November-Charlie

by Clare Revell

  ~*~

  Jim smiled. His duty list was working, for the moment at least. He put on the auto pilot and got out the map for a final check.

  Spreading it on the table, he marked in his route so far with marker and in pencil he marked the route he had planned. South to the Canaries, bypassing France and the Bay of Biscay entirely, then past the tip of Spain, past Portugal and then swing out round Morocco to the Canaries. He studied the map, weighing up the pros and cons of stopping at the bigger island of Tenerife or the smaller one of La Palma or El Hierro.

  Tenerife was more likely to have English spoken, more likely to have the fuel and things that they might need. It was also more likely that they would get caught there. El Hierro, on the other hand, probably only had Spanish spoken, and may not have such a big boat yard or shops. But it was their best chance of not being caught. Still, there were two weeks before they needed to make that decision. Then, it was west across the Atlantic to Jamaica and through the Panama Canal to the Pacific. Sounds and looks easy on paper. Might not be so easy in practice.

  Staci came bounding up the steps. “All done with chores,” she said. “I’m going outside, I may be some time.”

  Jim laughed as she disappeared.

  A little later Lou entered with her cleaning stuff. “All spotless and shining and yes, Cap’n, you can see your face in it.”

  “Good. We’ll be passing Land’s End soon. I thought we might have a small celebration up here. Then I’ve got a shift rota for bridge duty to show you.”

  “Sound’s good. I’ll get some glasses and juice.”

  Half an hour later Jim said, “There’s Lizard Point. Get Staci up here.”

  Lou went out onto the platform. “Staci, need you on the bridge,” she called.

  Staci climbed the outside ladder and came in. “What’s up?”

  “Last chance to turn back, kiddo,” Jim said. “We are passing Land’s End. The point of no return.”

  “You go, we go,” she said. “Told you that yesterday.”

  Lou handed her a glass of orange juice.

  Staci took the glass and raised it. “To new beginnings,” she said.

  “New beginnings,” came the echo.

  They watched in silence as Land’s End came into view and slid past.

  Jim changed course and they headed south.

  “It’s like the end of a chapter,” Staci said. “Like I’ve just turned over the first page in a new exercise book and it’s a clean page with nothing on it. No rubbed out mistakes, no finger marks, no creases or folded over edges. Do you know what I mean?”

  Lou smiled. “I think so,” she said. “My year four teacher, Mrs. Johnson, used to say, ‘if you don’t want part of your life seen on TV, don’t do it, cos like footsteps in fresh snow, everyone will know.’”

  “Exactly,” Staci said. “A new start. A new page or field of snow for us to write on or run in as we see fit.”

  “OK, that’s it,” Jim said. “Enough of this philosophizing. Course set and laid in.”

  7

  First Officer’s Log

  Things have settled into a routine. To my relief as I hate cooking, Staci took on the bulk of that and the washing. OK, it means meals are fairly basic, but they’re edible. And that’s what matters. Jim and I share the bulk of the sailing between us. We put the mast and sails up and use them as much as possible to conserve fuel, and have adopted the shift system that Jim devised. This divides each twenty four-hour period into five watches.

  Staci always stands the middle or third watch with Jim and I alternating on the others so that neither of us has first watch on two consecutive nights. Working on the two-day rota that Jim put up on the bridge notice board, although it appears to be a double shift, means whoever does the night shift has the whole day off. It’s a lot less tiring than it looks.

  As the autopilot is on all the time, it also means that the person on the night shift can catnap. Or rather, dognap, as cat is a forbidden word in Deefer’s hearing.

  Jim and I keep the diary log (aka Captain’s Log) between us. Jim heads his entries rather obviously as “Captain’s Log,” and insists I head mine “First Officer’s Log.” The entries don’t necessarily coincide with the person on duty, but as long as the person writing it does so under the correct headings, Captain Jim is happy. And as everyone knows, a happy captain makes for a happy crew.

  June tenth dawned warm and sunny.

  Lou had the bridge while Staci was busy preparing lunch.

