Against the Tide

by John Hanley

  At least we had showers at school and Saul’s apartment had everything the modern family needed, including central heating. So he’d given into Mum at last. Good for her. Two little bits of civilisation were about to invade the wilds of St Martin.

  ‘He’s taking me into Romerils to choose the suite, aren’t you, dear?’

  I’d like to be a fly on the wall when they were choosing. I pitied the salesman who would have to deal with them.

  ‘That’s enough. Don’t get too excited. We’re just getting the basics. No fancy colours and you’re not going to be prettying yourself up in there every day. The soakaway won’t cope with it.’ He sounded gruff enough but I suspected he was pleased to be able to afford to provide her dream at last. He’d die rather than show that though. One day I would understand him, perhaps.

  I looked at my watch and lied. ‘I have to get back to school for the match.’ I wanted to get the news about Fred and Malita to Rachel. I couldn’t wait until seven-thirty to see her again.

  ‘Take it easy, love, on that big bike.’

  Father slotted the bolt back into the rifle with a loud slap. His tone was harsh. ‘I don’t want to see that thing here again. Take it back to your uncle and leave it there. Use your own. You were quick enough to ask for the money to buy it.’

  Another example of his selective memory. I’d worked for every penny, but there was no point in arguing. I wanted to get away from him before we started fighting again.

  ‘I’ll get the bus home. See you later.’ I pecked Mum on the cheek, grabbed my cricket kit, to maintain the charade, and eased out of the door before he could complete the rifle’s assembly and start practising on me.

  17

  I checked the padlock on the back door. As far as I could see, no one had tampered with it. I didn’t want Malita to see the devastation in her home but felt that it would be unwise to clear it up. Fred might find some clues. I’d have to make sure I met him before he got home.

  I rode to the harbour to check the boat schedule. Because of the low tides, the Brittany was due in much earlier than I expected, at six-thirty. I’d have to meet Rachel from work at five, or she’d miss them. I couldn’t imagine he would come back from France by any other means.

  I didn’t want to spend any more time indoors and I didn’t feel like training. I could go and see Miko but he would be working. Of course, I could go and do some weeding for the widow, but I decided to head out west and have a bit of fun in the surf.

  No wind plus slack tide equalled no surf so I bought some suntan cream from the kiosk at Le Braye, changed into my costume and tried to toast myself to Nutty’s colour.

  Stretched out on the hot sand, I thought about Caroline and Rachel and engaged in the fruitless pursuit of comparing and scoring their attributes. I fell asleep before I got below their necks and was dreaming about tulips when some kindly soul prodded me awake, claiming she could smell burning flesh.

  I missed Rachel again. She’d be upset if she thought I hadn’t bothered to tell her and I didn’t want her wandering in just as Fred and Malita arrived at their devastated house. I knew her father wouldn’t have a telephone so I would have to go to her house. Perhaps I was being stupid again but I needed to see her, talk with her, touch her.

  Her father opened the door. I’d never been this close to him before. He was tall, broad, well-dressed and very grey. He filled the doorway. He didn’t look happy.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you, Mr Vibert, but is Rachel in?’

  He inspected me as he would a piece of timber infested with woodworm. He weighed his response. ‘Not for you.’ And shut the door.

  I stood there quivering with frustration and a growing rage. How bloody rude. He might bully his daughter but he wasn’t going to bully me. I banged on the door. I waited. I could hear raised voices. The door swung open and he stood there holding a walking stick. The greyness had gone. His face was now a vivid red.

  His voice held an anger far greater than mine. ‘The police have been. I do not want you to see my daughter again, ever!’ He punctuated his words by banging the stick on the tiled floor. ‘Leave. You are not welcome.’

  ‘But, Mr Vibert –’

  ‘Go!’ he roared.

  I went.

  His vehemence was still ringing in my head an hour later as I watched the British Rail steamer slip through the pier heads. I spotted Fred and Malita on the upper deck and waved. They spoke to each other and Malita gave a puzzled wave back. Of course, they weren’t expecting me.

