Draca

by Geoffrey Gudgion

  Nothing. Nothing there, not on that spot, not that could be felt through her awareness of that carving. That was so strong that she began to arch her back as if someone held an icy knife between her shoulder blades. She turned, opening her eyes, and all three of them – Jack, Charlotte and the dragon – were looking at her in a way that made her hunch her shoulders and fold her arms across her chest. Jack lifted one eyebrow in silent enquiry. She pushed past him, shaking her head.

  ‘Your meat will spoil.’

  IV: GEORGE

  Charl was back again during the following week, pretending to work while she took business calls on her smartphone in the cockpit of a charter boat.

  ‘I like ‘working from home’.’ She ended the call, grinning at George like a naughty schoolgirl.

  ‘You must have a dead understanding boss.’

  ‘It’s all about results, hon. If I bring home the business, they don’t ask too many questions.’ Charlotte stretched like a cat, still clutching her phone.

  ‘Well I hope today’s worth it for you. There’s not much wind.’

  There hadn’t been enough of a breeze to sail in the harbour, and it wasn’t much better out in the bay. Without the motor they just about had steerage way, making one and a half knots out of a light southerly.

  ‘It’s already worth it.’ Charl smiled at George in a way that made her feel warm and liked.

  ‘Did you ever find out what all that was about with Jack on the path?’ For a moment, George regretted changing the subject. She always seemed to do that when someone started to be nice to her.

  ‘He did clam up, didn’t he? I got it out of him later, though. He thinks he saw a ghost there.’ Charlotte began putting suncream on her legs. The way she bent forward stopped George seeing her face.

  ‘And do you believe him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have done. He’s had problems, you see, since he came back. Sometimes, he hasn’t seemed himself…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I’ve been reading Eddie’s diaries. He saw it too.’ Charlotte lifted her head. She looked nervous and worried at the same time. ‘I’m not sure what to do about this, George.’

  ‘Tell him to get rid of that carving. It’s frigging evil.’

  ‘You think they’re linked?’

  George shrugged. ‘Dunno. But it’s worth trying.’

  They were quiet for a while. Charlotte unfolded a few more yards of leg onto the seat and resumed her creaming, moving her hands in slow, sensuous strokes. A gentle sea moved in towards the land, making the boom swing over their heads as they rolled then sway back until it was brought up by the main sheet with a snap and a jar. It wasn’t a comfortable motion.

  ‘Do you want to go back, Charl?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, you ain’t learning much and we’re going nowhere.’

  ‘We could always go for a swim.’ Charl looked over the side. The sun lanced into the water, making shifting patterns below them like shards of green glass.

  ‘I haven’t brought a cozzie.’ Swimming hadn’t occurred to George.

  ‘Neither have I.’ Charl grinned at her with that look that made her part of a private joke.

  ‘I don’t know…’ George had never been skinny-dipping before, and she wasn’t used to getting her kit off in company, even girl company.

  ‘Come on, George, live a little!’ That was a dare.

  ‘Not out here.’ George was still thinking about it. That water did look good. ‘We could anchor in the bay, if you want to swim.’ George kept her options open. She’d think about this on the way in.

  They dropped the sails and anchored in about three fathoms, far enough off the beach to be away from prying eyes unless they had powerful binoculars. It was a weekday, and they were at least a mile from the nearest beach car park, so there weren’t many people. When George turned around from slotting the swimming ladder in place over the stern, Charl was taking her shirt off as if it was the most natural thing in the world. George looked away and picked up a fender, concentrating on tying a long length of line to it.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Safety line.’ George secured the other end of the line to a cleat and threw the fender overboard. ‘There’s a light tide running. Less than half a knot, but it would be hard to swim against if you’re tired. The fender acts as a float, and keeps the line on the surface, downstream. Swim for the line if you have problems, and pull yourself back.’

  ‘Aye, aye, captain.’ Charl threw a saucy, bare-chested salute. Now she was laughing at George, but not in a nasty way. She turned away a little as she dropped her shorts and kicked off her canvas shoes, and George thought she’d kill for a body like that.

