The Survivors, стр. 61

No answer.

‘I mean it, mate. Liam? It’s a serious safety issue. You know that. You can’t –’

‘I had to come up because I couldn’t stay down there anymore.’ Liam’s reply was so low Kieran barely caught the words.

‘What do you mean?’ Sean said.

‘I got water in my mask and I was clearing it but I sucked some in and –’ Liam stopped.

‘That’s nothing new though.’ Sean’s voice was soft now. ‘How many times has that happened? Hundreds.’

‘Yeah, I know. But this time –’ It seemed for a second like Liam might not say any more. ‘When the water was in my nose and mouth I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I mean, I could – the air was coming through and everything – but I felt like I couldn’t, you know? I couldn’t stand it. Being down there. So that’s what happened. All right? I needed to breathe so I came up.’

There was a silence.

‘Okay,’ Sean said. ‘All right, mate. You should have come and found me, though. Or anyone. Not disappeared like that.’

‘I know. But –’ Liam sounded embarrassed now. ‘I didn’t know how long I had. I was scared I was going to rip my mask off.’

Neither of them spoke for another moment.

‘Is it that bad?’ Sean said.

‘People thinking I killed a girl? Yeah, it’s pretty bad.’

Kieran heard movement around the front. Verity was ready. Still, he stayed where he was.

‘All right.’ Sean’s words were almost inaudible. ‘Maybe –’ A pause. ‘Maybe don’t mention this to anyone else for now, mate.’

Verity’s head appeared around the corner.

‘Ready?’ she said, and Liam’s reply was lost.

‘Yeah.’ Kieran stepped away from the shed and he and Verity walked together out of the marina. As they hit the road, they both opened their mouths at the same time.

‘Sorry,’ Kieran said. ‘You go.’

‘I was just going to say I’m going to get a coffee to take home to your dad.’ Verity’s voice was light but still frosty. ‘Apparently the Surf and Turf could do with the business. Do you want to come?’

‘I suppose,’ Kieran said. ‘You know it was Julian who told the cops about Dad wandering, don’t you?’

‘I do. It was also Julian who kept him safe until I got there. Not for the first time, either.’

‘Right,’ Kieran said as they started to walk. ‘Listen, though, I’m sorry about taking Audrey to the caves. You’re completely right. I was on the lookout and I could see the tide was out and –’ He looked over.

‘Okay,’ Verity said simply. Ahead, the Surf and Turf’s sign was lit up.

‘I won’t take her down again.’

‘That’s up to you.’

‘Mum –’

‘Like you said, Kieran, she’s your child.’ Verity’s voice was steely calm. ‘But you’d be very sorry if anything happened to her.’

Kieran stopped walking. After a few paces, Verity relented and stopped as well. She turned and they stood on the street and looked at each other.

‘Is there something you want to say to me, Mum?’

‘No, Kieran.’

‘Are you sure? About Finn, maybe?’

‘No.’

‘Because I’m sensing a little passive aggression here.’ He was goading her now, using the same placid tone Verity was so fond of.

‘Well.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way.’

‘Mum –’

‘Kieran.’ Verity sighed heavily. ‘Let’s not. Okay? You’re right. Audrey is your child. But if something happened to her, you would be sorry. And that’s all I want to say.’

It wasn’t, of course, but she was already turning away. ‘I’m getting coffee. You’re welcome to come, or not.’

Kieran watched her for a few moments longer, then followed.

The large screen normally reserved for sports was lit up with the local news bulletin as they pushed open the door to the Surf and Turf. The sound was off and images flickered as piped eighties music filtered from the speakers into the room.

Lyn was again back in uniform, frowning as she pointed a remote at the screen and stabbed at the buttons.

‘They had the news crew here this morning,’ she said to Kieran and Verity as they came in. ‘Wanted to see what they got.’

‘Have Bronte’s parents arrived?’ Verity said as she placed their order.

‘Yeah, Chris Renn brought them in here. They only stayed for a minute. Didn’t say much.’ Lyn nodded at the noticeboard where a printed sheet had been pinned up next to the photo of Bronte. ‘There’s a community meeting being set up for tonight, though. Reckon they’ll be there then.’

Kieran walked over. The notice announced details of the meeting at the Evelyn Bay library. Sergeant Renn’s photocopied signature was at the bottom. Kieran looked at Bronte’s face, then touched the collection tin on the table below. It barely moved, heavy now.

‘Here we go,’ Lyn said, pointing at the TV news. She tried once more with the remote, then gave up and resigned herself to watching without sound.

The dark-haired reporter was standing on the familiar stretch of beach outside Fisherman’s Cottage, speaking into a microphone. The camera panned out, capturing from a respectful distance two people standing by the shallows, their faces ashen. Kieran didn’t need the caption to know who they were. Bronte’s father had cropped greying hair and was wearing a smart wool coat over jeans. The woman was short, like Bronte, and the same shade of blonde, cut to a crisp line at her shoulders. They were both dressed in navy. Not quite funeral colours, but close. Bronte’s dad pressed a crumpled tissue to his eyes as his wife placed a huge bunch of pink roses on the pile that had collected near the water’s edge. The wind caught the cellophane and toppled the bouquet onto its side as soon as she let go. Bronte’s parents didn’t move, simply staring at the heap of decaying flowers as though it may hold some answers.

The footage was replaced by a smiling photo of Bronte, a new one Kieran hadn’t seen before. She was beaming in front of a framed painting Kieran guessed was one of her own.

The image disappeared and Sergeant Renn filled the screen. He spoke into