Julie glanced at him. ‘ Yes,’ she said shortly.
‘Good,’ Howard said. ‘That’s all I asked for—not a lecture on sailing terms!’
They passed by the yellow-topped beacon and then followed the series of port and starboard buoys. Then the markers became taller as the narrowing channel was outlined by slim poles, a can on the port hand and a cone on the starboard hand. A sharp bend to port was quickly followed by an equally sharp bend in the opposite direction.
‘Good God—where the hell are you taking us?’
‘Nearly there,’ Julie panted. ‘One more bend and we’re there.’ And indeed as they passed by the starboard markers set to mark the almost right-angled turn, Howard saw the moorings along the river-bank.
‘Thank God for that!’ he muttered. The River Dolan curved gently through the marsh towards the sea, with green grassy banks on each side. Every so often mooring-posts were set and wooden step-ladders gave access to the banks.
‘This’ll do,’ Howard said and without warning he swung the tiller sharply so that the boat almost hit the bank and Julie lost her balance.
‘Hey—mind what you’re doing.’
‘Oh, sorry, old thing.’
He tied up the boat and leapt up the steps to stand on the bank above her, gazing at the scenery, whilst Julie let down the sails completely.
‘God, but it’s flat!’ Howard’s voice floated down to her. ‘Flat and uninteresting!’
Julie clambered up the steps to stand beside him. ‘Flat it may be,’ she retorted, ‘ but uninteresting—never!’ She flung out her arm to the right. ‘All this area is a nature reserve. It just teems with life. We ring birds here that end up all over Europe—even Russia …’
Howard held up his hands, palms outwards as if to fend her off. ‘Oh spare me a geography lesson, darling, please. Come on, let’s get the picnic hamper up.’
They found a sheltered spot a few yards away from where they had moored the boat. They crossed the road leading to the car park from the bridge over the river. Turning left, towards the sea the marsh was dotted with sand-dunes and behind one of these it was sheltered from the westerly wind.
Howard opened the bottle of sparkling white wine with a loud bang, the bubbly liquid flooding over the top. He laughed, ‘There, I bet you’ve never feasted like this before out here, Julie.’
Julie bit into the smoked-salmon sandwich which Howard had insisted was the only thing he could eat at a picnic.
‘No, you’re quite right, I haven’t.’ But the tone of her voice wasn’t quite what Howard had hoped for. He couldn’t know that she was thinking of the last time she had picnicked in this area. Then it had been coke and sausage rolls—with Tim. They had joked and laughed and teased each other, and suddenly Julie felt an acute pang of guilt and almost of longing.
With a shock she realised that she had been far happier on that afternoon than she was at this moment.
The scooter buzzed along the coast road towards the Point, past the Nature Reserve, across the bridge over the river and taking the sharp left-hand bend in the road that now ran alongside the winding river. Above the river-bank were the tops of the masts of boats moored there. The road ended in a car park and gave way to the saltmarsh.
Today there was no sign of the coastguard’s dark-blue-and-yellow landrover. They left the scooter and walked towards a low dune about two hundred yards away. They dropped down into the sand, out of sight of anyone on the car park or on the river-bank. Vin tipped the three flares out on to the sand.
‘Eh Vin, let me fire one today—please?’
‘Well, I dunno. They’re a bit dodgy.’
‘Aw please, Vin. You’ve let ’ em all off so far. Let me have a go.’
‘All right then. I’ll show you how to do it with this first one.’ The flare began to smoke and the boy held it out in his right hand until it exploded and shot up into the air. Two pairs of eyes followed the line of the flare until it died and the red smoke drifted away.
‘Now let me ’ ave a go, Vin.’
‘Wait a bit. Don’t let’s waste ’em. These are all we’ve got.’
‘Oh come on—you’re just trying to stop me ’aving a go.’
‘No, I’m not.’
Mel made a grab for one of the flares. Her fingers closed round it and she twisted it out of Vin’s hand. She pulled the cap from the base of the black canister and stripped the top off as she had seen Vin do. Then she struck the top with the cap. Immediately the flare ignited and began to smoke and splutter.