  Jim and Deefer were down on the deck below. As Jim had done the night shift, he was stretched out trying to sleep.

  Deefer licked his face vigorously, and Jim pushed him away without opening his eyes. Deefer pushed him back and licked him again.

  “Go away dog features,” Jim groaned. “I’m tired.”

  Deefer ran away and returned with his red ball, which he dropped on to Jim’s chest. Jim sighed and keeping his eyes shut threw the ball. Deefer went after it and brought it back. Jim threw the ball again and the dog bounded after it. He was gone sometime before he returned and dropped the ball heavily onto Jim.

  On the bridge Lou laughed, knowing Jim was really asleep this time.

  Deefer nudged him--no reaction. The dog flopped down next to him and put his head onto Jim’s chest--still no reaction. He sighed heavily and licked Jim’s face.

  Jim awoke with a jump. “Deefer.” he shouted. “Stop it.”

  Deefer gazed at him with a wounded expression.

  “Oh all right. Five minutes then.” Jim grabbed the ball and threw it a little too hard. It bounced off the edge of the boat and into the sea. Deefer, without a second thought, leapt over the side of the boat to fetch it.

  “Dog overboard.” Jim yelled, waving frantically at the bridge.

  Lou cut the engines as Jim dived in after the dog.

  Lou ran onto the deck and grabbed the rope. She lashed it onto the metal ring on the edge of the boat and waited until Jim was ready for it.

  Deefer was treading water well and slowly making his way back to Avon when Jim reached him.

  Grabbing hold of the dog’s collar, Jim waved at Lou. She threw the rope to him. Jim caught it, looped it through the collar and tied it into a knot. He then began to swim towards the boat, pulling the dog behind him. Reaching the boat Jim scrambled up the ladder. Then he and Lou pulled Deefer back on board.

  Deefer dropped the ball at Jim’s feet. Looking very pleased, he shook vigorously, showering both Lou and Jim.

  Lou shrieked as the cold water covered her. “Deefer, stop it.”

  “Lou, I’m sorry,” Jim began. “I know you blame me for almost drowning the dog…”

  Lou grinned. “So that’s how to give a dog a bath. I knew there had to be an easier way to do it. Just remember to soap him first next time.”

  They dissolved into giggles and went inside to get changed.

  Staci failed to see anything funny in having extra clothes to dry. “Don’t I have enough to do?” she chided.

  Jim grinned. “So ends the Great Splash.”

  “The what?”

  “Great Splash or how to give a dog a bath. That’s what I shall call it in the log when I write it up.”

  Half way through her next shift, Lou heard Staci crying. As Avon was on autopilot, she decided it would be safe to leave it for a minute or two. She went down to the galley and sat next to Staci. “What’s the matter Stace?”

  “I can’t remember them all.”

  “All what?”

  “I left my player behind. Mum and Dad gave it to me for Christmas—one of those really swish new ones. It had a tons of memory. I was going to write all the songs down. There should be one hundred and seventy-six of them. I can only remember fifty. It won’t be the same.”

  “Let me have a look.”

  Lou read Staci’s list and made a few suggestions, none of which Staci agreed with.

  “See,” she said. “It won’t be the same.”

  “So make it differe
nt. Even when I cross stitch the same picture twice, they are never the same. I change the color or the fabric or just the tension makes it different. Just because it’s not the same doesn’t make it less important or no good. Some things are better for having been changed.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. Things have changed for you haven’t they?”

  Staci nodded through the tears. “A lot.”

  “Stace, you have to start living again. And don’t tell me you are, ‘cause you’re not. You’re existing. Your mum wouldn’t want that and nor would your dad. You can’t give up on them. That’s why we’re doing this, to go and find them. And we will, I promise.”

  “OK.”

  “How about dedicating your songbook to your parents? Then every time you sing you can sing for them. You can add to it. I’ll even help you write the songs down if you like.”

  “Thank you,” Staci said.

  Lou smiled. “Bring it up to the bridge and we can do it up there.”

  “OK. Thanks, Lou. Fifty will keep us going for a bit anyway.”

