Chapter Text
Christ, will this headache ever go away Matt thought as he rolled his head, hoping that it would relieve the thumping in his head. He picked up the packet of pain-killers, and popped a couple of tablets. For a few seconds, he wondered how many he had taken, but the headache overruled his concern.
He dry-swallowed them and left his cabin, and made his way to the dining room. It hadn’t been the band’s idea, but the invite had come from an old friend, who had made it big. He’d asked them to perform for one of his charities and they’d said a collective yes.
Now they were on his private yacht…well super-yacht, anchored in the middle of… he couldn’t remember; he was really rubbish at knowing where he was, and oceans and sea were worse.
The bright lights of the dining room hurt his eyes, and made his headache worse. He spotted Dom and Chris, so he wandered over, smiling when someone smiled at him.
“You alright, mate?” Dom said, as he handed him a glass of red.
“Yeah, just don’t feel like socialising,” he replied.
Dom put an arm round his shoulder and said, “We only have to mingle for a while, then we can eat. Then it’s back to shore, play the gig and be back in London by Thursday.”
Matt didn’t reply and extricated himself from Don’s arm; it irritated him for some reason.
They sat down to dinner, but the headache made him feel nauseous; all he wanted to do was lie down in a dark room. Dom was telling some story, for the millionth time about something Matt had done on stage.
Usually he would just laugh and counter it with a story about Dom…but tonight. He slammed his glass down and hissed.
“Very funny…ha-ha.”
The diners around them fell silent at his outburst.
“Matt, what’s your problem?” Dom said.
Matt narrowed his eyes, and anyone who knew Matt would take that as a bad sign. But Dom’s Matt-temper radar had been dulled by a little too much alcohol.
“Don’t go all hissy-queen….”
He never finished his sentence, and it degenerated into a full-blown argument, which silenced the whole room.
Words were spat and not even Chris could calm the pair.
Eventually Matt let loose a string of expletives; which Dom reflected on later, he would never had done, not in this sort of company, after which he stormed out of the room.
His friend was about to go after him, but Chris said.
“Leave him, he’ll calm down and be back.”
When he didn’t come back, they assumed he’d gone back to his cabin. So they finished their dinner and retired to their respective beds, and the yacht sailed back towards land.
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Matt stormed out of the dining room and instead of going back to his cabin, he went on deck, letting the cool breeze calm his temper.
He looked down at the water, and stood on the railing to get a better look.
A wave of dizziness made him suddenly grab the railing in alarm. He steadied himself, but another wave of dizziness made his balance go.
He let out an alarmed cry, which no-one would hear.
Wind-milling his arms, he tried to regain his balance. He failed and fell silently into the water.
He didn’t panic, he knew there was a ladder and he was a strong enough swimmer to get to it. He swam towards it, when there was a swell in the water, and it carried him towards the side, and his head collided with it.
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Rachel picked up the leash and clipped it to her dog’s collar. She loved this time of year, when summer was just turning to autumn, and there was a slight chill in the air.
The last boat of the wildlife watching season had left yesterday, and her small bed and breakfast was now empty, and she’d made a tidy profit.
She let the dog off the lead when she approached the edge of the only accessible beach, and let it run around. She watched a few seals, as they bobbed in the waves.
She took out her binoculars and watched them swim away, noticing the super-yacht, making its way over the horizon; the lucky super-rich at play.
Her attention was drawn by her dog; it was barking furiously it must have found something; a seal perhaps. She picked her way across the rocks that littered the sand and then stopped….was that a body?
She hurried the rest of the way, her heart pounding as she approached.
It was a man, and not a sailor, judging by his clothes. Had he fallen overboard, or survived a downed vessel….was he dead?
Her dog was going mad, so she said, “Leave him, Buster!”
She moved closer and knelt down beside the body. She brushed away dark hair plastered against pale skin and nervously put two finger on his neck…please let there be a pulse.
Oh, thank god…there was one.
Now she had to find a way to get him off this beach and into the warm. She would have to call Robert, the nominated medic stroke search and rescue.
She didn’t bother with her mobile, reception was rubbish out here. She took out her trusty two-way radio.
“Robert, pick up Robert.”
“Rachel?” his voice came back.
“I need you to bring the rescue kit to the south beach. I found someone washed up on it.”