Friday was a little better. There was no sign of the bullies. No-one was unkind. Even the teachers were easier to get on with. But then it was the last day before the holidays! Graham went home that afternoon to his chocolate and comic feeling the happiest he had for weeks.
Scouts was fun. Graham’s blisters had all burst or shrivelled. The pain had gone away and the dead skin was starting to peel. ‘No stinking ship to work on either,’ he thought as he went to his work bench on Saturday morning to do some more painting.
After lunch he carefully dressed himself in a khaki long-sleeved shirt, jeans and sandshoes. He had at least learned that lesson! Then he noticed that Kylie was preparing too.
“It’s our race. Why don’t you girls go away,” Graham said as Kylie went past with a picnic basket and towel.
“What’s wrong? Scared we will beat you?” Kylie replied.
Graham was, but he wouldn’t admit it.
Their mother drove them over to pick up Roger, and then to collect Margaret. Graham managed to sit against the near door with Roger beside him so that Margaret had to sit beside Roger.
‘I wish we were picking up Jennifer,’ he thought. On the drive to Palm Beach he daydreamed of rescuing Jennifer from a storm, from the...no...not from the shark. That memory made him stir uneasily and wonder if he would be able to get onto the sailboat. He didn’t dare admit he was scared!
Peter and Max were waiting at the beach, having been brought by Peter’s mother. Carmen and Jennifer hadn’t arrived so the boys set to work rigging their hired skiff. They had this done and were ready to launch by the time Carmen’s mother arrived with the boat trailer in tow.
There were no distractions on the beach this time. Of the four boys only Max wore no shirt or shoes. He was clad only in bathers and Graham looked enviously at his tanned skin. Max sneered at Peter’s suggestion of covering up or of using a lifejacket. Peter shrugged and buckled one on. He had a cap, sunglasses, zinc cream on his nose, long sleeves, long trousers and sandshoes.
Roger also pulled on a lifejacket but Graham stubbornly refused, hoping his mother wouldn’t notice. It was bad enough wearing all the clothes!
Graham managed to say hello to Jennifer but that was all. There was no chance of getting her alone while Kylie and Margaret were both there! His throat seemed to choke up when he looked at her.
‘God she’s beautiful!’ he thought. He was sure he was in love.
While the girls set to work rigging their yellow skiff the boys set sail on a practice run. Peter had a book loaned to him by Andrew. This contained the Navigation Rules and also Standard Racing Rules. He showed it to the others before they pushed off.
“Ye Gods, there are pages of them!” Max cried. Graham had vaguely known that and was a bit embarrassed that, with his nautical background, he didn’t know them.
Peter nodded. “It’s OK. I’ve read it and memorised most,” he said, slipping the book into a bag which he left with the adults. He then took firm command. “No tipping over today, and no buggerising around,” he said. “Just do as I say.”
As they pushed off Kylie called to them. “Don’t capsize you boys. Don’t forget the shark.”
The shark!
Graham had forgotten it. He looked nervously around at the dancing wavetops, then pretended he wasn’t worried.
Max sneered. “Bloody shark! What a lot of bull!”
“There was Max,” Graham said.
“Don’t argue you two,” Peter ordered. “Besides, it will be gone by now.”
“Aren’t sharks territorial?” Roger asked, looking anxiously at the water surging past.
“Don’t know. No, I think they just roam around and scavenge,” Peter replied. “Now forget the bloody thing. We will practise a port tack, then come about and do a starboard tack.”
Graham quickly became absorbed in sailing the skiff and soon ceased to glance nervously at the sea. After half an hour he was thoroughly enjoying himself. The wind was noticeably stronger than their first practice and the waves correspondingly higher but the boys had just enough experience to copy.
It was lack of teamwork that let them down. Twice they tipped over. The first time was clearly Max’s fault. He had not let the mainsheet run soon enough. The second time he and Graham tripped over each other in the scramble to change sides as the boat came about.
“I couldn’t help it,” Max spluttered as they hauled themselves wet and dripping back onto the deck of the righted boat. “Graham tripped me up.”
