Lifeboat!

by Margaret Dickinson

  Macready laughed. ‘Aye. No doubt Jack’s got his eagle eye on them all.’

  ‘Like me to take over for you while you get your dinner?’ Tim asked.

  ‘Aye, if you would, son. Though I’m not sure if there’ll be any waiting for me. Julie was away to a disco when I got hame after the service last night—and I left this morning before they—she was about.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence between them. Tim scuffed the floor with the toe of his training shoe, his thumbs hooked in the tight pockets of his denims.

  They were both thinking about Julie—and the boyfriend!

  ‘Aye, well,’ Macready sighed. ‘ I’ll be away anyway, an’ see what’s to do. See you …’

  The phone shrilled in Macready’s office and he broke off to go and answer it. He came back a few minutes later, his craggy face wreathed with smiles, a twinkle of mischief in his hazel eyes. ‘Och, now I’ve heard it said that “ it’s an ill wind …” Young Phil, now, he’s fallen off a ladder trying to paint his house—and broken his arm.’ He paused and Tim looked puzzled.

  ‘I don’t get what you mean.’

  ‘Well now, son. If we should get a service this busy Bank Holiday’—he nodded towards the scudding clouds—‘and with this weather, well then, I shall be a crew member short, now won’t I?’

  Tim drew breath sharply. ‘Do you mean …?’

  ‘Aye, if there’s a service, Tim, you’ll be in the crew.’

  Tim’s eyes glowed. ‘Aw, thanks, Mr Macready. Thanks.’

  Macready patted the young fellow on the shoulder.

  In the locked office, the mercury in the barometer sank a little lower.

  The depression was centred over the Irish Sea and moving rapidly northeastwards.

  When Macready pulled up outside his house he saw that the driveway was completely empty.

  Howard’s shining car and the trailer and the boat were gone.

  ‘Well, and what are we supposed to do now?’ Howard asked sarcastically. He had parked the Ferrari and the trailer at the end of Beach Road as near to the sand as he could and was now standing facing the expanse of beach stretching between himself and the water’s edge. Although the tide had only been on the ebb for about an hour, the distance still looked enormous to Howard.

  Julie laughed. ‘We unhitch the trailer and I go and ask Sandy to tow us down to the sea.’

  Howard’s expression lightened. ‘Oh great! For one terrible moment I thought we were expected to lug the blasted thing all the way to the sea!’

  ‘We’re not quite as antiquated as that.’

  Julie turned away and busied herself collecting their gear from the back of the car in readiness for stowing it under the foredeck of the dinghy.

  Howard stretched and flexed his muscles. ‘Right then. Off you go and find this tractor chappie.’

  Obediently Julie turned and began to walk towards the Saltershaven Sailing Club’s compound, a square of beach above high water mark where the club’s boats and gear were kept. She glanced back once over her shoulder to see Howard bending over the tow-bar fiddling with the mechanism.

  ‘Hi, Sandy.’

  ‘Hello, Julie.’ He grinned at her. ‘ You ‘n’ Tim after borrowing me boat, are you?’

  The faint tinge of pink in Julie’s cheeks deepened a little. ‘Er—no. It’s—I mean—I’m not with Tim. Not today.’ She flung her arm out to indicate Howard and his car and boat at the end of Beach Road. ‘I’m with—a friend I met at college. He’s brought his own boat and I was just wondering if you’d give us a tow down to the water, please, Sandy?’

  Sandy frowned, his eyes half-closed as he squinted beyond Julie towards Howard and his car and boat. ‘By heck, that’s a posh effort. A Ferrari, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sandy looked back at her. ‘Tim got his nose pushed out of joint then?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Sandy.’ The pinkness deepened. ‘Tim and I have been friends from childhood and that’s all. Why, we’re more like brother and sister than …’ Her voice petered out in embarrassment.

  For a moment Sandy’s pleasant face was sober and his steady gaze was on her face. ‘ You reckon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Then he shrugged and turned away towards the tractor. ‘Oh well, must be me that’s got it all wrong.’

  For a few moments Julie stared after him, then slowly she returned across the sand towards Howard whilst behind her the roar of the tractor engine drowned the shrieks and shouts of the children playing nearby.

