“Aaron?” Bethany shoved him out of the way, eyes wide with fear. “Did you see Aaron? Jonah, where’s my Aaron?”
Jonah tried to speak and hiccupped up another mouthful of salt water. Bill Penrose pushed a thick green bottle that reeked of raw spirits into his hand. He took two violent gulps, and a deep breath. “On the boat. Not moving. Unconscious. Or—”
“Get him.” Bethany’s clutching hands closed round Jonah’s sodden, shuddering shoulders. “You have to get Aaron!”
And there it was. Jonah stood revealed, and everyone wanted him. “No,” Ben said, fiercely. “No, he doesn’t. Look at him!”
Bethany looked up, furious, but Jonah flapped a hand for silence. He assessed the bottle, tilted his head back and drained the lot.
“Bloody hell,” said Bill.
“Right,” Jonah rasped. He turned to gaze at the harbour mouth and the tossing boat. “Let’s see.”
“Christ,” Ben said. “You can’t do that again. Can you?”
“Not a chance.” Jonah’s eyes narrowed. He gave a quick nod and held out a hand to Ben. Ben grasped it and pulled, feeling Jonah’s tight clasp, the closest they could come to a public embrace, as he hauled him to his feet. Jonah’s grin was barely sane as he stood. “I’ll come back, Ben. Promise. Now…watch this.”
He leapt, scrabbling up to the roof of the fish-packing shed. Ben stared, along with the others, Bethany gripping his arm now, and they all flinched together as Jonah sprang out, above them, over to the harbour, heading for the Dainty Jane.
Ben could only watch, numb except for the icy pain where the rough rope had torn his hands, as the cries of others narrated Jonah’s movements.
“The rocks—”
“’E’s over ’em. Well over.”
“Lord preserve us. What is he?”
“He’s made the Jane! He’s on deck…”
“Aaron!” That was Bethany, Dora and Aaron’s mother, all three crying out together, as the boat rocked violently. Jonah grabbed for a slumped, dark shape on the deck to stop him tumbling over the gunwale, Aaron didn’t seem to be moving.
“Bad, vurry bad,” George Tapley muttered.
“What’s he doing?” Dora demanded. “What’s he doing?”
That was a damned good question. Jonah stood straight now, on the Dainty Jane’s deck, legs braced, poised and waiting. Ben had no idea what for.
There was a tiny lull in the wind, as if it was gathering strength, and as the next blast whipped down, Jonah flung his arms wide. A terrible high-pitched note cut through the gale, as if the wind had been suddenly channelled into a tiny space. The watchers on the quay cried out or put their hands to their ears, and the tortured wind screamed, and the Dainty Jane leapt forward. It had only the one ragged sail, no steersman, but for just a second the wind seemed to do exactly what the boat needed, and it skidded forward, safely into harbour, veering to the quayside.
There was a roar from the little crowd, triumph and incredulity combined. Bethany was wrapped in her mother’s arms, sobbing her relief, Aaron’s mother clutching both of them. Ben glanced at them, back at the Dainty Jane, now bobbing and directionless, and then at Jonah, who stood, staring forward, swaying slightly.
“What’s ’e up to?” asked Bill Penrose. “Hoi! Aleman!”
Jonah stood a second longer. His knees buckled with horrible suddenness and he dropped as though he’d been shot.
“Jonah?” Ben croaked. “Jonah! Get that boat in!”
The fishermen were already at work, hauling the battered boat to the quay and tying her up. Strong hands brought Aaron’s limp body to safety, as Ben waited, twitching with impatience, and finally they dragged Jonah out to lie on the stone quay.
His eyes were shut, mouth open, face pallid. Blood leaked from his nose and ears and ran in droplets from his closed eyelids over his cheeks like tears, washed away by the rain. He wasn’t moving.
“Jonah?” Ben was kneeling by his side, grabbing his hand. “Are you all right? What did you do, you damned irresponsible idiot? Jay? Oh sweet Jesus, talk to me.”
Jonah lay still. Ben felt panic thicken in his throat. He wanted to check Jonah’s pulse, but he’d forgotten how, forgotten everything except his lover, unnaturally still, with bleeding eyes. Rain and salt spray lashed his face.
Dora was hovering by him. “We’ll get him inside.” She sounded too gentle.
“He’s fine. He’ll be fine. Jonah!” Ben’s fingers dug into the hand he held, and at last, wonderfully, Jonah’s eyelids flickered and opened. His eyes were filmed with blood, but they focused on Ben, and he managed a half smile.
“Did it,” he whispered, and his head lolled back.
Dora shook his shoulder, speaking more harshly. “Now. You come up, you great gawk. It’s wet out here.”