Charlie

by Lesley Pearse

  He kissed her then, there on the harbour, long and hard without any thought to the people bypassing them on either side.

  ‘Come on to the boat then,’ he suggested. ‘The lads have gone off. They won’t be back till late and I’ve got a couple of bottles of cider in the fridge.’

  Charlie had been on the Chloë several times in the last couple of days. Guy had even taken her out sailing for an hour after she finished work the previous day. She had always liked boats; in Dartmouth they had the same importance to most families as cars. But this one was the nicest and most luxurious she’d ever been on.

  Guy had gone to great pains to explain that it had been designed specifically for his father and a young family. So it could be sailed single-handed if necessary, sturdy enough to stand up to rough weather, and with all the home comforts his mother had insisted on. Charlie got the impression that Guy would’ve preferred to lose the comfort and sturdiness in favour of more speed. But she thought it was just perfect.

  There was a small double bed fitted into the cabin in the bows, another cabin with single bunks, and the saloon had comfortable couches which could be used as beds too. It had a toilet, shower and refrigerator. The galley was beautiful, with the cooker and sink tucked away under real oak counters, and an abundance of cupboards with almost everything you’d expect to find in a normal kitchen.

  The men kept it very clean and tidy considering there was no woman aboard to tidy up after them, but Guy had said this morning that was Tim’s doing, not his. Tim by all accounts had spent three or four years at sea, crewing for anyone that would pay him to see the world. He’d got into the habit of being cook, cleaner and laundryman.

  ‘That dress is something else,’ Guy said once they were on board. ‘You look a million dollars.’

  Charlie glowed. It had cost an entire week’s wages, in fact she’d got a sub from Ivor to pay for it and she didn’t know how she was going to manage all next week without any money. But it was worth it to see Guy’s appreciative smile.

  They had a couple of glasses of cider each, and because Charlie hadn’t had anything to eat since lunchtime, it went straight to her head. When Guy took her hand and led her into the cabin, she felt no alarm, she wanted to lie in his arms in comfort.

  The lapping of the waves against the hull and the gentle rocking movement were in perfect time with the Beach Boys tape playing softly in the background. Guy lit a couple of candles and turned off the electric light.

  ‘Don’t let me fall asleep,’ Charlie said with a giggle. ‘Beryl will lock the doors if I’m not home by twelve.’

  ’Do you really think I’d let you waste this precious time together by sleeping?’ He laughed and climbed on to the double bed and pulled her into his arms.

  Charlie had lost touch with reality many times before when he kissed her. Just this morning when she’d come aboard to see him before he sailed, they had tumbled on to this bed and were almost swept away by instantaneous passion. But the other two men were in the next cabin then, she’d had only an hour before getting to work, and Guy had a thick growth of stubble on his chin.

  But Guy’s face was smooth and silky now, he smelled of expensive aftershave and there were no reminders of duty or other people to help her keep her head. Within minutes her dress and his shirt were off, and with each kiss Charlie felt the last of her reservations about losing her virginity fading.

  They had petted heavily before, and Guy was a practised and skilful lover. He didn’t alarm her by being too hasty and as his fingers gently explored her, so he whispered loving endearments.

  ‘I love you, Charlie,’ he said as he nibbled at her breasts. ‘I’ve never felt like this before. I want you so badly.’

  ‘Do you really love me?’ she asked, catching hold of his face with both hands and looking into his eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity. ‘Really, really love me?’

  ‘How can you doubt it?’ he said, caressing her vagina so delicately that she found herself pressing up hard against his fingers. ‘I love everything about you, your face, your body, your personality. The only way I can really show you how much, is to make love to you.’

  Charlie knew she should ask if he had a Durex, but she couldn’t bring herself to say something so coarse and unromantic. His breath was hot on her cheek, his penis was rock-hard against her thigh, even the rocking movement of the boat in the water was simulating the act of love. But it was the tenderness in his eyes which drove away any last uncertainty.

