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‘The drone was only overhead for nine minutes, but we’re searching the radar signals of other ships in the area, trying to get a fix on where the larger vessel went after the collision. To date, our best lead has come from the local harbour master here in Grimsby. On Monday morning, a support tender for one of the wind farm operations reported a near collision with an unmarked trawler as it passed Spurn Head. The tender radioed the unidentified boat but got no response.’
‘Where is Spurn Head?’ I ask.
‘The narrowest point that boats enter the Humber estuary,’ says Stanford. ‘The tender skipper thought the boat was making an awful racket, possibly from a damaged prop shaft.’
‘Where would it go?’ asks Carlson.
‘The Humber estuary covers more than a hundred square miles. There are dozens of marinas and boatyards. A hundred places to hide.’
Carlson isn’t fazed. ‘Well, we’d best get started.’
19
Evie
My date with Liam is messing with my head. It’s all I can think about. What am I going to wear? What will we talk about? He goes to university. I work in an animal shelter. He can rebuild a car. I can’t change a tyre.
I’m not going to sleep with him. And if he tries to kiss me, I’ll knee him in the balls. What if he asks for my permission? What if he smells nice? What if he doesn’t want to kiss me? What if he finds me repulsive?
I can’t decide what I want. Is being normal an ambition? My therapist Veejay says she’s never met a normal person. We’re all weird in our own ways.
I’m standing in front of my wardrobe, examining my range of shitty choices. I’m looking for something casual, but cool and sexy, but not trampy or desperate. I have ripped jeans, which look OK. I add a polka-dot top. Ugh! Next I try a linen popover shirt. Tuck it in. Pull it out. Roll up the sleeves. Roll them down. No.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve exhausted my wardrobe and my bed is a small mound of discarded clothes. Finally, I settle on a white blouse, ripped jeans and Cyrus’s old denim jacket, which is too small for him and too big for me. The jacket is decorated with cloth patches from the cities he’s visited. It makes me feel like I’m a world traveller. I hope Liam doesn’t ask me questions about Berlin or Amsterdam or Prague.
I’m looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The trick with make-up is to make it look like I haven’t made an effort. Cyrus says I use too much eyeshadow and eyeliner, and that my eyes are beautiful, but I don’t believe him. I try a different combination of colours, using make-up wipes to remove the evidence then start again.
Suddenly, I notice the time. I’m late. I hurry along Parkside and turn into Bramcote Lane, but slow down because I don’t want to get sweaty.
The pub is ahead of me. I’m half an hour late. What if Liam doesn’t wait?
Normally, I’d pause outside and take a breath, maybe sneak a look through the window, but this time I push through the doors into a wall of noise and bodies. The place is heaving. I’m not tall enough to see over heads. I’m at armpit level. The deodorant zone.
I don’t like crowded places, which is a phobia but I can’t remember which one.
Something about the noise and closeness of people overstimulates my brain and makes me anxious.
‘There you are,’ says Liam, materialising in front of me. He’s carrying a tray of drinks. ‘Follow me. I’ll introduce you to the gang.’
Gang?
I want to escape, but he’s waiting for me. I trail along, following him through the bar into a garden, which is cooler, but just as crowded. There are tables and umbrellas and children and dogs.
‘I thought you’d bailed on me,’ says Liam, shouting over his shoulder. The tray wobbles. Beer spills.
We reach a table under a tree where four people are waiting. Three boys and a girl.
‘This is Evie,’ says Liam, who proceeds to tell me everyone’s name, but I don’t remember all of them. A couple of them smile. The others exchange looks that I can’t read. I raise my hand in a little wave and put on my best fake smile.
Liam is distributing pints and something that might be a cocktail. There are empty glasses on the table. How long have they been here?
‘What can I get you?’ he asks.
‘What?’
‘A drink.’
‘Oh, water.’
