A Yacht Called Erewhon (12 page)

As we watched from shore, we knew they were in trouble but were powerless to do anything. The stern dropped and the props bit. The barge surged forward with Looney wrestling for control. Twenty-seven and twenty-eight performed as expected, passing under the barge without any bother.
Erewhon
groaned as Looney turned the bow to run down the coast in the giant swell. The barge rose and fell to the ocean rhythm, and it was
now time for him to take stock. A headcount revealed that everyone was still on board.

Dad was leaning against the wheelhouse, holding his forearm in obvious pain. Mum was leaning over Hepi, who was lying motionless with a large gash to his forehead. While trying to stem the blood, she checked his other vital signs.

Looney corrected the barge direction and set the autopilot, then stepped down from the wheelhouse. ‘What the fuck’s up here?’

‘Hepi’s in a bad way—he needs stitches,’ Mum said, as she whipped off her T-shirt and used it as a compress to try to stem the blood.

‘What about you?’ he said, looking at Dad.

‘I think it’s broken!’ he replied, nodding towards his arm.

‘Fuckin’ landlubbers!’ muttered Looney. ‘Just sit there. I’ll deal with him first!’

Looney disappeared into his cabin, returning with blankets and a very impressive medical kit. ‘Ya don’t find too many fuckin’ doctors when yer twenty miles off the coast—ya have to take care of yerself! Now let’s have a gander at this fuckin’ mess!’ he said, peeling back the compress. ‘He’ll definitely need fuckin’ stitches in that!’ he announced as he inspected the wound. ‘I better whack them in while he’s still out to it. Saves on the local if we do it quick.’

Mum looked doubtful, but Looney had no qualms.

‘Don’t worry, missus, Long John Clegg, me old boss, taught me all there is to know about fuckin’ doctoring. He’ll be as good as new in half an hour. While I’m getting set, ya better get him covered with one of those fuckin’ blankets, and yah fuckin’ old man too. We don’t need them goin’ into fuckin’ shock!’

Mum did as she was instructed, while Looney delved around in his kit. He put on some sterile gloves and unpacked the needle and thread. He sterilised Hepi’s wound and, with
the finesse of a surgeon, inserted six tiny stitches into Hepi’s forehead, neatly pulling the skin back together.

Mum was intrigued. ‘They’re unusual stitches.’

‘Yeah, old Long John always reckoned doctors should learn their craft from sail-makers—they’d be neater at their job! Well, that’ll fuckin’ do,’ he continued, as he applied a clean dressing. ‘He’ll have a king-size headache, but apart from that he should be fine.’

Mum checked Hepi’s vital signs and, as Looney had predicted, he appeared to be OK. Even though it was a warm evening, she tucked the blanket tight around him. Next they turned to Dad, who was still nursing his forearm. Looney took hold of it, and Dad grimaced in pain.

‘Don’t need a fuckin’ X-ray to know what’s going on here! We’d better splint the bastard!’ Looney disappeared below as Mum comforted her bedraggled husband. Looney returned with two strips of wood and set the arm, which had Dad reeling in pain. Looney disappeared into the cabin again, this time returning with half a bottle of rum. ‘Here, take a couple of swigs!’ he instructed his patient. ‘It might not kill the pain, but at least you won’t care.’

The bandaging finished and Dad’s pain numbed by the rum, Looney fashioned a sling for him and then packed his kit up and returned to the wheelhouse to check on the barge’s progress. ‘Just make sure he doesn’t get fuckin’ cold,’ he instructed Mum as he checked the heading.

Looney checked the autopilot as the barge rose and fell to the gentle rhythm of the ambling swell. Despite all that had happened in the past few hours, Mum sat back and relaxed as the engines beat out a slow rhythm and the moon climbed from the horizon.

‘We’ll be in sight of the fuckin’ city by dawn, missus,’ Looney reassured her, as she gazed up at the sky.

C
ome on, Bollocks, we’ve got a boat to unload!’ Mum and Dad stirred from their sleep to find Hepi leaning over them with two mugs of strong tea. Dad tried to move, but a night of sleeping in an upright position had all but frozen every bone in his body. Mum was also suffering from cramp, but slowly their blood started to circulate as the hot tea lubricated their joints.

‘Glad to see you on your feet again, Fatman,’ he said, slapping his old mate on his back. Dad stood up and looked over the rail, recognising the shoreline. Looney had guided the barge through the night and now stood off the shore of the lower reaches of Dad’s property. Trucks marked
Yacht Haulage
were waiting on the ramp.

