A December to Remember (98)

Joe stared out of the screen for a few seconds and then he was gone. Maggie continued to stare at the dark outlines of the trees as though waiting for Joe to return. He didn’t. Gerry stopped the video and tucked the iPad back under his arm.

“Shit!” she murmured under her breath. She was in daze; her heart was doing all kinds of wild things.

“Quite,” Gerry agreed.

“As apologies go, that was pretty up there.” She bit her lip. This morning had been a lot.

“Don’t know what young Joe has done, but he seems like a good sort to me.”

“He is a good sort,” she agreed, feeling distant and muddleheaded.

“Probably shouldn’t have let him go.”

“Probably not, no.” Her mind was stuck on Joe’s final words: however far apart we are. Where was he? If only she hadn’t been so hasty to block his number.

“When you think about it, there’s not much you can’t come back from if you really love someone. Apart from finding out that your dearly beloved is a murderer, or a bigamist, but beside those few exceptions, it’s all just a storm in a teacup if you are truly in love,” Gerry offered. “And I think you are truly in love, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said weakly. “I am.”



* * *





Finding somewhere to park at the port had been impossible. Simone had trundled the noisy old van around the area so many times that the Port of Dover Police had begun to eye her suspiciously. When they began to talk into their walkie-talkies, she pulled off to one side.

“You need to go and find Joe. I’ll park up along the seafront and catch you up.”

Patrick paled. “Don’t make me go by myself!”

“There isn’t another option. In less than half an hour, that ferry is going to set sail with Joe on it unless you stop him.”

“But. What am I going to say to him? What if he won’t listen to me?”

“Make him listen to you!”

She took a breath and brought her voice down from snappish to merely forceful.

“This is going to be uncomfortable as hell, and you are going to have to eat some serious humble pie. But you will do it because it is the right thing to do and because it will make your mum happy. Trust me, when you find him, the words will be there.”

He looked down at his lap as though steeling himself and then flung the van door, which creaked like an old farm gate, open.

“Okay. Let’s do this.” He jumped down. “Wish me luck!”

“Good luck! Go get that grocer!”

Patrick set off at a jog, and Simone looped back around and found a car park at the edge of the town, then began speed-walking in the direction she had last seen her nephew.

The wind came off the English Channel in salty gusts that knocked her sideways and whipped her hair over her face like damp seaweed. The only clues that storm Holly had been here were the gray piles of dirty snow clumped together in gutters and at the base of walls. The waves were whitecapped far into the distance; the sea swelled ominously, as if a behemoth was breathing below the surface. She was glad she wasn’t traveling on a ferry today.

When she reached the port, she followed signs for the foot passengers’ lounge and came upon a modern, glass-fronted building. Patrick stood outside, leaning against the windows.

“What happened?” she asked. “Where’s Joe?”

Patrick shrugged. “All ferries have been canceled due to bad weather.”

“Great! That ought to make it easier to find him. Come on.”

Patrick pushed himself away from the glass. “He’s not in there. I spoke to one of the concierges. Most of the passengers have gone into town, some have gone to find hotels. The ones who can afford it are heading back to Folkestone to catch the Channel Tunnel instead. He could be anywhere.”

Simone tried not to let the disappointment show on her face even though it dragged through her from her head to her feet. She had so wanted to make things right for her sister. She cast her eyes around the port. Where would he go? It was a huge area to search, with no guarantee that he hadn’t simply checked into a hotel in Dover to wait out the storm. In one last desperate attempt, she tried his phone again. It went straight to voicemail as before. Joe didn’t want to be found.

Patrick was looking at her for answers, and she was all out.

“We tried, sweetheart, we really did. I guess we’re just not going to win this one.”

“But we can’t give up! I have to make this right.”

“You are not to blame for this. Your delivery was a bit shit, but Joe made his own mess. The best thing we can do now is head back and help your mum and Star with the festival.”

Patrick’s shoulders sagged, but he agreed.

“Let’s get back to the van before we blow away. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get a brush through my hair after this wind.”

“Want me to shave your head?”

“You may have to.”

With heads bowed, they made their way back toward the van. Waves smashed against the sea wall, sending explosions of spindrift into the air like a shaken champagne bottle.

They were almost to the van when a prolonged beep broke through the din of the storm, making them both jump. Simone put her hand to her eyes to shield them and squinted at the articulated lorry that was pulling up next to them. The passenger-side door opened, and a man with a hood pulled low over his face jumped down and approached them, pulling his hood back as he did so. Joe had dark half-moons beneath his eyes.