  She was surprised that it didn’t hurt, she had always supposed it would. It was a bit uncomfortable, and it was disappointing that the feelings of intense pleasure she’d experienced earlier as he caressed her stopped. But her pleasure came from sensing his. He gripped her buttocks tightly, pushing himself into her, and as he moved faster, the boat rocked with them and the lapping of the water sounded like a symphony.

  ‘It’s fantastic,’ he yelled out suddenly and bit into her shoulder, then he was suddenly still.

  For a moment Charlie just lay there, her legs still clasped around his waist. He was soaked in sweat, sticking to her, and the cabin ceiling seemed to be revolving above her in the candlelight. Tears prickled at her eyes and she wished she could have gone to whatever place Guy had; she felt a bit cheated.

  ‘I blew that, didn’t I?’ he said after a moment or two, and his voice was muffled because his mouth was still on her shoulder. ‘I was too quick for you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologize, it was lovely,’ she whispered back. She wondered how many women lied the first time. It seemed to be the kindest thing to do.

  ‘I’m usually at my best after a couple of drinks,’ he said. ‘But I suppose it was because I wanted you so much.’

  The tears prickled again. She didn’t want to be reminded he’d done this before lots of times with other girls. She wanted to be first, the only one. She wanted reassurances she was special.

  Those reassurances came later as he cuddled her. He spoke of all the things they could do together when she came to London, and said that next summer they would take the boat across to France and sail right down the coast.

  ‘Father did suggest that I could sail her right round to the Med and find a berth there for her,’ he said gleefully. ‘You could come with me as crew. We could get summer jobs in Marbella easily, and find a flat together there.’

  ‘Why couldn’t we stay on the boat?’ she asked, already mentally packing a suitcase.

  ‘Well, Dad, Mum and my sisters would fly over to use it for most of August,’ he said. ‘We wouldn’t want to be stuck with them, would we? We’d just sail it home in September. Wouldn’t that be great?’

  Charlie thought it sounded more than great. It was the most thrilling plan she’d ever heard. But over and above the adventure of it was the thought he loved her enough to think a year ahead. She hadn’t dared think beyond next week.

  He made love to her again later, and this time it was wonderful. Maybe she didn’t reach those dizzy heights she’d read about in magazines, she was pretty certain orgasms were something you’d recognize if you’d had one. But it was lovely.

  ‘If you want to go up to London to look around for a job, why don’t you come with me tomorrow?’ Guy asked as she was dressing to go home. He had tried to persuade her to stay all night with him but she didn’t dare do that.

  ‘You’re going tomorrow?’ she said, so shocked her legs almost gave way under her.

  ‘Well yes.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought you knew that?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I thought you were staying till Saturday.’

  ‘I said I had to be home on Saturday,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m only sailing as far as Southampton, mooring her there and going up to London by train. You could tell Ivor you were going to crew for me. You could stay the weekend with my folks, then on Monday you could come up on the train with me to the city when I go to work and you could look around for a job. Later in the evening you could come back here on the train. Oh, do c
ome, Charlie. It will be such fun!’

  It sounded like a dream come true to Charlie. ‘But Ivor!’ she said as she zipped up her dress. ‘Who will help him? I can’t just go off from Friday to Monday and leave him in the lurch.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll understand. You told me yourself he thought you ought to go to London sometime to look around.’

  Charlie thought hard. She knew if she told Ivor she was going up by train alone, he would send her off with his blessing. But it might be an entirely different matter if he knew she was going on the Chloë. Could she make up another story?

  ‘What time are you going tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘Around midday.’

  Charlie looked at her watch. It was five to twelve, she didn’t have long enough now to think about anything. ‘I’ll come here tomorrow at half past nine and tell you,’ she said. ‘I must rush now, Guy. I don’t want Beryl locking me out.’

  ‘It might be easier if she did,’ he laughed. ‘That way you could do exactly as you pleased.’

  As Charlie ran back to the Victoria she thought about Guy’s last words and it occurred to her he was right. She could stay out all night. What business was it of Beryl’s? Likewise she could tell Ivor to stuff his job if he didn’t like her going to London for the weekend with the man she loved.

