by Louise Beech
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ she said.
‘Language, Ro…’
‘No, I mean there’s no such thing as just one of those things.’
‘Maybe I didn’t eat the right things when I was pregnant with you,’ I said. It was something I’d thought about a great deal. That maybe I had done something that caused it.
‘No, it’s all for a good reason,’ insisted Rose. ‘I know it’s to do with Grandad Colin and you can’t say nowt that will stop me thinking so.’
‘Anything,’ I corrected.
‘Nowt,’ she repeated softly.
She measured the right dose of insulin; the creamy bubbles within the pen frothed like the sea. Then she held an area of tummy fat with one hand and pierced it with the needle in her other and pressed the lever in, as though she’d been doing it since the beginning of time, as though she’d known how all along and I was merely there to learn from her.
With lunch and tea we had shared days forty-eight and forty-nine on the lifeboat. Breakfast on day forty-eight had consisted of nothing – no water, no food. All rations had gone. Empty tins taunted them, clanking together in the boat’s motion. There was nothing to do but wait for death. At midday another plane had flown towards them but with no smoke-float, no energy and no belief that anything would result, Colin and Ken had merely watched it approach in delirium.
But this one had dropped supplies. Parcels fell, gifts from the heavens. Some dropped close enough so Ken could use his spear to retrieve them; others were too far to even try and get. They remembered the dinghy they’d harshly disregarded days earlier and realised it had was supposed to be used for picking up these provisions. But neither man had the energy to inflate it, navigate it, and get out of it again.
Amongst the supplies were cigarettes and matches. When Ken and Colin smoked they felt like civilised humans again. They coughed violently, but didn’t care. There were also boiled sweets and chocolate, and most deliciously of all, water. They rashly consumed a whole tin of water. Fearing the effects of overindulgence after starvation, they were slower with the food.
‘They might have tried to land,’ said Ken, angrily.
‘Shut up,’ snapped Colin. ‘Don’t be silly. What if they’d crashed? Not been able to get airborne again. Then where would be? Anyway, there’s a note. Here, read this, chum.’
Ken quietly read the words.
Sorry we can’t get down to pick you up – sea is too rough. Have sent signals from overhead for shore base to get a fix on you. If any shipping seen on the way back to base will direct them to you.
The note sustained them through the rest of that day, and the next. Hopes of rescue were real now and they had another two days of food to nourish them. Sleep proved difficult though, with such expectation. Neither wanted to risk missing another drop of supplies or seeing a ship finally arrive, so they drifted in and out of dreams, in and out of conversation, each starting sentences that the other knew exactly how to finish, and so not having to say the words.
Now we were at day fifty.
Rose ate her portion of bread and I picked up the crumbs after her. I ate my slice, savouring the nut spread like it might be my last. Through a full mouth I began to say, ‘And so on da…’ when out of nowhere the coloured lights fizzled with a sharp snap and died. The kitchen light went too. Darkness swallowed us. I waited, expecting them to come back on.
After a moment Rose said, ‘What’s happened?’
‘It must be a power cut,’ I said. ‘Good job you’ve done your injection already.’
‘Ooh, exciting,’ she said.
‘Not really. The heating will go off. It’ll get cold quickly. Let me get you a blanket and see about some candles.’
I made my way upstairs, holding the bannister for guidance, and got Rose a blanket from the airing cupboard. Then, halfway across the kitchen tiles, a soft knock on the door stopped me. In the blackout it was hard to tell who stood on the doorstep, until April said, ‘Oh, yours are off too, lovey.’ I could just make out her curly hair against the sky.
‘Looks like it’s the whole street,’ she said. ‘It must be an electricity shortage. Do you need anything? Is Rose okay? Is she scared, lovey?’
‘I think she’s quite enjoying it actually,’ I said. ‘I’m just going to find some candles. Do you need any?’
‘No, I’ve got plenty. I’m going to go and sit with Winnie. I was right in the middle of “Coronation Street” too. I hope the power comes back on in time for the plus-one viewing.’