‘I took the liberty of calling ahead for some help, Bollocks. I know it might punch a hole in your pride, but there’s bugger all you can do with that,’ Hepi said, pointing to his arm.

‘Thank you, Hepi. He isn’t going to lift a finger!’

‘Don’t fuss, woman!’ Dad snapped back.

‘I’m not fussing, but the moment this thing is on shore you’re going to the hospital.’

‘Yes, dear,’ Dad conceded.

Looney nosed the barge into the ramp, and Stan and his sidekick, Samosi—better known as Gorilla, for obvious reasons—jumped on board.

‘Yacht Haulage’s A Team,’ Hepi chuckled, as they all shook hands.

Stan acknowledged the compliment, but Gorilla stood silently in the background.

‘What the hell have you got here?’ Stan peered up at the giant upturned hull. ‘Where did you find her? She’s a beauty.’ His eyes darted around the barge as he summed up the job in hand. ‘Reckon we’ll winch her straight off here and up to the shed on those bogies, no sweat!’

Looney was unclipping
Erewhon
when Matilda flew down and landed on his shoulder. ‘Come on, you jokers,’ he said. ‘Let’s stop the prattle and get this thing off me fuckin’ boat!’ Matilda joined in the chorus. ‘Off me fuckin’ boat! Off me fuckin’ boat!’ Looney admonished her in the usual fashion, so she flew up to the wheelhouse roof and carried on swearing as Gorilla laid out the winch cable.

In the meantime, Grant from Giant Cranes manoeuvred his heavy-lift machine into position, close to the bow of the barge, ready to lift the keel. He had to get close, as his crane could only lift on the short boom. The plan was to swing the weight clear of the deck onto Yacht Haulage’s low-loader trailer.

Grant looked at the strain gauges as the load went on. ‘You reckon she’s only forty tonnes?’ he asked, looking at Dad.

‘No!’ he replied, ‘She’s forty proper tons, not your fairy metric kind!’

Grant did some quick mental calculations. ‘That’s why we’re grunting,’ he shouted, above the scream of the overload warning bells.

As he lifted, the barge bow rose with the lessening of its load, forcing the crane to lift even higher. ‘Back her off as soon as you can!’ Grant yelled to Looney, who obliged, and the keel thumped down on the ramp, spraying water everywhere.

With the crane repositioned even closer to its load, the keel
was re-hoisted, and Grant placed the lead weight on the waiting trailer. The giant tractor unit roared into life and hauled the keel up the ramp to its new home beside the barn.

Looney again drove the barge hard onto the ramp. Gorilla stepped on board and shackled the winch cable to the bridle linking the two rear bogies. Stan looked at the front bogie and suddenly realised it was steerable. ‘You thought of everything,’ he cried in amazement. ‘Could do with a set like these for some of the jobs we get into.’

Dad looked at Stan. ‘You get my lady safely into the shed, and you can have them!’

Stan grinned. ‘You’ve got a deal. Show me how you steer it.’

Hepi produced the steering tiller and inserted it into the axle.

‘I get ya,’ Stan yelled. ‘Now you cripples stand back and let me and the Gorilla handle it from here!’

Dad hesitantly backed away.

‘Ya want me to provide the brakes as ya roll down the fuckin’ ramp?’ Looney called, his winch still hooked to the front bogie.

‘That’d be good,’ Stan replied, as he walked towards his truck.

Without another word, Gorilla took up station at the steering tiller, and the winch engine spluttered into life.

‘OK, ease her!’ Stan bellowed, as the winch wire took up the strain and the hull started to move. When the steering bogie hit the ramp, Looney walked forward and unclipped his cable. Then he wandered back to the winch control and wound up the loose wire. He gathered up the loose baggage from in front of the wheelhouse, carried it off the barge, and placed it on the ramp. ‘I’ll see ya in a few fuckin’ days when I’ve picked up yer other junk.’ He turned and was gone.

‘Your mate was in a bit of a hurry!’ Dad said, looking at Hepi.

‘Nah, he’s always like that, never hangs around. He gets embarrassed.’

Dad turned his attention back to
Erewhon.
Stan was in the cab of his tractor unit, and Gorilla was bringing up the rear, steering the bogie. The big Mack roared as the whole rig inched up the track towards the barn. They positioned the huge yacht neatly in the centre of the covered space. In no time they had her sitting on blocks, and Stan and Gorilla were packing up their gear. Dad wandered over to the house and returned with a tray of beer under his good arm.