  Carefully, Sandy inched his tractor amongst the holiday makers who had braved the windy beach, wary all the time of the tiny, darting figures of the children so intent on their games that they could be totally unaware of the tractor.

  Minutes later the Nerissa was being towed towards the sea with Howard and Julie jogging across the sand behind it.

  ‘Gad, you have to be fit to live here, don’t you?’

  Julie’s laugh bounced across the breeze. ‘That’s one thing we’re not short of at Saltershaven—good fresh air!’

  She was unaware of Howard’s cynical glance as she flung her arms wide to encompass the beach, the sea, the sky—the place she loved. She closed her eyes and lifted her face, glorying in the feel of the salty breeze on her skin.

  Sandy drew up on the wet sand close to the water’s edge, switched off the engine and in one lithe movement jumped down from the tractor. ‘ Rigging it on the trailer?’ he queried.

  Julie turned towards Howard who shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘It would be easier, I think,’ Julie volunteered.

  Howard and Julie began to remove the fittings and sailbag from the interior of the Nerissa. Sandy stood, arms folded, watching them, making no move to help at all. Julie glanced at him, but Sandy’s eyes were on Howard. Julie sighed, thinking of all the times when Sandy had willingly loaned Tim and her his own boat, and helped them to rig and launch it.

  Now he had set himself apart from them, watching Howard Marshall-Smythe’s every move, his mouth tight with disapproval.

  Julie loosened all the ropes securing the dinghy to the trailer and then stood in the boat whilst Howard struggled to raise the mast. It required more knack than physical strength, but Howard seemed to be lacking in both. Still Sandy made no move to help and Julie was convinced he was smothering his laughter. She guided the heel towards the step and then shouted to Howard, ‘ Toss it up now.’

  ‘What do you think I am, a fancy caber-tosser in a skirt?’ In the heat of the moment, Howard was obviously unaware of his implied insult to Julie’s Scottish father.

  The mast rose and was slotted into position and Julie caught and held it. Howard, breathing hard, stood a moment.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Julie shouted. ‘I can’t hold this for ever.’

  ‘I’ll do it, Julie,’ Sandy’s quiet voice answered her and he moved forward, evidently unable to keep up his pretence of indifference when he saw her struggling. After all, he had no quarrel with Julie, even if he did feel a bit peeved on Tim’s behalf. Swiftly Sandy secured the two side shrouds and the forestay.

  Howard had unrolled the jib sail on the foredeck and shackled the head on to the jib halyard and was about to hoist it when Sandy said, ‘Er, excuse me, mate, but you should pass your jib sheets outside the shrouds.’

  ‘What?’ Howard paused, his grip tightening on the sheet in anger. His eyes flashed towards Sandy. ‘Mind your own damn business, will you?’

  ‘Hey, Howard,’ Julie cut in. ‘Sandy’s a friend of mine, and besides …’ she added, eyeing the sheets under dispute, ‘he’s right.’

  Howard released the sheet and the sail slithered down into a crumpled heap. He all but pouted like a spoilt little boy. ‘ Do it yourself then,’ he muttered.

  ‘It is very easy to get it wrong,’ Julie tried to say soothingly and picked up the sail.

  Howard moved away and as soon as he did, Sandy was at her shoulder. ‘I’ll give you a hand, Julie.’

&n
bsp; Under his expert hands the jib was soon rigged and then together they attached the main halyard to the mainsail while a few feet away Howard was fiddling with the rudder.

  ‘Julie,’ Sandy said in his soft voice as he stretched the foot of the mainsail along the boom. ‘Just how much does he know about sailing?’

  Julie kept her eyes averted from Sandy’s questioning look, busying herself inserting the three battens into the sail. ‘Oh, he’s done a lot of sailing, but this boat’s brand-new, perhaps he’s not rigged this type before.’ But somehow the confidence was missing from her tone.

  Sandy tensed his mouth, biting back the retort that the rigging of one sailing-dinghy was not so very different from any other type of equivalent size. All he could say was, ‘Well, take care anyway.’

  Julie looked up at him now, her merry eyes smiling once more. ‘I’d better. It wouldn’t look very good if the lifeboat had to be launched for the coxswain’s daughter, would it?’