I laughed.
‘If it hasn’t come on in another hour I’ll bring you some lemon cake. That’ll cheer you both up.’
‘There’s really no need,’ I insisted.
I watched her black shadow depart.
‘April,’ I called, and she turned. ‘Thank you for everything.’
This was why I’d always favoured the dark. I loved its anonymity, its safety. Like the men on the boat, we’re all the same in the dark. None of us is less or more. We can all say thank-you here and ask for help.
‘You’re welcome, lovey,’ April said. ‘Look after that little girl of yours.’
I closed the door and went to find a candle. The only one in the drawer was from the pumpkin we’d made the night Rose went to the hospital. The one I’d worried would set the house alight. The one we were sure Colin had blown out. How perfect that I’d kept it. I felt about for a pack of matches and took them both back to the book nook.
‘I’m not scared at all,’ said Rose. ‘Even on my own.’
‘Of course,’ I said, smiling at her forced words.
I wrapped the blanket around her like I had when she was first born. In the dark I breathed in the scent of her hair, knowing she’d not see and shove me away. She smelt of her room, of wax crayon and bed and new material. I lit the candle and put it on a book between us. It blessed us both with its soft, mystical glow; everything flickered like sunlight does on waves.
‘Day fifty,’ said Rose.
‘I know,’ I said.
We were there. We were there and we could let go. Shelley had been wrong about the story being a crutch. Yes, we had needed it. It had given us hope, helped us get through the last weeks. But I knew we could live on it forever without having to go back.
‘I’m a bit scared,’ Rose admitted. ‘Well, not scared … never scared … more, you know, all twisty inside.’
I knew exactly what she meant. ‘It’s such a big day,’ I said.
Rose knew rescue was coming because I’d accidentally described the story as Colin’s fifty-day ordeal at the weekend. She had slammed her off-pink door and told me I’d ruined it. When we shared diary extracts, the pages had never randomly opened on Colin’s description of day fifty. I knew how the end happened; Rose didn’t.
Later she forgave me, admitting she’d known really and hadn’t wanted to tell me. Said Colin had whispered fifty days in a dream and now she knew what he meant.
‘I really hope Ken’s with him until the end,’ said Rose. ‘That’s all I’m wishing for now. That he can last as well because you always need two of you. Can you tell me if he gets there? Now, before we start? Please?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and find out.’
‘I’m ready then,’ she said.
I closed my eyes. Tried to go to that place I always did. To where I was Colin and knew all the words he’d never had the courage to record in his diary. Rose squeezed my hand, clammy and encouraging.
I opened my eyes again. Her face was gold in the candlelight. In the darkness behind her was someone else. I wasn’t afraid. He put a hand on her shoulder and she smiled. I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t need to. I could hear the sea. Smell the salt. Feel the breeze. He whistled and I knew the song. He whistled and Rose tried to do the same but couldn’t and instead softly sang her own song, one made up from a top-ten hit and a hymn they once sang in Christmas assembly.
And we were on the lifeboat.
28
; TODAY A SHIP
The greatest day of all my life and the day I shall never forget.
K.C.
There were no dreams that morning. There were no heavenly signs. No calm. No extra glorious sunrise. The light came up as it had every day. The stars died. The boat rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. No relent, no clouds.
Colin woke in great pain and doused his eyes with seawater just so they would open. His burnt hand throbbed ceaselessly but acceptance dulled the pain in his head. It wasn’t surrender. He did not give in. Rather, in the deepest black of night he had realised that there might be far worse ways for a man to go. He could live a hundred years and not witness what the lifeboat had shown him in seven weeks. He could make a thousand friends and not know mates like the thirteen men he’d known here. He could travel to every land on earth and not see such beauty and brutality as on the ocean.
If a ship didn’t show today Colin had not lost. How could a man who had looked so hard for one die with regret? If no one came he was not alone. He never had been. One truly great friend was worth a dozen more.