  ‘You coming?’ Again, that grin, like they were partners in crime. Charl made no attempt to cover herself as she swung out onto the ladder. She slowed as her foot met the water, and yelped as it reached her calves. She stayed there, hands on the rail, eyes wide, with her skin tightening. George giggled. She should have warned her. The sea’s frigging cold early in the season, even on a hot day.

  ‘Do you still want to do this?’

  Charl nodded and made one more step downwards, taking short, gasping breaths with her mouth wide open, and it was George’s turn to laugh because Charl looked like a stranded fish. George relaxed. This was something she knew how to do. She turned away and pulled her own kit off before she changed her mind.

  ‘That’s the wimp’s way in.’ George kept her back to Charl and climbed over the rail on the seaward side, holding on to a stay, feeling Charl’s eyes on her. ‘Just take the hit.’

  She jumped, tucked her knees into her chest and bombed.

  If it had been August or September she could have let herself sink downwards with her body rotating in a cool silence that is no silence because by the time she’d have begun to float upwards there’d be the sea’s background noise of tiny clicks, and maybe the whine of a propeller somewhere. But in early July the cold squeezed her, forcing her to unfold and swim hard to generate some warmth. It was her only thought: fast, urgent movement until her skin numbed. She stayed below the surface, pulling hard away from the boat, and surfaced for air about thirty feet off.

  Charlotte was still on the ladder, about one step lower so her bum was just above the water. She’d probably stopped again when the cold touched her girlie bits. Sod that. George swum back, just as hard, and trod water off the stern to keep her limbs moving. If you can get through the first two minutes, the rest is easy.

  ‘You’re a frigging wimp, Charl.’

  ‘It’s freezing!’

  George splashed her, making Charl squeal and tense so that a vertical line appeared in the skin between her shoulders.

  ‘Get your arse in here, girl. This was your idea.’

  Charl stayed there, so George grabbed Charl’s hips, braced her feet against the stern and pulled her, shrieking, off the ladder.

  ‘You’re cruel. I hate you.’ No, she didn’t. She’d have been laughing if she hadn’t been so busy spitting seawater. George splashed her again, pushing water at her face.

  Charl was a surface swimmer, the kind that paddles around with their nose well above the water, like a dog. George liked to go deep, to duck-dive down until the bottom looms in patches of weed and sand. Down there she could spread her arms wide and still, and look up towards patterns of light on the surface. That time with Charl was best of all. The water felt different when she was naked. She hung there weightless, limbs starred out, enjoying the touch of the water in new places, and the sensation of her chest floating upwards. Above her, Charl was a fuzzy paleness in dazzling green light, and George couldn’t remember when she had last been that happy.

  By the time the cold drove them back on board George didn’t feel embarrassed. Even though you couldn’t see much in the water, it seemed a bit pointless to try and cover up after they’d splashed each other and had play fights that became slippery tangles of limbs and softness. They took it in turns to kneel in th
e cockpit beside a bowl of fresh water from the boat’s tanks while they helped each other rinse the salt out of their hair. The boat had one small towel in the heads and that had to do for both of them, so they needed to let the sun dry them.

  George lashed the boom to a stay to keep it off the cabin roof while they sunbathed. With the mainsail folded on to it, it gave them privacy from the beach at eye level, but Charl didn’t seem that bothered anyway. She knelt there so she could see over the boom and sail to the beach while she brushed her hair.

  ‘You look like a mermaid, Charl.’

  ‘The looks of a mermaid, the voice of a frog.’ She put her hands down, made a short, shuffling hop on her knees towards George and croaked. ‘Niddip.’

  ‘We’d better top up the suncream.’ George tended to burn, and she was showing bits of herself that had never been tanned.

  ‘Shall I do your back?’

  George decided that girls did backs much better than blokes. She’d had a boyfriend once who rubbed it in like he was sanding the deck. Charl’s touch was gentle, even sensuous, working outwards across her shoulders as she lay face down on the cabin roof, until Charl’s fingertips brushed the edges of George’s breasts in a way that was pleasant and strange at the same time, almost a caress.

