn’t mean … I’d love you to be there. More than anything.’ She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. ‘But it’s a big ask. We couldn’t even stay together. We’d hardly see each other.’ She sounded sad, talking about the reality of it. He had to admit it didn’t sound like he’d imagined. Even so …

‘Don’t matter,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I can surf. It’s Hawaii. That’s a dream come true. Better seeing each other once a week than Skyping. Better than waiting six months. They’ll have to let you see me sometimes.’ He squeezed her hand back and smiled at her, noticing the softness in her eyes. The mistiness.

‘You’d wait?’ Hannah said. ‘Six months? For me?’

‘Yeah. Course.’ He pulled his hand from hers, feeling oddly shy. He coughed, and attacked his steak. ‘I’d rather come to Hawaii, though.’

‘Where would you stay?’

‘I’d work it out.’

‘What would you do for money?’

‘I’d work that out too.’

‘It’s that simple for you, isn’t it?’

He took a chunk of fat off his plate and threw it to Beano. He took another gulp of wine.

‘Yes,’ he said.

She watched him eat, her elbows on the table, resting her chin on interlaced fingers and gazing at him, carefully.

‘Okay,’ she said.

‘Okay what?’

‘Okay, come to Hawaii.’ She shone her sun-smile at him.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. I wanted you to. I just … needed to hear you say it.’ Hannah stood up, came round the table and plonked herself on his lap. She snuggled her bum into him. On to him. And kissed him.

‘Hawaii, yeah?’ he said.

‘Yes. Yes. Promise me.’

‘I promise.’

They kissed some more. He had one hand on her thigh, another round her waist. His hand moved up her leg, and the dress moved with it. She put her tongue between his lips for a second. He felt himself, against her, stronger by the moment. She wriggled out of his grip, and stood up. She reached for the wine bottle but it was empty. ‘Go get another,’ she said breathlessly. ‘To celebrate.’

When he stood up, his head was spinning from the wine and from the warmth of Hannah. From the promise they’d made. They were going to Hawaii.

Jake walked to the cellar, swaying, like he was surfing the air. He was ready to grab a bottle and run back quickly, before the moment dissolved.

He stood, in front of the racks, a kid in a sweet shop, not knowing which to take. He picked one at random then looked around the cellar, up and down, as if there might be a camera there too. But there wasn’t.

He still felt giddy. Drunk, and not just from wine.

He had an idea. It made his head spin even more. He picked a bottle off the rack on the far wall: one of the ‘expensive’ wines. He wiped the dust off, on his jeans, and replaced it with the one he’d just taken.

It felt bad and good at the same time. Naughty.

So what? he thought. A little payback for the grief Lancaster had caused Mum. Why not? Lancaster could afford it. He probably wouldn’t even notice.

Jake toyed with the idea putting the bottle back. A twinge of guilt making him hesitate. Then:

‘Fuck it,’ he said, laughed out loud, and ran.

Back in the kitchen, Jake opened the wine and Hannah turned up the music.

They danced. She taught him moves she’d learnt at classes when she was young. She seemed pleased with how quickly he picked them up.

They slow-danced. Snogged.

He thought about Hannah as they danced. This smart, beautiful girl. The girl he’d be with in Hawaii.

‘Why me?’ he asked, as they swayed slowly, with her head on his shoulder and her breath against his neck.

‘Why you what?’

‘You could have anyone.’

They sat down, with her on his lap again. No wriggling away now. Her arms hung round him, pulling him closer.

‘Those people Mum and Dad are with tonight … Their son, Simon, was my first proper boyfriend. It lasted a year. It should have been a week. The guys I meet in my world, they’re like Simon. Too polite, too awkward. Or they’re rugger-playing idiots whose total dream is to be a stockbroker with a Porsche,’ she whispered in his ear, her hand on his chest. ‘They don’t interest me; they’re not … real.’ She took a glug of wine from the bottle, kissed his neck. ‘I don’t want to be some banker’s wife. I don’t want to end up … I hate myself for saying this … like Mum. You see this – this place. Think it’s nice?’

‘Yeah. It’s …’

‘It’s a prison!’ Hannah cried, suddenly angry-drunk. ‘This life. Why do you think I’m going to Hawaii? It’s not just whales. Not just that. I’m getting away.’

‘Is that me, then? Am I an escape too?’

‘No, Jake. I mean you are, but you’re more than that. I’m drunk. I don’t know what I … I’m just trying to say … You’re different. You’re strong and kind. You don’t give a shit about things that don’t matter.’ She waved her arm at the kitchen, the house. ‘You’re all about doing things, being who you are, not just getting more … Stuff. You’re free, like … I dunno. The sea.’

‘The sea?’ he laughed. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I told you. I don’t know.’ Her hand slipped inside his shirt. Their mouths locked, softly, and the talking stopped.

They stood up, still kissing, for a long time, then in one movement, he took the hem of her dress, lifted it over her head, and let it fall to the floor.

They came back together, knocking a chair over.

‘Leave it,’ she said, wrapping her arms round his neck.

They stumbled through the door and up the stairs, stopping to kiss, to feel, before staggering into Hannah’s room. To her bed.

*

Afterwards, they lay together. The window was open. Jake watched the star-rammed sky, and listened to the sea on the rocks. Hannah fell asleep in his arms.