How To Be Brave (8 page)

‘For God’s sake, let’s just see Mrs White first.’ I guided her firmly out of the toilets. ‘You’ll have to say sorry to the boy if they want you to,’ I said, adding quickly when she reacted with a scowl, ‘but I’ll make sure they know what he’s been saying to you first.’

Children swarmed past us, heading for whichever classroom or hall they were supposed to attend. Mrs White opened her office door and ushered us inside, expression grim, glasses clinging on. We sat, separated from her by an orderly desk where files had been placed on one side of the computer screen and a keyboard on the other. I used to be that tidy; I used to keep my house beautifully clean.

‘Rose is sorry for hurting the child – Bradley, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘But I would like you to know that he’s been bullying her since she came back to school, saying some rather vile and upsetting things. Obviously if he’s sorry we can put it behind us and move on.’

Next to me, Rose fidgeted and picked her nose, looking everywhere but at Mrs White.

‘I’m sure you’ll understand that I cannot permit vigilantism in my school,’ said Mrs White. ‘Rose should have come to one of her teachers and we could have dealt with Bradley in an appropriate manner. Taking the law into her own hands and using violence is not the answer.’

‘I understand that,’ I said, trying to keep my voice even. ‘But children don’t always have the courage to speak up when being bullied. She only reacted so angrily because he said she’s going to die. Can’t you have a little compassion and see that Rose has recently been diagnosed with a serious medical condition and is still coming to terms with it?’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’ said Mrs White. ‘All of my staff have been understanding and helpful with this, as have I. But I cannot excuse violence, nor, of course, the theft.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I snapped. Rose stopped fidgeting. ‘You’re going to call it theft? I pay for her school lunches! She just had it a bit early. Not to be condoned, I agree, but diabetes can make you hungry at random moments.’

‘Didn’t Rose have snacks with her?’ asked Mrs White.

I looked at Rose. She nodded, said softly, ‘I ate them all at playtime.’

‘Look,’ I said. ‘The diabetes nurse told us Rose will be hungry for weeks while her body gets back to normal. She can’t help wanting to eat. It’s not just like when you or I feel hungry.’

Mrs White closed her eyes before speaking and clasped her hands in front of her on the desk as if to prevent them from strangling me. ‘I understand all of this, I do. But I cannot bend the rules for one child and not for another. Violence and theft are serious issues. So I have no choice but to suspend Rose from school for a week. I ask that you take her home now. Extra work will be forwarded to you.’

‘That’s it?’ I was stunned; it was all I could think to say.

‘It might do Rose good,’ said her head teacher. ‘She can recover fully at home, take some time to deal with her new situation, and then come back to school feeling a lot better.’

‘She already had time off,’ I said. ‘What if I want her
here
? It’s better for her to be with friends than sitting at home thinking about diabetes?’

‘Clearly she needs
more
time away,’ said Mrs White.

‘Oh, don’t make out now that you’re doing this to be kind,’ I snapped.

‘My only concern is for my pupils,’ she insisted.

I stood up. ‘Right, if that’s it, we shall be on our way.’ I helped Rose up. ‘I will be taking this to someone higher than you, I can assure you of that. I’m not sure of your policy on disability but I doubt it allows discrimination. Rose will return when your school learns a little sensitivity in handling a child with a very serious medical condition. You’ll be hearing from me.’

With as much dignity as I could manage, I guided Rose out of the office and closed the door softly, before marching her down the corridor to the exit. She fidgeted out of my grip and bounced alongside me, asking over and over if she had now left school forever. I shook my head, more to loosen my anger than to negate Rose. Thank God Jake probably wouldn’t be ringing anytime soon; he’d only called a week ago so it might be a fortnight or more until the next time. How on earth would I tell him that she’d now been excluded from school?

No – I’d taken her out of school. Removed her because they didn’t understand the implications of diabetes. Made a stand against it. No. No that wasn’t it at all, and I knew it. I had taken the frustration at what was going on in my
own
life and rolled it into a ball and thrown it at the school? Was I excusing Rose too easily or standing up for her?

