November-Charlie

by Clare Revell

  Jim looked confused. “Both storms?”

  “Erika was the second storm in two days. We had a pretty big storm the day before.”

  “It’s a downward spiral of consequences,” Jim said. “The ripples of repercussion are spreading.”

  “Don’t you go all philosophical on me, mate. We made the decision to leave weeks ago. We are seeing it through to the end.”

  “I know. I’m just not sure we’ll make Jamaica.”

  “So stop before there. There are bound to be other islands with repair yards.”

  Jim acquiesced. “OK. I’ll consult the maps. How does the boat look?”

  “Repairs needed—lots of them. Broken decking, the mast is wrecked, windows gone or cracked. It’ll cost a bit to get fixed.”

  “Don’t worry about the money. We’re alive and together and that’s all that matters.”

  “Yes it is. No matter what.”

  He took hold of her. “I promise it will never happen again.”

  “You can’t promise that.”

  “Maybe not, but I can try, can’t I?”

  Lou nodded. “We’re being watched. The bridge has eyes.”

  “I’d best get back. Are you going to tell Staci about our fight?”

  Lou shook her head. “No. There’s no need. It’s between us and it’s in the past. Right?”

  “Right. Now I must get back to the bridge. I have some maps to look at.”

  “Jim, how are you going to write this up in the log book? We’ll sound insane saying an angel saved us.”

  “It’s the truth,” Jim said simply. “And they do say that truth is stranger than fiction.”

  12

  Captains log sea date 15/07 point 13.

  Today the weather was lovely. Couldn’t have been nicer. Staci is much better. She is much livelier than she was. The bandage came off this morning. OK, I’m probably being overprotective here, but tough. Hopefully another week will see us on dry land.

  1st Officer’s log sea date 17/07 point 10.

  If you ask me, which you haven’t, this is a pretty silly way to keep a logbook. However, Jim insists, and as I’m only first officer, I have to do what the Captain says. It doesn’t help with his name being James Tiberius Kirk, either. By the way (btw), not only is he captain, he’s also chief engineer, chief medical officer, and helm officer. (Despite the fact I’m the only one with the first aid certificate and do half the sailing round here.) Actually, the only thing he isn’t is chief cook and bottle washer. Oh, and first officer.

  Chief Medical Officer’s log sea date 17/07 point 13.

  Staci is now fit to return to active duty. She has spent the last few days reviewing the ships log and wanted to know what the point meant after the date. A valid point. The first numbers are the date, 17/07 being the seventeenth of July. The point, i.e. point 13, is the time, in this case 1300 hrs or one pm. Once we get to Jamaica, we’ll change the clocks to local time rather than GMT.

  Captain’s log supplemental.

  Btw, this is not a silly way to keep a logbook. It works just fine. Please note, a first officer can get into a lot of trouble talking to her captain like that.

  First Officer’s supplemental addition.

  Can she really? The captain and who’s army?

  Captains log sea date 20/07 point 21.

  The one working engine we have started cutting out today. Overheating I think. So we have slowed down a lot and hopefully it will last eight more days. Which is our revised eta for Jamaica. I hope to dock in Kingston on the twenty-eighth. Engine permitting. I shall have to study the map in a bit. I know I told Lou days ago I would but I haven’t done it yet. It’s nice having Staci doing the middle shift again. It’s surprising how tiring it is otherwise.

  Captains log sea date 23/07 point 19.

  Very calm today which is nice if slightly worrying. I managed to get the bridge to myself which was even nicer. I dread to think what those girls are planning—they spent almost the entire day in a huddle with the dog. Lou doesn’t trust my map reading abilities and doesn’t reckon I know where we are. I know exactly where we are. On a boat somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean...

  We are approaching the Windward Pass and it is nice to see dry land on the horizon again. Unfortunately, the Turks and Caicos Islands are part of the UK, so I daren’t risk landing there. So the plan is the Windward Pass between Haiti and Cuba it is and then on to Jamaica. I have jury-rigged a makeshift mast, and it seems to be holding. Hopefully, where we land will have a good repair yard and speak English.