  ‘How are things with Jack, Charl?’

  ‘Up and down. He’s obsessive about restoring that precious boat of his. ‘The Other Woman’, I call it.’

  ‘She’s going back into the water soon. It’ll be different when you can go sailing together.’

  ‘Actually, I rather like this sort of sailing. I think Jack’s style might be a bit macho.’

  Charl’s fingers worked their way down George’s spine and smoothed the curve of her waist.

  ‘Do you have a boyfriend, George?’

  ‘Nah. Not at the moment.’

  ‘Really? I’d have thought someone as lovely as you would have men queuing at your door.’

  George looked over her shoulder, searching Charl’s face in case she was making fun. She wasn’t.

  ‘I can reach there, thanks.’ Charl had begun spreading the latest dollop of cream over George’s bum. George turned over, took the bottle from her and started on her legs. Charlotte sat watching, hugging her knees.

  ‘And they’re not queuing. I’m too short, and I have a habit of frightening men off.’

  ‘You’re not fat at all. And I’d love to have some of your curves.’

  ‘Seriously?’ George stared at her, not really believing.

  ‘At school I was called The Stick Insect.’

  ‘And I was called The Witch.’ That slipped out without thinking. George’s guard must have been way down.

  ‘Why on earth…?’

  ‘I’ll tell you about it some day. Not today. I’m having fun.’

  George turned over onto her tummy, pillowing her face on her arms. They were quiet for a while; George had broken the flow. The fibreglass roof of the cabin was hot against her chest.

  ‘Don’t you miss having a boyfriend, George?’

  ‘Not really. Most of them just want to grab my tits and get inside my knickers. I haven’t found one yet who’d treat me as an equal.’

  ‘Have you ever made out with a woman?’

  George turned her head, sharply. Charlotte was lying beside her, with the towel rolled under her cheek. They made eye contact.

  ‘Nah.’ George swallowed. Oh, feck. ‘Have you?’

  Charl’s grin said it all.

  ‘What was it like?’

  ‘Hot.’ Charl said the word like she was licking her lips. All sultry and smoky. Something told George this wasn’t ancient history.

  ‘What, while Jack’s away?’

  Another cat-with-cream grin.

  ‘George, darling, have you ever had ‘Surf ‘n’ Turf’ in a restaurant? Steak and lobster?’

  ‘It’s a bit out of my price league, Charl.’

  ‘Well, Jack is all the beef I could ever want. It’s just that sometimes I like to taste a little fish.’

  George lifted up on her elbows, staring at Charlotte. Her mouth was dry.

  ‘Charl, are you hitting on me?’

  ‘Would you be terribly upset if I was?’

  Upset? George was, just a bit. And flattered. More upset than flattered because until then they’d been like children, playing together. It had felt natural, after the first few minutes. George had been able to tell herself it was innocent. Now she felt like a sphinx with her boobs on display, and she caught herself pushing her body backwards to hide them between her arms.

  ‘Nah. Not upset. Bit surprised, though.’

  Charlotte rolled on her back, giggling.

  ‘Oh, the look on your face, George!’ She lifted one hand to touch George’s cheek with the back of her fingers. ‘Lighten up, girl!’

  ‘Charl, I think you’re beautiful and I love spending time with you, but you…’ George swallowed again, picking her words. She didn’t want to lose her. ‘But women don’t turn me on in that way. Can’t we just be friends?’

  Charl made a little pout. ‘Of course we can, darling. Who knows? One day you may wonder what you’re missing!’ She reached over and gave George’s bum a friendly slap.

  George settled her cheek on her forearms, watching Charlotte and wondering if she would be like the men who disappeared when she wouldn’t jump into bed with them. For a moment, George even wondered if it was worthwhile giving in, just to keep her.

  So yes, she was sad, though she thought she hid it. Not so much that Charlotte had come on to her, but more for the new ground rules it brought. And the first of these was that they wouldn’t be skinny-dipping together again.

