by Anne Baker
‘It’s quite big, isn’t it? What sort is it, Dad?’
‘Codling, I think.’
‘There’s another on this line,’ Sylvie screamed with excitement. ‘Gosh, Dad, I can see a whole lot of them in the water down below.’ Millie jumped up to help.
‘A fish this size would make a good dinner,’ Pete chortled. ‘So we need five, and if we could get six we could feed the twins too.’ Within half an hour they’d caught six. ‘The best afternoon’s fishing I’ve ever had,’ he said happily. ‘That was a real treat. Have we got some paper or a towel or something to wrap them in?’
Millie found a clean tea towel for him and for the first time realised it was much cooler, the sun had gone and the sky was grey and darkening. She looked about her and felt a moment of disquiet. Her husband and daughter were still admiring their gleaming catch. ‘Just look at this one, it must weigh over a pound.’
‘Pete, I think there’s a storm brewing,’ Millie said. The wind had got up and could be heard whistling through the inlet.
Sylvie shivered. ‘The sun went a long time ago.’
‘Goodness!’ Pete was frowning, clearly troubled. ‘This is a surprise! It wasn’t forecast.’
‘We’ll be all right, won’t we?’ Sylvie asked.
‘I’m going to walk a little way down the inlet until I can see what the sea looks like,’ he said and set off scrambling over the rocks. They both followed him.
When it came in sight Millie couldn’t stop her gasp of horror. ‘What a change since this morning!’ The sea was pewter grey like the sky and was hurling itself at the rocky shoreline in thunderous crashes, resulting in lots of seething white foam. Beyond that they could see the huge swell and the white-crested waves, but they couldn’t see far, the weather was closing in. ‘It’s raining over there,’ Sylvie said.
‘Let’s go back to the boat,’ Peter sounded shocked, ‘before it starts raining here.’ They went as quickly as they could and threw everything possible into the cabin to keep dry.
‘What are we going to do now?’ Millie asked. ‘It looks pretty bad out there.’
She could see Pete was pondering the problem. ‘Do we go now before the weather worsens, or do we stay here until the storm has passed?’ he asked.
‘How long will it take to pass over?’ Sylvie wanted to know.
‘That’s in the lap of the gods, but we’d be all right in this inlet, it’s very sheltered. We could stay all night if necessary.’
‘What? Spend the night here?’ Sylvie was shocked.
‘We have enough food,’ Millie said. ‘We have the fish and just enough butter left over from lunch to fry it. There’s a little bread too and half that cake.’
‘But it’s Dad’s birthday and he’s booked a table at the Buckley Arms for dinner,’ Sylvie objected. ‘I was looking forward to that. Valerie’s arranged a babysitter . . .’
Millie froze. ‘There’s no way of letting them know we’re staying the night,’ she said slowly. ‘Won’t they be worried?’
‘They’ll imagine we’re lost at sea,’ Sylvie added. ‘I vote we go.’
‘It’s twenty to five,’ Millie said. ‘We have to go now if we’re going to have time to change and get to Beaumaris by half seven.’
‘All right, we’ll go,’ Pete said. ‘Really we have to. The girls will be worried stiff if we don’t turn up.’
‘They’d call out the coastguard,’ Sylvie said with a laugh.
‘Sea Sprite is a heavy boat and it’s stood a few storms in its time. We’ll be fine. Let’s stow everything shipshape and get ready to leave.’
Millie could feel a heavy ball of anxiety growing in her stomach. She had faith in Peter’s judgement and knew he was an experienced sailor but he rarely went out in the boat unless the weather was fine.
Chapter Two
Pete hoisted the sails and got the engine running before they cast off. He tied a lifeline to Millie, securing her to the boat, and as soon as Sylvie jumped back on board he did the same for her.
‘You too,’ Millie reminded him.
‘You bet, there’ll be some big waves out there.’
When they came in sight of the raging sea, Sylvie asked fearfully, ‘Had we better wear our lifebelts too?’