  On a different note, I saw a shark this morning. Just one and it didn’t see me, so there is no point in bothering anyone else. No one else need know. Captain/logbook confidentiality and all that.

  Captains log sea date 24/07 point 07.

  Major change of plan. This engine really is on its last legs so we have changed course and are hoping to dock on Grand Turk ASAP. They are 5hrs behind GMT. We don’t need a visa, just passports. The currency is US dollars, and there is a $23 departure tax.

  The next entry will be done after we dock. It will take the new time into consideration. So I guess technically it’s really 0200. Huh, could’ve stayed in bed longer. Oh, well. Land coming up. We’d better slow down. Don’t want to arrive too early do we?

  1st Officer’s log sea date 24/07 point 17 (well 22 really.)

  Arrived at Grand Turk today. That was hair-raising in itself as helmsman Jim got his knobs confused (?) and we accelerated into the marina rather than slowed. Fortunately (?) the engine then cut out, so we did stop in time—just. Anyway after customs and the passport check, he announced shore leave in his usual blunt fashion, “Everybody out.” and gave Staci and I four hours to go shopping while he and Deefer went to find a repair yard.

  Mind you, it took us an hour to find the bank. I took out enough to see us through the next day or two.

  Having done the boring stuff, we decided to do the exciting stuff—shopping. We found the most amazing market. So many colors and sounds and smells. Very busy, crowded alleys with stalls on each side selling fabric, fruit, veg, kitchen utensils, and rugs. In fact, you name it, and they probably sold it in six or seven different colors. Each of the stalls had its own smell but you have to be there. The whole place was, alive, I guess is the word I want.

  Women in bright clothing (mainly reds, yellows, and purples), with babies strapped to their backs, bundles on their heads, haggling over prices with the stall holders. Old men crowded round a dice game, smoking pipes. Small children running between the stalls, stealing fruit when they thought they could get away with it.

  Staci was fascinated by some of the hairstyles—very tight plaits with beads on the ends. When we passed a stall doing them, I couldn’t drag her away from it. Instead, I had to talk her out of having one hundred separate braids done. In the end, she settled for fifteen and refused to have any less than that. Well it’d keep her occupied for a bit so leaving her in the capable hands of the stall holder, I went off on my own, promising to come back in twenty minutes or so.

  I wandered round the fruit stalls amazed at the variety on offer, my mouth watering at the smell. We’d run out of fresh fruit weeks ago. There were apples, bananas, oranges, plums, yams, and papaya to name a few. I haggled over prices, too, as it seemed the done thing and all of them spoke English. It was when I returned to the fish stall, next to where Staci was having the final plait done, that I noticed a man whom I’d seen when we’d come out of customs and again at the bank. He stood out rather in his white suit, mirror shades, and Panama hat. I mean a suit in ninety degrees with the humidity so close it was almost touching? He seemed vaguely familiar—

  Staci came running up to me stopping my entry. “Lou, do you like it?” She did a twirl, her braids spinning out and hitting her face.

  “Looks like more than fifteen, Stace.”

  “OK, it’s not. It’s more like, well almost twenty-ish.”

  “Twenty-ish. How many exactly?”

  “Thi
rty?”

  “Staci, the truth. I can always go and ask.”

  “Forty-two.”

  “Forty-two?”

  “Yeah, the ultimate number. Anyway it’s my favorite number so it’s exactly forty-two.”

  I laughed. “Rather you than me. So long as you can sleep at night.”

  “Nightmares permitting. What have you been up to? Isn’t this place fantastic? Good job Jim’s got the dog. Deefer’d have a field day with all this....” She broke off. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking. What fish do you fancy for tea?”

  “Depends whose cooking.”

  “You are,” I said, glancing across the market. The man had moved away and was by the fabric stall.

  Staci chose the fish and we wandered back across the market, buying bits we thought we might need. Staci wanted a drink, but I wanted to get back, so laden with bags we set off back to the boat. I thought we were being followed but put it down to being paranoid. As we left the market and moved into the quieter streets that led to the marina, we could hear footsteps behind us, the tap-tap-tap of metal tipped shoes on the cobbles.