  She paused, tempted to turn back, yet she couldn’t. The truth was she didn’t want Beryl or Ivor to think badly of her, she cared about them.

  Charlie barely slept a wink. One moment she was thinking about Guy, reliving every kiss, caress and endearment. The next she was picturing Ivor’s face when she asked for time off. No good excuse sprang to mind. He knew she had no family other than her parents; if she suddenly invented an aunt, uncle or good friend he would know she was lying.

  But she was determined to go with Guy, whatever Ivor or Beryl said. She loved him, he wanted her with him. She was going.

  ‘Attack is the best method of defence.’ Charlie had read that somewhere and as she went down to the shack at half past eight the next morning she kept repeating it to herself.

  It was drizzling, one of those grey, miserable days which make people wonder why they thought they liked English seaside towns. Both the sky and sea were like lead, and there was a strong westerly wind.

  Ivor was bringing out the buckets and spades. When he saw her he waved.

  All at once Charlie did mind what Ivor thought of her. He had taken her in on trust, comforted and cheered her when no one cared about her. Yet it wasn’t just that she owed him a great deal, she had grown to love him too.

  ‘Quiet day ahead,’ he said as she came nearer. ‘This rain looks set in.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind if I ask for time off to go to London?’ she said.

  ‘Hell no,’ he said, squatting down on his tub to light his pipe. ‘What time train were you thinking of going on?’

  Charlie gulped. It had seemed easy back in her bedroom, she would just say what she intended to do, then if he got angry or started a lecture she’d just walk away. But how could she do that? It wasn’t right. Supposing the drizzle stopped, the sun came out, and people descended on the harbour? He relied on her to look after things when he took fishing parties out. Apart from that she might lose his friendship and she couldn’t bear that.

  She blurted out her intention. One long monologue, hardly drawing breath.

  ‘I must go with him, Ivor, so please don’t say I can’t,’ she finished up.

  Ivor didn’t reply for a moment. He wasn’t angry with her, what she said had struck a chord within him. He could remember wanting to be with Sarah so badly that he would have killed anyone who tried to prevent it.

  Yet he was frightened for her. Not only because she would meet Guy’s parents, who might very well be hostile, or that things might come to a head while she was away, but because sailing up the coast could be dangerous if young Guy hadn’t got his mind on navigating that yacht of his.

  He looked at Charlie before replying, her dark eyes were pleading with him, her whole body was tense. He knew she intended to go whatever he said.

  ‘I don’t like it, Charlie,’ he said eventually in a deep growl. ‘Southampton’s a long way away, and that stretch of water can be dangerous to someone who isn’t an experienced sailor. But if you feel you must go, I can’t stop you.’

  Charlie thought getting his permission would make her happy. But faced with his obvious anxiety she felt bleak.

  ‘Guy and his two friends are all experienced sailors,’ she said. ‘Especially Tim, he’s been right across the Atlantic. We’ll be hugging the coast all the way. I’m sure if the weather got worse they’d sail into a harbour. Please be glad for me, Ivor, I can’t be happy if I know you are sitting here being cross with me.’

  Her pleading reminded him sharply of an incident once with his own daughter. Kim had been seventeen at the time and she begged him to let her go camping in Cornwall with her boyfriend on his motorbike and a group of other friends. Ivor had refused point-blank.

  Kim never really forgave him, her boyfriend met another girl while he was away, and she never met another boy afterwards that she felt so strongly about. It was one of those things he recriminated over a thousand times after Kim and Sarah’s death. Sometimes he even thought that if he’d let her go, she might have ended up marrying that boy. She and Sarah might never have been on that hill in Lynmouth to get mown down and killed.

  ‘I can’t help worrying about you, sweetheart,’ he said, softening his voice. ‘I’ve grown so fond of you and I just want to keep you safe. Go with him and have a good time. But promise me you’ll keep your life-jacket on, that you won’t horse around on the deck and distract the men.’

