Find My Brother

by David Chilcott

  Chapter Twenty Six

  They sat at the back of the room away from the bar. They had a table for two, with bar stools. Not very comfortable but that didn’t worry McBride. He was too hungry to worry about things like that. They were wolfing steak and ale pie and chipped potatoes with mushy peas. To McBride it was a banquet.

  “So what were you going to tell me, that held you up?”

  “I was on the phone upstairs,” said Ben. “I told you I was doing an article for the Daily Mail, or maybe I didn’t. About the fracking demos.” He shovelled food into his mouth, ate it, and then continued.

  “I rang the features editor, told him what had happened, how we had got out of a prison camp, sailed back. He was dead chuffed, said get the article in within two days. Then he put me through to a reporter, who wanted all the details of our arrival tonight. I mentioned your name. I hope that was all right.”

  McBride put down his fork. “You told him how I was such an idiot, I put the boat on the rocks?”

  “Not that you had done it. That we had gone aground after our instruments failed. It will sound good, I promise.”

  McBride smiled and said nothing.

  “I told him about the life boat, I remembered the name, Grace Darling. The name means something to me, but I can’t think what.”

  “So when you said that, the reporter said, ‘Oh, you were wrecked on the Farne Islands.’”

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “Way back in the early nineteenth century a passenger boat travelling from Hull to Dundee in Scotland went aground in a storm, on the Farne Islands, and broke in half. The light house keeper William Darling and his daughter Grace went out with a twenty-foot coble, which is an east coast fishing boat, clinker built, and the two of them rowed. There were more survivors than they thought, about nineteen all told. They had to make two trips to save them all, in terrible winds and waves. The girl was twenty three. The act struck a sentimental chord with people. She became famous. Even more famous when she died young. She was only twenty seven. There’s a memorial up the road, where she was buried. As soon as I saw the name on the lifeboat, I knew where we were.”

  “I wish I’d known that. Still it can go in my article.”

  “So the morning papers will know we’re back? And so will the SVR. Remember Black Beard? Do you think he’ll still hold a grudge?”

  “I think he will. But it’s too late to change anything.”

  Ben was up first in the morning. When McBride came down, Ben was sitting at the breakfast table, his head in a copy of the Daily Mail. He was reading an inside page, and McBride could clearly read the headlines on the front page.

  Men escape from Russian prison camp

  Daily Mail Exclusive: Ben Stockton diaries on Sunday.

  A picture of Ben and of McBride too. Presumably the newspaper had a photo of Ben from his previous writings. The other photo looked like one from his agent’s press pack.

  A waitress came over pad in hand. McBride ordered a full English, with two eggs, and coffee.

  “I thought that this morning first thing, I want to phone Nigel from here, if they’ll allow that. Tell him where the boat is, and suggest he gets the insurance company to have it surveyed, probably lift it out of the water for that. Tell him the harbour and so on. After that, I think we need two cell phones, pay as you go. To ring up our respective people, tell them we’re safe. I’ve been checking with the hotel. There’s a bus at one o’clock that gets in to Newcastle at half past three. And then there’s a train at six minutes past four that gets to York at quarter past five tonight. Perhaps you could get your sister to meet us? That would be nice. My mother lives in York, but I can’t ask her, because you’d wait there all night, while she’s forgotten to come.”

  “Sure, as soon as we’ve got a phone, I’ll phone her. But why didn’t you get a train from here, rather than the bus?”

  “Believe me I tried. The main line from Edinburgh to London passes within five miles of where we’re sitting, hundreds of trains a day. But that’s what they do, just pass by. The station’s too small. Except one train at night, and one early morning.”

  “How far is it to Newcastle, did you say?”

  “I didn’t. It’s fifty miles, give or take.”

  “And the bus takes two and a half hours?”

  “Yep. You’ll really see the Northumbrian countryside, and most of the villages between here and there, eh?”

  After breakfast McBride went up to the bar, and rang the bell. The waitress came out from a room at the back.

  “Do you think I would be able to make an international call? I’ll pay for it, of course. To Russia. I’ve got the number, and I can pay you with my credit card. In the old days, you could ask for a cost when you finish the call, but I doubt that applies now. If you have a phone book it might give the cost per minute, and I’ll make sure that you are not out of pocket.”

  “I’ll have to ask the manager. Will you just hang on a moment?”

  She vanished the way she had come, and five minutes later was back with the news that he could. Would he time the call, and pay for it. The manager had looked the charge up, and it was eighty-five pence a minute.

  “Fine,” said McBride, “I’ll go to my room and make the call now.”

  He told Ben where he was going, and asked that he be ready to check out at nine o’clock. They had a bit to do before they caught the bus.

  In his room, he pulled out Nigel’s card and read the direct line number at the Consulate. Before he called it, he rang down to the bar, and asked for the harbourmaster’s telephone number. Once armed with the number, he sat on the bed and dialled Nigel’s direct number. Almost immediately, it was answered. McBride, pressed his stopwatch function on his wristwatch.

