The Death of the Elver Man

by Jennie Finch

  So here she was, on the third glorious Saturday afternoon since that horrible meeting, surrounded by the wreckage of her career and with no idea what to do. She was suddenly startled to hear her name being called from the yard below. Rising from her desk she peered down to see Eddie waving cheerfully up at her.

  ‘Come on down,’ he yelled. ‘We’re ready to give it a go!’ Behind him half a dozen young men with their shirts off were wrestling the completed raft on to the trailer of Eddie’s car. She hesitated, looked at her desk, and then guiltily slipped out of the office, locking the door behind her despite the fact the building was deserted. Life must be pretty tough, she thought, skipping down the stairs, if she would rather risk life and limb on a home-made raft in a mud-filled river than sit at her desk and work on her records. She emerged into the warm afternoon, blinking in the bright sunlight. The men had finished loading the raft and were milling around in a rising tide of excited chatter with a few playful scuffles on the outskirts. Eddie stood next to his creation, his square figure radiating pride and determination in equal measures as he checked the straps and made sure the paddles were secure inside.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘off you go, you lot. I’ll drive it to the landing stage. Coming with me Alex?’

  She hesitated for an instant and then, feeling the eyes of the young men on her, said, ‘No, I’ll see you round there.’ She walked over to the main group. There were a few nods and a mumbled greeting as they set off, and she felt at first as if she’d made a mistake, that she was in the way. Half way round a short man with powerful looking shoulders fell in beside her and said, ‘Done much rowing then?’

  ‘Some,’ she said. ‘At college. I was in the rowing club and we won a couple of cups and stuff. Don’t expect it’ll be much like that though.’ She fell into the slightly stilted speech pattern of the group without thinking about it, and no-one seemed to notice. It felt more natural somehow, as if she had stepped into a different role. Another young man dropped back and joined them.

  ‘I done it last year,’ he said, ‘and is terrible hard work. There’s this current see, pulls as you turn towards Warren Point. You is pretty well knackered by then so is a real battle. Lots of rafts, they try to get there early else you can get caught up in a bit of a crush ‘less you goes round and out to sea a bit. I tells yer, I was girt glad to get back on dry land.’

  Alex looked at him curiously. ‘If it was so bad why the hell are you doing it again?’

  The young man laughed. ‘My brother, he’s in another raft see. Reckons they’s going to beat all comers. Well, he’s younger than I, so I has to beat ‘un.’

  Alex had a number of brothers, older and younger, and to her this made perfect sense. They trotted on in companionable silence, hurrying over the bridge and down past the car park of the Iron Beehive before rounding a small shack to find Eddie with the trailer backed up on the river bank, ready to go.

  There were several anxious moments as the group struggled with the finished raft, slipping on the muddy bank as they tried to lower it into the water. Finally, Alex looked at Eddie and said, ‘How do we get it into the sea for the race?’

  ‘We just sort of shove it,’ he said, hanging on to one of the ropes that balanced the craft over the flat, silt-infested water of the Parrett.

  ‘Maybe we should do that then,’ said Alex. ‘If it’s going to make it in the sea it’ll surely be all right here and if it’s not, well at least there’s only us around to see it.’

  ‘And all them,’ said the older brother, gesturing towards the far bank where a crowd of hecklers and supporters had gathered.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Eddie. ‘Okay, enough pussy-footing around. Let’s get this raft in the water and see how it does. One – two – three!’ And at the final shout the crew shoved together, propelling the raft down the ramp and into the water with a great splash. There was a cheer, mixed with a few jeers, from the other bank, and the audiences on both sides craned forwards to see what was going to happen. For a heart-stopping moment the raft rocked wildly, taking on water as it rolled and pitched, then it settled into a more measured rocking until at last it floated, a bit low in the water but not too far. Alex found herself grabbed and hugged by a jubilant lad who didn’t look old enough to be on probation.

  ‘Girt magic,’ he chortled, showing a wide expanse of gum where his front teeth should be. Eddie intervened, gently prising Alex from his clutches.

  ‘This is Jimmy,’ he said, ‘your rowing partner.’

  Jimmy nodded enthusiastically. ‘Right, right, you’m on the left, right?’ Alex blinked at him uncertainly but was rescued once more by Eddie.

  ‘As you say Jimmy, Alex is on the left. Now, let’s try some real paddling shall we?’

  Alex glanced down at her clothing ruefully. She wasn’t wearing anything special but she was fond of these particular jeans and her tennis shoes were almost new. Eddie watched her expression.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I guess I should have warned you.’

  ‘It still beats writing Part Bs all afternoon,’ she said, and made her way to the bank where the crew were holding the raft steady.

  ‘How come I’m first?’ she asked, looking at them suspiciously.