In the car I sat a moment. I wanted so badly to hit the steering wheel and shout
fuck
over and over, but I resisted. Rose always took the seat next to me when Jake was away, promoted to my other half. She watched me; emotion flickered behind her gilded irises. Was it admiration? Surprise? Confusion?

‘You
really
told Mrs White off!’ she grinned.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m not excusing that you pushed a boy over – that wasn’t nice. And I can’t condone you locking yourself in that toilet and causing a scene. So don’t think I’m happy about it. But I do think the school are being overly harsh.’

Once home Rose skipped about the place. My scene with Mrs White seemed to have lightened everything. Would it last? Had I done the right thing? How would this affect Rose’s education, her future?

At lunchtime she brought Colin’s diary to me, holding it reverently with her thin fingers. ‘You promised,’ she said.

‘We need to read your blood then,’ I said.

Her eyes clouded over. That part of the bargain had been forgotten in the excitement and I felt terrible reminding her that this wasn’t merely the fun sharing of a fairy tale.

She brought the diabetes box and I followed her to the book nook. Grey clouds had swallowed the sun, and the corner was gloomy. On opposite cushions we faced each other. I prepared the finger pricker, and she opened and closed her fist. I’d read that this makes blood circulate more freely, so it flows better.

Neither of us spoke.

I pierced her fingertip; she cried out. Quickly I opened a random page and read the neat handwriting there; we’d not agreed to select words that way but it felt somehow right, somehow fated, and Rose didn’t argue.

I used to see my mother at night sometimes. In the dark I’d look at the shadowy heaps – the other lads, what was left of them – and wonder if they longed for their mothers too. The younger ones cried out for them. Only eighteen some, so no wonder. I used to wonder if her name came from my mouth when I slept. Might’ve been embarrassed if I’d had the energy. Grown men aren’t supposed to want their mums, are they? Not a great lunk like me anyway. I still saw myself that way – big lunk. But I knew from looking around me during the day that I couldn’t be. Used to see my own physique in the other lads’ skinny frames. They were my mirrors. Horrible mirrors they were. Horrible, horrible
.

‘Don’t stop,’ said Rose, when I did.

‘You need to eat something.’ I closed the diary carefully, my heart swollen with sadness. Perhaps I didn’t have the easier side of our trade after all. Sharing this story might break me. ‘Eat now and we’ll do your injection.’

‘Let me look at the book,’ she said, reaching out. ‘How far in was this bit? What happened just before? Where was …’

‘No, let’s wait. Let’s do it one bit at a time. Like we said.’

‘I never agreed to do it like that,’ she cried. ‘All out of order and stupid.’

‘Don’t you think it’s a good idea?’ I held the diary to my chest. ‘Random. Like when you throw a dice. I’ll tell you the big story in the right order as it only works that way, but maybe at lunchtime when we look at Colin’s own words we should let the pages open. Like maybe he’s picking them.’

Rose considered it. I could tell she pretended to think long and hard so I’d know it was actually an awful idea I’d had and that she was very gracious to permit it. She nodded then and looked at the diabetes box.

‘So another page with my injection?’ she urged.

I agreed. She remained in the book nook while I made ham sandwiches. I wondered who I would most long for if I were lost at sea. As though reading my mind, Rose called, ‘I reckon people only want their mums cos they grew in their tummies. But anyone can love you. You don’t have to be born out of them or in the same family. What about friends?’

‘Friends are important,’ I said. ‘Some people reckon they’re the family you choose – which I kind of like.’

I sat cross-legged on the opposite cushion with her sandwiches.

‘I’m ready,’ Rose said, offering up her thigh. White flesh was marked with bruises; some fresh, some older, all small, like a dot-to-dot puzzle not yet solved. And I had no choice but to add another. After pushing the milky insulin into her skin, I grabbed the diary.

‘Just any page?’ I asked, making sure.