  Charlie’s vivid smile came back, lighting up her eyes. ‘Oh, thank you, Ivor. I will be sensible, I promise. And I’ll be back on Monday evening.’

  It was nearly eleven that same night when they sailed into Weymouth harbour. The men weren’t very happy; although the wind had been behind them all day, they hadn’t made the kind of speed they intended. They were tired, wet and cold, and they were disappointed they hadn’t been able to make a harbour further up the coast.

  Charlie was glad they’d reached any harbour. She just wanted to put her feet on dry land again.

  For the first couple of hours after they left Salcombe, she had thought it was thrilling. The rain stopped, there was even some weak sunshine, and as they sped along the coast her mind had been firmly on the night ahead. But then the rain came down in earnest and Guy ordered her below decks.

  Up on deck she could ride with the big waves, it was exhilarating and exciting. Dressed in a set of waterproofs, lashed by sea spray, she felt part of the team and was happy to do whatever the men asked her.

  But down in the cabin she felt suddenly queasy. If she looked out of the porthole the up-and-down motion made her stomach lurch sickeningly. She couldn’t seem to read, it was stuffy and a bit scary. Making mugs of coffee for the men was difficult, she swayed and toppled over constantly, she even scalded herself with boiling water a couple of times.

  Before they’d set out, she’d had the idea that Tim and Owen would do most of the sailing; she also thought they liked her. Yet she soon found they were annoyed that Guy had invited her along. Neither of these two rugged, dark-haired men was the playboy type – Tim worked in a boatyard in Southampton, Owen ran a ship’s chandler’s there, and they were very serious about sailing. To them, girls belonged on dry land, and Charlie, who had little experience of sailing, was a liability.

  Although in the first two hours Guy was by her side constantly, pointing out landmarks, chatting about other sailing trips, once he’d sent her below he forgot about her. Owen and Tim came down frequently, to get coffee or a sandwich, but not Guy, he remained at the helm.

  Around six the rain turned back to mere drizzle again and Guy yelled down to her to make them all something hot to eat. Charlie was thrown entirely by this. Although she’d learned to cook with Ivor, there was a great
deal of difference between doing it in a spacious kitchen where everything was static, and attempting it in a confined space where everything kept moving.

  She thought she was very ingenious. She found various tins in the cupboards – stewed steak, new potatoes, carrots and peas – so she emptied them all into one large saucepan and heated it up. Tim came down for his first, wolfed it down with several slices of bread and butter and begrudgingly said it was good. Owen did the same, but made no comment. Yet when Guy came down he took one look in the pan and shuddered visibly.

  ‘There were sausages and bacon in the fridge,’ he said reproachfully, peeling off his waterproofs.

  ‘I didn’t think I could manage frying anything,’ she said. In fact she’d assumed that those things were intended for tomorrow’s breakfast.

  ‘You’re not the best galley slave we’ve ever had.’ His tone was half joking but there was an underlying edge she didn’t like.

  He ate his meal, in fact finished everything in the pan without asking if she’d had some. She wasn’t hungry, but she had intended some to be left for her later.

  ‘Make me a cup of tea,’ he said lying back on the couch and lighting up a cigarette. ‘You can do the washing-up later.’

  Charlie bristled. She wasn’t used to people ordering her about. Even Ivor and Beryl always asked her politely and they were paying her to work for them.

  ‘So I’m a servant now, am I?’ she retorted.

  He looked astonished, blue eyes opening very wide. ‘Everyone has to pull their weight on a boat,’ he said.

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ she said. ‘But how about please? Or even thank you for the dinner?’

  ‘The dinner was shit,’ he said coldly. ‘And I’m cold and wet and want a cup of tea.’

  After a very disappointing afternoon, with the prospect of a long, lonely and boring evening ahead, such a hurtful remark was too much for Charlie. Biting back tears, she turned away from him to fill up the kettle, but just as she was about to light the gas, a sudden swell made her fall backwards hard against the table. Guy’s plate was still on there, it fell to the floor and smashed. The kettle, still in her hand, spilled everywhere.