  But, strangely, there was no responsive grin from Sandy. Soberly, he murmured, ‘Don’t tempt Fate, Julie love.’

  But Julie had turned away to fasten the mainsheet on to the port side of the transom and he could not be sure whether she had heard him or not. As she continued to thread the mainsheet through the pulley hanging from the end of the boom and back through the single pulley on the starboard side of the transom finishing with a figure-of-eight knot in the end, Sandy fitted the boom into the gooseneck and hauled the mainsail up a few feet until after the boat was afloat.

  Julie stowed their picnic hamper and other gear under the foredeck. Howard was still busy with the rudder and tiller.

  ‘Have you checked the bungs?’ she asked him.

  ‘No. You do that.’

  ‘Okay.’

  That done, out of habit Julie took a final look around the boat, checking on the buoyancy-bags and that all the sheets were free-running and the halyards secure. She noticed that Howard had left the rudder blade too far down, in danger of being snapped off when they launched the boat. She opened her mouth to point this out and then closed it again. Better not cause any more trouble, she thought, and silently adjusted the blade herself.

  Julie straightened up and stood looking at the boat. ‘ Well, I think we’re about ready now to launch her.’

  Sandy stood back too, his gaze roving—not without a trace of envy—over the sailing-dinghy. Noticing the expression on Sandy’s face, Howard said, ‘ Well, what do you think of her?’ Howard’s good humour was restored by Sandy’s obvious admiration of his boat. But all Sandy would allow himself to say to Howard Marshall-Smythe was, ‘She’s all right.’ Then his eyes narrowed as he nodded towards the Nerissa. ‘Julie says she’s brand-new.’

  ‘That’s right. I only got her last week.’

  ‘Well—if this is your first time out in her, you’ll not know how she handles. And this coast isn’t the best of places to try her.’ He turned toward Julie again. ‘You know what it’s like half a mile out with an offshore wind? You can suddenly hit a maelstrom.’

  Julie nodded. ‘Yes. I know, Sandy. But we’re only going just up and down the coast, we’ll keep close inshore. By the way, what do we owe you for the tow?’

  Now Sandy laughed. ‘Oh, I reckon the Sailing Club can stand you a free tow after all your dad does for our members when they get themselves in deep water!’

  Julie smiled at his pun. ‘ Well, If you’re sure …?’

  ‘Quite sure, Julie. Mind how you go, now.’ He nodded towards the sea. ‘It could get rough further out. I reckon we’re heading for a blow.’

  She heard Howard’s guffaw. ‘Nothing like a good stiff breeze for yachting.’ He made it sound as if sailing was a daily activity for him.

  Sandy ignored his remark, but it was obvious that it had not gone unnoticed as he gave Julie a brief nod and said, ‘Right, shall we get her into the water?’

  At once Howard said, ‘I’ll stay aboard and fix the rudder and tiller as soon as you get her in.’

  Sandy raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Julie was busy releasing the lashings that secured the boat to its trailer and did not appear to have heard. Together Sandy and Julie unhooked the trailer from the rear of the tractor and pushed it into the water until the hull floated freely. Julie held the bows at right angles to the offshore wind whilst Sandy heaved the trolley back out on to dry land.

  ‘Shall I take the trailer back to the compound?’ he shouted to her but before she could answer Howard said, ‘Oh thanks, old chap. Put it near my car, would you?’ Howard turned away and began to haul up the mainsail.

  For a moment the amiable Sandy stared at Howard’s back. Then, without another word, he re-hitched the trailer to his tractor and drove away up the beach.

  As Julie fastened her life-jacket around her, she said, ‘ We should be all right if we keep to within half a mile of the shore. It’s comparatively sheltered for that distance. Beyond that, with this offshore wind, it wouldn’t be safe. Howard—your life-jacket.’

  ‘What? Oh don’t fuss, Julie. I don’t need that thing on, especially if you’re planning to keep us pussy-footing around in the shallows.’ There was an edge of sarcasm to his tone.

  ‘Howard, you need your life-jacket on,’ Julie persisted.

  ‘Look, I’m a strong swimmer …’

  ‘It makes no difference if you could swim the Channel. If you end up in that sea today, you’ll need a life-jacket. Besides, you’re wearing a dark sweater so you need something on that can be seen easily if you’re in the water.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of being in the water.’

