I was just turning to go when I realised why I was uneasy. This locker should smell of canvas and wood, but overlaid on that was the smell of cigarette smoke, not recent smoke, as if someone had lit up in here, but the sour smell you’d get in the house of a habitual smoker. I wrinkled my nose and came forward to the suitcases, sniffing each in turn. One of them obviously came from a smoking household, but the smell was faded, not quite what I’d sensed from the middle of the floor. I stepped back and turned round, flaring my nostrils, but it wasn’t coming from any particular direction. A trainee who’d thought to come and smoke down here, instead of on the designated bench, then been scared off by Mona coming?
I gave a last look around, then climbed up the ladder. The prickling sensation in my back increased so much as I bent over to fit the boards to the space that I turned to stare behind me at the door to Erik and Petter’s cabin. I knocked gently, then swung the door open, but of course there was nobody there, although the smell lingered here too.
I frowned to myself, and headed back up the stairs to the main deck.
Word of Johanna was good. They’d let Anders in to see her, and she was groggy but relieved of pain. The doctors were talking of sending her home tomorrow, he announced over dinner, with no trace of being awed by the mahogany table, velvet curtains, glooming portraits of royalty and assembled ranks of gold shoulder bars that had intimidated me into silence on my first dinner in the officers’ mess. Her parents would collect her, and she was determined to join us in Belfast. She’d offered him her cabin, too, so he asked me to move her clothes to free up one drawer, and squeeze a space in the hanging locker. I felt a bit awkward about doing that, but less than Anders would have, and she kept her clothes so tidy that it was a simple matter of lifting and shifting two piles of immaculately ironed T-shirts.
The wind was from the north-east, a perfect sailing wind, but dead on the nose. The trainees stayed on deck as we left Kristiansand, watching the shore slip past: the opera house, the dark trees of the sheltered land, white wood houses with their own landing stages, then Odderøya lighthouse, square and white with its conical hat. As we came to the coast pounded by the wild North Sea, the green gave way to curves of polished rock rising up from the ocean, with small pines clinging with knuckled roots to the darker line of seaweed-rich earth. Grønningen lighthouse, a cluster of buildings on a rocky island, appeared to port, the red-ringed tower of Oksøy lighthouse came on starboard, and Kristiansand was left behind.
Ah, but it was good to be at sea again. My forebodings blew away. It was a most beautiful evening, glorious sunshine, with a clear blue sky above the sparkling ocean, the hills on our right, the sea horizon on our left. Sørlandet forged steadily forward, the engines chugging gently, the swell lifting her bowsprit and the waves curling with a sloosh and suck under her stern. I stood under the triangle of ratlines on the aft deck and looked out at the ocean, and felt myself at home once more.
My watch began at eight. Below me, on the main deck, the watches were mustering. The outgoing white watch stood on the windward side (so that they could ‘hand’ the wind over to the oncoming watch) and my own blue watch lined up to leeward. I did a quick head count; two short. They’d soon learn that the outgoing watch wasn’t dismissed until the oncoming one was all present, and the grumbling of their fellow trainees at being made to stand and wait for them would do far more than we officers could to encourage punctuality. Erik consulted his list, and sent the named watch positions – lookout, safety, helm and standby – off to their stations. The lookout went forrard and the others came up to the aft deck: Ellen on helm, Sindre beside her on standby and Dimitris on safety. I gave him the laminated list of things to check, a full tour of the ship each quarter hour. ‘You also ring the ship’s bell. Just stick your head in the cabin here for the time. Ding for a half hour, ding ding for a full hour, so two and a half hours gone is ding ding, ding ding, ding. The first one you’ll ring will be eight o’clock, the end of the previous watch – four double dings.’ He nodded.
I installed Sindre by the wheel, with a choice of standing on the leeward side or sitting with his back against the captain’s coffin, explained the compass and wheel to Ellen, and waited with her until I was sure she had the hang of it.
At last, a full five minutes after Dimitris had rung eight bells to signal the end of the white watch, the last straggler of the blue watch came out on deck. ‘God vakt!’ the white watch chanted. ‘God vakt skal vaere!’ my own replied: a good watch it shall be.