“I did not! You knocked me over!”
“You tripped me!” Max snapped back.
“Cut it!” Peter ordered. “The truth is these boats are too small for four people. They are only designed for two or three persons. Now, let’s try again.”
They skimmed along again. Graham felt the chill of the wind on his wet clothes but soon forgot that in the sheer exhilaration of the boat’s speed as she sailed along with a beam wind. He leaned out and laughed with pleasure, licking salt spray from his lips. For a minute they raced neck and neck with the girls.
‘That’s better,’ he thought, feeling some pride had been salvaged.
The girls went smartly about. For a moment it looked as though the yellow skiff would ram the boys’ boat. Then it sliced past several metres astern, the girls laughing and advising more ‘capsize drill’.
“We’ll show them!” Peter cried. “Stand by to come about.”
It would be a gybe. They braced themselves. Peter looked up at the set of the sails and then around to check all was clear. “OK. Max, you control that boom. Ready ... About!”
Peter put the tiller over, then centred it as the boat swung. The others rose and began scrambling across to shift their weight to the upwind side. Graham ducked to avoid the boom as it swung across. He was crowded between Roger and Max and rose to change position.
As Graham turned he was struck in the face by the boom which had swung hard back. He heard Peter yelling, then cried out himself as he slipped. He saw his feet against the sails and sky and then his head hit the water.
It was cold and dark green. He went deep and squirmed to get upright then rose to the surface. As his head broke clear he gasped for breath and looked around. To his dismay the boat was still racing away, Peter struggling to regain control and to keep it from capsizing. Then Graham remembered the shark and the fear hit him.
So did a wave - full in the face as he went to cry out. He swallowed seawater and came up retching and coughing. He brushed stinging saltwater from his eyes and began to swim. The skiff was still heading away downwind, and was fifty-metres or more away.
Graham looked around as a wave lifted him. He was appalled at how far out from the beach he was - several hundred metres at least. He began swimming and quickly discovered how difficult it was when fully dressed. To his dismay he quickly tired. As he did he changed from freestyle to breast stroke but it was still hard going.
All the while his eyes searched for the tell-tale fin but knew that an attack would probably come as a nerve-shattering surprise - just a momentary blur of shadow, then bone-tearing agony. He whimpered with fear and began to pray.
By then the skiff had begun to turn but it was over a hundred metres away. Graham stopped swimming and began to tread water. He was surprised and frightened by how tired and out of breath he felt. It dawned on him that he was in more danger of drowning than of shark attack.
A wave which broke over his head and pushed him squirming into its swirl reinforced this fear. He came up gasping.
“Help!” he croaked feebly, waving his arms as the next wave lifted him. He went under again. Next time he waved with only one arm. ‘Maybe I should take my clothes off?’ he thought.
Then he saw the skiff had at last come around and was beating up towards him. But would it be in time?
‘I feel terribly weak. I’d better get rid of some of this stuff,’ he thought. So he curled up and undid a sandshoe and levered it off. While doing this he went right under and found th
at the dark, swirling shadows and murky nothingness induced an almost paralysing fear. But it was even more terrifying to go under with his eyes closed. That was what he did to take off the other sandshoe and he could not endure it. He had to open his eyes.
Graham came up coughing and spitting. The skiff still seemed to be a long way off. He struggled to stay up but knew he was weakening fast.
Suddenly a shout attracted him: Kylie!
Just behind him was the yellow skiff heaving to. Graham sobbed with relief and struck out for it. Margaret and Jennifer hauled him in over the weather bows and he lay gasping and shivering on the deck, crowded in amongst the girls’ legs.
Then he was sick. He vomited and a gush of salt water and spew flooded around Jennifer’s trousers and onto Margaret’s legs. Graham was horrified but couldn’t help himself. “I’m sorry!” he croaked, between panting and retching.
Jennifer rose out of the way but Margaret held his shirt tightly and patted his back. “It’s OK,” she said.