  ‘And whilst we’re on the subject, you’d have been better in shorts, not slacks. They’ll end up saturated round your legs.’ Julie herself was wearing shorts and a warm, lemon sweater.

  For a moment they glared at each other, but Julie was determined not to give way on a matter of safety—she had been too well-trained—even if it angered Howard.

  Suddenly he laughed and capitulated with good humour. It had been these swift flashes of charm that had captivated Julie when she had first met him. ‘ Oh all right, I’ll wear the blessed thing, but only to stop you nagging me.’

  Julie glanced seawards, narrowing her eyes, watching the choppy surf over the Saltershaven Middle, the sandbank lying parallel to the shore about half a mile out.

  For a brief moment she hesitated. Instinct told her that today needed experienced sailors and she was beginning to be more than a little unsure of the true extent of Howard’s experience. But he had assured her that he had spent a lot of time sailing, surely …?

  The wind had caught the mainsail and it was flapping furiously before Howard had secured it. ‘Come on, Julie, lend a hand, old thing.’

  Burying her apprehension, Julie moved forward to help him.

  The offshore wind caught the sails and they drifted sideways in a south-easterly direction. Soon they were far enough offshore to bring the boat about and to begin sailing in a southerly direction on a reach parallel to the shore with the wind blowing at right-angles to the boat, the centreboard half up and the sails well filled.

  ‘Right, I’m helmsman. You’ll have to crew, Julie.’

  Howard, seated starboard with his back to the wind, the sails to port, was in command at the helm, the tiller in his left hand, the mainsheet in his right. It was Julie’s task to move about the boat to carry out all the jobs as crew: to keep the jib roughly parallel to the mainsail and to act as ballast to help Howard keep the boat level.

  ‘My word,’ Howard laughed, the breeze catching his words and tossing them overboard. ‘ This is the life. Do you know, I’d forgotten how jolly this sailing lark is. Come to think of it, I’ve never been on the sea before, only on the Lakes. This is great, I must say.’

  With the wind drumming the sails, the sheets humming and the waves smacking against the boat, Julie, struggling with the jib, did not hear what Howard had said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They sailed the Nerissa southwards, para
llel to the shoreline for a couple of miles, then, by pulling up the helm and slackening off the sheets, the boat turned seawards away from the wind.

  Howard, ducking beneath the boom, brought the mainsail round to starboard and slackened the mainsheet. The jib remained on the port side and Julie withdrew the centreboard fully. Now they were running free before the wind.

  Half a mile out to sea, they turned on a port gybe, reaching northwards now, then two miles further on going about and beating to windward in a zigzag pattern to complete the rectangle and bring them back almost to their starting-point. Then once more Howard swung the tiller, switched sides, brought the mainsail across to port, whilst Julie tussled with the jib, yet again reaching southwards.

  Above the thrum of the wind, Howard shouted, ‘Is there anywhere along the coast we can pull in for the picnic? That bottle of Asti must be about to pop with all this shaking.’

  ‘We’ll moor at the Haven. It’s about a mile and a half down the coast from where we are now.’

  The Haven proper of Saltershaven was some two miles down the coast from the town itself. As the houses petered out and the golf-links ended, the land gave way to sandhills, saltmarshes and mud flats which had become a nature reserve and bird sanctuary. Through this the River Dolan meandered towards the sea, its mouth just south of Dolan’s Point, the final promontory of land before the ground became the treacherous marsh which bordered the Wash.

  As they reached the outer marker, Julie looked towards the shore to see the flocks of birds wheeling and swooping against the white and grey clouds scudding across a fitful sun. Beneath them the green marram grass, which grew in abundance on the saltmarsh, moved in gentle waves in the wind.

  ‘Do you know if it’s deep enough for us to get there?’ Howard shouted, as the red-and-white entry marker came into view.

  ‘Should be—it’ll be low water any time, but it should still leave us enough draught.’

  Julie, busy with the jib in readiness to tack to starboard, missed seeing Howard’s eyes cast heavenwards in an exaggerated expression of boredom of her use of the language of sailing. ‘Just tell me—in plain language, if you don’t mind—can we get far enough up river to moor at a decent place?’