How To Be Brave

by Louise Beech

  ‘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.

  ‘Might still be more,’ said Colin, hopeful.

  There were. Throughout the day more men joined them, making fourteen in total, all confined to a space designed for a dozen. Some were picked up from the sea during the afternoon, barely alive. Some were found clinging to another slowly sinking craft. All were cold and scared but able to find the strength to come aboard. All were greeted with joy, despite each of them meaning less water per man, less food, less room.

  And then, as though they’d followed in the wake of the rescued men, tins of water and milk tablets and Bovril floated past too and were quickly retrieved.

  By nightfall they knew the chance of finding anyone else was slim. The small crew was all that was left of the fifty-seven men who’d left Cape Town weeks earlier on the SS Lulworth Hill. Wordlessly they settled down to sleep, heads resting on one another’s shoulders, not enough room to lie down.

  And so the first day on the raft ended as it had begun; more crowded but still with a sky full of stars.

  10

  SMALL THINGS

  Have been expecting to be rescued today but no luck. Not a thing seen.

  K.C.

  After a day of stories Rose slept soundly. But she asked endless questions before climbing into bed. Was it okay if she liked Colin and Ken best because she’d met them first, just as she’d met Hannah and Jade first at infant school and so stuck with them since then? How old was Colin? How soon would he be saved? And was she really not at school tomorrow?

  I responded as best I could. I said, yes, I supposed it was fine to like them best; Colin was twenty-one; and yes, she had to stay home. The rescue question I said I wouldn’t answer.

  ‘In a good story rescue never comes quickly’ was all I said.

  At this she seemed to suddenly remember I was the enemy, the one who cut her finger ends and injected her flesh, and she turned the other way and pulled the duvet up over her head.

  ‘You’re still making the story easy,’ she said. ‘But I’m glad you said bastards.’

  ‘Well, it’s how the men would have spoken.’

  ‘Keep it like that,’ she said.

  Silence again.

  ‘Do you want to read one of your books again?’ I asked her.

  From under the covers I made out, ‘Won’t be about Grandad Colin.’

  I supposed the fictional tales Rose had once enjoyed might now pale in comparison. I’d hoped to reignite her love of books while getting her to have injections but maybe I’d done the opposite. Still I suggested she put War Horse beneath her pillow just in case, but she grunted and I was dismissed.

  I’d upheld my side of the bargain; I’d tried to be the storyteller, attempted to make magic, perhaps distracted her from diabetes.

  As I headed to the door she lifted her head and said, ‘Anyway, I can just ask him when he’s rescued’

  I frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘Grandad Colin,’ she said. ‘He’ll tell me.’

  ‘How will you …’

  But Rose had disappeared again. She faked a snoring sound, which made me smile. In her deepest slumber she never snored; she sometimes shouted and occasionally flapped her arms about but otherwise her night habits were gentle, quiet, childlike.

  ‘Remember when he told you to go to the shed?’ I’d tried asking her about that day often and she’d remained mute. ‘How did he tell you?’

  Rose ignored me, continued fake snoring.

  ‘You said he came to see you in the dark. Did you mean when you were awake or maybe in your dreams?’

  No answer.

  ‘Because I think I used to see him when I was little,’ I said. ‘And he came to talk to me when you were at the hospital. He sat with me while I waited. I didn’t know it was Colin then. I still don’t really know if I imagined it all.’

  The fake snoring stopped but the shape beneath the duvet didn’t move.

  ‘I guess somehow he’s here,’ I said.

  I think Rose fell asleep then.

  I went back to my room but didn’t turn any lights on; I always saw better in the dark. After the day’s storytelling I was wide-awake, buzzing the way an actor must after a sell-out play. Suddenly, and despite my dread at mentioning Rose’s suspension, I longed to share it with Jake. I wished I could tell him I was more hopeful about coping until his return because I’d found something Rose was interested in. My heart sank; it would likely be weeks until he rang.

  It occurred to me with sudden clarity that Jake must feel like Colin had on his boat. Surrounded by a platoon of men who’d no doubt now be firm friends, Jake must still miss home and at times feel alone in that strange land. While his tour of Afghanistan was supposed to last six months, there was always a chance that this could change. Like Colin, he’d never know when rescue might occur. Orders from high up didn’t care about feelings, about homesickness or about wives having temper tantrums. Colin had endured sharks and ruthless heat and not enough water; landmines and gunfire were Jake’s daily dangers, what might prevent him making it home.

  In comparison, it was easy for me. At least I could escape if I wanted. I could walk to the countryside, visit my dad, call my mum, get a book from the library, or have coffee with Vonny.

  I remembered the first time Jake went away – six years before, to the Falklands. Then I’d done all those things. Vonny had taken me and Rose, then only three, to stay at her mum’s villa in Tenerife. We’d sunbathed and caught colourful fish in rock pools and browsed quaint markets for gifts. I’d felt guilty that Jake was working while I had fun. I’d argued when he rang. I’d sworn that it was his fault he was away. I’d thoughtlessly rebuffed his suggestions of having someone stay with me, and I’d hung up on him twice.

  In the dark, I realised with sudden light
that being here with diabetes was not as bad as being away from it. I could conquer it face to face. Jake had to worry and wonder without the reassurance of seeing efforts take effect. I should make sure he returned to sanctuary after battle, to a strong woman after wounded men. To safety.

  Get a grip, I thought. Your house is a disgusting mess, woman. You haven’t washed your hair in four days. Pull yourself together. Fight better. Fight like Colin had to, like Jake does every day. Like your daughter is.

  I tidied the house. What example was I setting Rose by being so lazy while expecting her to manage diabetes? I washed pots that had been soaking since Monday. I picked up damp towels and three piles of dirty laundry and put them in the washer. I watered limp plants, polished dust-caked furniture, emptied bins, threw out newspapers and discarded food wrappers, mopped kitchen tiles, and vacuumed. It felt good; I was purged.

  In the book nook I fluffed up the cinnamon cushions and dusted the shelf top and books. On the floor was Colin’s diary. I picked it up, sat in a cushion and sniffed the old pages. It was hard now to remember exactly the details of his face in the hospital. I’d not taken as much notice as I should have. Hindsight made me wish I’d listened more closely to all he’d said, studied him harder.

  The writing inside his diary took me back to my childhood scribbled notes; I used to find comfort in jotting down thoughts. It was as though they somehow took better shape. A love of words had come down the generations, like a river through various countries; from Colin and his secret diary, to my father, an occasional songwriter, to my childhood scribbles, to Rose with her love of books.

  I let a page fall open and Colin spoke to me, answered a question I didn’t even know I’d posed.

  You think there’s weakness in it but I learned out there on the sea that asking for help is fine. I asked God for all manner of things while I tried to sleep to the sound of ailing men and angry ocean. I asked Him for things I knew He’d never be able to deliver and then cursed Him for proving me right. Wasn’t even sure I really believed? Never had before and today I’m even less sure. John Arnold told us, Ask and Ye Shall Receive. I realised maybe the asking was wrong. Ask for what you might receive and then you will. Drove me half mad thinking about it. So I asked for small things – small things a simple man might deserve. And looking back now, I suppose He delivered.