‘Hold it away from you,’ Vin shouted. ‘It’ll burn you.’
The magnesium began to boil out of the canister, a burning shower of red.
‘Ouch!’ Mel cried as it spat on to her hand and she flung the flare away from her, not looking where she threw it.
The flare hit the boy on the chest and exploded into his face.
Sea-birds rose from the ground in alarm as the marsh echoed with the sound of his screams.
Howard lay back, replete and content. It was sheltered and out of the wind it was quite warm, drowsily warm. For a while they both dozed.
Whilst they slept the BBC weather forecast was broadcast at 13.55: ‘… The area forecast for the next twenty-four hours … Tyne, Dogger, Fisher, German Bight, Humber … southwesterly five, increasing seven to gale eight, perhaps locally severe gale nine, then veering westerly and decreasing five. Heavy rain at times, then showers. Poor becoming moderate or good …’
Out in the North Sea, Captain Karl Schlick heard the lunchtime BBC weather forecast for shipping.
He was making for the Lynn Well Lanby and from there through the Freeman Channel into the Deeps to be met by the pilot vessel in time to catch high water at 21.54 into the Port of St Botolphs. He had made this arrangement with the Port Authority twelve hours earlier over the radio.
So far it had been an uneventful trip and the medicinal bottle of rum had remained untouched in the locker on the bridge. But now, hearing the forecast, Schick’s hands gripped the wheel tighter, the sweat standing in beads on his forehead. He swore softly in his native German. That was the last thing he needed—bad weather. The pain gnawed at his gut and he shivered. He opened the locker, reached for the rum-bottle and took a gulp of the auburn liquid. This ship was a bastard to handle in rough seas with her fifteen-second roll, and more so than ever with the full cargo he was carrying of steel and paper and a deck cargo of packaged timber.
Schlick spoke through the intercom to his engineer. ‘ Ludendorff—I must have full speed.’
‘That is suicide, Captain,’ came back the swift retort from the engineer, an experienced man of twenty-five years at sea on all kinds of ships. A man who knew ships’ engines, a man whose word should be heeded.
The pain stabbed again in his stomach as Schlick snapped back, ‘We’ve got to make the Deeps or at least the Lynn Well. The weather is worsening rapidly. Full speed.’
‘Full speed it is, Captain.’ The engineer’s clipped tone told Schlick that he was not pleased.
The Captain’s mind was already troubled by the last interview he had had with his employers, the shipping company who owned the Hroswitha. When they had ordered him to take a cargo to Gothenburg and then bring this one from there across the North Sea to St Botolphs and another cargo back to his home port of Bremerhaven in West Germany, he had argued. ‘The ship needs a refit. The engines have been causing trouble these last two trips.’ He had thumped the agent’s desk. ‘She is not safe, like she is. And …’
He had been on the point of telling the man of his own problems, how his wife had begged him to see a doctor about these recurring stomach pains, but pride had prevented the words from being spoken.
Karl Schlick—a big and burly West German, disdainful of weakness—refused to admit to his ill-health. So many times he had brushed aside his wife’s warning promising her yet again, ‘Next time, next time I am home.’
Now, here in the North Sea with the ship rolling and lurching beneath his fe
et, the pain in his inside stabbing incessantly and with the forecast of rough seas before he could make port, Captain Karl Schlick cursed himself heartily for his own stubbornness.
Julie awoke with a start and sat up. Something had disturbed her, but she was not sure what. She shivered and glanced at the sky. The sun had disappeared behind scudding black clouds and the breeze had strengthened to a north-westerly wind, cool and blustery.
She shook Howard. ‘Howard—the weather’s getting worse. We must get back.’
Howard sat up, yawned and stretched. Then he reached out for her and pulled her down on to the sand again. ‘Now what’s all the hurry?’
‘Howard …’
His mouth silenced her, but a moment later he drew back from her, his eyes suddenly glinting with anger. ‘You’re a darned sight colder than your precious weather!’