‘You’re tethered to the boat,’ Pete said, ‘but it wouldn’t do any harm.’ They were at the mouth of the inlet and could feel the spray being thrown up. ‘They’ll keep you warm and dry.’
He had remarked on the size of the swell this morning but by comparison it was enormous now, and the rain had reached them so visibility was down to a few yards. No life jacket would keep them dry in this downpour. He turned to smile at Millie. ‘You two shelter in the cabin. You’ll be safer there.’
They did as he suggested. Sylvie threw herself on one of the bunks, shouting, ‘This is awful!’
She looked frightened and Millie didn’t blame her but she pinned the cabin door open and stayed in the opening watching Pete, in case he needed her to help in some way. He was gripping the tiller with a look of intense concentration on his face and pointing Sea Sprite’s bow directly at the huge wave sweeping towards them. She’d been out with him often enough to know that if a wave like that caught the boat sideways on it could swamp it and turn it over, and that could mean curtains for them all.
Millie’s heart was in her mouth but she couldn’t drag her eyes away from the next green curling wall that was advancing towards them. Suddenly, she felt the bow being tossed up and all she could see to the front of them was the dark sky. Then just as suddenly the boat plunged in the opposite direction and seemed to be diving to the bottom of the sea. As she grabbed the door for a handhold she heard Sylvie scream, ‘Mum, what’s happening?’
The boat smacked on the water with a thump, and there were ominous creaks and cracks in Sprite’s old timbers but behind the wave the boat popped up level again like a cork, and travelled on at breakneck speed.
‘We’re all right, love,’ she tried to comfort her daughter, ‘just a wave.’
‘A big one.’ Pete’s voice was snatched by the wind which was now a howling gale and she had to watch his lips. ‘Don’t worry, we can manage them.’ It helped to ease her panic that he still seemed quietly confident but the waves kept coming and her mouth had gone dry.
She couldn’t help but think of all the ships that had been lost along the east coast of Anglesey. The place was notorious for shipwrecks. Not far from their house an obelisk had been erected to commemorate the loss of an ocean-going passenger ship. It had been heading for Liverpool and had foundered on its return from its first voyage to Australia. It had been newly built and state of the art for its time, but many people on it had lost their lives. She told herself that was a long time ago in the last century, though she couldn’t recall exactly when. It didn’t help to remember that Sea Sprite had been built in the eighteen nineties.
Millie couldn’t stop herself leaning out of the cabin doorway to take another look. The wind felt strong enough to blow her head off, but suddenly it shifted direction, the boat shuddered and the boom thundered across with its heavy sail. The bangs, cracks and creaks from the mast sounded even more sinister.
‘Mum, don’t leave me,’ Sylvie screamed, lifting her head from the bunk.
‘No, love, I won’t,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘There’s nothing wrong.’ Her daughter’s face was paper-white. ‘Are you feeling seasick?’
‘No,’ Sylvie said and staggered to join her at the cabin door. She was shaking.
‘We’ll be all right, love,’ Millie told her, giving her a hug. ‘Try to relax.’
‘What’s making that noise? It sounds as though the boat’s breaking up.’
That was exactly what it did sound like but it wouldn’t help Sylvie if she admitted it. ‘No, the Sprite is solidly built. You know it
is.’
She saw then that Pete was beckoning to her. ‘I’m going to see what Dad wants. You stay here where it’s safe.’ She ducked low and moved to sit on the seat that ran along the side of the boat, slithering along towards him. As soon as she left the shelter of the cabin the wind buffeted her and tore at her hair.
Pete put a hand on her arm but his eyes didn’t lift from the sea. The next wave, a beautiful deep green cliff, was rearing up in front of them. Millie held on until they were over it and it was breaking up all around them in huge torrents of white foam.
He put his head down close to hers so she could hear him. ‘It wasn’t as big as the last,’ he said. ‘I’m worried about the mast, it’s never made noises like this before. There it goes again, almost like a gunshot. This wind could break it off.’ Millie felt a stab of sheer terror as he went on. ‘I want the mainsail down, it’s wet now and the weight is making things worse. We don’t need it anyway and the boat would be easier to control if we weren’t going so fast.’