  But then there had been moments when they were playing in the water when she’d felt the beginnings of a different kind of excitement; something daring and exotic. On the deck, she’d pushed Charlotte back instinctively, absolutely, but then she realised she was just a bit curious. George turned her face away, flushing with embarrassment.

  V: Diary of Edvard Ahlquist, Volume 39

  25 th January. Wind ESE, 3, Fair, Cold

  It’s just me and the dragon, now. Plus a bloody great oxygen cylinder that I keep in the front room because it’s too heavy to drag around with me. There’s a smaller bottle that’s a bit more portable. I take it for the headaches, even when the breathing is ok.

  The whispering follows the warrior, like they hate him, but he’s much stronger than they are. He was there while we were on the boat seat, I’m sure. We were looking at the flames in the stove and I didn’t look up. Daren’t. But the dragon knew and moved.

  I had this urge to end it all in one great ball of flame. Wait until the warrior is close, and push this little oxygen bottle into the fire. It’s small enough to fit in the stove. For a moment that felt beautiful, and it was like the dragon was encouraging me, making me think I’d be doing them a favour.

  How big a bang would this bottle make? Would it be enough? Would it be too much? Don’t want to wreck the house. Things to do, first. I need to decide what happens to the house, after.

  God, I need some human company, particularly when it hurts bad. The dragon’s all right but he don’t talk much. Jack comes whenever he can. Every weekend, now, and at least once during the week, bless him.

  VI: HARRY

  Harry Ahlquist was pleased when Jack invited them to Draca’s launch. The wife wasn’t too sure about rubbing shoulders with all those smart yachtie people, but it was a sign that things were getting better with their son. Jack probably wanted to thank him for all the work he’d done on the engine as well. Plus it was on a Saturday, so Harry could take time off work, no problem. Tilly and the kids went too. Tilly wasn’t so keen, but Harry insisted. It was important they let Jack know that, as far as the family was concerned, the door was still open.

  It wasn’t what Harry expected. He’d had this idea that they’d be sliding Draca down a slipway. Get his mum to smash a bottle of bubbly over the bow and say ‘I name this shi
p’, all that sort of stuff. But they just floated her off on the tide. Bit disappointing, that.

  Jack was standing on deck when they got there, looking down at the level of the water. A couple of people stood ready to pull the props away from her side, and a rope ran from her back end out to a powerboat lying offshore with its engine ticking over, ready to pull her off. There was water all around her, so there was no way Jack could come to them. The boy looked worried when he saw them. Maybe he thought they’d say the wrong thing and embarrass him in front of his yachtie friends.

  About a dozen people were already there, gathered around a table where they’d laid out a bit of a spread. Of course, The Slut was there, turning some kebab things on a portable barbecue, and the boatyard girl who’d come to Eddie’s funeral was serving wine in plastic glasses. She came over and spoke to them, real friendly, and they were chatting away all natural like when The Slut came over with a plate of things on skewers. Harry forced a smile when the wife poked him in the back. ‘Be nice.’

  Of course he’d be nice. They were all on their best behaviour. He said hello as sweet as you like, even though she replied in a way that made him wonder if she knew something they didn’t. She passed that plate of food under their noses like they were all pally. There was only the look in her eyes to show she was acting.

  ‘Fancy a nibble? Mrs Ahlquist? Tilly? George? Harry? Fresh off the grill. How about the children, Tilly? Shall we take the meat off the skewers for them?’

  George. A funny name for a girl.

  ‘What’s that?’ The wife sounded suspicious. She don’t like exotic stuff.

  ‘Special treat. My contribution to the day. Steak and lobster.’

  George the boatyard girl snorted and turned her head away, which made Tilly suspicious so she sniffed at her skewer. The wife just put her nose over the plate.

  ‘I don’t know. Smells a bit spicy, to me.’

  ‘Go on, Mrs A. Surf ‘n’ turf. Your tongue won’t have had so much excitement for years.’

  Now Harry was sure she was making fun of them. George spluttered and pretended to choke, but Harry could see she was trying not to laugh. Why was he missing the point? Even Tilly looked puzzled. The wife put her skewer back on the plate like she’d changed her mind.