  I stopped suddenly and spun round, hoping to find Jim messing about, but it was the man in the white suit. As he put his hand into his inside jacket pocket, I caught sight of a glint of metal and I freaked. I mean totally freaked out. I grabbed Staci’s hand and started to pull her away.

  He called after us. “Hey, Lou, wait up.” His voice was familiar and he knew my name.

  I stopped and turned slightly. There was definitely something familiar about him now I looked at him properly.

  He removed his shades and I recognized him as the American who had helped me in Cornwall. “Hi,” he said, hooking his shades over his jacket pocket. “I thought it was you. What are you doing all the way over here?”

  I put the bags down and forced myself to smile. “Hi. Nice to see you again. This is my friend, Staci Kirk. Staci, this is Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  “Jack, please,” he said, shaking Staci’s hand. “So, Lou. What are you doing here?”

  “We’re on holiday,” I said quickly. “Six-week school holiday, so we’re making the most of it.”

  “Not on your own, I hope?” There could have been a touch of concern in his voice, but grown-ups are good at putting it on at times.

  “No,” Staci told him. “We have a grown-up around somewhere. You know grown-ups. Never around when you need them.”

  Jack laughed. “Sounds like most grown-ups I know. One in particular. Do you have to carry these bags far?”

  “Too far in this heat.” Staci complained. “I’m dying of thirst and Lou won’t let us stop for a drink.”

  “We can have one when we get back,” I told her.

  “We don’t need to be back for another hour,” Staci said.

  “I don’t want to interfere in a family argument,” Jack said, “But how about I buy you both a drink and we can catch up?”

  Before I could argue, Staci accepted for both of us.

  Jack picked up some of the bags and led the way to a cafe. He told us to sit down and he went inside to order the drinks. Half of me wanted to run away, but I was pretty tired and thirsty. He came back with a tray of sodas and three cakes. He handed us one each and sat down.

  We thanked him, although I was uncomfortable with the fact that he insisted on paying. Staci struck up a conversation with him and discovered that he was widowed, had a son who had died suddenly three years ago and didn’t have a current girlfriend.

  “You ask too many questions Staci,” I told her.

  “It’s OK. I don’t mind answering them,” Jack replied. “How long are you staying here Lou?”

  “Not sure,” I answered. “It depends. Probably a week.”

  Jack became aware that Staci was watching him. “Are you OK?” he asked.

  “You remind me of my dad,” Staci said quietly.

  “Is he here with you?” Jack asked

  “No, he’s missing. So’s my mum.”

  “I’m sorry. Was it fairly recently?”

  “End of May,” Staci said. “There was an earthquake and a tsunami and people just stopped looking for them.” She began to cry.

  I resisted the urge to kick her for saying too much. “Sorry.”

  “That’s OK,” he said. “It’s part of the healing process. Grief is the price you pay for love.” He handed Staci a tissue.

  “We really should be getting back,” I said. “Thank you for the coke and cake.”

  “That’s OK. Do you have to carry those bags far?”

  “Not far,” I replied. “We have a boat, so we only have to go as far as the marina.”

  “Another boat?” Jack said, grabbing four of the bags as we stood up. “You certainly like them.”

  Staci fell in beside him and talked to him about her parents. She kept him occupied on the way back to the boat. I hoped desperately that he wouldn’t recognize Avon, but I could tell by the expression on his face that he did.

  Before he could say anything, Jim and Deefer saw us and came over.

  Deefer was so pleased to see me that he almost bowled me over. “Get down, you daft dog,” I told him.

  Jack put the bags down and petted Deefer who barked affectionately. “Hello again, boy. Remember me, do you?”

  Jim didn’t look happy but whether it was bad news about the boat or because we had company, I wasn’t sure.

  “This is Jim,” Staci said. “The grown-up I was telling you about.”

  Jack held out his hand. “Jack Fitzgerald,” he said. “I met Lou in Cornwall a while back.”