‘You want me to put it down?’ Millie closed her eyes and shuddered. She’d acted as crew for Pete on other holiday trips and knew what had to be done, but today the Sprite was tossing about so much she could hardly stand up against the force of the gale.
Pete said, ‘I’ll do it if you like. This wind is gusting. Every so often it gives an extra powerful blast from a different quarter and that puts more pressure on the mast.’
Millie was watching the mast in awful fascination. ‘It’s doing it again,’ she screeched, grabbing for his arm. The sail slackened for a moment as the wind turned and when the powerful blast hit it, the boom flew across as though propelled by an engine. All the time, the mast was protesting with creaks as loud as pistol shots and the yacht heeled over in an additional burst of speed.
‘Oh my God!’ Millie breathed as she hung on for dear life.
Pete’s voice was in her ear. ‘If I collapse the sail you’ll have to hold the tiller.’
She felt another stab of fear. She’d steered the boat many times but never in conditions like these.
‘Keep it on this course unless you see a big wave coming at you from a different quarter. If you do, aim the bow straight into it. That’s the important thing. If the wind gusts and changes again, you could find it pulls you broadside on but you must keep the bow heading straight into the waves.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘It’s better now we’re away from the island.’
‘Right,’ she said, and moved to take his position in the stern. ‘Be careful.’
Sylvie was still watching them from the cabin door. He grinned and said, ‘Aren’t I always?’
The tiller felt like a wild thing, it wasn’t easy to keep the boat on course. Millie only dared take quick glances to see what Pete was doing. He looked quite stiff, poor dear.
Then she realised the wind was gusting again. It took all her strength to hang on to the tiller and keep the boat straight. She heard the mast protest ominously yet again and felt the slight lull followed immediately by the boom beginning to swing. ‘Going about,’ she yelled to warn Pete.
She heard another thud and the boat jerked so violently the tiller was snatched from her grasp. She heard an almighty splash and screamed at exactly the same moment Sylvie did.
This was disaster. Nobody was controlling the boat; they were at the mercy of the wind and the sea. Sylvie was continuing to scream.
Millie saw another wave bearing down on them on the starboard side and lunged for the tiller. In the nick of time, she managed to bring the bow round so that they rode the wave safely. On her right, a rope had whipped taut straight across the stern.
She glanced round to see what Pete was doing because the main sail was still up. She couldn’t see him. He wasn’t here. Everything went black in a moment of sheer panic. Sylvie crashed on to the stern seat beside her to yank at her arm.
‘Dad’s gone overboard,’ she screamed. ‘Turn back. We’ve got to look for him.’
‘Oh my God!’ Millie felt she couldn’t deal with this, she was terrified, but just as quickly she realised that if she didn’t do something, all would be lost. The taut rope pulled tighter, it was made fast to the seat supports, and it dawned on her in that instant. ‘That’s his lifeline,’ she screamed. Sylvie stared blankly back at her. ‘He’s secured to the boat. It’s that rope, next to you. Quick, pull on it. Let’s get him back on board.’
Sylvie knelt on her knees and tried. ‘I can’t,’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t. It’s impossible.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s too tight. I can’t pull him in any closer.’ She gave a scream of frustration. ‘He’s drowning. He must be.’
Though still struggling to control the steering, Millie glanced behind her and she knew another moment of panic. She could see they were towing Pete in their foaming wake, but the speed of the boat meant they’d never be able to pull his weight out of the water and get him on board. They needed to turn back to make the rope slack, but another wave was roaring towards them. They coasted that in the nick of time but already another wave was coming, it wouldn’t do to let one catch them broadside on. She couldn’t turn in this sea. The boat shuddered, the mast cracked and every other timber seemed in its death throes.
‘We’ve got to get the sail down.’ That should make it easier to turn. She had to grip Sylvie’s arm to get her attention. ‘That’ll slow us.’