It was a quiet watch. The ABs got out the miniature sail and showed the trainees how to tie and untie the gaskets, the lines that held the sails fastened up to the horizontal yards, then took the climbers up the rigging while the light was still good. This time they went out along the yards, stepping off the safety of the metal platform to edge along the foot-wires, bellies resting over the curved wooden yard, so that their weight was centred there, feet seemingly swaying in air, and untied the gaskets, then tied them up again. Dimitris reported four times that all was well, then headed for standby, Sindre took over the helm – he was, I gathered, a keen fisherman, and well able to steer a straight course – while Ellen went forward to lookout. The lookout, Gabriel, came back to safety, and I had to do the briefing spiel about bells all over again.
The main problem was smoking. It seemed almost all of the ones from Social Services smoked, and couldn’t manage a whole hour without a cigarette, so that the safety watch was prolonged by a smoke break each time, and I’d glance aft to find the standby on the helm while the real helm was below at the designated benches, the smoke drifting up to our aft deck. Yuck. It reminded me that I must get Jenn to re-emphasise smoking areas on the next muster.
Gradually, the sky darkened, and the moon thickened from a transparent honesty penny to the colour of old brass, poised in a diamond of rigging. The coast of Norway became a dark line on the horizon, punctured by winking lighthouses. I stood under the triangle of spider’s web ratlines and ticked them off as we passed: the top-heavy bulk of Songvår, then the three Mandal lighthouses, Ryvingen, Hatholmen, Lindesnes.
The last half hour of a watch was always the longest. On deck, the trainees were beginning to yawn and look longingly at the banjer stairs. The first star sharpened to a steel-blue point. I was just contemplating the delicate traceries of rope against the cobalt sky when Anders came up beside me. ‘She sounds good, doesn’t she?’
He meant the engine. ‘Chugging away nicely.’
‘Now you have a salary, you could think of changing your old Volvo in Khalida. She too could sound like this.’ He considered for a moment. ‘Well, no, since it would be a much smaller engine.’
My Khalida’s whole hull could fit twice into Sørlandet’s engine space, with enough room left over to throw a party for the ship’s crew. ‘A touch smaller,’ I agreed. ‘Are you settled into Johanna’s cabin?’
‘I like the Chief Engineer on the brass plate over the door. It will please Rat and Cat too, to be so close.’ He looked ahead, eyes narrowing. ‘I thought they had been told about smoking.’
He was looking at a dark shape up on the boat deck: a man, broad-shouldered, hunched over the rail. His back was to us, but his hand moved with a tell-tale red glow.
‘I will tell him again.’ Anders went swiftly down the stairs and across the deck with authoritative strides befitting the gold on his shoulder. Give a man a uniform, I thought, amused. The dark shape turned. I saw the red spark arc over the rail and hiss into the water. The man circled in a quick movement, like an otter cornered under a jetty, slid to the rail and swung downwards, climbing down the far side of the boathouse while Anders was climbing up. Anders strode across to the far side of the boat deck and looked around, then shrugged and followed the stranger down the forrard ladder.
The oncoming watch was beginning to gather on deck; Agnetha came up the aft stairs and out to me, her face bleached in the silver light. ‘All’s well?’
‘Yes.’ I did the log handover an
d stood back while her watch relieved mine, then waited at the rail while Erik counted off the trainees. ‘God vakt!’ they chorused, and headed below, where there would be a flurry of hammock-hanging by mobile phone light in the dark banjer.
Anders reappeared beside me. ‘I lost him, but I think I would know the shape again. An older man – we have not so many of those on board.’
‘He’s not my watch. Red, or a white who couldn’t sleep.’
‘I will know him again,’ Anders repeated. ‘Are you for bed now?’
I nodded, and followed him down the stairs. As I was descending, I took a good look around at the trainees spreading out around the deck. None of them had that heavy bulk, those broad shoulders. White watch, then. I’d spot him in the morning.
Gavin’s phone was switched to voicemail. A stake-out on some damp coast … I left a ‘hello’, then brushed my teeth, wriggled in beside Cat and Rat, and was asleep in seconds.
