Sea state, p.1
Sea State, page 1
SEA STATE
J. M. Simpson
Copyright ©J M Simpson 2021
The right of J M Simpson to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, into any retrieval system, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organisations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
Cover design copyright ©J M Simpson 2021
Independently published.
Authors Note.
I have taken a degree of literary license when depicting the wonderful work and crew members of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution (RNLI). I have embellished various aspects and fictionalised others to get the story right. So all mischaracterizations are fictional, and any procedural errors are mine.
The RNLI is an outstanding organisation whose volunteer lifeboat crews provide a 24-hour rescue service in the UK and Ireland, and their seasonal lifeguards look after people on busy beaches.
RNLI crews and lifeguards have saved over 143,500 lives since 1824. They influence, supervise and educate people. Their Community Safety teams explain the risks and share safety knowledge with anyone going out to sea or to the coast. And their international team work with like-minded organisations to help tackle drowning in communities at risk all around the world. As a charity they rely on kindness and generosity so if you’d like to donate please visit https://rnli.org/support-us
For my Crew – You are my true north.
For all the lifeboat heroes of the sea.
Past, present, and future.
The Sea washes away all the ills of men.
Euripides
Prologue
She was dying. She knew it. She was absolutely and irrevocably sure of it. Unable to move, she felt like something invisible was pinning her to the floor. She seemed to be watching herself from above. Watching as he kicked and punched her repeatedly and screamed obscenities at her. A sensation of wetness suddenly flooded over her and, looking down, she realised it was blood. Was it hers? It was all over him too, but he didn’t seem to notice. Icy coldness crept in, enfolding her, and black spots danced in front of her eyes. This is what it must feel like to be dying, she thought, as she watched him lay another vicious kick to her head. How can anyone possibly survive this?
Chapter 1
Leslie Cotton felt the familiar rush of rage that drove her to do the work she did. Swearing quietly, she flicked through the graphic photographs of the injured woman, held together with a paperclip in the worn brown folder with the annoying curly edges. She focused on one of the pictures, inspecting it closely, wincing at the injury. Entering the observation room, which smelt suspiciously of curry, despite the ‘No food or drink allowed’ sign she approached the one-way mirror to look at the woman.
In an effort to create a ‘relaxed and comfortable environment’ in the police interview room, someone in the higher echelons of purchasing had decided that two uncomfortable blue sofas were the answer. Leslie had spent hours in these rooms and could categorically conclude that the environment was neither relaxed nor comfortable.
A woman sat on one of the sofas, a wheelchair by her side. She was in her mid-thirties, with dark hair. Her eyes were barely visible in her swollen, black and purple face, with its discoloured split lips and a large dressing down one side. Both arms and lower legs were in casts. Chaotic blue, purple and yellow bruising was visible on her body through her thin white V-neck T-shirt.
Leslie’s straight-talking northern colleague had described her as ‘looking like hammered shit.’
The woman sat still, eyes closed, body tense. She wore a deep frown, as if remembering something unpleasant. In each corner of the room two CCTV cameras were fixed, their small red lights blinking. The strip lighting was hospital-like, fluorescent and unforgiving, giving the woman a slightly yellow tinge.
Leslie watched as Emily, a young PC, entered the room, placed a glass of water on the table in front of the woman and touched her arm softly.
‘Jesse?’
The woman on the sofa started, looking panicked, recoiling from Emily’s touch.
‘It’s OK,’ Emily said softly. ‘You’re safe here. I just wanted to say DS Cotton is on her way.’
The woman managed a wan smile. Leslie watched Emily leave and a few seconds later she opened the door to the observation room.
‘God, it stinks of curry in here,’ she announced as she poked her head in and wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s showtime.’
‘Thanks … She OK?’ Leslie asked as she gathered up the file and grabbed her water.
Emily shrugged. ‘Think so. She’s well jumpy though.’
‘Thanks for getting her.’ Leslie grabbed the open door from Emily and headed for the interview room. She pushed the door open with her shoulder and entered, smiling warmly.
‘Jesse … good to see you again. How are you doing?’
The woman looked up. ‘Hi Leslie, I’m OK, how are you?’
Leslie sat down opposite Jesse, placing her file on the table. ‘I’m good, thanks. So, how are you feeling about today?’
Jesse looked down at her hands, which were fiddling with a crumpled tissue. Her voice trembled. ‘Err … how do I feel? Nervous, anxious, terrified … pick whichever word fits … All of the above really.’
‘It’ll be OK.’ Leslie leant across and placed a hand on Jesse’s arm. ‘Let’s get started, so we don’t have to think about it too much. Sometimes that’s worse, isn’t it? Thinking rather than doing? Anything you need before we make a start?’
Jesse shook her head. Leslie picked up the file.