‘Well done!’ he exclaimed, handing each of the men a cool can, which they quickly downed. Dad offered Stan a second, but he declined, looking at his workmate. ‘Come on!’ he called. ‘We’ve got two more yachts to move today.’

As they walked out of the barn, Mum pulled up in the Lexus. ‘Come on, you two. It’s time for your check-ups.’

Hepi and Dad got meekly into the car. Dad looked over his shoulder and smiled. ‘Stage two complete!’

W
e’d always questioned the merit of building a barn, especially as we only used it to store cars and junk, but with
Erewhon
in residence it was clear that a shed could never be too big.

‘Bit of work to do here, Bollocks,’ said Hepi, sucking through his teeth.

‘Yep!’ replied Dad, as I flicked on the lights. ‘You don’t get anything you want without a bit of hard work.’

We all circled the immense hull. Now, after it had been waterblasted, it was clear that the ravages of weather and time had taken their toll. Even with the prospect of what had to be done, Dad’s enthusiasm couldn’t be dented, and I could see he was itching to get started.

To our surprise, as we rounded the bow we found an old man sitting on an upturned drum, just staring at the yacht.

‘Where the hell did you come from?’ Dad asked in his usual brash manner as the old man got gingerly to his feet.

‘I’m sorry for barging in on you like this,’ he replied, ‘but I just had to come and see for myself. I heard that
Erewhon
had come back from the dead, but I didn’t believe it!’

‘You know
Erewhon
then?’

‘Know her? I helped build her! Matter of fact, she even cost me six weeks in plaster with a broken leg!’

The barn went silent as Dad looked at the old man and realised he’d been crying.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘Don’t mind me. I’m just a sentimental old fool who thinks he’s seen a ghost. I thought this grand lady had gone to Davy Jones’s locker. It’s taken me aback to see her, that’s all.’

‘You must be young Sam,’ whispered a voice from the shadows in the corner of the barn.

‘Not young now, I’m afraid,’ he replied, turning around. As he tried to adjust his eyes to the dim light, his mouth dropped open. He clutched his chest with one hand as he fumbled in his coat pocket with the other. Mum lunged forward as he began to sway and guided him back onto the drum. He produced an inhaler from his pocket, but dropped it on the ground. Mum swooped it up, inserted it in his mouth, and gave him a puff.

‘Two!’ he muttered through clenched teeth, and Mum administered the second shot. Slowly, he began to recover, but he wouldn’t take his eyes off Mic.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I shouldn’t have come. This has been a little too much for me!’ He turned back to Mic. ‘My dear, you have the most remarkable resemblance to Miss McAlister, the daughter of the original owner…But how did you know my name?’

Mic hesitated, unsure whether now was the right time to explain.

‘It’s a long story,’ Mum chimed in. ‘I think we all need a cup of tea!’

‘A brandy might be more in order,’ Dad suggested. ‘Let’s go up to the house.’

Mum and I got on either side of the old man as he slowly stood up. He turned and cast a loving eye over the upturned hull. ‘It’s grand to see her again,’ he said, and the smile returned to his face.

The walk to the house was slow, but the old man seemed to
be gathering strength so Mum and I relaxed our grip.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Bloody angina gives me gyp from time to time! Are you related to Miss McAlister, my dear?’ he asked, looking at Mic. ‘You’re the spitting image of her.’

‘What will it be, Sam? I hope you don’t mind me calling you by your first name, but I don’t know what your surname is,’ interrupted Mum. ‘Tea, coffee or something a little stronger?’

‘That brandy your husband offered might just hit the spot,’ he replied with a cheeky grin. ‘And I’m Sam Baverstock.’

‘I reckon the sun is low enough over the yard-arm for drinks all round. Ben, do the honours.’

I poured Sam a large brandy and then served the rest.

‘Get your laughing gear around that,’ Dad said to his guest, as he introduced everyone in the room.

Sam sipped his drink and smiled. ‘Me doctor would give me heaps if he saw this, but what would he know?’ He turned back to look at Mic.

‘What are you doing with yourself these days, Sam?’ Dad asked.

‘I’ve been retired for about seventeen years now, but I still keep me hand in,’ he replied, squaring his shoulders. ‘Got all me tools at home in the shed, and my wife sends me down there every day. She says I get under her feet in the house. She calls me in for lunch and supper. At the moment, I’m restoring a seven-foot clinker dinghy. Used to be varnished, like
Erewhon
, but some bugger painted her, and I’m having a dickens of a job getting it off. Still, it’s worth it—solid kauri you know!’