‘Any page,’ she said.

I let one fall open and read aloud; like a backing singer Rose repeated the odd word in a whispery echo after it had emerged from my mouth.

The sea is full of life. You’re not really alone out there. If animals could talk you’d never want for conversation. We saw turtles and dolphins and whales – and of course the dreaded sharks. We saw shoals of fish so colourful you’d think you’d finally lost your mind and imagined them. I remember these great silver fish – maybe a foot in length – that liked to follow the raft. They stayed in our boat’s shadow, so maybe they liked our shade. Maybe they thought we in our strange vessel might offer protection from the bigger fish. Sometimes when I felt really rotten I wanted to shout at them that there was no point – we couldn’t help them or ourselves. We were just nobodies, floating on our boat, waiting for death
.

When I stopped, Rose said, ‘I told you animals are the best characters’ and then she disappeared upstairs.

We moved the rest of the afternoon as though to catch the other out. I hovered by her bedroom door, hoping she’d come out and ask what we might do together. When I went downstairs to make a cup of tea or answer the phone, she scurried along the landing to the toilet and then back to the sanctuary of her room. I didn’t like to knock in case it irritated her further.

How was I going to fill the days ahead between telling Colin’s story? Rose would
have
to go back to school. This was harder than being on my own, knowing my daughter occupied the same space and chose anything but my company. If she was at school I could at least pretend our relationship was how it had been before diabetes.

When we returned to the book nook at teatime, the morning’s playful and bouncy mood was gone. Rose didn’t bring the diabetes box and she sat on a different cushion to the one she’d occupied earlier, as though to tell me not to get complacent, to show that I wasn’t in charge of her. Once again she was the floppy, dead-eyed creature who had replaced my daughter.

I brought a plate of beef casserole to eat where we sat and then read her blood. She sucked her finger, scowling. The machine said her blood sugar was fifteen-point-nine so I injected her arm this time, and she ate her tea.

‘The story then,’ she demanded.

‘Okay, so … well, once upon a …’

‘What did I say about that?’ Rose pushed her plate away. ‘I won’t eat if you say once upon a time.’

‘Okay … um, well, Colin wasn’t alone for long,’ I said.

‘Really?’ Rose’s eyes shone. ‘Who’s coming? Who’s he found?’

‘Let’s go and find out,’ I said.

Then, just like that morning, I tried to make magic. From somewhere I found the story, and I tried to share it how Rose wanted.

We returned to the lifeboat, to the dark. And the diabetes box and the needles and Rose’s bleeding finger and bruised skin floated away, and the sound of the ocean swelled and rose around us, and Colin whistled, and I knew the words.

When Colin woke he thought perhaps he’d died. All he saw was a sky full of stars and he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t up there with them, heavenly. Then he felt the hard surface of the boat against his back and the cold spray of sea. An acute and sudden depression gripped his chest. He shook his head. He’d fight. So he sat up and looked about.

Still night. A half-moon emerged from the clouds as though making sure he was still there.
I am
, Colin thought. He wasn’t sure if the thought came as relief or as regret. Any joy at surviving this far was dampened by the knowledge that it was no feat, that greater tests lay ahead.

After a while a sound different to the monotonous swish of the ocean rose over it. At first Colin thought he’d imagined it. Then he spotted a dark shape, perhaps ten yards from the boat. It moved, slowly, closer. A shark? Colin shrank back. No, the clumsy movement was too human.

‘Ahoy there!’ he called, joy making him tremble. ‘Can you hear me? Say something if you can! I can hardly see you! Hello there! Are you deaf?’

The shape came closer.

‘Hold on,’ called Colin. ‘Just hold on.’ He searched desperately in the blackness for oars and finding none he paddled with his hands, trying to close the distance between the boat and the shape as quickly as possible. By some luck, waves pushed the shape against the raft and Colin reached down to haul it in.

‘Do something to help, chum,’ he urged.