CHAPTER THREE
Friday 26th June
I woke at quarter past six. Cat was curled against my neck, and the sun was bright on the water outside. The waves tapped at the ship’s hull and the engine throbbed. Someone walked across the deck over my head. I heard Nils give the compass course, and the helm repeat it, then the wheel clunked round and the ship moved, and settled to her new course.
Cat had spotted I was awake. He prodded at my face with one paw until I reached out for his brush and groomed the permitted bits: the back and sides of his neck, and the white owl-tufts behind his ears. On a good day he’d let me do his throat as well, but more than that was pushing my luck; he’d lay a firm paw on the brush and dare it to go any further. He was particularly fussy about his beautiful plume of tail, dark grey above and palest pearl below. Nobody was allowed to touch that.
I’d left the door ajar so that he and Rat could come and go as they pleased, and as soon as I’d finished with the brushing he used his litter tray (the downside of being at sea) and slid out to find his pal. I woke myself up with a shower, dressed in my officer gear and headed for breakfast at the captain’s table.
It was very impressive, the officers’ mess, rather like a well-to-do club room. The walls were panelled in walnut, with red velvet curtains masking the portholes and Edwardian-style lamps at shoulder height. On the far side were portraits of King Harald and Queen Sonja, in a glory of uniform and sash, with a carved wooden crown surmounting each. There were red-upholstered chairs round the mahogany table, where the galley girls had already laid out the morning buffet: a serving bowl of oatmeal and another of cornflakes, plates of cold meat and cheese, a basket of bread, a jug of milk and a carton of cherry-flavour drinkable yoghurt. I slipped into my place with a murmured ‘Good morning’ and sat quietly. We were waiting for Nils, still on watch, and Agnetha, who’d come off at four o’clock. Red watch was the worst, with your sleep broken into two sessions. Just as I was thinking that, she came in and dropped hastily into her seat beside mine. Nils came in after her, bringing a breath of sea air. Above our heads, his watch was scrubbing the decks, the brushes going froosh, froosh, and water sloshing from the seawater hose. Captain Gunnar said grace and passed the oatmeal round. I poured myself a glassful of yoghurt and sliced a banana on my oatmeal. Beside me, Agnetha crumbled her rye bread and took only a couple of sips of coffee. Mike was watching her too, his face concerned. I gave her a nudge with my elbow and made a You OK? face. She responded with a Too sleepy grimace, and took another sip of coffee.
I finished my breakfast with a slice of bread and brunost, and headed off to brush the grains of rye from between my teeth before morning watch.
We’d passed the ‘corner’ of south Norway, at Mandel, and now we were heading north-west. If this wind held, we’d get the sails up today. I set Erik and the ABs to teaching the trainees the ropes. To the casual eye, they were a thicket, reaching upwards into the sky from the coil around each belaying pin, but they were in a system, so that once you’d learnt the order for one mast, you knew them all. I watched from above as they formed into teams and raced to place a hand on the correct sheet or brace, with a good deal of laughter and not a little shoving. Then there was more mast climbing, and out along the yards, which took us to coffee time. I kept watching for last night’s smoker, and thought I glimpsed his broad shoulders from out of the corner of my eye a couple of times, but when I turned to look properly he wasn’t there. It was an uneasy feeling, rather like the climber’s hallucination that there’s one more person there than can be accounted for.
Agnetha came out onto the aft deck for coffee, yawning and clutching her scarlet jacket around her, but with a touch more colour in her cheeks than she’d had at breakfast. ‘Ouf! The red watch is hard work.’
‘The hardest,’ I agreed. My blue watch could sleep from twelve to seven, and the white watch from ten till four o’clock in the morning, and both watches tended to have an afternoon nap, but the hammocks were cleared for breakfast at seven and lights not turned off until ten, so the red watch, on duty from twelve till four, got the least sleep. ‘You’re OK, though?’
She shrugged and turned away, so that I couldn’t see her face, but the answer came lightly. ‘I’m having to catch up with a straight-after-lunch nap like an old lady.’ She was a head taller than me, and very fair, that typical Scandinavian look; it was hard to imagine anything less like an old lady. Mind you, I thought, looking at Ellen, coming up the stairs to take over standby helm, a cup of coffee in each hand, old ladies aren’t all after-lunch nap types.
