Storms. Chris Vick

What kind? What was it worth? Jake had no idea. He wasn’t into pills or powders.

      Yeah, he’d tell the police, and the local papers and TV news.

      Hannah would be well impressed. Plus: brilliant excuse for being late this morning.

      Halfway up the cliff path he looked back into the cove. It was dead on high tide. He kept looking. Had he seen something? A broken pole, thick as a mast, poking out of the sea. Had he? The water was a mess of thrashing waves at the shore break. It was playing tricks with him. But … There.

      Ten metres out was the broken mast of a boat. It was exposed when the waves sucked back. And, just below the surface, a wreck.

      That was where the drugs had come from.

      ‘D’you know what?’ he said to himself. ‘You could always sell it, dude. Get rich.’ Maybe this was a gift from the sea gods like Goofy had talked about? Maybe it was meant to be. If he sold the drugs, he’d be able to fund Hawaii, easy.

      Jake shook his head. He laughed at his own joke.

       Hannah

      HANNAH HAMMERED AT the front door till it opened.

      ‘Hannah, darling. Is everything all right?’

      She threw herself at Dad, soaking his dressing gown.

      ‘What’s he done?’ said Dad.

      ‘Noth-nothing to do with Jake. There’s …’ Hannah forced the words through her sobs. ‘There’s whales. Killer whales. On the shore.’

      ‘What?’ Dad held her shoulders, looking into her eyes. ‘What do you mean, whales? Why are you crying? Calm down.’

      ‘They’re stranded. Dead mostly. But there’s a young one, alive.’ She pictured its black, marble eye. She heard its cry, like it was real. Calling to her, above the wind and rain.

      ‘Come and sit down. I’ll make you a cup of tea. We’ll phone the coastguard.’

      Hannah pushed his hands off her. She went to the hall and called Steve Hopkins. She got his answerphone.

      ‘Mr Hopkins. It’s Hannah Lancaster …’ She took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling, to put steel in her voice. ‘It’s eight fifteen. There are several stranded whales, orcas, at Whitesands beach. Some dead, at least two alive. One’s a juvenile female … I think. Call me. No … get here, please. I’ll text you some pics.’ She left her number, then used the phone again, punching the buttons with her finger. She got Jake’s voicemail too.

      ‘Jake. Call me!’

      Why wasn’t Mr Hopkins answering? Why wasn’t Jake? Why was Dad doing nothing, apart from offering tea? It was like swimming through treacle.

      ‘I need him and he’s surfing,’ she sighed heavily, leaning against the wall.

      ‘Well,’ said Dad. ‘It’s not the first time, is it?’

      Hannah didn’t bite. Now wasn’t the time.

      She phoned again, punching the buttons with her finger. Got an answer message, again.

      ‘Call me, Jake. I need you.’

       Jake

      ‘YOU HAVE TO be kidding me,’ said Goofy. He was sunk deep in his sofa, staring at the small jar on the table. It was a quarter full of white powder.

      He stood up, went to the kitchenette and came back with a teaspoon, then opened the jar and scooped some powder on to the table.

      They both leant over to examine the small mound of boulders and crystal dust.

      ‘I thought you might know what it is,’ said Jake.

      ‘Oh, really. Why’s that, then?’

      ‘I thought you might have … I dunno. I just did. Could you could test it?’

      In films, people licked a finger and tasted a dab. Goofy just stared at the powder.

      ‘I come down ’ere to get away from that kind of shit. I don’t care what it is.’

      ‘I thought you came here to surf?’

      ‘Mostly.’

      Jake thought of all the things Goofy had said about his past. And not said. Maybe Goofy had run from something as much as to something.

      ‘Any idea?’ said Jake.

      ‘Coke at a guess. MDMA, maybe. Smack, possibly. Why’d you want to know?’

      ‘So I know what to do with it.’

      ‘You don’t do anything with it. You tell the law. I hate the bastards, but they have their uses. You don’t want some kids finding it, do you?’

      ‘Any idea how much it’s worth?’ said Jake.

      ‘If it’s coke, there’s more than a few grams there. A grand? Two, three, maybe.’

      Jake sat bolt upright. He thought of the full jam jar under his bed and the crate hidden on the beach. How much money was in there?

      ‘A thousand quid, plus? For that tiny amount,’ he said.

      ‘Yeah. For that tiny amount,’ said Goofy. ‘Why, how big is the package it came from?’

      ‘Big,’ Jake said. The air in the room was suddenly thick, the roaring wind a million miles away.

      Goofy stared at him, his eyebrows knotted. ‘You don’t want to worry about this, Jakey. You’re getting on a plane soon.’

      ‘And how am I going to afford that?’ Jake shrugged, and nodded. Suggesting something. It took Goofy a few seconds to twig what that something was.

      ‘Oh no,’ said Goofy. ‘No, no, no, no, no. You are kidding.’

      ‘Imagine it, Goofy,’ said Jake in a forced whisper. ‘All that dosh. Thousands. More.’

      Goofy stood up, keeping an eye on the small hill of powder, as if it was a coiled snake waiting to spring up and bite him. ‘This ain’t a bit of weed, Jake. This is ten years in prison. More, depending on … How much is there?’

      Jake didn’t want to freak Goofy out. Not more than he already was. Better not tell the whole truth. ‘The package is about the size of a bag of flour. Is that a lot?’

      ‘No, Jake. This …’ Goofy pointed at the table, ‘is a lot. That’s a small mountain. You’re talking about the entire Himalayas. Tens of thousands, like. More possibly.’

      ‘Enough to get us made. For life.’

      Goofy started pacing the flat, rubbing his hands together, his voice getting louder. ‘Enough to get you banged up with rapists and murderers till your hair’s gone grey!’ He marched to the door, and opened it, letting in a blast of wind and rain. He looked around, then came back in.

      ‘Did you see anyone down there? Did anyone see you?’

      ‘No … Hold on … one guy. Yeah, this surfer. He’d been down before me. Older bloke with a craggy face.’

      ‘Anyone else?’

      ‘No, why?’

      Goofy didn’t appear to hear the question. He walked to the table, picked up the jar, put it just below the level of the table and brushed the powder back in with his finger. He put his hand to his mouth, as if to lick off the white stain. He paused, then licked it anyway. He looked at the ceiling, thinking. Then nodded.

      ‘That’s