Dad swung back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. ‘What are you doing after the dinghy?’

‘Don’t know. Something will come along!’

Dad sucked through his teeth. ‘How would you like to oversee the rebuilding of
Erewhon
?’

Sam took a large swig of his brandy and sat back in his chair, remaining silent for what seemed like minutes. ‘Don’t think I’m up to such a large-scale job as that on my own any more, Jim.’

‘What if I found you some help, maybe an apprentice?’

‘But I haven’t got a car, and it’s a long way by bus.’

‘You can have the old cottage to live in if that would help.’

The cottage was the original farmhouse on our property, and Dad had kept it as a guest-house rather than pulling it down after we moved into the new house. Nestled in a dip between the barn and the new house, it was surrounded by an orchard, a quaint picture postcard of a time way past.

‘But what about me wife? She wouldn’t like being on her own.’

‘Bring her with you!’ Dad said quickly.

‘I don’t know, I’d have to talk to her first. What’s the rent on the cottage?’

‘What rent? If you come and oversee the restoration of the old lady, there’ll be no rent.’

‘Well, this is all very tempting, but what makes you think I’m up to it?’

‘I only need to look at those hands to know I have the right bloke!’ Dad replied, pointing to Sam’s gnarled hands. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘I’ll talk it over with my good lady and let you know tomorrow,’ he replied, as he reached into his pocket and produced a bus timetable. ‘And speaking of her, I’d better get home.’

‘Put that thing back in your pocket and stay for dinner.’

‘Thank you for your kind offer, but my wife’s expecting me home, and life’s not worth living if I’m late for supper!’

Dad nodded. ‘Run Sam home, Ben. We don’t want him in
trouble before he starts. If you can convince the missus, we’ll negotiate a wage I’m sure will be to your liking.’

Sam nodded. He knew he’d be back the next day.

The old man and I walked down to the car. I could see his mind was buzzing. ‘Don’t let Dad bully you if you don’t want the job,’ I said as I held the door open.

‘It’s OK, lad. I may look a silly old bugger to you, but a lifetime of building toys for silver-spooned brats has taught me a thing or two about people. Somehow, I don’t see your old man as a silver-spooner. He may have liked me for my hands, but you don’t get hands like his sitting on your backside, pushing paper around a desk! Your old man’s reputation stands him in good stead with me. It’s not him that’s got me worried. It’s that lass who resembles Miss McAlister that has me wondering. What’s her name again?’

‘Mic,’ I replied.

‘That’s what they called Miss McAlister. You wouldn’t credit it—I swear she looks the spitting image of her the day she disappeared!’

‘You were on board?’ I asked.

‘Yes, lad, the worst day of my life. She was too young to die. Too pretty and too young.’

We drove towards Sam’s house without much more being said. I could see he needed time to mull over all that had happened, and I knew that he, like Dad, wouldn’t be able to resist being involved with
Erewhon
again.

We arrived at his home, a neat and tidy cottage overlooking the harbour. ‘This is a nice place,’ I said, as I assisted him from the car.

‘Wouldn’t be bad if I owned it, laddie,’ he replied. ‘It’s one of life’s lessons—never put all your savings in one basket, and don’t invest with borrowed capital if you can’t afford to lose it. I lost everything, including my home. We rent this
one, and that’s not a good idea when you’re trying to live on a pension.’

‘Well, I hope your wife can be talked into shifting,’ I said, as Sam walked towards the gate.

‘Just leave her to me!’

I smiled, turned the car around, and headed for home.

The telephone’s shrill bleat broke the silence. I tried to focus on my bedside clock, but my eyes wouldn’t adjust. Someone else answered it, so I rolled over to regain my previous unconscious state, wondering who it might have been. I didn’t have to wait long to find out, as Dad burst through the door.

‘Come on, Ben, wake up! Sam wants to bring his wife up here to see the cottage, and I’ve got a business meeting this morning, so you’ll have to pick them up.’

Mic and Mum were in the kitchen discussing a shopping expedition when I arrived for breakfast. ‘How did you sleep?’ I inquired.

Mic smiled. ‘The bed’s a bit softer than I’m used to, but I’ll cope.’

‘I’m picking up Sam and his wife at ten to come and have a look at the cottage.’

‘Good!’ Mum replied. ‘I’ll leave you some morning tea. Mic and I have some serious shopping to do!’