It took an age to get the dead weight into the vessel and when it was finally aboard Colin panted with labour. Then he rolled the shape over and peered into a familiar face. It was Kenneth Cooke, the ship’s carpenter.

‘It’s you, Chippy.’ It was the affectionate nickname the crew had often used. ‘Thank God.’

Now safe, Ken passed out. Colin wrapped his body around his mate to warm and revive him. He rubbed his hands and feet, and encircled his chest with his arms to share what little body heat he had.

Ken had been aboard the
Lulworth Hill
since her voyage began in Hull. Though not particularly close, the two men had mutual respect for one another, and Colin could not have wished for a more sturdy and reliable man to have as companion and fellow passenger now.

‘Thank God,’ he repeated. ‘I thought I might be on me own for the long haul. I imagined a very lonely fight, chum.’

Colin began to whistle. His melancholy song pierced the night. It must have roused Ken for he stirred, shook his head and murmured something unintelligible.

‘Am I ever glad to see you,’ said Colin.

‘Oh, I am too,’ rasped Ken.

‘I thought the current was gonna take you the other way.’

‘Colin Armitage?’ Ken sat up with effort. ‘I thought it was you, lad. Couldn’t be happier to see you. Good to hear a Hull accent.’ He paused, looked out across the black ocean. ‘Did it really happen?’

‘It did,’ said Colin softly.

‘Have you seen anyone else?’

‘Not since she sank.’

‘I jumped off the bow – how about you?’

‘Same,’ said Colin. ‘We must’ve been minutes apart.’

Ken sat up straight suddenly. ‘I saw the enemy sub that sunk us,’ he cried, as though remembering.

‘You did?’ Colin frowned.

‘Yes.’ Ken spoke grimly. ‘I was in the water with the ship’s gunner, name of Hull funnily enough. There were three red lights flickering, so we swam towards them. I thought I was delirious. Then a white light blinded me. Thought I’d met my maker, I tell you. But it was a sub. Not one of ours. German. Oh, my heart sank. But I thought, well, better than nowt. And I scrambled aboard.’ Ken paused, shivering violently.

Colin huddled closer to him, said, ‘Come on, Chippy, rest now. Talking’s exhausting you.’

Ken shrugged him off, cried angrily, ‘No, let me! I might not remember it all tomorrow. These men came out and Gunner Hull got taken inside. The Captain spotted me. He spoke good English and asked lots of questions; what cargo were we carrying, how many crew, what was my rank. I answered truthfully. What was the point in not? He said Gunner Hull was a soldier and they’d taken him prisoner. But I was a civilian and I should die.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Colin. ‘It was a
German
ship?

‘Of course I’m sure. And so he went inside. I heard the diesels start up and I knew they would submerge again, with me and other chaps still on board. I hung on as long as I could. One poor chap got cut in half by the propellers.’ Ken covered his ears and face in agony. ‘I’ll hear his scream as long as I live.’

He paused and Colin opened his mouth to offer some sort of comfort but Ken pushed him off and continued. ‘Then I was in the water again, exhausted. Heard the screams of those around me, injured, calling about sharks. I swam and swam and eventually there you were. Was I glad? So how did
you
get here?’

Colin recounted his story. ‘This beauty,’ he concluded, touching the boat’s edge, ‘almost knocked me out. Like she’d been waiting to pick me up.’

‘Sometimes the sea takes, sometimes it delivers.’ Ken settled against the wood, spent now.

Colin did the same, said, ‘Aye.’

They leaned against one another again. Excitement gave way to exhaustion. Joy at discovering one another settled into weary acceptance. They would think about maps and plans and food and water and rescue and finding others tomorrow. Neither said this; it was an unspoken oath.

The moon ended her shift and the horizon shimmered with gold promise. Lulled by the boat’s gentle motion, the two men slept on and off. Only when the sun’s warmth touched Colin’s face did he wake. How glad he was for the light. How different the sea looked now rippled with green and turquoise and ochre in the morning glow. On the ship he’d never got this close to it. Thirst and hunger abated a little with dawn’s hope.