Erik and my ABs left the trainees enjoying their coffee and biscuits, and came back aft. I was still getting to know Mona and Petter. Mona was great: lively, enthusiastic, experienced. I found Petter harder to talk to. If we’d been in America I’d have called him ‘preppy’. Aristokratisk. He oozed privilege, even in his regulation uniform. Every time he paused by the rail, he looked like a men’s clothing advert. He was good on deck, but his real love was gadgetry, and he always had the latest watch, tablet and phone, paid for by his parents, I presumed, for the ABs were volunteers. I went over to lean on the rail beside him. ‘They’re going to be a good team, don’t you think?’
He gave a half-turn so that his back was on the rail, gave me a shy, sideways glance, then looked straight across the ship, face turned away from me. ‘I think so. Several good climbers – Johan will be a real asset – and a strong deck team, with the two fishermen.’
‘Is this your first season as an AB?’
He nodded, and answered defensively, ‘But before that I was in the navy cadets, and I have had two seasons as a trainee.’
‘Oh, it’s obvious you know what you’re doing,’ I said. I didn’t understand why he should be so quick to think I was criticising. I smiled at his unresponsive profile. ‘What’s your winter job?’
He didn’t move, but a tide of red crept up his neck. ‘Oh, a bit of this and that. My father’s in a law firm.’
It didn’t quite answer the question. ‘You’re lucky,’ I said. Whatever idea he had of me as a dyed-in-the-wool sailor who’d look down on lesser jobs, I decided to get rid of it. ‘I funded my seasons aboard by double shifts of waitressing in a sleazy Edinburgh cafe.’
He gave me a quick glance at that, but didn’t reply. I left the silence unbroken. At last he gave me another look, then drank the end of his coffee and straightened himself up on the rail. ‘Well, man-overboard drill?’
‘To time,’ I agreed, and watched him walk away as if he’d escaped unscathed from ten minutes in the lion’s den. I felt rather hurt; normally, I thought, I got on well with everyone, and I certainly didn’t see myself as intimidating. Maybe he was really shy under the superior air …
The man-overboard boat was an inflatable dinghy stowed, naturally, on the boat deck, the central raised area above the banjer. The drill took up the rest of the watch: fitting everyone with life jackets, attaching the dinghy with straps to the swing-around pulley, hauling it out so that it hung clear of the ship’s side, lowering it. The team had
a couple of shots, sorting themselves out into who was best doing what, then Erik timed them for their third shot. ‘Two minutes dead!’ he called out, and there was a triumphant cheer. Erik congratulated them all, then came aft to talk to Agnetha. He put his hand on her upper arm, a gesture of concern. She shook her head, and he leant forward to her, talking persuasively. She stepped back, shaking her head again, and shrugging his arm off, stalked off towards the stairs to the main deck.
Olav, coming up to make his last report, gave them a narrow-eyed look. ‘Are they a couple?’ he asked me. ‘I’m still trying to sort out who everyone is.’
I shook my head. ‘Just friends.’ We didn’t need that kind of gossip aboard. ‘Erik’s married to a South American lady, Micaela. She came to see him off, with the children – did you notice her? She’s really beautiful.’
He pursed his mouth, and nodded. Then I remembered Agnetha’s closed door yesterday, and how she had arrived only just on time for morning muster. Erik had come out of that corridor too, when he should have been on the gangplank … of course, he could have been fetching something from the other ranks’ mess, or making himself a cup of tea in the pantry. There was no reason for him to have been with Agnetha. The thought was ridiculous. All the same, it made an uneasy nest for itself in the back of my mind. Complicated, Agnetha had said … So many marriages suddenly ended in a suddenly discovered affair, and everyone said, ‘I would never have expected that …’
Twelve o’clock was lunchtime, and there was a savoury smell of soup drifting along from the galley. My watch said their ‘God vakt!’ and stampeded below to fling off oilskins and line up at the banjer serving hatch. At a guess, the soup would incorporate leftover spaghetti from last night’s tea, and there would be bread, cold meats, cheese and pickled herring laid out along the tops of the lockers. I tidied my hair in my cabin, tickled Cat’s and Rat’s bellies, and joined Captain Gunnar and my fellow officers in Edwardian splendour.
Death in Shetland Waters Page 4