  “Precisely.” Lou paused. “Actually I’ve got a better idea. I brought the laptop from home, don’t ask, anyway there’s a shed load of music on it. If you like we can transfer any that you like to my MP3 player and you can have that.”

  Staci looked at her. “Really?”

  Lou nodded. “It’s not as fancy as yours, actually it’s a pretty basic one as it runs on batteries rather than recharging from the mains or computer and it’s only a two-gig memory, but if you’d like it…”

  Staci hugged her. “Thank you. I would very much so like it.”

  Lou set the laptop up on the chart table on the bridge. By lunch, they had found thirty-eight songs that Staci knew and she had remembered parts of another five.

  Jim came onto the bridge. “What’s going on here?” he asked. “Since when did we have the laptop?”

  “Since we left England. Lou’s given me her MP3 player and we’re putting music on it. It won’t be the same as the one I left behind, it will be better,” Staci said, looking at Lou with a small smile.

  Lou beamed back at her.

  “Cool. What’s for lunch?”

  “Typical male.” Staci said. “We have a crisis, and all he thinks about is food.”

  “What crisis? What did I miss?”

  “Nothing major,” Lou told him. “We sorted it. Do you want the table set for lunch?”

  “Please,” Staci said, gathering all her bits together. She closed the laptop and stood. “I’ll just put this away.”

  As Staci left the bridge, Lou rose to follow, but Jim caught her arm.

  “Is Staci OK?” he asked. “What was the crisis? She looks upset.”

  “She’s fine, Jim. She’s coming to terms with things. See you at lunch.” She leapt down the steps. “I marked the chart, but no doubt you’ll want to check it.”

  Two minutes later, Jim sat with the others. He said grace.

  Staci said, “I’ve decided to do menus for dinner. That way I shall know exactly how many days’ worth of food I have left. We may just have to have one cooked meal a day.”

  “No probs,” Jim said. He ate quickly then reached for a piece of fruit to finish with.

  “Wait, I just remembered another one of the missing songs. Thank you.”

  Jim looked confused. “Missing songs?”

  “I left my MP3 player behind,” Staci explained. “I could only remember fifty-one out of one hundred and seventy six. And there was one with a banana in it. If it’s not on the laptop we can probably find it from somewhere.”

  “I see, I think.” Jim picked up his juice and drained it. “Well I’m off back to bed. Have a fun afternoon.” He disappeared below.

  Staci got up. “I’m off to the bridge.”

  “Do you want me to inventory the food for you?”

  “Please. Just don’t throw the dog overboard again.”

  “As if I would, and anyway, that was Jim not me.” Once the dishes were done, Lou sat on the floor with a notebook. She emptied the freezer shelf by shelf and recorded the contents. She sighed over her scruffy writing. Maybe I should learn Arabic or learn to write backwards, mirror writing like Laura at school does. Or maybe Staci’s right and I need to work harder at it.

  Having finished the freezer Lou listed the contents of the fridge and the cupboards. Noticing that they were almost out of bread she decided to make some. She rummaged through the recipe book, and spent a blissful twenty-five minutes making a loaf and several rolls. She left them to prove and went to check on Deefer. He was asleep in the sun.

  Lou sat next to him for a while, before putting the bread in the oven. As it baked, she cleared up the mess she’d made and then got out her cross stitching. She was currently making a picture depicting white horses galloping along the edge of the wave. It didn’t seem as if she’d been stitching for more than five minutes when the timer rang. The bread had risen and browned beautifully.

  “What’s that?” Staci called down from the bridge. “Smells lovely.”

  “Looks lovely. Even if I do say so myself. You don’t mind do you? We were almost out of bread.”

  “Not at all. I meant to do it earlier. Can you put the kettle on, please?”

  “Sure.” Looking at her watch, Lou turned on the burner and went up to the bridge. “Four PM. My turn.”

  “And I was having so much fun.”

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Lou said turning to go.

  “No it’s OK. Did you do the food inventory?”

  “Yes, it’s here.”