With an agonised groan he rolled over, looked around the lifeboat. A place that eyes have beheld so many times becomes forever imprinted there. He knew that wherever he went he would be able to see it as clearly as if he were still here. The wood caked in salt, the rows of empty tins, the life jackets of mates gone, the greying sails hanging limp from their masts, the foredeck where hope of a ship drove each man on lookout; and Ken.
His friend slept in the well, curled tightly, feet bare and black as the fireback at home. Colin knew that calling out would not rouse him; there was not enough strength in his voice now. So, bracing himself for more pain, he crawled across the wood. At Ken’s side he rested a moment and then poked him. Nothing. Again, he jabbed his friend in the back.
Nothing.
‘Wake up, Ken,’ he croaked.
Nothing.
Colin put his head on his mate’s shoulder. There was nothing to rest against but bone. They must have each lost a quarter of their body weight, their fat and muscle wasting away like butter in the sun.
Colin remembered how back home he had occasionally criticised his mother’s stew, moaning about some bit of gristle or hard carrot. How he longed now to taste that meaty meal. To thank her profusely for making it.
Perhaps it was better he never got home. What pitiful sight would he make? How much would he scare his mother with his burnt skin and gaunt frame? Though he so wanted to get there, to see her again, might it be kinder to go as Stan had – forever young.
The boat moved suddenly and Colin fell off Ken, cracking his head on a bench. He sat up and looked for Scarface but the sea was shark free, gently rolling and dotted with amber diamonds.
‘If you’re gonna wake a man, wake him with a ciggy.’ It was Ken. Ken had moved, not the boat.
‘Christ,’ said Colin. ‘I thought you were a goner, mate.’
‘Any cigs then?’
Colin reached for the tins. ‘Two left,’ he said. He opened one of the water tins they had retrieved from the plane drop, poured a cupful and passed it to Ken.
‘You first,’ said Ken, but Colin made him drink.
Then he had a full cup, savouring the plentiful portion. He found some chocolate in the new rations and they shared a piece, the sugary chunk giving Colin and Ken the energy to scan the horizon, east to west, then west to east, seeing only the unmerciful expanse of the rolling Atlantic. The sharks were increasing in number, led by Scarface. Rows of sleek fins cut through the surf. Colin once read somewhere that a shark’s fins are used for balance, that their movement is much like an aircraft’s flight and if they stop moving they sink.
‘So what about them cigs,’ said Ken.
‘Should we save them?’ said Colin.
‘For what? How many tomorrows do you think there are now, lad?’
‘What say we share one and save one?’
‘Suppose, lad.’ Ken lit one and inhaled, coughing hard but shaking his hand at Colin when he tried to take the cigarette off him. ‘No, I don’t care,’ he said. ‘So what if it kills me.’
Colin took his turn. Their smoke spiralled into the blue like an Indian signal for help. Around the boat the sharks continued their surveillance. It occurred to Colin that they sensed something. Perhaps Scarface knew the two of them could not last much longer and had invited his friends to the feast. What a disappointing meal he and Ken would make.
When their eyes grew tired of scanning the sea, they crawled to the foredeck – at least if they slept they were eternally in position for lookout.
Half-heartedly, Colin played his game. He counted waves hitting the boat edge – one, two, three, four, five, six, and lost count and started again. If he could just get to ten he’d see a ship. One, two, three, four … Come on, lad, get to ten, and a ship. Try again. He’d keep trying until he died or a ship turned up, whichever came first. One, two, three…
‘Today a ship,’ he said, sleepily.
‘You said it wrong.’
‘What?’
‘You missed out … the … maybe,’ said Ken.
‘Did I?’
‘Yes … chum.’
‘Couldn’t … think of … it…’
And so they fell asleep again. When they woke, in unison, the sun still watched over them, a cruel but constant guardian. Sharks continued circling on all sides. One of Ken’s most painful saltwater boils had come to a head and burst. Wearily, he cleaned it with a bit of rag and threw the dressing over the side.
