The Devil's Moon by Peter Guttridge Page A

she’d been abruptly brought back to the present.
    â€˜Kate? Kate?’ Simon’s voice urgent in her ear. ‘Jesus, woman, don’t zone out on me again. You gotta start getting a grip. I need the poll results for “George Clooney Gay or Guy?” Kate?’
    At the end of her shift she headed down to the marina. She was late getting there but she doubted they were going out. The weather was filthy, the boats in the harbour rolling and rattling.
    A regular gang of half a dozen of the keenest divers were below. Phil kissed her on the cheek and looked at her with his startling blue eyes. He shook his head.
    â€˜We’re going to give it half an hour to see if it blows over then go down the pub.’
    Kate looked out of the porthole. ‘I’d be as happy skipping straight to the pub option.’
    Phil smiled and indicated some packets on a narrow table. ‘Scopolamine patches if you want one.’
    She shook her head. ‘Touch wood, however rough it gets I don’t get sick. I might drown but I won’t be sick.’
    She looked across at the one person in the group she didn’t know. He looked like he was about to burst out of his clothes. His head was tilted back and he had a dropper in his meaty hand poised just above his eye. She watched him do both eyes then blink until he got his vision back. He saw her looking.
    â€˜Bit extreme if we don’t actually go out, isn’t it?’ she said.
    He grinned but there was a coldness to it.
    â€˜Bugger going out – this is to stop the motion of this boat in dock making me heave.’
    They all laughed. Phil said, ‘Kate, I don’t think you and Don have met. Don’s with a club over in Worthing.’
    The man nodded. ‘Call me Don-Don.’
    Kate’s phone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, clambering up on deck.
    â€˜Kate? It’s Sarah. I’m finished earlier than I thought if you can get away.’
    Gilchrist was already sitting at the back of Plenty when Kate arrived. Gilchrist got up, towering over her as usual, and gave her a hug.
    â€˜Hope I didn’t wreck your evening?’ Gilchrist said.
    â€˜I was going to go to the pub with a bunch of divers but, you know, I like diving with them rather than socializing. Their main topic of conversation is cubic pressure per foot per pound.’ She laughed. ‘There’s a new guy. Bit of a creep but keen – he would dive seven days a week if he could. But he gets serious sea-sickness.’
    â€˜A diver with sea-sickness?’
    â€˜Some do. They slap on a travel sickness patch and that’s fine. This guy uses a dropper in his eyes to dose himself up with liquid scopolamine.’
    â€˜Scopolamine?’ Gilchrist said. ‘Isn’t that the truth drug?’
    â€˜Don’t know about the truth thing,’ Kate said. ‘I think it’s the basis of the travel patches but you can get it more concentrated in liquid form.’
    â€˜You use it?’ Gilchrist said.
    â€˜Never had a need. Plus I’m a drug novice. I’m reluctant to take even aspirin. It’s the same with alcohol. You know me: if you have a drink I get a hangover.’
    â€˜Have you been diving since the fish thing?’
    â€˜We were supposed to but I’m glad we haven’t. That water spout churned things up so much I wouldn’t be surprised if we bumped into the Loch Ness Monster or a great white down there.’
    When their drinks arrived they chinked their glasses.
    â€˜Onward and upward,’ Gilchrist said.
    â€˜God, I hope so,’ Kate said.
    Plenty had been voted the best vegetarian restaurant in Britain about six times in a row. As usual, the description of the meal was like a work of art in itself. Then the food came. For the next half hour different tastes zinged across Kate’s palate.
    â€˜What did we just eat?’ she asked Sarah at the end of the final course, as the bottle of organic