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Lucy feels like she’s just been kicked in the gut. Slowly, painfully, conversation resumes. But it’s quieter now, more self-conscious. She trades glances with Noemie, Tommo, Bee. Others – like Matt Guinness and Wayland Rawlings – deliberately avoid her eye.
Lucy sets her jaw. She feels a rush of anger that quickens her blood. But she can’t afford to take this personally. Has to focus on the only thing that matters: Billie and Fin.
She thinks of the email she just deleted from her computer.
People reap what they sow.
‘It’s OK,’ Noemie whispers, at her side.
On TV, they’re talking about the weather again. A map of the UK appears, split by a giant band of low pressure.
‘Lucy Locke?’
A woman stands at the bar. Strong face, auburn pixie cut, hard eyes that nonetheless radiate empathy. She flips open a wallet inscribed with the constabulary crest. ‘I’m Sergeant Jesse Arnold. I’ve been assigned as your family liaison officer. I can’t imagine how hard the last twenty-fourhours must have been. But I’m here to guide you through whatever comes next and help in any way I can.’
‘Why the delay?’ Noemie asks.
‘It’s not ideal, and for that all I can say is sorry. Truth is, this storm’s broken all records – stretched us to our limit. I know that won’t make you feel any better, but there it is.’ To Lucy, she adds, ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’
Lucy stares at her a while before answering. ‘We’ll use the back office.’
4
It’s cramped, just the two of them – and awkward. There’s only one chair and Lucy doesn’t want to sit.
‘I heard you sailed out there yesterday,’ Arnold says. ‘Right when the storm was at its worst. Brave as hell, a lot of people would say. Crazy, too. But I’m a mum. What else would you do?’
For a moment, overcome by exhaustion, Lucy can’t decide if the question is rhetorical. But when she meets Arnold’s eyes her tiredness falls away. Because there’s something terrible lurking in the police officer’s expression.
‘They’re not dead,’ she says immediately. And hates the desperation in her voice.
‘My colleagues said you were injured last night. A couple of broken ribs. Looks like you knocked your head, too. How’re you feeling now? Any concussion?’
‘They’re not dead,’ Lucy says again. ‘Billie and Fin. They’re not.’
‘We’ve got hundreds of people out looking,’ Arnoldreplies. ‘Efforts might’ve been hampered yesterday, but turnout this morning’s been huge. Not just coastguard and police but a combined community response.
‘All the same, Daniel made his distress call yesterday lunchtime. In water that cold, without protection, survival time is three hoursmaximum. That’s for an adult in calm seas. Not like conditions yesterday, where you’d need every ounce of energy just to stay afloat. Daniel was rescued after five hours and he couldn’t have lasted much longer.
‘It’s the worst news in the world, Lucy. The worst thing that could possibly happen. I’m so, so sorry, but I think you’re going to have to face the reality that we’re unlikely, now, to recover Billie and Fin alive.’
Lucy shakes her head. Her earlier anger returns, a volcano threatening to erupt. How dare this police officer – this so-calledmother– try to plant these thoughts? ‘That’s bullshit,’ she spits. Twisting away, she grabs the flyers she just printed out.
‘Lucy, I—’
‘They’re alive! Those immersion suits we bought areArctic-rated. Here, take a look. Read the stats.’
‘Lucy, listen to—’
‘Daniel would’ve got Billie and Fin into their suits, OK? He’d have prioritized the children over himself. That’s why he was found first. Don’t you get it? Because he’d have been closest to the boat, the last one to leave. That sea was unbelievable yesterday. I was—’
‘Lucy, last night our crime scene guys did a full—’
‘—out there in the middle of it—’
‘—inventory of theLazy Susanand they discovered three unused immersion suits onboard.’
‘But that doesn’t … It doesn’t …’ Lucy stops, swallows,blinks. She breathes, resets. ‘Look at the photo,’ she continues, printouts trembling in her hand. ‘We had one for each of us.’