A Season for Second Chances(105)

“I thought I’d find him.” John looked pleadingly at her. “I tried the town center, then the wider town, I’ve been over most of Thanet. And then I thought, maybe he’d tried to get back here, hitchhiked or something.” He glanced around the room. “I guess not.”

The women shook their heads.

“What if he has come back and you just haven’t seen him?” said Sally. “You said he’s got a kind of hideout.”

“Surely he wouldn’t have gone into the cave?” said Gemma. “He must know it would be dangerous in weather like this!”

“Alfred knows the tides better than any of us, but we can’t rule out that he didn’t try and get into the cave when the tide was lower, thinking he could ride out the storm in there,” said Maeve.

“And if he’s panicked and bolted, he might not be thinking straight,” added Sally. “Anxiety can make the most levelheaded person act irrationally.”

“I just don’t know where else he would go,” said John. “This is all my fault.”

This time Annie did reach out to him. She took his clenched fist firmly in her two hands. “You are not responsible for Alfred,” she said with conviction. “He is an adult man and any choices he’s made, wise or otherwise, are his own. Okay?”

John didn’t look at her.

Annie repeated herself in a tone that demanded a response. “Okay?”

John looked at her and nodded infinitesimally. Annie nodded back.

Annie was first to her feet. Her heart was beating hard in her chest, adrenaline making her feel sick. She had a terrible feeling that Maeve was right; where else would Alfred go? The tide had been coming in fast when she’d been securing the shutters, and the storm made the swell far greater than normal.

“Right!” she said. “Coats on. Mari’s got torches in the cellar. We’ll sweep the beach as far as we can.”

She ran behind the counter and quickly swapped her ankle boots for the pair of wellingtons she kept there.

“What if a couple of us turn our cars around to face the beach and put our full beams on?” Sally suggested.

“Good idea,” said Maeve. “John and I both have 4×4s, so their beams should be high enough to reach over the prom. And yours is best placed of all, being parked right on the prom itself.” She nodded at Sally. “John, have you asked at the pubs yet?”

John shook his head. “No, I came straight here.”

“Okay, lad. In that case, Sally, would you mind driving up to the pubs and asking if anyone’s seen Alfred? Not too much of a pain to get in and out with the chair, is it?”

“Not at all,” said Sally as Gemma handed her her coat. “Leave it with me. I’ll message if I get any information.”

Annie fetched the torches, and the search party set out into the night. Maeve and John moved their cars farther back along the shingle path, to where the ground level was slightly elevated, bringing their headlamps level with the bottom of the promenade. The white beams lit the storm. The rain was coming down in slanted sheets. The sea was a swollen, foaming mass, waves built on waves as far back as it was possible to see, the front runners crashing relentlessly against the shore. The tide was too high and too ferocious for any hope of making it round to the entrance of the cave.

“Maeve,” Annie shouted. “You and Gemma take that end of the promenade.” She pointed beyond Saltwater Nook, where the prom ended and the rocks climbed up the cliff. “See if he’s taken shelter anywhere among the rocks. We’ll take the beach. He could be holed up beneath the curve of the promenade.”

“Right ho!” shouted Maeve. “Everyone got their phones?”

The others gave the thumbs-up.

“Any sign of rock falls, get the hell away fast!” yelled John.

“Roger that!” Maeve called back as she and Gemma began a slow determined trudge toward the bottom of the cliff.

John jumped down onto the stones, and Annie took his hand and followed. It was harder to see down on the beach. They flicked on their torches and began to shine them around.

“Should we split up?” Annie called. The violence of the storm was stealing her breath.

“No!” John replied. “We need to stick together. We can’t risk one of us getting into trouble.”

Annie gave a thumbs-up, and they began to tramp along the middle strip of beach between the howling sea and the edge of the promenade, Annie shining her torch against the undercurve of the prom while John cast sweeping motions with his, out across the beach. Unease writhed in Annie’s stomach. She hoped Alfred wasn’t here, hoped he had simply taken himself off to the city; she would rather he was sheltering in a doorway somewhere, relying on the kindness of strangers, than here on this beach, or worse, trapped in the cave, or worse still . . . She couldn’t finish the thought. She looked out toward the cave and as she did so the moon appeared from behind a cloud and briefly lit the water. Something bobbing on the waves caught her eye. Her stomach dropped.

“What’s that?” she called, pointing with her torch to where something was being tossed back and forth among the waves.

John followed her torchlight and added his. They made their way as close as they dared to the edge of the shore, the rolling army of waves beating them back with a volley-fire attack, the spray alone soaking them through. The torchlight picked out the eerie glow of orange fluorescent stripes. There was no mistaking it; it was Alfred’s rucksack.