No way.
She wouldn’t have said anything about the seat if she’d wanted me to come a cropper. She’d have waited till we were on the water. Plus, what was the point of jamming my seat? I’d have realised the second we’d pulled off from the jetty. It would have taken a real moron to pull a stunt like that. A moron or someone who knew very little about rowing. Most likely the fishing line had just got in the boat somehow and got tangled up.
But I wasn’t convincing myself. I looked over at Mr K, who had put his hat back on. He gestured to me and I stepped a little away from the crew.
‘Be careful out there,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to scare you, but I lost Healey on the road between Hambledon and here. I’m sure he means you harm.’
I swallowed. ‘Why? What would he have to gain?’
Mr K shrugged. ‘He’s just an ugly man, Tallulah. But I’ve informed Sergeant Trenchard and we’re all looking out for you, all right?’
‘Sure, thanks, Mr K. I guess he didn’t mess with my seat.’
Mr K smiled. ‘No. I’ve got a good idea who did, though. You’ve got nothing to worry about there either. Go and enjoy your race.’ He patted my shoulder and loped away.
I rubbed my eyes, feeling stressed and relieved and bewildered all at once.
Come on. It’s all sorted, and no harm done.
We took our places along the side of the boat, and on Pen’s command reached over and pulled it overhead, bowside rowers stepping to one side and lowering the boat to our right-hand shoulder, strokeside doing the opposite. We walked down to the jetty, going slowly and carefully. Pen called the command, ‘Above heads, now,’ and we lifted the boat overhead, then swung it down to lower it into the river.
The birds were still wheeling and diving, and down on the water I noticed how the wind had picked up. People on the shore were staring at us, some even pointing and talking to each other about this crew from Hambledon. Mr VDM came shambling across the grass and on to the jetty.
‘Girls!’ he called, skidding on the slippery planks.
Pen stepped quickly up to him. ‘We’ve got it from here, Mr van der Merwe,’ she said politely. ‘I’ll look after them.’
He took a deep breath. ‘You remember where to turn? After the warm-up? The hard right on the final bend? Tell me what you’re going to call on the start.’
‘You’ve done your cox coaching,’ said Pen. ‘I watched every DVD you gave me. I know my stuff. And Matilda is right in front of me. It’s going to be fine.’
‘The PSG cox is a crazy one,’ said Mr VDM urgently, looking down at all of us, now lacing our feet into footboards and clipping our blades into the rigging. I felt strange where I was. I was used to seeing the backs of seven girls up ahead, plus the occasional glimpse of Pen. Now it was just Matilda, and Pen. I took a deep breath, noticing that my heart had kicked up a gear. ‘Watch out for the line they take,’ continued Mr VDM. ‘They’ll squeeze you on the bends. Get ahead fast, or there’ll be crashes, and the umpires in the boats behind can only call for so much water.’
Just across from us was the PSG crew. They’d already been for their warm-up and were resting on the water. They looked fit and lithe and slightly flushed with the exertion.
‘You’re bigger than them,’ hissed Mr VDM. ‘Remember that!’ He pushed us off, and Pen called for Jess to take a few pulls on her blade.
‘We’re doing our best to forget the size issue,’ muttered Matilda, in a tone angrier than any I’d ever heard from her before. Which is saying something.
I raised my eyebrows. Ha. So Matilda McCabe doesn’t like being big. All she needs, really, is to stay out of the squareass jeans and embrace a few different looks . . . Stop! Focus!
Pen adjusted her microphone, and pulled her headgear on. Her voice came murmuring into our ears. ‘Bow pair, together, now. Fall in, three and four.’
‘Falling in is the issue I’m trying to forget,’ I joked.
‘No fooling around!’ snapped Matilda, glancing over her shoulder. ‘The whole of bowside needs to follow you, and Dion too for strokeside, so stay focused or you’ll be responsible for another disaster!’
I gritted my teeth. ‘Sorry.’
‘Just shut up, Tallulah!’ was Matilda’s response. ‘Shut up and row!’
The shock of her vehemence sent that tightness straight back into my chest. I tried to relax, following her up the slide, but everything felt wrong. My blade scraped across the water and at the catch it was hard to twist it up and in. At the end of the stroke I only just managed to get it out of the water and then rushed the slide back up to make it to the next catch in time. The boat jerked and flopped.
‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ hissed Matilda at me over her shoulder.
I took a deep breath and lifted my eyes from her slide to look straight ahead. Maybe my balance was off. As Matilda moved to the right, following her blade round for the catch, Pen came into view. She was frowning, but not in a cross way. It’s okay, she mouthed, encouraging me on. My eyes filled with tears and this time at the catch of the next stroke I really duffed it.
The word Frik! had barely left my lips before the handle of my blade whacked into my body with such force that it sent me backwards. Though I was holding on for dear life it still caught me across my face.
‘Hang on!’ yelled Pen, and her voice echoed across the water.
Pulling with all my might, I managed to get my blade out of the river, while the rest of the crew slammed the brakes on by ramming the flat of their blades against the surface. There was a rushing of water and muffled swearing.
Slowly I struggled back up to sitting. On the shore I glimpsed Mr van der Merwe jumping up and down, waving his arms around like an orang-utan on an isotonic high. Arns had his hand on his hip, shading his eyes for a better view across the water with the other. I felt blood trickle from my nose to my chin, and my cheek was agony. The sound of laughter came from six metres away. Barbie sat straight and slim in her cox’s seat, and her voice was clear, even though the wind was picking up.
‘Rumours are true, crew. Hambledon Girls do catch crabs.’
‘So original!’ hissed Matilda sarcastically to herself, then whirled round to face me. ‘What the –’
‘Now you shut up,’ I said. ‘Just shut up and row.’
I was about to slide back up to the footboard, ready for the catch, when Dion’s hand landed on my shoulder. I froze, waiting for more bitchy comments, but she said, ‘You okay?’
I swallowed.
‘Come on, Tatty,’ said Sinead, from further down.
‘We’ve all caught our share of crabs,’ added Siobhan.
‘You can do it, Tatty,’ said Hilary.
‘You can do it,’ echoed Kelly. ‘That’s our disaster for today; now we can hustle the PSG sluts.’
I smiled tearily while the rest of the girls giggled, on my side at last. Pen called a slow start and we did warm-up exercises all the way upriver till at last we found a sheltered patch of calm, smooth water and Pen ordered a halt. Though I’d not had any more calamities, I wasn’t feeling good. Nothing was working, and I couldn’t find a rhythm at all.
The crew rested and drank water. The riverbanks went up steeply from this point, thickly wooded and verdant green. The lush foliage swallowed all sound, and here in the shelter only the calls of solitary water birds and our laboured breathing could be heard.
Matilda twisted round and stared at my rigging. She pointed at it accusingly. ‘I thought so. I bloody thought so. What do you see, Tatty?’ She was breathing hard, her chest heaving up and down, her short brown hair slicked with sweat behind her ears.
I stared across at my rig, not understanding. Then suddenly I saw it. ‘My washers!’ I gasped. ‘They’re gone!’
Chapter Forty
‘How is that possible?’ asked Kelly. ‘Washers can’t just drop off!’ She paused. ‘Can they?’
‘No!’ yelled Matilda. ‘No! No! No! Tatty didn’t check her rig and this is why she
can’t get her bloody blade out the water! It’s just not high enough!’
I was gobsmacked. Speechless.
Jessica’s voice came floating all the way up from bow. ‘I saw Tatty check her rig, Matilda. I watched her. I watched her check my place and hers. And I checked my place and hers. Someone messed with Tatty’s rigging, for sure.’
Matilda leaned out to look down the boat, and we all hastily raised or lowered our blades to keep from overturning. ‘You sure?’ she asked Jess.
‘Positive, Tilda. Positive. Who would do that?’
I looked at Matilda McCabe’s profile and narrowed my eyes.
‘We can’t worry about that now,’ said Matilda. ‘We’ve got to fix it.’ She turned back to face Pen. ‘You got the tool kit?’ I heard her ask.
‘Yes,’ said Pen. ‘But no extra washers.’
Matilda’s shoulders hunched into a stressful posture that I didn’t like the look of.
‘Um . . .’ I said, thinking desperately. I skated up on my seat, looking into the boat below me. Was there any extraneous washer I could extract from a nut and bolt in there? As I bent down, my necklace clinked out, the nuts from Oscar swinging forward. Of course! ‘Hey!’ I yelped.