He got up and began to gather their picnic things together. Julie sat up again. ‘I’m sorry, Howard. It’s not that. But can’t you see how the weather’s changed even whilst we’ve been asleep?’ Howard gave a cursory glance towards the sky and then turned to look down on her. ‘Look, Julie, I don’t know if it’s because your father’s some kind of safety oracle around here or what, but you seem uncommonly panicky about the sea and the weather. Good God—it’s only water for heaven’s sake!’
Julie was scrambling to her feet, snatching up their gear. ‘Don’t let’s waste time arguing. Will you just take my word for it that we should get back now?’
He raised his hands, palms towards her. ‘Okay, okay, we’ll go, we’ll go.’
It was then that she heard the screaming.
Julie stood very still, her swift, anxious movements suspended by the eerie noise echoing across the marsh. ‘ What’s that?’
Howard continued to gather their things, apparently unconcerned.
‘What?’
‘That noise. That screaming.’
Howard listened but only for a moment. ‘A seagull, I should think.’
‘That’s no bird. That’s someone—a person.’ She ran quickly to
the top of the dune behind which they had picnicked.
‘Oh come on, Julie. I thought you were so anxious to be off.’
‘There’s someone over there. A girl running about.’
‘Julie—it’s nothing to do with us. It’s a couple having a lark.’
But Julie would not be persuaded. ‘No, she’s in trouble, I’m sure of it.’
‘It’s none of our business. We don’t want to get involved …’
Julie spun round. ‘ You may not want to, but I’m not going until I’ve found out what the matter is. We don’t walk away from folks in trouble in my family!’
With that she flung down the napkin and cup she was holding and began to run towards the girl, whilst Howard carried on with
the packing up of the picnic basket.
The young teenage girl, dressed in faded denims and an anorak, was running around without sense of purpose or direction, tears coursing down her face, her hands dragging at her long windblown hair.
Julie caught hold of her and shook her gently. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
The sobs increased. ‘What is it?’ Julie persisted.
The girl pointed with a trembling finger towards another sand-dune.
Julie let go of her and ran towards it and climbed it. She stood in shocked horror as she looked down at the ground beyond the sand-dune. A boy, possibly of a similar age to the girl, though Julie could not tell for she could not see his face, lay writhing on the ground, his hands covering his face. He was screaming and kicking and obviously in dreadful pain. Beside him lay the empty case of the used flare.
Fleetingly Julie thought that here must be the cause of all these hoax calls the lifeboat had been receiving, but there was no time to go into that now. Now the boy needed medical treatment—and fast!
Julie turned to the girl. ‘Run—run to the shop on the Nature Reserve. Over the bridge and to the right.’
But the girl was beyond comprehension, she just ran around in circles, crying. She did not seem to take in what was being asked of her and Julie realised that the girl was hysterical.
Julie ran back to Howard, but he had gone from the sand-dune, the sand cleared of everything they had brought up from the boat. She ran to the river-bank and looked down to see Howard in the boat, calmly stowing away the picnic basket.
‘Howard—there’s a boy badly hurt over there. I’ll run to the shop.’ She nodded across the river to the Nature Reserve’s Visitors’ Centre which housed the Warden’s bungalow, a shop and rooms for classes and courses. ‘ Can you go to him? See if you can do anything?’
Howard looked up. ‘ Me? I’m no Florence Nightingale. What do you think I can do?’
For a moment Julie stood gaping at him, stunned by his callousness. ‘Howard don’t be so, so … Oh, I’m not wasting time arguing with you …’ And she set off at top speed running up the road towards the bridge. Of course it might have been quicker, she reflected, to have gone across the river in the boat and up the other bank—the Centre was quite near that way. But with Howard in such an unhelpful mood …
As she ran her mind flickered from one thing to another: the lifeboat, the now injured boy who had most probably been the mysterious hoaxer, her father—even Tim—all this flashed through her mind in those few breathless moments. And Howard—gone in an instant was all the charm. What had, since the weekend began, been merely pinpricks of irritation camouflaged by his easy charm, had now been exposed in a moment of crisis revealing his arrogance, his pomposity, his selfishness—none of which had been noticeable in the very different atmosphere of University life.