‘Ok Jesse. So, this is a record of what you remember, the night you were attacked. We’re going to go through it. Everything is relevant. We need to collect as much evidence as we can ... OK? I know this is hard and it’ll be really difficult and really painful, but we can take a break whenever you want. You do need to be aware though, that if the CPS deem it necessary, you’ll be called to give evidence in Court.’
Jesse’s eyes filled with tears.
‘OK, so we need to do this, Jesse…while it’s still fresh,’ Leslie said authoritatively.
Jesse nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘To be clear, we’re recording this. So, for the purposes of the recording, Jesse, as you know, I’m Detective Sergeant Leslie Cotton from the Directorate of Professional Standards and you’re Jesse Stevens. The date is the twenty-first of September 2018. This is a video record of your evidence concerning the attack you suffered at the hands of Police Officer Christopher Cherry on the twenty-seventh of August 2018, who is now in custody. Just for the record, I’m obliged to ask you formally to confirm to me, Jesse, you feel well enough to continue, given your very severe injuries.’
Jesse nodded.
‘For the recording, Jesse,’ prompted Leslie.
‘Yes, I’m OK to continue,’ Jesse said in a low tone.
‘So, in your own time, tell me what happened on the night of the twenty-seventh of August 2018. You can stop anytime, we can take a break.’ Leslie looked up from her notes. ‘OK?’
Jesse closed her eyes. She was quiet for so long that Leslie was just about to lean forwards and touch her arm when suddenly Jesse opened her eyes and whispered, ‘He called me.’ Her voice shook. She looked over Leslie’s shoulder into the distance, remembering. ‘He was so angry. I’d never heard him that angry before.’
Leslie leant forwards to catch Jesse’s words as they were so faint.
‘He said … he said … “Are you ready, bitch?” … I said … “For what? What are you talking about …?” and he said … “For the overdue beating you need, you fucking bitch.” Then he told me I was going to die.’
Jesse looked up at Leslie and took a deep breath.
‘He said I was going to die. That he was going to kill me and enjoy every single second of it … And I believed him.’
Chapter 2
He was dying. He was going to drown, and in that moment the irony was not lost on him. He felt the panic of not being able to breathe and tried to control it, remembering the training. He felt the crushing weight of his lungs, desperate for air; he was sure they were going to burst. He couldn’t see a way out, couldn’t feel a way out in the blackness. More time, he needed more time. He struggled, his strength waning. White light appeared. This was it, he thought. Time’s up.
Doug woke suddenly, drawing in a huge breath. He lay in the dark bedroom for a moment, clutching onto the bedclothes as if they were the only thing anchoring him to the bed. He was trembling and sweating profusely. He saw the other side of the bed, empty and unslept in.
He struggled to sit up, wincing at the sharp pain in his side. He gingerly rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the sore cuts and the tender bruising, the stitches along his jawline.
Doug was forty, tall and trim, with dark blond hair and a tanned face from being in close proximity to the se a and sun. People told him his eyes were his best feature, an exceptionally light blue – wolf-like in some lights. Direct and unforgiving, or soft and warm, depending on how he felt.
He turned painfully to his bedside table which sported a variety of bottles of pills and awkwardly shook out a few, slugging them down with some water. He closed his eyes and lay back down again, trying to control the waves of nausea that threatened to engulf him.
He’d looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and decided he had looked better. His appearance had genuinely shocked him. He’d made a poor attempt at shaving, but the area on his face where the stiches were remained covered in stubble. His hand was too shaky to navigate around these areas.
He swore softly to himself as he struggled across the bedroom with the crutches. He slowly managed to open the curtains, pain shooting through him as he overstretched. The day had dawned bright and sunny.
He’d managed, with some difficulty, to get on a pair of black trousers and a white shirt, but was irritated that his bandage was visible through his shirt and that the wound on his torso had seeped more blood. His black tie hung loosely around his neck, as he had given up trying to tie it with his shaking hands. Exhausted and dizzy, he sat down again slowly, wincing once more as he sat.
A tall, blonde-haired, slim woman in a black dress and high heels marched into the bedroom, heading straight for the mirror. She fiddled with her hair, then turned to look at Doug with a disparaging expression.
‘You’re up. Finally. Christ, you look awful.’
Doug regarded her stoically. ‘Is that a medical opinion?’
Claire grabbed him under the arm, yanking him upwards, making him stand. Doug inhaled sharply as the pain hit.
‘It’s a medical opinion,’ she said briskly. ‘You look pale.’ She stood back slightly. ‘And green. Are you going to throw up?’
‘… Thinking about it,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Well, don’t do it over me. This is a new dress,’ she said, brushing a spec of something non-existent off her skirt and smoothing it over her hips. She stepped back, viewing him critically.
‘Come on. Let’s get this damn thing over with. You know I can’t stand funerals. You shouldn’t even be out of hospital, but as usual you think you know best.’ She marched out of the room calling to Doug in an authoritative tone, ‘Leaving in five, Douglas. Be ready. Now’s the time to throw up.’
