Storms. Chris Vick

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Название Storms
Автор произведения Chris Vick
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isbn 9780008158361



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and shook him.

      ‘Wassup?’

      ‘They’re back.’ Hannah leapt to the window.

      ‘Who, what …’ His voice changed from sleepy to wide-awake in a second. ‘They’re not back till tomorrow.’

      ‘That’s what they said.’

      ‘They gonna flip?’

      ‘They knew you’d come round. They didn’t know you’d stay. Shit.’

      Hannah searched her memories, through the haze of wine and sex and sleep.

      Plates and glasses on the table. Empty bottles. The chair knocked over.

      Her dress on the kitchen floor.

      ‘Oh no. Oh God, no.’

      The front door opened, then clunked shut.

      Voices. Sharp and loud.

      Dad: ‘I’ve known him for fifteen years. I’ve kept that bloody bank going.’

      Mum: ‘You didn’t have to make a scene. Why don’t you … Oh. My. God. Pete, come here.’

      Mum was in the kitchen. There was no time to do anything.

      Hannah froze at the window. Jake sat in bed. Both of them naked.

      She covered herself with her hands, then pulled her dressing gown off the back of the door.

      ‘Stay here,’ she whispered, hurrying. If there was going to be a scene, it would be better in the kitchen, before Dad made his way upstairs. She ran down, took a breath before going in.

      ‘Hi,’ she said.

      Dad and Mum stood by the table. Mum had the dress in her hand. Dad picked the chair off the floor and put it upright. Mum placed the dress carefully on the back of the chair.

      ‘Thought you were back tomorrow,’ said Hannah. They turned to her. Her gaze fell to the floor.

      ‘What’s been going on?’ said Dad.

      ‘Pete,’ said Mum. ‘It’s pretty obvious what’s been going on.’ Hannah steeled herself, but kept her eyes on the floor.

      ‘He is my boyfriend,’ said Hannah. Quietly, politely.

      ‘You said he might come round for a drink,’ said Dad.

      ‘Pete. Come on,’ Mum said. Hannah looked up. Mum rolled her eyes, not believing Dad’s naivety. Was she okay with this? Was she on Hannah’s side?

      ‘This is my house. I did not give permission for …’ Dad looked at the dress on the chair.

      ‘He came round for dinner, we had some wine.’ Hannah felt a teasing pain in her hands, and noticed she’d clenched her fists. Her nails were digging into her palms.

      ‘So I see,’ said Dad.

      ‘He’s my boyfriend. We can …’ She couldn’t say it.

      ‘Not in my house,’ said Dad.

      ‘You’d better get used to the idea. He’s coming to Hawaii.’ She didn’t know where these brave words came from, but now that they were out there she felt reckless. She could still feel Jake’s sweat, his warmth, the wine. It was all like armour, protecting her.

      ‘How the hell can you make that decision?’ Dad shouted. ‘You’ve known him, what? A week, two?’

      ‘Longer.’

      He stepped towards her. She didn’t move, though her legs were weak as twigs. ‘And where is he? This boy who’s flying round the world with you, who we don’t even know?’

      ‘I’m here,’ said Jake.

      He’d got dressed. He’d made himself presentable as possible. But he was barefooted, his shoes were still under the table.

      ‘We met briefly, Mr Lancaster. I’m Jake,’ he said, and held out his hand.

      Dad looked him up and down. Dad, with his jacket and tie and slick hair. He shook Jake’s hand, limply, but pulled the sides of his mouth down and raised his eyebrows as he did it.

      He’d dismissed Jake and everything he was with one look. And Hannah hated him for it.

      He picked up one of the empty bottles, took his glasses out of his shirt pocket and examined it. Reading it like a book, like there was no one else there.

      ‘You said I could take some wine,’ said Hannah.

      ‘And so you did,’ said Dad, still looking at the label. ‘Do you know how much this bottle was worth?’

      ‘Sorry, Dad.’

      ‘Sorry?’ he said, softly. ‘You’re sorry.’ Jake stepped forward.

      ‘Hey. We got carried away, drank too much. I was never even going to stay here.’

      Her dad didn’t look at Jake, only at Hannah.

      ‘No. But you did, didn’t you? Hannah, you know which bottles not to take.’ He showed her the bottle, like she would recognise it.

      Jake held his hand up. ‘It’s my bad. I went to get another bottle. Maybe I got one of the pricey ones by accident.’

      Dad looked weirdly pleased by this news. Hannah shot Jake a WTF look.

      ‘I’ll pay you back,’ said Jake. ‘I promise.’

      Dad looked at Jake now. Examining him.

      ‘That might take longer than you think,’ said Dad. ‘You work in a pub, don’t you?’

      ‘There’s no need for that, Pete,’ said Mum. ‘I mean, there’s no need for Jake to pay for it. Is there?’

      Mum never stood up to Dad, but she was now. Even Beano looked at Dad, like he was going to bark. Her father was alone.

      He raised his finger and pointed first at Mum, then at Hannah.

      ‘You’d better go,’ Hannah said to Jake before Dad could speak. She leant over, ducked under the table, grabbed his shoes, and herded him to the front door.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘About the bottle.’

      ‘I’m sorry too. About Dad.’

      They kissed. A reminder of their night.

      She watched him disappear into the dark.

       Jake

      THEY AVOIDED HANNAH’S house after that. And her family.

      They took long walks on the cliffs. Searching. Because Hannah had heard a rumour. The sighting of orcas. Killer whales.

      ‘Not sure I want killer whales around, anyway.’ Jake said after they got home one day. ‘I’d freak if I saw one in the water.’

      Hannah grinned. ‘Worried it’d surf better than you?’

      ‘Killer whales don’t surf.’

      ‘Yeah? I’ve seen it, Jake. I’ve filmed it.’

      ‘Get out!’

      ‘Wanna see?’

      Hannah searched files on her laptop, a look of total concentration on her face. It surprised Jake when she got serious. She screwed up her eyes, sticking her tongue a little way out of the side of her mouth. It was cute. And sexy.

      ‘Can’t find it,’ she said. ‘I should give these files names, not just numbers. Listen to this, while I search. Sounds from a hydrophone we placed off the Scillies, last summer.’

      Jake strained his ears.