Matilda had twisted round, a number ten spanner in her hand. She looked at my necklace that I was holding up for her to see. ‘Perfect,’ she said. Relief washed across her face and her shoulders dropped back down.
Hmm, I thought. She didn’t want this catastrophe.
‘What’s going on?’ called Kelly.
‘Tatty’s got some nuts that might work as washers,’ called Matilda.
‘Pass your blade back, Tatty,’ said Dion.
I lay down and pulled the blade over my body. Dion grabbed it and I sat up, taking the spanner from Matilda. Within minutes, my rigging was back to normal.
‘Let’s practise the start,’ said Pen, her voice echoing all down the boat. ‘It’s going to be windier than ever out there, and the forecast said gusts will hit round about now.’ She paused. ‘We’re bigger than the PSGs, whether we like it or not, so we’re going to sit more stably in the water.’ Matilda said something to Pen. ‘And we’ve got a solid stroke pair.’ I flushed. Pen was talking about me and Matilda. ‘Lastly, we had the roughest session ever on Friday night, and still managed to get this boat to shore – in the dark, with smashed blades and stern, with high waves, with strong winds, with a crew member in another boat entirely sorting out head wounds.’
I felt the smile that whispered up the boat and turned to see Dion giving me a thumbs up.
‘I would rather not pee VD off,’ said Pen. ‘There’s already been too much bleeding.’ The O’Connelly girls laughed quietly. ‘So let’s go do this.’
We took off, and this time the boat pushed and shunted perfectly in time. The blade felt strong and comfortable for me at last, and I felt a gush of perspiration as relief flooded my body.
It was going to be okay.
We got to the start feeling seriously psyched, a sense of confidence and camaraderie buoying us up. It wasn’t just the PSG crew waiting on the water. There was a crew in dark blue from a school down the coast, another in an unfortunate combo of burgundy and mustard from an inland town where I didn’t even know they had water to row on and the last lot in Irish green. We were the closest crew to the west bank. The PSG crew was alongside on my right, and Barbie looked across at me. Her perfectly glossed lips curved into a smile and she gave me a mock salute. ‘Need a doctor?’ she called. ‘For the crabs?’
‘Loser,’ muttered Matilda.
I wondered for a minute if she were referring to me, but put it from my mind as she bunched up at the front of the slide for a power start. I followed suit, my arms stretched out far to the left, and felt the boat shift as everyone got into position. I glanced down at my legs, noticing quad muscles that I swear weren’t there before, and triceps in my arms that ridged out alongside my biceps. They were smeared with blood from my nose, and my knees too, but I barely noticed. The umpire’s boat had pulled up right in front of me, in line with Pen, and Dr Gordon, the university vice chancellor, was balanced at the helm, ready to call the start. Pen’s arm was up, which meant we were ready to go. As soon as all the cox’s arms were up, the umpire would call on your marks, get set, go and the race would begin. Five kilometres of windswept tidal river, bending round sandy shores to the finish under a high arched bridge in front of all of Hambledon, and more besides.
I blinked a drop of sweat from my lashes and concentrated on Dr Gordon, my gaze flicking back to Pen, then back to the umpire boat.
And that’s when I saw him.
Jack, his arms tightly round Jazz, balancing in the umpire’s boat and staring calmly downriver.
Chapter Forty-one
‘Frikking frik!’ I hissed. My eyes went crazed so suddenly that Pen dropped her arm and turned her head to see what I was looking at.
She whipped back round and met my eyes, switching off her microphone. ‘Now, Lula,’ she said, holding her hand out in a calming gesture. ‘Clearly Jack is filming this event, and Jazz is holding the sound boom, okay? Looks to me like they’re just hanging on to each other for, um, like, balance. Right? They’re balancing. We need you to stay in the zone here. We’ve just got our rhythm right. Against all the odds. We can win this race. If you focus.’
‘She looks like she’s enjoying the balancing,’ said Matilda.
I opened my mouth to get abusive, but Pen beat me to it. ‘Shut up, Matilda McCabe,’ she said. ‘That cow’s got nothing on my sister.’
Matilda’s shoulders tensed up, but she didn’t reply.
Pen glanced at me. ‘Ready?’ she asked.
I nodded. Pen clicked her mike back on and her arm went up again. I looked over at the umpire. He was lifting the loadhailer to his mouth. ‘Here we go,’ I murmured, and tension zinged through the boat.