Perhaps they’d find others today.

Now he could fully see the boat that had been his saviour in the dark. She was about twelve foot by eight, had two masts – one at either end – and a steering oar at the back. Benches lined the edges, and two crossed the middle. Her sides were slab with a flat foredeck, while the well was deep and protected by canvas dodgers. He had polished and painted these crafts many times but never really believed one would become his home.

Colin wondered how she had come to be floating so far from the ship. How had she come to be at all? He guessed that some lifeboats had been freed before the
Lulworth Hill
sank. Or he could have swum in circles last night for all he knew and ended up near where he began.

Ken woke then, sat up and licked dry lips. ‘Anything to drink, lad?’

Colin shoved him roughly. ‘Shake a leg and let’s see what’s what.’ He was afraid of how little they might find but didn’t say so.

‘I know there’s food and water on here cos I’ve checked every week for three months,’ said Ken. ‘She’s a good boat, you know.’

‘I know,’ said Colin. ‘How do you reckon she got here?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I didn’t think they managed to release any lifeboats.’

‘One or two,’ said Ken. ‘Not sure if anyone was in ’em though.’

They rummaged around, pulled out tins and boxes from beneath the seats and piled them up in the middle. There appeared to be plenty of water, a good few Horlicks tablets, some Bovril squares, lots of ship-issue biscuits, and chocolate too. There were two tins of distress flares and three smoke floats, which might be even bigger lifesavers.

Colin saw then the familiar inscription painted on the gunnel:
To carry twelve men
. He knew that most of them had room for a dozen while some small ones held six.

‘Seems there’s plenty of grub,’ he said.

‘Depends how long we’re on here,’ said Ken ruefully.

‘Aye,’ said Colin. ‘And how many others we pick up.’

They looked at one another, grim and knowing. The more survivors, the better. But with more men came more appetites. More thirst. More needs. Provisions wouldn’t go very far amongst ten or more men.

Ken eyed a water tin. ‘Should we have a drink now?’

The thought of it made Colin dreadfully thirsty but he wondered if they shouldn’t wait. Who knew how long it might be before they were picked up or saw land?

As though hearing his concerns, Ken said, ‘We’ll wait; let’s get through today.’

They packed away the tins and sat at opposite ends of the craft, moods bleak again with the knowledge of how desperate their situation was. Both were more than able seaman but they longed for their captain to take charge.

Colin thought of whistling but his parched throat hurt too much. He stared out over the ocean, mesmerised by its swirling currents and harsh rhythm. Just when he found a pattern in the waves, they changed. The ocean seduced and promised – and then tricked.

To the east Colin saw something moving. He stood and shaded his eyes and stared harder. Two black shadows, waving. Two men standing, somehow, out in the middle of the sea.

‘There’s two blokes!’ he cried. ‘Look, Ken!’

Ken joined him. ‘
Ahoy there
! Can you hear us? They’re waving; I think they see us too. Can we get to them do you think?’

Colin squinted. ‘They’re too far. It’s just a plank they’re on. Maybe a hatch cover. They’ll drift if we don’t get there.’

‘Try the steering oar!’ cried Ken.

‘I am, I am!’ Colin grabbed it and tried to manoeuvre the boat, but it wouldn’t budge.

‘The wind might guide us if we’re lucky,’ said Ken.

‘There’s no bloody wind! The sails are barely moving.’

Ken shoved Colin, impatient. ‘Let me try.’

‘You won’t do it,’ snapped Colin. ‘It’s useless!’

Ken pulled on it, swearing with frustration.

Colin called out to the far away men, hoping to give comfort. ‘Ahoy there! Can you hear us! Can you row towards us?’

He was sure they had grown smaller.

‘Damned thing!’ Ken abandoned the steering oar and tried paddling with his hands. Colin joined him and they worked frantically in unison. But the two men grew smaller and smaller. Ken flopped down on the wooden floor, exhausted, but Colin continued waving and calling out.

