J.F. Kirwan - 66 Metres - A chilling thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat!

They hung around for a further twenty minutes at nine metres, Jake checking their air every now and again. Occasionally one of the others would try an ‘Up’ signal. Jake shook his head each time. They ascended to five metres and waited. Andreas gunned the engine once or twice. Jake knew he was worried. They were late, but at least Andreas could see them beneath the boat. But they were way off the decompression tables, so Jake kept them there, five metres under the boat, until their air supply was down to twenty bar. At last he gave the ‘Up’ signal.

As Jake clambered last into the boat, Andreas was fussing. ‘Where the hell have you been for the past hour? I was having kittens!’

Bjorn’s eyebrows were knitted together, a deep frown puckering his face. Jan Erik’s grin resurfaced as he showed Andreas his depth gauge. Andreas laughed. ‘Sure. You moved the needle with your dive knife.’ The ensuing silence caused him to check Bjorn’s depth gauge, then Jake’s expression. ‘Holy mother of God! You’re all crazy. You should be dead!’

After that, nobody said much.

As the boat sputtered its way home, Jake inevitably found himself thinking about Sean, lost to the depths three years ago.

Almost joined you .

The boat neared the jetty, a single streetlight casting harsh light over them. Jake never imagined he’d be pleased to smell Sarpsborg’s soap factory.

As they unloaded the boat, Bjorn spoke, latching onto Jake’s eyes. ‘You saved my life down there, didn’t you?’

Jake matched his gaze, but said nothing. In his mind he’d almost killed them all. He’d taken them on this dive, breaking the rules of their club where the maximum depth limit was thirty-five metres, because Bjorn, Jan Erik and Andreas were heading to Lanzarote next week, and would go down to fifty. He’d wanted to prepare them. Now he felt like tossing his instructor card into the fjord.

Near midnight, the four of them sat at the bar in one of Halden’s few pubs, Siste Reis – ‘Last Stop’ – next to the train station, which was in fact the last stop on the line from Oslo. Bjorn looked sullen. Jan Erik was getting plastered, especially as Andreas was buying, and couldn’t stop talking. Jake didn’t really hear any of it, except when Andreas mentioned that Jan Erik had found out earlier that day he was going to be a father. At that point Jake switched from beer to Talisker whiskey. Then he remembered something. He waited till Andreas went to get the next round. ‘Hey, when I was coming up, at one point I couldn’t fin any more, and started sinking. But it doesn’t make any sense, I was positively buoyant by then, I should have kept ascending.’

Jan Erik cleared his throat, morphed it into a generous burp. ‘Ah, that was me.’

Jake stared at him.

‘You see, I didn’t know which way was up, and I saw these blue fins – yours – so I grabbed them and held on tight.’

Jake shook his head, and raised his glass. ‘Nice one.’

Jan Erik grinned again, beer froth decorating his upper lip. ‘If it’s a boy, I’ll name him Jake, poor sod.’ Then he fell about laughing. It was infectious, and Jake finally joined in.

He didn’t remember how he got home.

The next evening, Bjorn rang Jake’s doorbell.

‘Yes?’

‘You leave tomorrow, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I come in?’

Jake paused. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

‘My sis Vibeke is with me.’

That was below the belt. Literally. Since arriving in provincial Halden six months earlier, he’d been mesmerised by Vibeke, but nothing had ever happened, too many local Vikings pursuing her. Bjorn had said she was interested, just choosing her time. Jake assumed Bjorn was winding him up.

He buzzed them in.

In fact there were a dozen people, mainly from the dive club. They had a short forspill , a light early-evening drinking session. The word translated uncomfortably as ‘foreplay’ in Norwegian, meaning the warm-up to more serious partying later. It was a nice gesture, but Jake and the other three looked like thieves trying to pretend they hadn’t just robbed a bank. Except Jan Erik; nothing fazed the guy. Jake envied him.

About eleven, they started leaving, Bjorn’s sister Vibeke had already disappeared. Bjorn was last to leave. He shook Jake’s hand and held it firm.

Jake smiled. ‘Dive safe in the Canaries. Look after the other two.’

Bjorn’s face lifted, a broad smile breaking across it. ‘Enjoy yourself.’ He winked, turned and left.

Jake was staring at the closed door, trying to work out the non-sequitur, when he heard soft footsteps behind him. He turned around, and his breath deserted him.

Vibeke .

As Jake stashed the last box from his rented flat into the Range Rover, he took a long look across the car park to the edge of the local fjord. A familiar orange Volvo estate crossed his gaze. It turned and parked right next to him, skidding to a halt. Fastasson . Jake took a deep breath.

Fastasson, head of the Halden dive club, short and stocky with strands of lank black hair trying to disguise a rampant bald patch, shot out of his car.

‘God Morgen,’ Jake said, in his best Norwegian accent.

‘Don’t fuck with me, Jake, I know all about your little night dive.’

Jake bowed his head. ‘Oh.’

Fastasson jabbed a finger. ‘Big fucking “Oh”. You should be ashamed of yourself.’

‘I –’

‘You don’t speak!’ Fastasson paced up and down a couple of times, then jabbed his finger again. ‘You broke the club rules, and you broke my trust.’ His voice quavered. ‘You leave now, and you never come back, understood?’

Jake spread his hands. ‘Mr Fastasson, look, I –’

Fastasson shouted. ‘Is that understood?’

Jake let his hands drop to his sides. ‘Yes.’

Fastasson turned his back on Jake. ‘Go back to England.’ He waved a hand in the air. ‘I could write to BSAC, get your licence revoked, you know that, don’t you?’

Jake nodded. ‘You could. Just… go easy on Bjorn and Jan Erik.’

Fastasson whirled around. ‘They’re suspended for three months.’ His voice quietened down. ‘I can’t stop them going deep in the Canaries, of course.’

Jake stood there, unsure what more to say.

Fastasson broke the uneasy silence. ‘Bjorn – he went too fast again?’

Jake nodded. He could have been angry with Bjorn, but it had been his decision to take him down when clearly – with hindsight – Bjorn hadn’t been ready.

‘Needs more training. Jan Erik was good, though.’

Fastasson nodded. ‘I’ll try to talk some sense into both of them.’ He walked over to the edge of the fjord, then turned back.

‘Do you remember the lecture you gave us on dangerous diving?’

Jake nodded.

‘You said there were three categories: adventurous diving, dangerous diving, and reckless diving. You said it was important to know the difference.’

Jake stared at him.

Fastasson walked right up to Jake. His voice was milder, but earnest. It cut deeper. ‘How many rescues have you done in the past year?’

Jake didn’t need to count. ‘Five.’

‘Rather a lot, don’t you think?’

Jake said nothing.

Fastasson laid a heavy hand on Jake’s shoulder. ‘There’s something broken inside you. Go home. Fix it. Before something tragic happens.’

Fastasson got back in his car, glanced one final time at Jake, then drove off.

Jake stood there for a long time, leaning his back against the Range Rover. Then he opened the trunk and fished around inside a holdall. He found his instructor’s licence card in its grey wallet, and stared at it. He’d been so proud gaining it. Sean would have been proud too.