His blatant refusal to help that poor boy had finally disgusted Julie.
Panting now with hard running, she crossed the bridge and ran along the road. The Nature Reserve Centre was still two or three hundred yards away. A car from the car park crossed the bridge behind her and slowed down beside her.
‘Anything wrong, miss?’ the driver shouted. Beside him, his wife craned forward, the two children stared at her from the rear window of the car.
‘Yes, oh yes. Please could you give me a lift to the Centre, over there?’ She pointed. ‘There’s been some sort of accident out there on the marsh. I must ring for an ambulance.’
‘Oh blimey, get in quick, lass.’
The rear door of the car opened and Julie slid inside and leant back on the seat. Two pairs of huge brown eyes regarded her solemnly as she closed her eyes and took deep, shuddering breaths.
‘What’s happened? Someone belonging you hurt, is it?’ the man’s wife was asking.
Julie opened her eyes. ‘ No—no. I—we were picnicking and just packing up to go, when I heard this screaming. It looks as if a couple of youngsters—teenagers—have been playing with flares—you know, the sort a boat sets off if it’s in trouble. And it looks as if one’s gone off in the boy’s face.’
The woman’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh how dreadful!’
‘Good God!’ the driver muttered and drew to a halt outside the door of the shop. ‘We’ll wait for you, miss, whilst you ring up and then I’ll come back with you.’
‘Oh that is good of you.’ Julie slipped from the car and dashed inside. Not everyone, then, she thought, was so unfeeling as Howard.
‘Please,’ she gasped to the woman behind the counter in the shop selling postcards, books, posters and souvenirs all about the natural environment and other items connected with the world of nature. ‘Please could I phone for an ambulance? There’s been an accident out on the marsh. A boy’s badly hurt.’
‘Oh dear. Yes, of course. In the office, here.’ The woman opened a door behind her and Julie scurried around the counter.
With a trembling finger, she dialled nine-nine-nine.
‘Emergency—which service?’
‘Ambulance.’
‘Connecting you. What number are you ringing from?’
Julie gave the operat
or the number and location. The ringing tone had scarcely sounded before a man’s voice was answering, ‘Ambulance Service.’
‘This is Julie Macready. There has been an accident at Dolan’s Point about two hundred yards from the bridge. A boy has been hurt in the face, I think by a flare. There’s a girl with him. I don’t think she’s hurt, just dreadfully shocked.’
‘Thank you, miss. Where are you phoning from?’
‘The shop at the Nature Reserve Centre.’
‘Can you wait there until the ambulance arrives, miss?’
‘Yes, I’ll go back to the bridge and wait there.’
‘Right, miss. Thank you.’
The line went dead as the man rang off to take the necessary immediate action.
Julie breathed a sigh of relief, thanked the woman and went back outside. The family were still waiting in the car right outside the door.
‘All right?’ the man asked.
Julie nodded. Her knees were trembling now from the reaction. ‘I’ve said I’ll wait near the bridge until the ambulance comes.’
‘Right, hop in. I’ll drop you there and I’ll go and see if I can do anything to help the lad. You can show me where he is. I belong to the St John’s Ambulance Brigade at home.’
In a few minutes Julie was pointing out the figure of the girl still running about aimlessly near the dune behind which the injured boy lay.
‘Right, you stay here, lass, and direct the ambulance when it gets here,’ the man said.
Thankfully, Julie leant against the parapet of the bridge and watched the car swing round the sharp bend and speed back to the car park. She saw the man jump out and run across the marsh towards the girl and the sand-dune.
Julie glanced down river to where the Nerissa was still. She could see Howard sitting in the boat. He had not made any move to help in any way.
Julie felt almost sick with disgust—at Howard and at herself for having been so gullible as to be taken in by his smooth charm.
Lifeboat! Page 12