‘Stop it will you?’ snapped Ken. ‘We can’t steer this thing and the current’s taking them the other way.’

‘But we can’t just do nowt.’

‘There’s nowt to be done!’

‘I won’t give up.’ Colin watched the two shadows fade.

‘Fight’s pointless. They’re bloody gone.’

Reluctantly, Colin sat next to Ken. ‘How long will they survive on that plank?

‘Not long,’ said Ken. ‘Sharks will get ’em.’

‘I can’t bear to think of it. Christ, I hate sharks.’

‘Every seaman hates sharks.’

Colin put his head in his hands. Would it be the sharks? Or the sun? Or would they drown after they could no longer stand up? He shouldn’t let it torment him. What was the point when it couldn’t be changed?

Dejected, the two men lolled against the boat edge. The sun rose higher in a cloudless sky. Its heat was unbearable in the absence of water or a mug of tea. Three dolphins swam past but they didn’t notice. Colin closed his eyes and tried not to think of his mother receiving news that the ship had sunk, its crew presumed dead. Would she believe it? Or would she somehow know otherwise and sense him here, alive on a lifeboat? Would Colin’s father console her or insist hope was futile? They would think of Stan, that much was true. Colin reproached himself for being glum. What was the good in it? Whining was soft; he had to be tough.

After a time he looked at his watch, laughed mirthlessly. ‘How stupid. It’s stopped of course.’

Kenneth looked at his. ‘Mine too,’ he said. ‘At 3.40. Must’ve been the moment she sank.’

Colin unfastened his and laid it on the boat edge; Kenneth did also. Neither had the heart to dispose of them, useless as they were. Time would now be guessed by the sun’s position. By their hunger.

‘We should dry our shirts while the sun’s strong,’ Colin said after a moment.

‘Good thinking, lad.’

They took off them off and lay them on the deck.

‘Not too long or we’ll burn,’ said Ken.

‘Reckon they’ll dry in minutes,’ said Colin ‘We could cook an egg on the deck. I could just eat a nice juicy egg. Lightly cooked, with a mug of tea. Lovely.’

Kenneth groaned. ‘Don’t, lad.’

They leaned back, closed their eyes, and soaked up the sun’s rays a moment. Colin opened his after a while, not sure what had made him do so, and looked straight at a boat on the horizon.

He jumped up, cried, ‘Look Chippy, to the west! Do you see – a small boat.’

Ken joined him. ‘One of ours! The current’s sending it this way!’

Colin waved, called joyfully, ‘Ahoy there! Ahoy there!’

Ken waved too. ‘How many aboard?’

‘I don’t know – a few, I reckon.’

Ken looked to the sails. ‘The wind’s got up – it’s taking us towards them.’

‘They’re using the oar.’ Colin shaded his eyes to view better. ‘Steering this way. They’re going to make it!’

The glittering blue gap between the two vessels grew smaller.

‘I see Weekes!’ cried Colin. He was the engineer’s mate, a young and likeable man with a jovial disposition, known for practical jokes. When mood was grim aboard the
Lulworth Hill
and thoughts of home weighed heavy, he could be relied on to lighten the load. ‘Thank God for Weekes. We need a chap like him.’

‘And I think there’s Platten and Young Fowler!’ cried Ken.

They whooped their joy, and the crew in the second boat echoed the sentiment. As it approached, the three men aboard were grinning broadly.

‘We thought it was gonna be just us!’ cried Weekes. ‘Thank God for you pair of bastards!’

Colin hauled him aboard and slapped him on the back. ‘And the same to you,’ he said.

Though they made jokes, each man was relieved to have found the others. Weekes, Platten and Fowler came aboard. They tied the smaller second boat to the first; it would serve as a storage space.

‘You see anyone else?’ asked Ken.

‘Just you,’ said Young Fowler, sinking into the boat’s well. He was a young cabin boy and looked barely fifteen.