The Harbour by Rachel McLean and Joel Hames, book 1 in the Cumbria Crime series - Chapter 1

Aisha pulled her jacket tight around her and shivered.

It wasn’t all that cold, thank God, because the jacket’s job was to look good more than to keep her warm. But she’d been inside and on the dancefloor most of the night.

Now she was outside, standing still. It was dark, and the wind coming in off the sea didn’t care that it was October and only an hour or two till sunrise.

“Come on,” she muttered. Claire, standing beside her, giggled.

Claire was drunk. Simon was a few feet away, looking at the gate, and didn’t hear.

It was quiet. They were less than a minute’s walk from half a dozen bars and clubs and more chicken and kebab shops than you could get through in a year, but Aisha could barely make out the shouts and music and the occasional sound of someone emptying their guts in the street. Just the wind and the splash of water on hull.

“Nah.” Simon was back, buzzing with energy. She wondered what he’d taken. Not just weed, whatever he claimed. “Reckon they’ve changed it.”

Had they changed it? Aisha wasn’t sure Simon had ever known it. He’d lured them here, out of the club, to the marina – OK, maybe not lured. She’d asked if he had weed, he’d said yes, she’d suggested going outside to smoke it, he’d proposed the marina. She’d dragged Claire along with her, of course. She and Claire dragged each other everywhere.

Simon had claimed he knew the code for the gate onto Bulwark Quay. That was one of the things she loved about Whitehaven: wherever you were, you were never more than a few minutes from the middle of nowhere. They could find somewhere quiet. The shore would be dead this time of night. Or morning. Aisha opened her mouth to suggest it, and realised Simon had gone again.

“Kneel before me!”

She followed his voice. He’d climbed the gate.

Idiot.

Anyone living on the right side of Pears House who happened to glance out of their window would see him standing on it, hands raised, grinning like he’d conquered Everest. Aisha found herself grinning back.

He hopped down the other side with surprising grace and beckoned them over. “Come on. It’s easy.”

Aisha looked at Claire. “Shall we…?”

Claire already had a foot on the base of the gate. It wasn’t high, but there were spikes on top. While Aisha argued it back and forth with herself, Claire was already over.

Fuck it.

Simon was right: it was easy. Within moments they were walking along the quay, the three of them in a line. The marina building stood low and dark to their left, but most of the boats were lit. Yellow and white lights rolled back and forth with the waves.

“How about here?” asked Claire, but Simon pressed on.

He had hold of their hands, both of them, one in each of his. Aisha wasn’t sure how she felt about that. This was just a smoke, then home. And the three of them had known each other for years.

Another gate rose to their right, the blue-painted metal picked out against the darkness. More blue railings on the other side. Aisha had lived in this town nearly half her life, walked around the marina a hundred times, but it was different at night. Even the gulls seemed quieter, with mating season finally over for the year. She shut her eyes and let herself be pulled forward, to move as part of a group, to—

“Wake up, mate!”

Aisha opened her eyes, confused.

Simon had stopped. Was he talking to her?

She blinked and turned to her right, but he was looking down. She followed his gaze.

There was something there, a few feet in front of them, at the far end of the quay.

“Come on, mate, you’ll catch your death,” Simon said.

It was a person. Lying there by the capstan, pale skin on the cold dark ground.

Too much skin.

“Simon,” Aisha said.

He was still talking, ignoring her. Beyond him, Claire stared down, eyes wide, mouth open in horror.

“Simon!” Aisha repeated, louder.

He turned to her, frowning. She held out a hand. Stay where you are. Shut up.

She dropped into a crouch and edged closer. There was precious little light anywhere else at this end of the quay. She reached into her bag and grabbed her phone, creeping forward as she coaxed its torch into life.

Yes. There was someone there, definitely someone. But whoever they were – whoever she was – she wasn’t going to be waking up anytime soon. She wasn’t going to be catching her death, either.

It was a bit late for that.