‘On your marks,’ yelled Dr Gordon. ‘Get set! Go!’
And we were off. Our blades danced in and out of the water in a high-speed chase. Tap, tap, tap, pull, pullll, puuullll, till we were slamming down a whole slide-length, then whizzing back up at a massive rating to lift the boat up out of the water and away.
Suddenly the umpire boat was gone. Jack and Jazz were gone. The seagulls were gone. It was just Pen, Matilda and a world of wind and water, with six bodies behind us, following our every move. I barely heard what Pen was shouting. She was leaning forward, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling, yelling in a hoarse voice that set goosebumps up all over my body and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Up to the front of the slide I came, dashing the blade into the water at the exact instant Matilda did, bracing as she did, slamming down my legs as she did and leaning back at the finish at the perfect angle.
‘More power, more power! Get ready for a squeeze. NOW!’
And then the water rushed beneath the boat as eight legs thumped hard at the finish, floated up the slide, smacked in at the catch.
Smack, thump, glide. Smack, thump, glide.
‘Take it up again!’
‘Squeeze!’
‘We’re a nose ahead, girls! Hold it! Hold it!’
I came floating up for another catch, my body staying straight and true in the boat even though my arms were reaching round for another dip of the blade. I saw Pen’s knuckles whiten as her fists gripped and pulled on the rudder wires.
‘PSG is pushing us into the right bank!’ she screamed. ‘I’m going to hold this line! Three, get ready to crash blades!’
I tensed and shunted down harder than ever as Siobhan’s blade cracked against PSG’s bow’s blade. The umpire roared disapproval and yelled at PSG to move across so our boat would have more room. My eyes flicked to the motor boat and suddenly I was locked in a gaze with Jazz. She was smiling triumphantly, as usual, and had her forearm over Jack’s, holding it against her ribs. Her left arm held the fuzzy sound boom in front of her. Jack’s face was hidden behind a huge news camera, the lens zoomed out at the PSG crew.
> If he wants you, he can have you, Jazz Delaney, I thought. Just don’t expect me to be a loser either way.
‘Another push!’ I yelled at Pen. Her eyes widened. We were pulling in tight round the bend now, and a surge of power could unbalance the boat. PSG were nipping at our strokeside blades, despite the red-faced outrage of the umpire, and a push might not allow us the coordination to keep our heads in the midst of all the crashing and bashing.
‘Do it!’ yelled Matilda.
Pen screamed the instruction, and our boat lifted and surged again.
‘We’ve got a foot!’ yelled Pen in triumph.
Slam!
Slam!
Slam!
‘Another foot!’ called Pen. ‘And they’re coming off our line! We need half a boat length to move over for the next corner!’
We kept at it, squeezing away at a race pace that had our quads and hamstrings burning, our calloused hands feeling ripped and torn, our throats raw as we sucked for air. All the while Pen was at us, encouraging, begging, pleading, yelling, screaming. We went into the next corner with less water on the PSG boat than we would have liked and then all hell broke loose. The high riverbanks that had sheltered us before dipped suddenly to low sandy flats, and suddenly the wind roared and rocketed at us. It buffeted the water into high choppy swells that slopped over the sides of the boat and against our bodies, slicking our blade handles till they were difficult to control.
‘Remember Friday night!’ yelled Pen. ‘Hold it together! Looking good! We’ve got another foot! Hold it!’
I snatched a glance across strokeside. Pen was right. We were pulling away from PSG, their boat beginning to flounder in the rough water.
‘Eyes in the boat!’ screamed Pen. ‘The burgundy sluts are gaining!’
I looked to the right. They were too. One of their blades clipped Matilda’s, jolting the whole boat, and I held on like never before. The next stroke was going to be a clash for sure. I slammed my legs down for a hard finish and Pen yelled at the crew to ready themselves. My hands were clawed round my blade handle as I cruised up the slide. I cut my eyes over to the right again. The burgundy number two was looking across at Matilda, then at her blade and I watched as she jabbed at us, upsetting her crew’s rhythm. I held steady and I swear it was just coincidence that Matilda caught the edge of her spoon. It cracked as Matilda’s blade sliced through the air, and I heard her cry out at the impact. Another quick glance showed me that she was flat on her back in the boat, her blade fizzing out of control through the water.
Lula Does the Hula Page 29