Beneath The Waves

(17) Fallen Cold and Dead

Chapter 17

‘Exult, O shores, and ring,

O bells! But I, with mournful tread, 

Walk the deck my Captain lies, 

Fallen cold and dead.’

-Walt Whitman, O Captain! My Captain

On Sunday morning, Frankie took a long walk with Tennyson to Peters’ boathouse, armed with a large empty bag, and this time, a phone. The feeling of foreboding she got while slipping into the fusty old shed was still there, but fainter, just an echo.

Peters hadn’t done much about the hole in the ceiling; he’d simply swept the boards to the side of the shed, leaving a gaping hole glaring down from above. Frankie glanced up at it apprehensively and hurried to the book shelf, keen to get out of there.

She brushed aside thick grey clumps of cobwebs, reaching for books and examining the covers beneath soft blankets of dust. If they seemed helpful, she dumped them in the bag. Vaguely, she noticed that the box of cookies she’d left on the shelf had gone, and wondered if Peters had got them after all.

Tennyson was pawing at the clods of cobwebs Frankie was discarding, releasing puffs of dirt that made them both sneeze. When Frankie stood up, he seemed just as eager to go as she was, pulling at the lead until he was wheezing softly.

The books were heavy and uncomfortably, bumping between her shoulder blades, and she groaned inwardly at the thought of the long walk back. Her thoughts were cut off by a buzz from her phone.

Frankie glanced at the caller ID, and held the phone to her ear in surprise. “Ryan?”

“Hey.” She thought she could hear voices chattering in the background. “Have you got a load of Peters’ books yet?”

Frankie blinked in surprise. “What are you, psychic?”

Ryan laughed. “Nah, you’re just predictable. Free books? Course you’re gonna be all over them.”

Frankie followed after Tennyson, who was still straining against the lead as he sniffed along the river back with enthusiastic fascination. “Yeah, I’m just walking back from the boatshed.”

“I could pick you up if you want?” Ryan offered. “Band practice just finished. I’m dropping a couple of people home, and Zack lives in St Andrews-”

His voice cut off, and Frankie heard a crackle of movement from the other end, followed by a brief, protesting cry of “Hey!”and then a different voice called down the line. “Alright, love?”

“Hi,” Frankie said in amusement. Another scuffle, and then Ryan was back on the line.

“You just met Ethan,” he said grumpily. “Sorry about that.”

Frankie couldn’t keep herself from grinning. “No problem.” Tennyson was trotting over to her, tongue lolling out, evidently wondering why it was taking her so long to walk. She picked up the pace a little, brushing a hand over his fur. “That would be really great if you could pick me up. I’m just outside the high street.”

“Cool. I’ll be there in five.” The phone cut off, but not before she heard him yell out to the babble of voices, “Ethan, you’re dead!”

She grinned as she dropped the phone in her bag. How Ryan could drive, talk to her, and ignore the loud voices in his car, she wasn’t sure.

There was a coffee shop on the high street, and Frankie realised it was almost lunch, and her stomach was starting to notice. Hooking Tennyson’s lead up outside the cafe (and dropping a quick kiss to his head, despite the strange looks she got from the other customers), she slipped inside to grab two coffees, and a large chocolate muffin. She figured she could eat healthily later.