Kylie was angry. “You bloody fool Graham! What are you doing in the sea? And where’s your lifejacket?”
He had no answer to this. He just felt sick and foolish. Despite his feeble protests they took him ashore and his mother joined in. She had seen the incident.
“You will not go on the water again without a lifejacket. Now promise me that! And where are your sandshoes?”
When the boys came in Graham did not want to go out again.
“Four is too crowded,” he said.
“Come on,” Peter urged. “Change places with Roger. You can sit forward of the mast then. Here.” He tossed Graham a lifejacket. Graham took it reluctantly and put it on. Then he went back out with them.
He didn’t speak to Max and his pleasure was mostly spoilt but they practised for another hour and didn’t tip over once.
At the end of a good fast run they beached the boat at the end of a good fast run. Peter grunted with satisfaction. “We might have some sort of a chance,” he commented.
Again Graham’s desire to talk to Jennifer on her own was thwarted. As the boats were un-rigged he looked repeatedly for an opportunity but there was none. Either Kylie or Margaret seemed to be always there. On top of his earlier upset it put him in a foul mood on the trip home.
He spent Saturday evening at home working on his model ship. The strakes and ‘wales’: the longitudinal exterior frames to add strength to the hull and to protect the planks from chafing when alongside another ship, or a wharf, were glued in place. They gave the model an appearance of graceful strength. The black set off the green and white of the hull very nicely; and their curves accentuated the sheer.
Graham went to bed puzzling over how to construct the ornate woodcarving of the stern galleries. On other models he had just drawn patterns on cardboard or balsa and coloured or painted them but he felt that this one needed something more. He drifted off to sleep pleasantly tired and happy.
Next morning Graham awoke, eager for the day’s events. First church, where he would see Jennifer; then a couple of hours of shipbuilding, then the first sailing race against the navy cadets! It promised to be a good day; and the weather matched the promise - clear and cool with a fair breeze.
But then Graham remembered he was rostered at church as one of the altar boys. He wasn’t so keen then. It was embarrassing at the best of times but he had no wish to have Jennifer see him thus. He tried to think of an excuse to get out of it, then felt ashamed of himself.
‘Don’t be a coward,’ he told himself, trying to pretend he didn’t care what other people thought.
He need not have bothered. After working himself into a state Jennifer wasn’t even there. Margaret was, and she smiled at him as always but he didn’t care whether she thought him a sissy or not.
After church Graham worked on his model. Cardboard and balsa frames were cut to size and painted; then oblongs of clear plastic saved from Christmas present packaging: to represent the glass in the stern windows. To give the windows the appearance of being small panes in lead-lining he stretched nylon gauze netting rescued from his cousin’s wedding cake. It gave just the right appearance.
By lunch time Graham had the frames and windows in place. That left the problem of the ornamentation unsolved. He sat for a while deep in thought, then peeled the dry glue from his fingers and went to eat. Lunch was early because of the race. He joined Kylie and Alex at the kitchen table.
CHAPTER 16
THE FIRST RACE
“Where was Jennifer this morning?” Graham asked as he picked up a sandwich.
Kylie gave him a sour look. “She went to the six o’clock service,” she replied. “Don’t worry. You’ll see her this afternoon.”
“Why, are you girls still coming?”
Kylie nodded. “Of course we are! We are going to win.”
“You can’t. You aren’t invited. This is a race between us and those navy cadets,” Graham retorted.
“We can,” Kylie replied angrily. “Besides, Carmen and Jennifer are both navy cadets.”
“You and Margaret aren’t cadets!”
“Nor are you!”
Their mother intervened. “That will do! The girls can go in it if they want to. They go or nobody goes. Now eat up and get ready.”
They ate and packed. Graham had to borrow Alex’s sandshoes. He went fully clothed again, hat and all. Their mother drove them to pick up Roger and Margaret and took them to Palm Beach.
Andrew and his team were waiting when they arrived. They had their boat rigged and had obviously been out practising. Peter and Max arrived, driven by Peter’s mother, then Carmen and Jennifer, the yellow skiff in tow. Once again Peter’s mother hired the boys a skiff.