  Once they were through immigration, I rushed up, still bristling with anger and injustice.

  ‘Yak, this is nice surprise.’ Malita hugged me.

  Fred looked concerned. ‘What’s happened?’

  I start to blurt it out in a frenzy of words. He dropped his case and pulled me aside, away from the other passengers.

  ‘Not here. Let’s walk back. Tell us on the way.’

  We left Boadicea and, by the time we reached his house, they had the full story, including my confrontation with Mr Vibert. I did leave out the bit about the nude swimming but realised that I would have to explain the police interest in us soon. I unlocked the back door and gave him the key.

  They picked their way over the mess. Fred scratched his head. ‘Shameful, brutish, but not unexpected.’ He picked up the kettle and started to fill it. ‘Jack, clear some space at the table, we need to have a chat.’

  ‘I think you need to see the rest of the house, Uncle. They’ve been very thorough.’

  ‘I expect they have but there was nothing important here. That’s why they smashed it up. They didn’t find what they wanted.’

  Malita collected the teapot and some cups. ‘You right. We go to France in time.’

  She sounded so calm. I had expected her to explode, cry, rage, but she seemed to accept this violation of her home as unexceptional. Of course, they had experienced far worse in Spain. She shrugged out of her coat, picked up their two small cases and placed them in the hallway. I heard her footsteps on the stairs and waited for some response to the wreckage upstairs, but there was none – just the sounds of clearing up.

  Fred clapped a hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t be upset, Jack. It’s just objects. No one has been hurt. You did well, keeping that fascist Le Feuvre out. He may have swapped his black shirt for a blue uniform but he’s still a bastard. I’ll tell you about him one day.’ A wicked grin creased his face. ‘You must realise that you’re in the black book as well now.’

  ‘Will you ask the police to investigate?’

  He laughed. ‘They haven’t seen inside, have they?’

  ‘Not while we were looking.’

  ‘If they turn up, I’ll tell them a couple of cats must have got in somehow and gone berserk. I’ll say I forgot to lock the door. They know who did this. They won’t bother me anymore. They’ll have a good laugh at the station.’

  ‘Why, Uncle? Why do they hate you so much?’

  He brushed some broken china off a chair, sat down and poured the tea. ‘No milk I’m afraid, they smashed the bottles as well.’ He wrinkled his nose at the black liquid then blew on it before he answered. ‘The police don’t hate me as such. It’s business, purely business. I dare to be different, challenge the oligarchy that runs this island. A few years ago I helped set up a union for the dockers. The masters were spitting feathers. We demanded a decent wage, threatened to strike if we didn’t get it. You know what they did?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The biggest shipping company hired casual non-union labour at a much lower rate. We persuaded them to join the union as well. The masters sacked them. Then, and this is the struggle we face, Jack, the bastards got the parish to send those unemployed who were claiming relief to unload the boats for nothing. Bloody difficult to fight that.’ He grinned. ‘But we beat them in the end. Jersey’s now a closed port. They have to use union labour. We have to watch the masters all the time though. They’ll use any little trick to increase their profit at our expense.’

/>   My father had said something about the union menace but I hadn’t made the connection at the time. ‘Are you still organising the union then?’

  He laughed. ‘No. The Transport and General Workers Union sent someone from the UK to do that. Let’s say we didn’t see eye to eye. He’s an appeaser. Wants to work with the masters. I want to rub their noses in it and use the power of massed labour to level things out. I got my marching orders but the fight isn’t over yet. Anyway, don’t worry about the police, most of them are union members. They’re paid to protect the law. They just follow orders.’

  Like the border guards in Romania. I wondered if my uncle wasn’t being a little naïve.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Jack. Perhaps you’re right. It starts with property, broken windows, wrecked businesses, then they move on to breaking people. Don’t worry, that’s not going to happen here. In a few months, they’ll have bigger fish to fry. The world is about to be turned upside down, Jack.’ He got up and walked to the window. ‘They’re back, I see.’