‘But what about Dad? Can he breathe like that?’
‘I hope so. You’ll have to steer while I do it.’ She saw Sylvie’s mouth drop open in horror. ‘You’ve done it before, Dad taught you.’
‘Not now, I can’t,’ she whined. ‘Dad could be drowning.’
Millie screamed with frustration. ‘Pull yourself together. You’ve got to help him or he will drown. We’ll all drown.’ Sylvie’s white face was awash with tears and rain, and her wet hair was blowing about her head. ‘Please don’t go to pieces on me,’ she implored.
Obediently, Sylvie sat down and took the tiller. ‘What course am I to steer?’
Millie no longer had the faintest idea. ‘Just keep the bow nose on to the waves and the swell.’
Keeping low, she crept forward as quickly as she could to the bottom of the mast. She could see no sign of any cracks in it. The rope was wet and her fingers stiff with cold but eventually the knot gave and the sail came down.
She felt the boat slowing as she scrambled back. She had to help Pete. Crying with fear and frustration, she hauled with all her might on his lifeline and managed to twist a little of the spare round a cleat, but his body was acting like a sea anchor. They were travelling at a controllable pace but unless they stopped, she knew they’d never get him aboard. Should she stop the engine? What if she couldn’t restart it? Without the mainsail they’d not get home without the engine. She knew very little about engines.
‘Mum.’ Sylvie’s voice was excited. ‘I can see land. We’re heading straight for it. Where are we?’
Millie gave the lifeline one last turn round the cleat before collapsing on the seat beside her daughter to take a look. The rain and mist were clearing but it was almost dark. Yes, she could see a light and perhaps another one further over. They were fast approaching the coast of Anglesey, but she didn’t recognise this part. Her stomach lurched and seemed to turn over. She knew just how treacherous this coast was for shipping. There were outcrops of rock all along here, some just beneath the water.
‘Change places with me, Sylvie,’ she said urgently. ‘Keep pulling Dad’s lifeline in. It’s easier now.’
She took over the tiller, scared stiff by this new emergency. Where were they? Pete would have planned their course carefully but clearly they hadn’t kept to it. If she continued on like this she’d drive them straight up on to the long stretch of beach she could now see ahead. But there was no sign of life there
and she’d need immediate help for Pete. The beaches were always deserted except in the holiday season. They could be miles from anywhere.
In another flash of panic she realised that if she went aground on the beach, she’d never get the boat off again; heaven knows what it would do to the keel and the engine.
She had to make up her mind quickly whether to turn north or south and she couldn’t think. Where were they? Pete never travelled without charts but there was no time to get them out. The currents and the tide would have carried them but where? Her mind stayed blank.
If she went north she could sail off into the Irish Sea and keep going until the engine ran out of petrol. South was her best guess. The population was greater to the south. Beside her, Sylvie grunted with effort.
‘How are you doing?’ she asked.
‘I can’t . . . It’s not easy but Dad’s closer,’ Sylvie gasped. ‘He gives no sign . . . But his face is sometimes free of the water, do you think he can breathe?’
‘Oh God!’ Millie felt sick. ‘Yes, perhaps.’
‘Do you know where we are?’
‘Not really . . . But . . . that wouldn’t be the lighthouse at Point Lynas, would it?’ She felt a first spark of joy. Of course it was! Why hadn’t she thought to look for it sooner?
‘It is,’ Sylvie said. ‘It is. It must be. Thank goodness this murk is lifting. It’s stopped raining over there so we can see it.’
‘Going about,’ Millie said to warn her as she turned south. The boom swung slowly across, dragging the sail. Pete insisted they kept all the tackle shipshape and ready for use and she certainly hadn’t today. She looked back at the Point Lynas light. How far away from it were they? Could that long stretch of sand be Dulas Beach? If so, they might not be all that far away from home. She kept her eyes peeled as they chugged along the coast, hoping to recognise her whereabouts.