LITMIR.BIZ

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something colourful catches her attention. She picks her way over barnacle-lined rocks until she is close enough to see it.

      A green plastic tackle box lies open, wedged between two rocks. She recognizes it instantly: she bought it for Jackson last Christmas to house the lures and weights that were gradually filling up his bedside drawer. Now salt water fills the trays, so that two bright blue lures float inside like dead fish.

      There is a loud, shattering boom as a wave smashes into the rocks. Icy spray slashes the side of Eva’s face and she drops to her knees, clinging to the rock with numbed fingers.

      ‘Hey!’ someone shouts. ‘Get back!’

      But she cannot move, cannot turn. She is frozen, fear leaden in her stomach. Her face smarts with the cold and the back of her head is wet. A slow trickle of water seeps beneath her scarf.

      Seconds later, she feels the pressure of a hand on her shoulder. A policeman is standing over her, taking her by the arm, encouraging her to her feet. ‘It’s not safe,’ he shouts above the wind.

      She shakes him off. ‘My husband!’ she cries, her words coming out in gusts. ‘He was fishing! Right here!’

      The policeman stares down at her. There is a patch of dark stubble on his jawline, no larger than a thumbprint, which he must have missed when shaving this morning. Something like fear pricks his features as he says, ‘Okay. Okay. Let’s get onto the beach.’

      He grips her arm, helping her stand. Her legs tremble as they move slowly over the wet rocks, him glancing over his shoulder watching for waves.

      When they reach the sand, he turns to her. ‘Your husband was fishing here this morning?’

      She nods. ‘His tackle box – it’s on the rocks.’

      The policeman looks at her for a long moment without blinking. ‘We had a report earlier that a man fishing was swept in.’

      Her voice is small: ‘Was it him?’

      ‘We can’t be sure yet.’ He pauses. ‘But it sounds like it’s possible, yes.’

      Saliva fills her mouth and she twists away. The grey-green sea swills with current as she searches it for Jackson. She swallows. ‘How long ago?’

      ‘About twenty minutes. A couple reported it.’

      She turns, following his gaze towards a middle-aged man and woman in dark blue parkas, a golden retriever at their feet. ‘Was it them? Did they see him?’

      The moment he nods, Eva staggers past him.

      The dog’s tail wags frantically as she approaches. ‘You saw my husband! He was fishing!’

      ‘Your husband?’ the woman says, distress clouding her narrow face. ‘We saw him, yes. I’m sorry—’

      ‘What happened?’

      The woman twists her scarf between her fingers as she says, ‘We’d seen him fishing when we walked past earlier.’ She glances at her husband. ‘You said it looked dangerous with those waves, didn’t you?’

      He nods. ‘When we turned to walk back, we saw he’d been swept in. He was in the water.’

      ‘We called the coastguard,’ the woman adds. ‘We tried to keep sight of him till they arrived … but … but we lost him.’

      They must be mistaken, Eva thinks. It couldn’t be Jackson. ‘The man you saw – what was he wearing?’

      ‘Wearing?’ the woman repeats. ‘Dark clothes, I think. And a hat,’ she says, touching the back of her head. ‘A red hat.’

      *

      Sometime later, Eva’s mother arrives. She drapes a blanket over Eva’s shoulders and teases a fleecy hat over her short hair while asking questions in a low voice: How long has he been in the water? What has the coastguard said?

      Eva watches the lifeboat making a search pattern, as if drawing a square in the water, and then working outward so the square gets larger and larger until at some point the lifeboat is so far away she wonders if it is even possible Jackson could have swum that far.

      She wants to focus on anything but the freezing grip of the sea, so she cushions herself with the warmer memory of Jackson surprising her last month when he’d turned up at the hospital after one of her late shifts, holding a bag containing her favourite dress and a pair of gold heels. He’d told her to get changed because he was taking her out.

      She’d slipped into the locker room, her heart skipping with excitement, and swapped her uniform for the black silk dress he’d chosen. She’d dabbed on some lipstick and smoothed back her dark hair, and the other midwives whistled and cooed as she came out, giving a little twirl.

      Jackson had taken her to a blues bar in north London where the room was lit by candles and the rhythm of the double bass rocked through her chest. She’d leant her head against Jackson’s shoulder, feeling the atmosphere soak through her, washing away the strains of the day. They drank cocktails they couldn’t afford, and she danced in high heels that gave her blisters, but she hadn’t minded: she loved Jackson for his knack of taking a normal day and carving something beautiful from it.

      The loud drone of the coastguard helicopter cuts through Eva’s thoughts. The sea beneath quivers and trembles. The white and red colours look bright, optimistic almost, against the darkening clouds, and a ripple of anticipation spreads through the growing crowd.

      The policeman stands alone, rubbing his palms together to keep warm. Sometimes his radio crackles and he lifts it to his mouth. Eva glances over occasionally, studying him, watching for a sign to tell her how this day will end.

      Mostly they wait in silence, listening to the waves crashing at sea, frothing white water bowling into the rocks. Her mother keeps hold of her hand and every now and then she says beneath her breath, ‘Come on, Jackson. Come on.’

      *

      When the last bit of daylight is fading, Eva hears crackling from the policeman’s radio. She turns and watches as he lifts it towards his mouth and speaks into it. He looks out over the water and nods once, solemnly. Then the radio is lowered.

      He begins moving towards Eva. She shakes her head, thinking, Do not say it!

      ‘I’m afraid the coastguard’s calling off the search.’

      Her gloved fingers clutch her scarf. ‘They can’t!’

      ‘The boat’s almost out of fuel and the helicopter’s lost the light. I’m sorry.’

      ‘He’s still out there!’

      ‘The coastguard has made the decision.’

      ‘But he won’t survive the night.’

      The policeman’s gaze leaves her and settles on the sand at their feet.

      She feels her mother’s hand around her waist, holding onto her, squeezing so tightly it’s as if she’s trying to absorb Eva’s pain.

      ‘He’s out there,’ Eva says finally. She pulls away and staggers down the beach, where the faint lights of the quay glow in the distance. She hears her mother calling after her, but she will not look back. She knows exactly where she needs to go.

      Jackson is her husband and she will not give up on him.

      *

      The fisherman is just stepping onto the quay when Eva approaches him. ‘Is this your boat?’

      ‘Yeah,’ he says suspiciously.

      She snatches a breath. ‘I need you to take me out in it. I’ll pay.’

      ‘Love, this boat isn’t going anywhere …’

      ‘My husband was swept from the rocks this morning,’ she says.

      ‘Your husband? Christ! I heard about it over the

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