Shamrock VI eased around the pin and gybed to port for the run back to the finish line, and we rounded two minutes and thirty-four seconds behind them.
‘Stay on the starboard gybe,’ I said to Mic and Dad. ‘The wind’s going around to the northeast very soon.’
We sailed away from Shamrock VI, and they didn’t cover.
Dad looked at me. ‘Hope you’re right!’ he said.
‘Trust me, it’ll be blowing from the northeast any minute.’ I said a private prayer as I watched the sails. The gap between the yachts was growing by the minute, and there was still no sign of the wind.
I looked across the water and bellowed to the crew to down the spinnaker. Shamrock VI was still off to our port, with her spinnaker gently drawing. The crew looked at me as if I was mad, until I pointed to the darkening water just off the bow. They leaped up on the deck, the spinnaker disappeared down the launcher, and they cranked on the jib and staysail. We tacked onto port and headed back across the track. Dad grinned as the speedo climbed, and we watched Shamrock VI floundering as her crew suddenly realised that the wind was about to change and they weren’t ready for it.
Their spinnaker disappeared, and they cranked on their jib, but they found themselves well down to leeward. All we needed to do was find the shortest route to the finish line while keeping them covered.
The crew stayed hunched over their grinders, ready for any call Dad made. ‘Go for it!’ he yelled to Mic, as she drove the hull to the limit.
The line was now visible, and the spectators jostled for position, as the two giants pounded through the rapidly building sea.
Mic turned to Dad and beckoned him towards the wheel. He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You take her in.’
Mic gestured again. ‘Jim, I need you to take over. I need to go below for a moment.’
Dad crossed the deck, and Mic released the wheel. ‘Just keep her on the hum,’ she said, as she reached up and kissed him on the cheek.
Dad smiled. ‘Don’t be long—the line is close, and I want you to take her across.’
She disappeared down the companionway.
The wind shifted slightly and Shamrock VI gained a little ground back, but we still had them covered. Minutes went by, and I could see Bob Sorensen on the flying bridge of the committee boat, shotgun at the ready.
Shamrock closed right up as we tacked for the run to the line.
‘Where’s Mic?’ Dad yelled. ‘Go and get her!’
I looked at Shamrock VI‘s position and was reluctant to leave the deck. I glanced at the finish line. Where was she? I dived down the stairs and into the saloon, calling to her as my eyes adjusted to the light. She was sitting on the floor, with tears streaming down her face. ‘What’s up?’ I called. In her hand she had a piece of paper.
She handed it to me.
It was a beautifully handwritten letter.
Dear Mic, Jim and family,
We are so proud of what you have achieved in restoring and sailing our beautiful yacht. Regardless of the outcome of the race today, both of us can now rest happily, knowing the efforts of so many in building and restoring the vessel did not go in vain. We wish you all good fortune in the future and know you will take good care of our beautiful lady.
Love to all,
Mercedes and Hine
‘Who’s Hine?’
‘My mother.’
‘You’ve never mentioned your mother before.’
‘Mum died giving birth to me—the third generation with the same problem. I never knew her and, unlike Nana, I’ve never been able to contact her. I’ve lived my life in fear that I have the same medical problem. That’s why I’ve tried never to get close to anyone for fear of the consequences. Mike stole my heart, and when I told him about my family history, he said it didn’t matter—he didn’t want kids anyway. We had planned on a life together. That’s why I took it so hard when I caught him playing around. But it’s lucky he did, or I wouldn’t be here now!’
I tried to hug her, but she knew we were needed on deck and pushed me towards the companionway.
‘Where the hell have you two been? I need some help!’ Dad bellowed, as we climbed back on deck. Shamrock VI was even closer, and he was panicking.
‘Get her back on the hum. We’re not at hull speed!’ I bellowed.
‘I can’t hear the bloody hum!’
Mic grabbed the wheel from Dad and pulled the head down, and instantly the hum returned. ‘Keep your eyes on them!’ I yelled at Dad.
‘What have you been doing?’ he asked, looking at Mic.
‘She’s been having a word with her mother.’
The gun fired as Dad stood looking at me. I handed him the handwritten note. He read it and handed it on to Mum. ‘I don’t understand any of this,’ he muttered. The crew were all on deck, dancing around and punching the air.
Dad looked back to me. ‘I think we must have won.’
Ronnie came over and threw her arms around my neck. ‘Where did you two go?’
I reached over, took the note out of Mum’s hand, and gave it to her. ‘Mic’s been talking to her family.’
I suddenly became aware of all the noise that was going on around me. The spectator fleet had erupted. Sirens and hooters filled the air. Shamrock VI was alongside, and TJ and the girls scrambled on board from their chase boat. Young Tom was boarding, with a magnum of champagne in his hand.
‘Where did Mic disappear to? I thought you’d blown it in the last hundred yards,’ said TJ, slapping Dad on the back.
‘Oh, she needed to go below. She had someone to meet,’ he replied.
Ronnie handed the note to TJ.
‘She’s just met her mother,’ I said.
TJ was about to ask more when Mic appeared, and when he saw the look on her face he decided he could wait. He reached down and swooped her off her feet. Mic threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. There was time to explain later—right now, she had some celebrating to do. We went forward and joined the crew on deck, and turned to wave to the flotilla of spectators.
About the Author
Stuart Vaughan is a first-time novelist, whose day (or rather night) job is as a service officer for the AA. To while away the long hours on call, he started writing a story about a man with a dream and a boat that needed a dreamer. Stuart lives and works in Auckland.
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Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published 2007
This edition published in 2010
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1, Auckland
Copyright © Stuart Vaughan 2007
Stuart Vaughan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
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National Library of New Zealand Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
Vaughan, Stuart (Stuart Allen)
A yacht called Erewhon / Stuart Vaughan.
ISBN-13: 978 1 8695 0645 2 (pbk.)
ISBN 978 0 7304 0137 7 (epub)
I. Title.
NZ823.3—dc 22
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