The Boat (13 page)

Clem on the other hand had a wonder and new lightness in her heart. She stood in the cockpit looking up at the moon. She stayed up there for a while; she wasn’t remotely tired. Quite the reverse, she felt exhilarated. Somewhere inside her, near her core, she could feel a fluttering, like wings taking flight, as if something contained was being set free. She stared up at the billions and zillions of stars and understood for the first time her connection with them, with the whole universe. There was no
otherness
; separation was an illusion. She knew with a certainty that she was just a part of all this, the same elements that formed her made up everything. She felt capable of absolutely anything. She took a deep breath of the clear night air, of the stardust, and hoped that she would remember this feeling. She needed to share it with Johnny or write it down. She came hurrying back down from the cockpit and began getting undressed in the saloon, unable to think of quite the right words to describe her feelings; besides, he was lying on his back looking away from her. She climbed into bed but he didn’t turn around so she snuggled in close, tucking his arm around her. But still he didn’t respond.

‘What’s the matter, Robin Hood?’ she whispered.

‘Nothing.’ He was meant to say,
Nothing, Maid Marion
, but he couldn’t. He felt distant from her. He couldn’t feign warmth. What he really wanted was for her to apologize for something she wouldn’t understand that she had done. He was as immobile as was possible; it was all he could think of to do until he worked out what was going on inside his mind.

‘Something’s wrong,’ she said, leaning up on her elbow, worried.

Johnny kept quiet until he heard her sigh and lie back down. Then he turned his head away from her a little and tried not to make a sound, tried to be invisible. But it was no good. ‘Do you fancy Frank?’ he whispered, as casually as a whisper of such a nature could be whispered.

There was a brief pause and then he heard the swish as she turned her head sharply to face him. ‘What are you talking about?’ And he felt small and stupid. ‘Are you jealous?’ She sounded surprised, even a little bit pleased, she had never known him jealous before.

‘I’m not jealous,’ he said. ‘Why would I be jealous?’ Then he gave a little laugh at the outrageousness of the idea. ‘You just seemed really flirty, that’s all.’

‘Flirty?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, his tone implying that everyone had noticed her embarrassing behaviour.

‘I wasn’t flirty.’ He was spoiling everything. All that wonder and magic she had felt not a moment ago on deck was now gone. Slowly she turned around, away from him.

He hadn’t wanted it to go like this. It was his fault. He wished he didn’t love her so utterly; he felt like a great gaping sore she could chuck salt on. He sighed heavily hoping she could read all his complicated and conflicting thoughts with that one exhalation. Jealousy was an ugly, repulsive thing that should lurk in the shadows. He turned his face away and felt her move round to face him: a kindness he didn’t deserve.

‘I’m sorry, Clem,’ he said and she forgave him immediately and moved down a little and rested her head against his chest. After a while she began to lightly run her fingers through the hairs on his chest. He shut his eyes and tried to lose himself in her touch. She lifted her head and put her hand on his face, turning him towards her, and she kissed the hollow beneath his cheekbone where her lips fitted; then she kissed his lips, which he resisted for a second or two, just to punish her a bit before giving in. Then she began to kiss him with an urgency to let him know that she was his. She knew just what he needed; she was going to make love to him.

‘Hang on,’ she said, pulling away, and he watched as she got up, her lovely body silver in the moonshine. She rummaged around amongst all her bits and bobs that lived in the zip pockets of the sail bag and pulled out a cassette and held it up to him. It was her Otis tape.

She knelt on the seat as she worked out how to operate the tape machine on the shelf opposite, her bottom cheeks looking as ripe and edible as a peach. Already his desire began to outweigh the jealousy. He doubled up the cushion beneath his head to appreciate her: the contours of her body, the smoothness of her back, the white tan line around her buttocks like living marble, swaying slightly in the flashes of moonlight. Then Otis began, ‘These Arms of Mine’. She was so obsessed with this song she had recorded it on a loop and it played for forty-five minutes. She turned the volume up as far as she dared, aware of the others sleeping, and slowly she began to sway her shoulders in time with his haunting voice.