  “Hmmm.” Staci surveyed the list that Lou had made. Grabbing a clean sheet of paper, she re-organized it and made a menu, using all that they had left. She gave it to Lou.

  “Thanks,” Lou said, hitting the autopilot. “How’s the food looking?”

  “OK. If we have one hot meal a day, cereal for breakfast and sandwiches for lunch we can last until the end of the month. We’ll need to make more bread, rolls would be easier ’cause I can’t cut bread to save my life. When we get to the Canaries, we’ll need to do a huge shop.”

  Lou laughed. “That’ll please Jim--he hates shopping.”

  “Too bad. If it will take four to five weeks to get to Jamaica, then we’ll need four to five weeks’ worth of food. I’ll do soup tonight.”

  “Good. I like your soup. Where did you learn to make it?”

  “Mum taught me.”

  That’s the first time she’s mentioned Di without crying.

  Later, the sound of chopping came from the galley. Then for a while, Lou thought she was hearing things as it sounded like humming. Then she was sure she heard singing, albeit very quiet singing. The singing gradually got loud enough for Lou to make out the words to “Amazing Grace.” This trip was helping Staci.

  Jim came up to the bridge and stood next to Lou. “Sounds like I’ve got my sister back.”

  “She’s on her way, yeah.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “Me? What’ve I done?”

  “You’ve been there for her. That’s more than I’ve done. You had that long chat last night. And this morning with the music.”

  “She needed to talk. I was there. You’d have done the same.”

  “No, I’ve tried to talk to her. She wouldn’t.”

  “All I did was listen.”

  “You did more than that and you know it. You are a real friend.” He hugged her. “Thanks.”

  “Tea’s ready,” came the call from the galley.

  ~*~

  The next day was another warm and sunny one.

  Lou was curled up on the bridge seats, half asleep whilst Jim had the conn.

  Staci came onto the bridge and handed Jim a piece of paper. “The menu, Captain.”

  Jim took it. “Thanks, Cook.” He scanned it. “I’ll have...oh...bangers and mash.”

  Lou laughed. “That’s not what it says surely?”

  Jim gave her the paper. “Read it yo
urself.”

  Lou looked at it and sure enough, bangers and mash were listed. Nothing else, just bangers and mash. “Hard decision,” she said. “So much choice. Maybe I’ll have the bangers. No wait, I’ll have the mash.” She paused wickedly. “Actually I might have both bangers and mash.”

  Staci scowled. “You may mock,” she said, “but you ain’t seen nothing yet.” She disappeared below and it wasn’t long before the smell of frying sausages floated up the steps to the bridge. “Ow.”

  “What’s wrong Staci?”

  “This frying pan hates me. Well,” she continued, obviously addressing the frying pan, “the feeling is mutual. You hate me and I hate you. Ow. There’s no need for that at all.” She turned on the tap and ran her hand underneath it. “Lou, come sort it. It might listen to you.”

  Lou got up and called “Coming.” She went down to the galley.

  The place was dark with smoke. She grabbed the frying pan and ran out onto deck.

  Suddenly the foghorn sounded.

  ”Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

  “What on earth? Jim the sun’s out.”

  “What’s all that black smoke in front of the window then?”

  “The frying pan. The sausages are burnt.”

  “E-yuk. Fine cook we’ve got.”

  Staci came up behind him. “You can’t say much Mr. Navigator. You’re not too good at sailing. Anyway--not my fault the frying pan is in a spiteful mood. I’ve changed the menu. Burnt sausage and mash.”

  “Burnt sausage and burnt mash?”

  “It can be arranged.”

  Jim grinned. “Have it your way. Is it dinner time yet?”

  “Nearly,” Staci said turning back towards the galley.

  Lou brought the pan back in.

  As Staci mashed the potatoes she burst into song.

  Lou scrubbed the frying pan and listened.

  By the end of the verse she had set the table and piled mash onto the plates.

  Jim, being the man-about-the-boat, said grace. “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful.” Then he looked at his plate. “Am I supposed to eat this? No, don’t tell me. I am.”

  Both girls screamed with laughter.