  “Jim Kirk,” Jim replied, shaking Jack’s hand. “Thanks for helping the girls with the bags.”

  “Anytime. I got to dash, but maybe we can meet up again before you leave.”

  “Maybe. Thanks again.”

  Captain’s log supplemental point 19.

  We watched as Jack walked off down the quay. I looked at Lou. “Cornwall?” I asked.

  “The guy with the car—he helped me with the bags then. He followed us round the market today. I thought it was you following us. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him. What are the chances of him being here now?”

  “We’ll discuss this later. Right now we have a bigger problem to worry about.”

  Once the shopping was unpacked and stowed safely away in the galley, we sat round the table over a pot of tea and one of Staci’s sponge cakes. I filled the girls in on my trip to the boat yard. “Nice chap called Jonathan Hynds owns the repair yard. They don’t have too much on at the moment so they can fit us in. That’s the good news. He says we can’t sleep on the boat while she’s being repaired for insurance reasons. He says there is a fairly cheap hotel nearby. I’ll try them later.”

  “They’ll be booked solid this time of year,” Lou said.

  “He didn’t seem to think so. Anyway, he’ll collect Avon in the morning.”

  Staci looked worried. “What’s the damage?”

  “Two new engines—one of which needs to be ordered in from the States, new mast, four new windows and new decking.”

  Lou laughed. “And where do we get that kind of money? Rob a bank?”

  “Yeah, I’ll go now shall I?” I snapped. “The money isn’t a problem OK?”

  Captain’s log supplemental point 23.

  Admittedly, funds are a bit low but we are not broke yet. I shouldn’t have yelled at Lou like that, but she does have the ability to rub me up the wrong way at times. The Panama Canal money is set aside safely. There is a slight chance that I can do the work or at least some of it myself, and we have a month before we have to leave, so that would help. A stay longer than a month means you need visas. But time is passing and every day we delay is a day longer Mum and Dad are lost.

  Anyway, it is late, very late and it’s time for bed. By the way, I found the hotel and we are booked in from tomorrow for a week provisionally. More expense, but it can’t be helped.

  Captains log se
a date 25/07 point 10.

  Another two weeks at the best. I don’t believe it. The storm must have done more damage than I originally thought. What I don’t understand is there was no sign of a leak before we docked. The storm was a good three weeks ago. Why now? Jonathan said he’d send a diver down to take a look before they move her. If needs be they will put her in the dry dock and repair the hull first.

  Captain’s log supplemental point 13.

  The diver reckons it wasn’t storm damage that caused the leak. There are several holes in the hull. They are moving Avon to the dry dock to have a closer look. Good thing too, as there were several inches of water inside the hull by this point.

  Captain’s log supplemental point 20.

  OK. There are ten holes in the hull, consistent with a sharp metal spike being forced up into it. The holes were definitely made from the outside. Staci suggested it could be this American chap. Rather farfetched idea that, even if I don’t like the guy. Dashingly handsome he may be, according to the girls, that is. Scores 9/10 on the hunk scale (whatever that is). Personally, I’d trust him about as far as I could throw him. There is just something about him. I don’t know what. Lou reckons I’m just jealous of his perfect white teeth.

  The good news is I can do some of the work myself and just pay for the parts. That will help a bit. But it means a lot longer before we can find Mum and Dad. I’m hoping and praying they are safe.

  1st Officer’s log 02/08 point 17.

  I got bored with the sea date in case you’d wondered where it had gone. Jim is working flat out on the boat, hence the lack of Captain’s log entries. He says he’s too tired. And I’m too busy sitting on a beach working on my tan.

  Jim hasn’t asked anymore questions about Cornwall or Jack. Hopefully he’s forgotten.

  Staci and I have been trying to keep a low profile—on the beach or in our room. I know that when Jack helped us with the bags last week, he recognized the boat. It won’t take him long to put two and two together and make five. Although I’m pretty sure he knows anyway. There was something in his eyes when he saw Staci and when Jim introduced himself.