  I peered over his shoulder. The Jaguar was parked up the road. Perhaps I should tell him about the search they had sent me on. He moved into the hall and came back with his suitcase. He placed it on the table and opened it. ‘The real irony is that I seem to have united two opposing factions.’

  ‘Uncle, the men in the car told me to check –’

  He ignored me. ‘I’m prepared for them, they won’t break in again.’ He lifted a bundle from the case and unwrapped it. I watched, fascinated, as the protective cloth dropped onto the table and he was left holding a black revolver.

  18

  Thursday

  He pointed the black Webley revolver at me with a malevolent grin. A sudden gust of wind rippled across the water. I looked away from Phillips and forced my eyes to focus on the glittering stars sparkling off my lane.

  ‘Your Excellency, Lieutenant Commander McKillop, Mr Hayden-Brown, ladies, gentlemen and members of His Majesty’s Ship Jersey, welcome. We hope you will enjoy our short gala. I say short because, as you can see, the tide will be upon us very soon. No need to panic in the stalls, it’s a small twenty-six footer and will just creep over the walls. Nevertheless, we have to finish by three o’clock, as our guests have to be at Springfield for the official presentations to the ship. We hope that, once we have finished here, you will be able to join them. Please come back this evening though as we have Tommy Arnold and his band playing on the Blue Terrace. Refreshments will be available and admission is only one shilling and sixpence.’

  Brewster paused, looked around and, catching the steely glint in the lieutenant governor’s eye, as well as his hissed “get on with it man”, brought a halt to his commercial and picked the programme up from the table. ‘We will start with the swimming, then a springboard diving competition. Following that, tide permitting, there will be a water polo match: Jersey Swimming Club versus HMS Jersey and guests.’

  The governor hooked out his fob watch and held it up. There were titters of amusement in the crowd. Hearing the laughter, the manager bowed towards the governor, picked up his programme and announced, ‘The first race today, in our match with the Royal Navy, is the men’s one hundred yards freestyle.’

  The governor nudged the captain of the destroyer, who was sitting alongside him and showed him the watch. Brewster caught the movement and hurried on.

  ‘Representing the Royal Navy and HMS Jersey, in lane one, is Petty Officer Sims.’ An enthusiastic cheer rang out from the spectators clustered around the pool. The lookout was full and younger members dangled their legs from the four diving platforms. Further along, the paying public and members of the ship’s company sat in the lunchtime sun on the benches and small grandstand. I spotted Caroline’s father, who had donated a trophy, sitting with the official party. He looked less than comfortable in the heat. I couldn’t remember the last time my parents had made the effort to watch me compete. Rachel’s had never been.

  The fifty-yard course was enclosed in this bowl of expectation as Brewster’s amplified voice cut through the shouts.

  ‘In lane two, representing the Jersey Swimming Club, please welcome Gerry Fletcher.’ The volume doubled as the locals welcomed the senior champion. I continued to stare at the water, trying to see it as a tunnel through which I had to swim. Miko had tapped my head before I had changed. You win or lose in here!

  ‘Please welcome, swimming in lane three as a guest of the Royal Navy, the Universities Champion of the Netherlands over one hundred metres, Mr Rudi Kohler.’ The cheers were generous though not overwhelming.

  I tried to see beneath the sparkling surface to the sand and weed ten feet below.

  ‘Finally, in lane four, representing the Jersey Swimming Club, holder of the junior one hundred yards record, please welcome, Jack Renouf.’ A partisan roar echoed around the small amphitheatre and I bit my lip to hide any smile. Brewster always overdid it on these occasions.

  ‘Timekeepers, judges?’ The officials raised their hands. ‘Mr Starter?’

  Phillips cleared his throat. ‘Competitors!’

  The four of us stepped down onto the concrete blocks and shuffled our feet. I tried to ignore Kohler on my right. He’d already dived in and swum half a length and back, as a warm up. To show off his muscles, he’d grasped the concrete wall and hoisted himself the three feet up to the starting blocks.

  Fletcher had bent down, splashed his face with a handful of seawater, rinsed his mouth with it then sprayed the residue into the Dutchman’s lane.