She gave Johnny a little throwaway glance over her shoulder – a sit-back-and-enjoy-me smile. As she leant back her head, the coils of her hair falling down her back, she looked unearthly to him, like God’s very own blueprint for beauty. Then she began to move with the music, her body responding to every mournful Otis pang. This dance was purely for him, to tell him that she was all his, and as he made himself comfortable to enjoy her; he felt her love go through him like a tonic, the antidote to that bile. He could feel the remnants of his jealousy being washed away by his lust. He was gagging for her. He loved her more than he had ever loved her, as much as any lover had ever loved.

Sometimes he found sex almost too intense. He felt as if he might burst when he was inside of her, as she sat straddled across his lap; surely no human being could survive such extremes. It didn’t seem possible to love another person this entirely without shattering into a million pieces.

‘Slowly, Clem,’ he said, gripping those peachy cheeks, feeling her teeth on his shoulder, her gasps in his ear, and he could bear the pleasure no longer.

That was then when he saw the glint of an eye in the little gap between the panels of the dividing door. The moonshine swung across it. Johnny drew in a breath sharply and his body froze but the eye disappeared in a flash before he could be
absolutely
certain.

The sky was overcast on the second morning, just like the first, and there was a faint breeze in the air. They breakfasted in the cockpit; the setting was so solitary and tranquil it was hard to believe that they would ever come across civilization again. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of the water against the hull and the constant chirruping of the crickets over on the hills. They were probably about fifty yards off the rocky shore. Everyone was so at ease with each other that Johnny had begun to wonder whether he had imagined someone watching them making love the previous night. It seemed quite absurd now in the clear light of morning.

Annie was peering through the binoculars, scouring the little bay slowly as if she were looking for something in particular. Clem was sitting on her prayer mat and had a fishing line thrown over the bows of the boat and Frank was teaching her how to fish. He and Smudge had risen early and rowed ashore to find insects for bait and returned with a cupful of dead flies and bugs.

Johnny and Smudge were sitting on the coachroof playing games. She was still wearing her Captain Hook jacket and nothing else. Johnny was distracted, keen to get the sails up, and kept looking over at the horizon to see if any more wind was coming their way; what wind there was blew in from the west and, having had another look at the useless chart, Johnny rather wanted to get going as he was now beginning to think that there was a possibility that they might not find a town for a good few days. Frank, however, was much more interested in fishing than sailing; he didn’t seem remotely bothered about the direction of the wind, or finding a village, he was quite content to motor from bay to bay exploring the coast, fishing and pootling around on the shore. His only agenda seemed to be whatever was going on in the moment; their plans were vague and sprawling – to reach southern Turkey before the summer.

Johnny was inventing a game with Smudge: Olympics, or Limpets
as
she called it. Gilla the grilla was exceptionally agile, an all-round competitor, and had reached the finals of every single sport and was now warming up for the diving finals. He hovered on the boom wearing Smudge’s goggles and the dolphin armbands and was preparing nervously for the big one: the triple twist backwards half-loop. Johnny had attached string to his arms and Gilla was in the process of a lengthy warm-up, bending and stretching to calm his nerves. Smudge thought Johnny’s commentary hilarious. She screamed with terror every time Gilla mustered up the nerve and tiptoed forwards along the boom and then she screamed with delight when the fear got the better of him and he’d have to pull out quaking and trembling as the paramedics saw to him. But this time he boldly flew into the air, leaping from the boom, twisting and turning into the sea. Smudge cheered and rushed to the guard rail and hauled him out, a little soggier and heavier.

‘And he’s got a perfect ten from all the judges!’ Johnny cried in his best commentator voice, pulling the string in. ‘Yes, siree, Gilla the Grilla has taken the gold for Great Britain!’ Smudge and he clapped and cheered before she leapt up and scurried below deck to get something.

‘You’ve got a little admirer there,’ Frank said, coming along the deck and bending down to rummage in the bucket for bait. ‘I think she’s got her first crush.’

Then Smudge reappeared in the companionway, holding out a gold coin of some sort attached to a ribbon, a great grin on her face. ‘Look! Gilla’s gold medal,’ she said proudly.

‘What’s this?’ Johnny asked her, taking it from her hand.

‘Daddy’s medal,’ she said, hauling herself back up on to the coachroof. ‘But it can be a Limpet medal too.’