Claire drove, the RNLI truck jerking and the engine roaring with her angry gear changes. Doug was sitting in the passenger seat, thinking about how awful he felt and how he’d prefer to actually die than face today. He also paused for a moment of sympathy for his beloved truck.
‘I hate this bloody tank. I absolutely hate it. Douglas, I need today like I need a hole in the bloody head. I’m going straight into work afterwards. You can make your own way home with the kids? I see absolutely no point in hanging around with you or your cronies and moping about.’
Doug muttered, ‘Forever the supportive wife.’
Claire brought the truck to an abrupt halt in the harbour car park with a squeal of tyres, throwing Doug painfully forwards in his seat. She switched off the engine and turned on him angrily.
‘Don’t give me that crap, Douglas. I’ve been busy trying to hold down a job while you get back on your feet.’
She snapped down the visor and applied lipstick.
‘I mean, I do wonder, while we’re on the subject, whether this hasn’t prompted you to do something different with your life, so it’s not me and the children standing over a coffin on the bandstand at some point in the future. You know, something a bit more useful perhaps.’
Doug stared at Claire in disbelief. ‘A bit more useful?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Are we really doing this today?’ Doug stared at Claire.
She snorted derisively. ‘Well, when is a good time, Douglas? I’m serious, I think you should think about doing something else. Something different. God forbid I have to be the grieving widow.’
‘God forbid,’ Doug muttered.
A tap on the window made them both jump and they turned to see a tall, handsome, dark-haired man with a neat dark beard in his twenties, also in dress uniform standing by the truck.
Claire turned to Doug. ‘Your cronies await. Let’s get this over with. I have patients to see.’ She opened the door, climbed out and slammed it.
‘Mike,’ she said, walking away.
Mike said to her departing back. ‘Claire.’
Doug opened the car door slowly.
‘You alright, Skipper?’ Mike asked, looking at Claire’s retreating back, then back to Doug. ‘Skip, no disrespect and all that, but you look like hell. You should still be in hospital.’
Doug sighed. ‘I have to do it. I have to be here. For them.’
The Victorian bandstand sat proudly below the castle, overlooking the sandy bay. The old bandstand was a stark contrast to the contemporary design of the lifeboat station, which stood nearby, silently guarding the sea. On the raised bandstand, two coffins lay, draped in RNLI flags, surrounded by men in dress uniform, heads bowed. Surrounding the bandstand were people dressed in black who had come to pay their respects to their lost loved ones.
Doug stopped. He could hear the local mayor on the bandstand getting to the end of reading Tennyson’s ‘Crossing the Bar’. He saw the four steps up to his destination and it might well have been the north face of the Eiger. He felt like he could lie down and sleep, or even better, die, right where he stood, then it would all be over. He felt exhausted, sick and sweaty. He felt a hand on his shoulder as he turned to see two of his crew standing next to him.
‘You OK, Skip?’ asked Dan softly, a regular crew member also in his early twenties. He was handsome with longer hair and much-ribbed designer stubble. He was standing next to Mike, both of them looking concerned.
‘Do you need a hand up, Skip?’ Mike asked quietly.
Doug shook his head and breathed deeply. He climbed the four steps and moved awkwardly past the mayor and coffins, nodding to people as he shuffled past.
For a dreadful moment, Doug thought his body would betray him and throw up. He took a huge breath and adjusted his stance to rest a hand on one of the coffins.
The weight of his own personal grief was threatening to overwhelm him; he could feel it building like a tidal wave of crashing emotion. He cleared his throat and spoke, his Scottish accent always much more pronounced when he was emotional.
‘Thank you … All of you … For coming and paying your respects, for your support over the last few weeks … since …’ His voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears; he struggled to get control. ‘It means a lot to us. All of us.’ He paused for a moment and looked out to sea, fighting the lump in his throat. ‘Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. Jeff and Gavin, you showed enormous strength and courage and showed no fear.’
Doug looked down at the two coffins. ‘I heard a song on the radio this morning. The song said fear was for the brave, cowards never stare it in the eye, and I thought of you two and your incredible bravery. You gave your lives to save others and we’ll always be grateful for that. This community will forever be grateful. Jeff and Gav … our friends. Our family. You’ll be missed.’
Doug looked across the sea of faces, seeing Claire at the back of the crowd fully engrossed in her phone, the anger he felt steeled him to refocus and get his emotions under control.
‘You’ve both left a huge hole that can never be filled. You paid the ultimate price. Your courage, sacrifice and bravery meant that others could live. You’ll be missed, but you’ll never be forgotten.’
Doug turned and nodded to the crew who had stepped forward to carry the coffins. They picked the coffins up and carried them slowly to the waiting hearses in the harbour car park. Doug followed, struggling down the steps slowly.