  The petty officer had kept his tracksuit on until the last possible moment, no doubt hoping the retained body warmth would protect him for the length of the race.

  I’d followed Miko’s advice and gone through a stretching routine to warm my muscles rather than cool them down with a quick plunge like the Dutchman. At least I wouldn’t see him on the first fifty yards as, despite Miko’s best efforts, I hadn’t mastered bi-lateral breathing. I wouldn’t be able to see Fletcher either. I would have a face full of both of them on the way back though.

  ‘Competitors!’ Phillips’ voice boomed out across the water. ‘Take your marks.’

  The four of us crouched down. I touched my fingers to the concrete either side of my toes. Phillips raised his starting pistol and held us for what seemed like minutes before pulling the trigger and shattering the air with the booming report of the blank cartridge. Seagulls screeched in fright as I launched myself into space.

  I sliced into the water at a flat angle, stinging my chest and thighs, submerging, torpedo-like, for several yards before my momentum propelled me to the surface in a cascade of spray. I stretched my right arm to its full length and caught the green surface with my cupped hand. My neck turned with the roll and my mouth sucked in air as I pulled through, letting my left arm swing over to complete the stroke. My feet kicked hard from the hips, stabilising my body as I crawled over the water. I completed two full strokes before my next breath, blowing the air and salt water out through my mouth and nostrils when my face submerged. I could see the rope, lined with cork floats, inches from my face and corrected on the next pull cycle to centre myself in the lane.

  Most of the spectators and all of the swimmers were on my blind side. I could see the distant wall and the raft, under which Rachel… I stifled that thought and ploughed on. I could sense Kohler in the next lane but couldn’t tell whether he was ahead or behind.

  The Dutchman’s feet were pounding away much faster than mine. That could be a mistake as the large leg muscles use up far more oxygen than the arms with little added benefit. I feathered my kick, saving the energy I would need for the final sprint. I surged on, trying to capture that elusive feeling of floating over the water, to slip into that rhythm which made best use of my muscle efficiency. I had to stay calm, not thrash at the water, and try to fight my way ahead. ‘Don’t think. Swim. You think, you sink!’ Miko’s final words.

  On the next cycle, I raised my head to sneak a glance at the wall. It was a couple of c
omplete strokes away as I focused on preparing my body for the flip. I had to drop my right shoulder, roll onto my back, wait for my hand to touch the wall then rotate quickly into a somersault. I would then be in position for my feet ready to push off and aim for the surface or I could play safe and spin-turn with one arm on the wall. Bugger that, I’d practised this flip so many times now, I could do it. If I failed, I would be smelling Kohler’s feet.

  Now or never. I sucked in a deeper breath, reached with my right arm, rolled, felt for the wall then tucked my chin into my chest, pulled my knees up and rotated backwards. The sky disappeared into a blur of dark green as I somersaulted. Miraculously, my feet were in position, knees still bent to allow me to use the full spring effect as I thrust forwards, aiming for the light.

  I held the glide until I broke surface and reached out for my next stroke. Success – I’d carried my speed and must have gained at least a yard on Kohler. I rotated my head to breathe and now I could see the others. Blast his eyes, Kohler had flipped as well and had edged ahead of me. I was level with his waist. I needed to catch him, whirl my arms, sprint after him but Miko’s voice whispered in my head. Patience, he use too much energy. Wait, he tire. Keep rhythm. Wait. The voice was right, I had to keep it smooth, keep the sense of gliding over the water.

  On the next breath, I could see Kohler’s elbows. The others were just a fountain of spray behind the two of us. I concentrated on pulling with my left arm and held my breath for a double stroke. On the next left rotation, I could see Kohler’s shoulders alongside mine. I felt calm, in control. I increased the pace and my leg-beat. The air exploded from my nostrils and mouth as I extended my whole body down the imaginary centre line of the lane. I could hear muffled shouts as we reached the halfway point of the length. On my next breath, I was aware of the crowd standing and I pulled harder still as my face rotated back. I could see the sandy bottom ten feet down; too deep to see our shadows as we sped across the surface.