My Sister's Bones(27)

He looks pensive when I return to the table with our drinks.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to down it in one,’ I say as I sit down with a bottle of white wine. ‘Just always seems to work out cheaper if you buy a bottle rather than go glass by glass.’

I pass him his pint of beer.

‘It’s fine, Kate,’ he says, watching as I pour the wine. ‘You don’t have to explain yourself. Some of us can handle the booze, and others, mentioning no names, take it to excess. Anyway, cheers.’

‘Cheers.’

Paul swallows some beer then puts the glass down.

‘This is nice,’ he says, rolling his sleeves up as he leans forward.

‘Yes,’ I say, taking a sip of the wine. My legs feel all tingly. Probably the sea air earlier.

As Paul lifts his glass again the light catches his arm. Angry red welts cover it, jagged, like someone has taken a knife to him. He notices me looking and quickly rolls his sleeve down. I decide not to ask him about them.

‘Strange to be back here,’ I say, looking beyond him to the rest of the bar. ‘It hasn’t changed a bit.’

The low ceiling and dark beams make me feel as if I’m sitting in a hermitage deep below the earth. The Ship is the oldest building in Herne Bay; it dates back to the Napoleonic wars when it offered sanctuary to sailors fleeing the French. I imagine them hiding amid the dark crevices, a temporary escape from their violent, grog-stained world. My father used to drink here. I think of him sitting at the bar every Sunday; his muscular arm, honed from hauling animal carcasses, curved round the pint glass while a few minutes away his wife and daughters played out an old ritual on the beach. This had been Dad’s hiding place, I think to myself, as the barmaid lights a thick wax candle behind us and places it in the window. His mausoleum.

And then I see Ray. He’s standing in Dad’s spot, at the end of the bar, his back to the wall. He nods at me and raises his pint glass. I smile and wave my hand.

Beside me, Paul is watching.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Oh, just an old friend of my dad’s.’

Paul narrows his eyes. ‘Never seen him before,’ he says. ‘Is he from round here?’

‘Yes, he’s a fisherman,’ I say. ‘Been a regular in here for years.’

Ray has turned his back on us and as I watch him chatting to the young barman I get a sharp pain in the pit of my stomach. Why couldn’t Dad just love me, I ask myself, why did he hate me so much?

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ says Paul, interrupting my thoughts. ‘The meeting with Sally? She was terribly agitated when I got back.’

‘There’s nothing to say,’ I reply, glad of the diversion. ‘I tried to get her to talk about her drinking but she wasn’t interested. She’s just full of anger and bitterness. I don’t think I’m the right person to get through to her.’

He sighs and I can tell he’s disappointed. I feel for him; I really do. Getting involved with this family was more than he bargained for: our grief and our addictions; our guilty secrets.

‘You know, when I met her she was great,’ he says, turning to me and smiling. ‘Full of energy and up for a laugh. I loved how outgoing she was. It was good for me because I’ve always been shy. She brought me out of myself.’

‘Yes, she was a force of nature,’ I say, remembering Sally’s loud voice ringing through the house as she clattered in from school. ‘And so optimistic; always seeing the good in people, even my dad. Well, especially my dad.’

Paul nods his head.

‘Yet she never talks about him,’ he says. ‘Not once. Whenever I broach the subject she just clams up.’

‘They were very close,’ I tell him. ‘And she was distraught when he died. That’s when she started going off the rails. It was only a few months after his death that she got pregnant.’

‘She’s had a lot to deal with,’ he says with a heavy sigh. ‘Having a kid when you’re just a kid yourself is tough. She puts up this hard exterior but I can see through it. I know her more than anyone, I really do, and I can see that she’s damaged. My old mum used to say to me that when I was a nipper I was forever trying to fix things, make them better, and it was the same with women. I’ve always gone for the ones who need putting back together.’

Someone drops a glass and the noise makes us both jump. Paul holds his hand to his chest, breathing hard. For once I don’t feel like the weak one.

‘It’s okay,’ I say, putting my hand on his arm. ‘It was just a glass.’

‘I know,’ he says, pulling his arm away and rubbing it. ‘I’m a bag of nerves at the moment. I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t have to be sorry,’ I say, taking a sip of wine. ‘I understand what you’re going through.’

‘Thanks, Kate,’ he says. ‘Thanks for coming back. You know you’re all she has left now.’

‘She still has Hannah,’ I say, putting the glass down. ‘And no matter what, she can’t give up on that girl. That’s why she has to get better, not for me or for you, but so she can reconcile with her daughter.’

The colour drains from his face.

‘I’m sorry, Paul. It must be hard. I know you were close to Hannah too.’