  “Good morning Nigel. It’s John McBride here, speaking from Seahouses in England. We got here last night.”

  “Jolly good show, McBride. I was getting a bit worried about you. Thought maybe the SVR had caught up with you.”

  “They did, a couple of times. Also we had a couple of night’s rest from sailing, on the way. But here we are. Your yacht is in the outer harbour at Seahouses. Just make a note of the harbour master’s telephone number. I have to say that your instruments’ power failed at a crucial time when we were coming in during a storm. You need to get it checked out. And I owe you a couple of distress flares.”

  “Distress flares? Dear God, did you get into difficulties?”

  “Yes when we lost the instrument power, we ran aground on the Farne Islands.”

  “Good Lord!”

  “Yes, I was surprised as well. I thought we were near Aberdeen. I’m ashamed to talk about it. Anyway we sent the flares up, and the lifeboat, aptly named Grace Darling came and gave us a tow off. They hung around until we made sure that we weren’t taking in water, then they escorted us into harbour.

  Really you should get the insurers to have a survey, maybe inspect the hull and keel. I honestly don’t think the hull was in contact with the rocks, just the keel.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m fully covered, and a bit in profit over the whole affair. Hey, good luck, and even though you’re in England, don’t think the SVR can’t get you.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. When you’re next in England, give me a call, and we’ll meet up for a drink.”

  “Will do, goodbye now.”

  McBride looked at his watch. Only three minutes. He went downstairs with his rucksack, the oilskins over his arm.

  The girl was still behind the bar.

  “The call was three minutes, but take a fiver. And there’s the evening meals to pay for. Two of us.”

  The girl pulled some paperwork from a drawer, presented a bill, added five pounds, and turned it round on the counter, so that McBride could read it.

  McBride paid with his credit card. Ben came stamping downstairs. Together they went out into the Main Street. The weather had improved. There was complete cloud cover, but high and thin. Ben re
ckoned the sun would be shining by lunchtime. The pavements and roads were still wet from yesterday’s rain.

  “What to do first?” asked Ben.

  “Let’s go down to the harbour, get rid of the oilskins, meet the harbourmaster.”

  They only had to cross over the road in front of the harbour, and they could see the harbour office. First they walked down the quay and boarded Belinda. They unlocked the cupboard, arranged the oilskins neatly on their pegs. They had a last look round the cabin, made sure everything was tidy and still dry, locked up everything and went back onto the harbour to look for the harbour master.

  He was in his office, and gave them a smile and arched his eyebrows questioningly.

  “Hello,” said McBride, “we brought the yacht Belinda in to harbour last night.”

  “Yes, I’ve just been along to have a look at her. She seems in good nick, considering she’s been aground on the islands.”

  “We’ve just been on her this morning and she’s not taking in water. Actually the yacht belongs to this guy who chartered it to us.” He gave the harbour master Nigel’s card. “Perhaps you could photocopy it, or I’ll copy the details for you.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll photocopy it for you.” While he was doing that McBride said that Nigel had been informed of the boat’s whereabouts, and he had the harbour master’s telephone number. He was also going to arrange for a survey of the boat by the insurers, and they would probably lift the boat out to examine the hull.

  “When they speak to me, I can give them names of companies locally who can do that.”

  “As to payment of mooring fees, perhaps you can speak to Nigel. I’ll pay you now for the first four weeks, I can’t see it going before that.”

  The harbour master put McBride’s credit card through the machine, and gave him a receipt. They wished him good day, and when they came out of the office the sun was shining.

  “Next, hit the high street. Phones we need first,” said McBride.

  There was only one cell phone shop on the High Street. That saved them traipsing round comparing prices. They haggled in the shop, got an extra discount buying two phones, put twenty pounds of calls on each phone, and a quick charge, whilst they had a coffee in the Starbucks next door.

  Ben needed some shoes so they did that, the phones still on charge. They went past a newsagents, and McBride saw that all the headlines were about them. He went to a cash dispenser, got a fistful of notes on his credit card. He went into the newsagent, and bought The Telegraph, The Times, The Sun and The Daily Express. The newsagent gave him a plastic carrier bag to carry them in.

  Finally they went back to the phone shop, collected the cell phones, and sat on a bench in the sun, although it wasn’t that warm.

  McBride phoned his mother. “Hello, it’s John. I’ve been abroad, just got back, and I’ll be in York at tea time. Can I stay overnight with you? And then I thought I’d catch the train to Skipton in the morning.”

  “Of course you can, dear. I’ll make up your old bed. I was worried not hearing from you. And then all those stories in the papers today. My phone’s been ringing off the hook all morning, everyone I know ringing me up.”

  “Well, I hadn’t got a cell phone. I lost it somewhere or other. Let me give you the number of this one.”

  “Thank you. Now, don’t get into further trouble, and I’ll see you this evening. I’ll book a table at that nice restaurant down the road.” She was not one for cooking if she could dine out.