“This is getting expensive,” Max grumbled.
The boats were set up, the mothers retiring to lie in the shade with books. Peter then turned to Andrew. “Well, we are ready. What is the course to be?”
“The usual course, the sort they run in the Olympics for example, has three legs,” Andrew explained. “This allows a beat, a reach and a run; to test the skill in different conditions. That might be a problem here as we have no buoys or channel markers to use.”
Peter looked at the sea. “What about Double Island? Or that island shaped like a Scout Hat?”
“Haycock Island? Maybe. It’s a bit far though, and there is a coral reef between the two,” Andrew answered. “I wouldn’t go outside Double Island. That’s a bit too far, especially if we get into trouble. We haven’t got a safety boat.”
“What about up and down the beach from Buchans Point to Taylor Point?” Graham asked, pointing to the two headlands.
Andrew considered the idea. The wind was blowing from the South East, past Taylor Point towards them.
“That might do, but we haven’t got any rounding marks. How would we determine when to turn? And still keep it fair?”
“We wouldn’t cheat!” Peter bristled.
“I wasn’t suggesting that,” Andrew replied. “But with the best will in the world there could easily be a dispute.”
“So we go right to the point and hop out,” Max suggested.
“Not on those rocks!” Andrew exclaimed.
“OK then, but at an agreed place on the beach nearby,” Peter said.
“You mean run in and up onto the beach?” Simmo asked.
“Yes,” Peter replied.
“That might do. But exactly where?” Andrew asked.
Roger pointed. “Isn’t that a buoy out there, that orange thing?” he asked.
“Yes. It marks a shark net. We don’t want to get tangled up with that,” Andrew replied.
Luke Karaku stepped forward. “I reckon we start here, on the beach. It won’t be quite fair as that will make one boat the windward boat first up. We sail a beat up to Taylor Point there. You see that house with the sun shining on its roof? Then a run north and use that yacht anchored in the lee of Double Island as a buoy; then a reach back to here.”
“Almost a reach go
ing north,” Blake commented.
“Doesn’t matter. It will do,” Andrew decided.
“What happens if the yacht decides to up anchor and sail off in the middle of the race?” Peter asked.
They all laughed but Carmen, who had stood back listening, interjected. “It was anchored there yesterday. I don’t think it will move.”
“Keep out of this Car!” Andrew snapped. “This is our race. You aren’t in it.”
“We are!”
“No you aren’t.”
“How are you going to stop us?”
The brother and sister bristled angrily at each other. Graham met Kylie’s eye and she glared at him and stuck out her tongue. All the girls, he noted, wore blue jeans, white shirts and pink lifejackets. He thought Jennifer looked very pretty although sunglasses hid her eyes. Even Margaret looked cute, he decided, with her hair fluttering in the breeze and the strip of pink zinc cream smeared across her freckled nose and cheeks like a Mohawk’s war paint.
“You just keep out of our way!” Andrew snapped. “You start downwind; and don’t foul our run.” He turned back to Peter. “We agreed on the course then? OK. Let’s flip a coin to decide who gets the upwind position.”
“No,” Blake said. “Let them have it. We will win anyway.”
This confident assertion did nothing for Graham’s confidence. Peter resented it. “Rot! We will toss a coin!”
They tossed and Peter won the windward position. The boys moved to stand in line behind their boats. The girls went to their boat, which was ten-metres further along the beach to windward, and stood waiting. Graham adjusted the orange buoyancy vest and pulled his hat on tighter. He was excited now and looking forward to the challenge.
“Go!” Andrew shouted.
They grabbed the boats and dashed into the water. Roger scrambled aboard, then Graham. Grabbing the mainsheet, he hauled it in. He had demanded that he, not Max, have this job. Max had grudgingly relented. Then Peter scrambled aboard and finally Max. The skiff lay over on the starboard tack and headed out from the beach.
The Mudskipper Cup Page 14