What resulted was a frenzy and it very nearly killed both men. The water around the material reddened as blood merged with salt. A small shark swam to investigate. In a watery flash Scarface was upon the creature, rows of vicious teeth smashing together. Water churned and the small shark raced off, blood streaming from an injury hidden below the surface. He got no farther than a few feet before sharks, large and small, devoured him.
Around them the water frothed and bubbled. Colin recalled each of their mates’ sea burials and how the water had whipped that way then. He covered his ears, realised Ken had done the same.
‘They’ll turn the bloody boat over,’ mouthed Ken.
Perhaps it was best. Perhaps it had all come to this. Perhaps Scarface, their constant companion, would be their end. Perhaps he was Death and not the sunlit-straw-haired girl.
Where was she? Why hadn’t he seen her since yesterday? Had it been yesterday or the day before that? Maybe she had given up. No longer believed he’d get home. No longer cared.
And then he saw Scarface, away from the others and heading straight for the boat’s stern. He hit before Ken had seen and the two men fell into the boat’s well. They grabbed the gunnel and pulled themselves to their knees, in time to see him returning at speed. At the last minute he dived beneath the boat.
‘Where’d he go?’ cried Ken, eyes full of horror.
‘Christ! He means to sink us!’
Fight returned to Colin. He got Ken’s spear to fend the brute off if he resurfaced, but realised the fight was only in his head. His body was still as weak as ever, and he dropped the weapon.
Scarface lashed out with his tail, spinning the lifeboat on its axis for two complete circles. Pausing as though to tease them, he then dove beneath before emerging to strike mammoth blows to the side. Finally he dropped back to his usual position, swimming astern, watching. Then he disappeared.
‘He’s leaving,’ croaked Ken.
‘Thank God,’ said Colin.
‘He’ll have us by the end of this day, I tell you.’
‘He knows it’s his last chance,’ said Colin.
‘How could he know that?’ snapped Ken. ‘You’re talking daft, lad. It’s just another day to him.’
‘I just know it,’ said Colin.
‘I’m all in.’ Ken slumped in the well. ‘How can we keep on with this? How can we do it anymore? They’re not coming for us. Don’t you realise it? So what if another plane comes. They can
’t land, can’t pick us up. What they gonna do – keep dropping bits of water and food. They’ll be dropping it for corpses soon.’ He paused. ‘I’m all in, chum. All in. Tell my Kath I was…’
‘No.’ Colin grasped Ken’s arms, hard.
He couldn’t bear the thought of another night with no ship. The feeling was so acute he thought he might pass right out. Where could he find the strength to hope when all muscle had gone? How could he find enough for two if Ken didn’t believe?
‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t hear any more messages. Do you understand, I won’t hear it. You’ll tell her yourself and I’m going to be with you, do you hear me?’
But Ken had fallen asleep.
‘Do you hear me?’ Colin said softly. ‘You and I are going to get home, lad, either when a ship comes or because we reach land.’
He crawled to the foredeck and fell asleep there, posed for watch. And this time he dreamed, not of home or a kitchen or a strange book-filled place, but of the lifeboat. All the men were present and they were as healthy and well as when they’d been on the SS Lulworth Hill.
Weekes wore his hat the wrong way for comic effect and joked about their quarters not having flush toilets. On a bench the young gunners, Bott, Bamford and Leak, shared a ciggie and teased one another. Nearby King listened to them with a smile. The Second sat astern, quietly mending his trousers. Stewart played a game of cards with Platten, arguing back and forth about whose hand was better. Davies, his ribs not broken, lounged against a mast, contentedly reading a book. John Arnold stood, reading a passage from his bible, and Officer Scown sat on the boat edge and cleaned his boots to a shine and smiled at the men before him. Only Ken slept, curled up in the well, perhaps dreaming this very vision himself, perhaps watching Colin sleep on the foredeck.
In the middle of the boat was Young Fowler.
He watched Colin. His hair was brushed flat as though for church and his cheeks pink with health. Joy filled Colin’s chest.
He said over and over, ‘Am I ever glad I got to see you again! By, lad, you do look good! I really wanted to say … well, I really … I never meant to…’