Johnny looked over at Frank, who was bending the fish hook into shape in his enormous fingers. ‘Frank’s medal?’ Johnny repeated, looking down at its golden face, the profile of some King and Queen, four pale blue enamelled leaves coming off from the centre. There was writing inscribed around the edge; he turned it around in his hand to read it:
For God and the Empire.

‘What is it?’ Johnny asked Frank. ‘An OBE?’

‘Something like that,’ he said, concentrating hard on attaching a centipede to his hook.

‘The Queen gived it to him,’ Smudge said.

‘
Gave
it, Smudge,’ Frank said, biting the hook carefully between his teeth. ‘
Gave
it.’

‘The Queen
gave
it,’ she said. ‘Come on, Johnny. Let’s do the prizes.’

‘Wow! What for?’ Johnny said, turning it over in his hand. ‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing much. Just my job,’ Frank said disinterestedly, piercing the flesh of the centipede with a pop.

‘What was your job?’

‘A boring one,’ Smudge said, pulling at Johnny’s arm. ‘Come on, Johnny!’

Frank winked at his daughter. ‘The Met,’ he said, gently tugging at the centipede’s curled body. ‘I worked for the Met.’

Johnny stared at him, his mouth a perfect circle of surprise. ‘You’re a copper?’

‘
Was
.
Was
a copper. I got early retirement after a nasty incident with a ten-ton truck on the M4.’

‘Are you joking?’

‘No joke,’ he said, the centipede swinging in the air in a ball of death. Johnny searched Frank’s face for clues – a smile perhaps. But Frank was poker-faced.

‘I thought you were against the establishment and everything they stand for?’

‘And from what better place to challenge the order of things…’ He carefully flicked a bit of centipede gunk into the water with his toe and then turned to smile at Johnny. ‘… but from the inside?’

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the medal. ‘What did you get this for?’

‘Let’s just say I was good at getting people to open up.’ He wandered down the deck towards Clem. ‘It’s not a big deal, Johnny. The establishment’s approbation… it doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Then why did you accept it?’ Johnny called out after him.

Frank laughed as he flicked the line over the bows. ‘It would have been churlish not to,’ he said.

‘Why aren’t they biting?’ Johnny heard Clem ask as she leant over the boat looking down into the shallows beneath. She sounded different and he knew that she was all wide-eyed and freshly impressed by him; he could hear it in her voice.

‘Patience, Clem. All good things come to those who wait,’ Frank said, putting a finger to his lips.

Clem seemed to have forgotten all about green shirts and bad luck, quite happy to spend her time aboard the boat. Johnny knew he was being childish; they were having a wonderful, unexpected couple of days – even if they were doomed to have coppers in their lives.

‘There are berries over there!’

Johnny turned to the stern. He’d forgotten about Annie. She had put down her binoculars and was pointing up into the hills. ‘We could have some apple and blueberry pie for lunch.’ She smiled at him and then raised her voice at the others, ‘After the fish course, of course.’

‘Don’t hold your breath…’ Clem said out of the corner of her mouth as Frank cast the second line out into the water, chucking a handful of sweetcorn overboard, leaning back as he settled in for a wait.

By the time they had tidied things up and found Smudge’s other shoe and bags to put the berries in and a clean bottle to carry some water and watched Clem let several fish slip away, it was late morning before Annie, Smudge and Johnny climbed down into the little tender. It was an old boat and had a few bodged leaks along its faded white wooden planks; various corks from wine bottles had been shoved into holes. The bottom was wet but not uncomfortably so.

Johnny let his hand trail in the cool water as Annie rowed them ashore, the grey sky clearing now, evaporating into a weak, watery blue, changing the colour of the water before their eyes. There were plenty of fish down there; he turned and looked back at the boat.
The
Little Utopia
didn’t look so tubby from this low angle: she looked almost sweet. Frank was showing Clem how to cast a line; he was behind her, his arms around her, and it looked as if they were in some kind of embrace, their bodies locked together, and Johnny felt that same wash of bitterness pass through him. He looked at Annie; she was oblivious. He thought about what Frank had said, about choices, and he turned his back to the boat and made a better choice. Annie was watching him.