A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,47

clothes dry despite full immersion, Tiff’s hair was stiff with salt and she could taste it on her lips. She did need a shower, but right now, she could barely contemplate getting wet again. She shook her head.

‘That’s OK, I’d rather do it while it’s fresh in my mind,’ Tiff said, her journalist’s mind clinging onto the sights, sounds, fear and exhilaration like she’d clung onto the crew member who’d swum into the heaving seas to ‘rescue’ her.

A while later, she was seated in the crew room around the table with a mug of sweet, ‘builder’s’ tea that she normally wouldn’t have touched, but which tasted like nectar. She’d set her phone to record and dug out the notebook and pen she always kept in her handbag. Rachel was chatty as ever, more obviously skilled than the others in talking about her role, though a little too ‘on message’ for Tiff’s liking. Others opened up, though everyone was ultra-keen to play down their part, dismissing it with dark humour.

She’d interviewed people who had done ‘heroic’ acts before – people who’d stayed behind to help the fallen during terrorist attacks, or dragged strangers from burning cars. Almost invariably, they gave the same answers to the question, ‘What made you step into danger and do something while others stood by?’

Usually still in shock, few could articulate the reasons behind their actions. They’d simply acted ‘as anyone else would’. But not many people were as brave as these people – the crew – who kept on putting themselves in danger. Every single time they went out.

As a third party, necessarily detached, the one thing she hadn’t fully ‘got,’ that perhaps she now did, was the rock-solid camaraderie, the uniting in a common cause. She’d glimpsed it at the Wave Watchers shifts as well as during her experience today. The sharing of goals, the confidence that your mates and colleagues would always ‘have your back’ – and perhaps even sacrifice their life for yours, or, more remarkably, a random stranger’s. The disparate parts that coalesced as one, like molten lava fusing into solid rock.

They weren’t saints. Of course not. There were annoying people, bossy people and pedantic people in the crew and the Wave Watchers. However, when it came to the crunch on a ‘shout’, they had all become one person, or at least acted as one person with one aim: to save lives.

It didn’t take a genius to recognise the contrast between this world and the one she belonged to – or rather, had belonged to. But writing and journalism were now part of her DNA. Plus, she knew it wasn’t accurate that all her former colleagues had deserted her. Two had come up trumps with auction prizes, even though one was too late, and then there was the editor who’d been happy to commission her freelance stories.

The one person she thought had truly mattered – Warner – had not only let her down, but twisted the knife for good measure. The experience had made her even more cynical and distrusting of everyone except her closest family, but today had helped restore her faith in humanity a tiny notch.

When the rest of the crew dispersed, Tiff was left alone in the crew room with Dirk. ‘I um … should apologise for putting you in a situation where you felt you had to do that,’ he said.

‘I didn’t have to do anything. I can assure you, Dirk, that if I hadn’t wanted to, I wouldn’t have.’ Tiff hid a smile.

‘Mind you. You did make a great casualty …’ There was a distinct glint in his eye.

‘Then I’m glad you had your three hundred quid’s worth,’ she said.

‘Oh, I think it was worth more than that.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Wow, high praise from Mr Dirk ’n’ Stormy.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Look, I think it’s my turn to owe you something. Will you come back to the house for something to eat?’

The mention of food made Tiff’s stomach swim. ‘Erm …’

‘A cup of ginger tea, if a meal is too much?’

Tiff realised that this was her opportunity to get to know Dirk better. She could use his guilty conscience to find out more. ‘Well, I can’t imagine putting anything solid in my mouth for the foreseeable future but I might manage a ginger tea …’

Dirk’s eyes narrowed briefly and his lips twitched, whether in a smile or because he was trying to frame a response, she wasn’t sure.

He stepped away, seemingly at sea himself. ‘Tea it