I looked at Mic. ‘Mum’s been looking for a partner in crime for years!’

Sam and his wife were sitting on the porch when I arrived, and he quickly bundled her into the car. After the introductions, I
got the feeling she was a little hesitant, but he was determined to change her mind.

‘It’s very nice of you to come and pick us up just to have a look at
Erewhon
, dear,’ she said, as she adjusted her coat and got comfortable.

Sam got into the front seat alongside me and winked as he put his seatbelt on.

‘No worries,’ I replied, wondering if Sam had told her the purpose of the outing.

We chatted about
Erewhon
, and I quickly realised that if Dad was passionate about her, he was just mildly interested compared with Sam.

Millicent, or Millie as she asked me to call her, confirmed Sam’s passion and the fact that he’d never stopped talking about the wonderful yacht he’d had a hand in building all those years ago. As we turned off towards our place, she suddenly sat up and started to take notice of where she was.

‘Sam, you didn’t tell me we were coming out
here
!’

‘I thought you might be surprised.’

Millie turned to me. ‘I was born and raised around here,’ she said, with obvious delight. Her voice climbed another octave as I turned into our drive.

‘This was my dad’s farm!’

Sam laughed at his wife’s excitement as we drew up at the house.

‘We used to have a cottage over there,’ she pointed, ‘behind those fruit trees. My, how they’ve grown. My dad planted them.’

Millie got out of the car like an excited schoolgirl, her arthritic joints forgotten, and took off in the direction of the cottage. She stopped as she rounded the trees, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘How did you know?’ she called, staring at the little house. She grabbed my arm as we got closer. ‘Can
we have a little look inside?’ she asked. She stepped onto the porch and sat down on the swing-seat that hung lazily from the verandah roof.

‘How did you know, Sam?’

‘I didn’t, love. I had an idea from what you’d told me about it, but I wasn’t sure.’

I produced the key for the door and opened it. ‘Let’s have a look inside,’ I suggested.

Millie rocked back and forth, gathering her thoughts, then raised her arm, and I gently assisted her from the seat. She took the few steps to the door and took a deep breath as she stepped in. ‘Oh, it’s just as I remember it!’ she exclaimed. I released my grip on her arm, and she glided from room to room. The aroma of fresh scones wafted from the tiny kitchen as we entered the back half of the house. Mum and Mic had laid morning tea out on the kitchen table.

Millie sat down and soaked up the atmosphere. ‘This is quite wonderful!’ she announced. Mum had left the coffee pot on the stove, and the teapot and a caddy of loose tea were on the bench beside it.

‘Tea or coffee?’ I asked.

‘I think I’d like coffee on this special occasion,’ Millie replied.

‘Same for me,’ Sam added.

‘That’s good,’ I responded. ‘I never remember how many spoons of tea you’re supposed to put in.’

Millie chuckled. ‘I use teabags myself.’

A few minutes went by as we drank our coffee in silence. There didn’t seem any need to make conversation. Suddenly Millie sat bolt upright. ‘Sam Baverstock, what are you up to? There’s more to this lovely morning than you’ve been telling me!’

Sam drew a deep breath. ‘Well, old girl, how would you like
to come and live here, in the cottage?’

Millie sat back in the chair. ‘And?’

‘And what, dear?’

‘I want to hear the other part of the deal.’

Sam knew better than to try and dupe his wife. ‘Well, petal, I’ve been offered a job, and the cottage is part of the deal.’

‘Don’t you petal me, you old fool. You’re supposed to be retired.’

‘I know, love, but I can’t resist this job. It’s very special!’

‘And where do we live once you’ve finished this job?’

‘Dad said you could have the cottage for as long as you like,’ I chimed in.

‘I need time to think this through,’ she said.

I swallowed the last of my coffee and got up from the table. ‘I’ll leave you two alone to talk. There’s no hurry.’

Millie smiled as I left, and Sam winked. I wandered over to the barn and sat down on a drum, surveying
Erewhon
’s lines. The hull, apart from the gaping hole, was in perfect symmetry, her graceful lines belying her age.

I was pottering around the workbench when I heard voices at the door. I turned to find Sam and Millie there. Sam lovingly ran his eyes over
Erewhon
’s graceful form, but Millie, with her feet more firmly on the ground, recognised a lot of hard work.

‘You’ll never be able to do all that by yourself,’ she said.

I wandered over to join in the conversation. ‘His job will be more of an overseer. Dad will get him all the staff he needs.’

‘You obviously don’t know my husband—he never delegates anything!’