He still walked with a heavy limp—his left leg still needed to be braced. He stumped along and Jack’s heart twisted for him.
One stupid moment of speed and carelessness. Metal on metal. Lives changed for ever.
There was a scattering of people on the beach, well away from the netted area where Toby had died. These must be more of the resort’s clients, he thought, as this place was too far for tourists to come. There were gay little beach shelters scattered about for whoever wanted or needed shade. A couple of kids were in beach-tyred wheelchairs. A few kids were playing in the shallows. Parents were playing with them, talking among themselves.
He had no wish to join them. Did he have any intention of staying?
‘Maisie,’ Harry said, dragging his thoughts back from introspection, and he glanced back to where the little boy was looking and saw the big golden retriever bounding down the beach towards them. Carrying a ball. She raced straight up to them, dropped the ball at Harry’s feet, then bounced backwards and beamed with a full-on canine beam.
‘Toss it,’ Jack suggested. Harry hesitated but Maisie was practically turning herself inside out with ball-need.
Finally Harry picked the ball up and threw it all of three feet.
The big dog pounced, but before bringing it back she raced towards the shore, dropped it into the shallows, quivered and then brought it back to them. Her message couldn’t be clearer. Throw it further. Throw it into the sea.
‘You throw it,’ Harry whispered, and such a command was almost unheard of from Harry.
So Jack threw it, to the water’s edge. The dog retrieved it with joy but this time she took it further into the shallows before bringing it back.
Once again her message was clear. ‘Throw it even further.’
‘She wants you to throw it deep,’ Harry whispered, so Jack did. He hurled the ball out to where the waves were just breaking.
Maisie was on it like a bullet, streaking through the water, diving through the waves, reaching the ball …
But then not stopping.
The reason the waves were so shallow here, why the beach was so safe, was that the outer spits curved around, protecting the inner bay. At low tide the spits would be connected to the land but now, at high tide, the sand spits formed long, narrow islands. The island looked beautiful, sand washed and untouched, apart from a host of sandpipers searching for pippies or crabs or sand fleas—whatever sandpipers ate.
And now Maisie was headed for the spit island as well. She swam strongly until she reached it, then raced onto the sand, sending sandpipers scattering in alarm.
But then she turned and looked back at the beach. She looked at the water between herself and the shore.
She looked at Jack and Harry. She dropped her ball at her feet—and she shivered.
She was maybe fifty yards from them, through breast-deep water. She’d swum out with ease but her demeanour now was unmistakeable. How have I got here? Uh-oh.
‘She’s stuck,’ Harry gasped, appalled.
‘She can swim back.’
‘She’s scared.’
She couldn’t be. Jack stared at the dog in exasperation. She’d swum through the shallow waves with ease. Of course she could get back.
He glanced along the beach, hoping someone official might appear, but it must be time to pack up. The few people left on the beach were two or three hundred yards away, gathering belongings, packing up the beach shelters, heading up through the sand tracks to the resort.
What was he supposed to do? Stand and yell, ‘Help, the dog is stuck, save her’?
‘Maisie,’ he yelled, in what he hoped was his most authoritative voice. ‘Come.’
The big dog quivered some more—and then as the last of the beachgoers disappeared over the sand dunes, she started to howl.
‘Help her,’ Harry said in horror. ‘Jack, help her.’
And there was another first. Not once in three months had Harry called Jack by name. Not once had he asked for anything.
Jack, help her.
‘She can swim back herself.’
‘She’s frightened,’ Harry whispered. ‘What if a big wave comes and washes her off?’
‘Then she’ll have to swim.’
‘But she’s scared.’ And as if confirmation was necessary, Maisie’s howls grew louder. She squatted on the sand and shivered, every inch of her proclaiming she was one terrified mutt, stranded on a desert island for ever, doomed to starve to death or drown on an incoming tide.
‘Jack …’ Harry whispered. ‘Jack!’
And a man had to do what a man had to do.
‘If I swim out and fetch her, promise you won’t move from here,’ Jack told his nephew, and Harry nodded.
‘Hurry.’
Maisie was now crouching low, as if the sand was about to give way beneath her. Her howls had given way to whimpers. Loud whimpers.
‘Promise out loud,’ Jack demanded of Harry.
‘I promise.’
The kid had talked. Even if he took him home now, the barrier of silence had been broken. Great, he thought grimly. Now all I have to do is rescue one stupid dog.
He hauled off his shoes, shirt and pants, thanking fate that he was wearing decent boxers. He hesitated for a moment, thinking he really didn’t want to leave Harry on the beach, but Harry met his gaze head on.
‘I promise,’ he said again, and it was enough. The two words were a joy all by themselves. They were almost enough to make him turn to the water with enthusiasm, to plough into the shallows, to dive through the waves, to swim the twenty or so strokes it took him to reach the island spit.
Finally he hauled himself out of the water and headed for Maisie … who waited until he was less than six feet from her and then bounded to her feet, grabbed her ball, launched herself back into the water and headed for shore.
Jack was left standing on his island in his boxers, staring helplessly after her.
Maisie made it back with no effort at all. She bounded up the beach to Harry, dropped the ball at his feet and turned to stare out at Jack.
Her tail was whirring like a helicopter. Even from where he was Jack could sense the grin. This was a great dog con.
She walked over the sand hill and saw Jack in the water.
She could see at a glance what had happened. Maisie the jokester dog. This trick almost always worked. Occasionally a parent reacted with anger but usually it was laughter, and Kate could see Jack’s laughter from where she stood. He watched the dog paddle effortlessly through the shallows to the beach and she saw his shoulders shake.
She was smiling as well. So the humour remained.
She’d liked this man.
She’d also thought he was gorgeous—and he still was. He’d stripped to his boxers. He stood in the sunlight, the late afternoon rays glinting on his wet body. Even from here she could see the power of the man. He must work out at some time in his seriously impressive schedule, she thought. He looked ripped.
She watched as he headed back into the water, diving into the shallows, diving under, taking a few long, strong strokes before he caught a wave that took him all the way to shore.
Harry