  ‘You’m lightest and got to get over there, see,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’ll be right behind you – though actually I’ll be next to you.’

  Alex shook her head at him. ‘I hope you’re not the navigator,’ she said. ‘We’ll end up in France.’ She slid over the minimal sides and edged towards her place with the rest of the crew holding the raft steady. Someone passed her a single-bladed paddle and she sat for a moment trying to get a feel for the craft until it rocked alarmingly under Jimmy’s weight. Resisting the temptation to fling the paddle away, jump into the water and swim for the far bank, Alex began to use the paddle to help keep the raft straight and close to the side as more of the crew took their places.

  The raft dipped and swayed with every new body, but always righted itself, until they were almost all aboard. But just as the steersman was settling into the stern, Eddie suddenly called out, ‘Wait, everyone sit still! Don’t move.’

  This did not have the desired effect, as everyone aboard jumped and swung round towards him, and the remaining rowers on the landing stage let go of the ropes. The raft drifted away from the bank, bow in the air with the weight still concentrated towards the back. Several people in the boat didn’t have paddles and in the ensuing chaos the raft, with an almost natural grace turned 360 degrees in the current and slid over on to its side depositing the crew in the muddy waters of the river. Alex surfaced, keeping her mouth firmly closed and resolutely pushing any thoughts of what might lie in the murky depths from her mind. Several of the crew, those closest to the steps, were already scrambling ashore and the rest were swimming for the riverbank. She did a quick count of heads and realized they were one short – Jimmy was nowhere to be seen.

  Risking a mouthful of river water, she took a gulp of air and dived past the raft, which was now bobbing merrily the right way up again. The silt was so thick she could barely see more than a few feet through the water, but she made a quick circuit round the raft before coming up for air again. Ignoring the calls and waving from both banks she breathed deeply once more and dived again, going under the raft this time. Her head bumped against something and she reached out and felt movement. A hand grabbed at her, seizing her shoulder and clinging on with the desperation of the drowning. Without thinking, her training took over and she reached over and bent the fingers back, pulling Jimmy by his arm as she prised him loose. She rolled him over on to her chest, holding him by the chin and pushed away from the raft and up to the surface. As they bobbed into view Eddie flung a lifebelt and the crew pulled them to the steps and hauled Jimmy, now coughing and retching, on to the bank.

  Eddie held out his hand and helped Alex up the landing steps.

  ‘Bloody good show,’ he said. ‘That was impressive.’ Alex shook him off and hurried over to Jimmy to check
he was breathing properly. He was blue with cold despite the sunshine and he was shaking and gasping. He cradled his hand against his chest and glared at her.

  ‘You’m broken my fingers,’ he said between coughs.

  ‘I’m sorry but you were panicking,’ she said. ‘You could have drowned us both. I had to get free or we’d still be under there.’

  Jimmy hunched his shoulders, nursing his injured hand like an abandoned kitten, and lapsed into sullen silence as Eddie rummaged through his car boot and came out with a rather tatty blanket.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ he said, as he tucked it round Jimmy’s shoulders in an attempt to keep the shivering young man warm. ‘It’s the dog’s.’

  With commendable foresight one of the crew had run back to the Iron Beehive and called an ambulance and shortly Jimmy was being whisked away to Casualty.

  ‘He’ll be all right,’ the driver had said cheerfully, ‘less he swallowed too much water of course. ’Tis just shock and his hand is sprained I think.’ He’d tried to persuade Alex to go too but she had shaken her head firmly.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just take care of Jimmy will you?’

  The ambulance crew shook her hand and told her she deserved a medal. ‘Girt brave I reckon,’ said one. ‘Wouldn’t get me jumping into ol’ Parratt. Not no way.’

  Alex was glad when they finally drove off and she could sit in the sun and try to dry out a bit. She cast an envious eye over the other rowers, most of whom were stripped down to their undershorts, their wet clothes laid out on the hot concrete of the landing.

  ‘What do we do now?’ fussed Eddie. ‘We’ve lost a rower and there’s only a few weeks left.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of actually going ahead with this bloody thing are you?’ she asked crossly. ‘Anyway, what the hell were you playing at, yelling like that!’

  Eddie looked sheepish. ‘I remembered you’re all supposed to be wearing life jackets,’ he mumbled. ‘In case you fell in.’

  Derek had slept for a day and a night after getting back to the cottage, aided by most of a bottle of Scotch and numerous aspirin he’d found in the glove compartment of the car. When he finally woke he found the side of his face was stuck to the pillow by a mass of congealed blood. The pain was awful, a fierce throbbing made worse by the after-effects of the alcohol, and he lay for a moment wondering if he might actually be better off dead. As he tried to get up, the pillow ripped at his cheek opening the wound again and after several false starts he was forced to shamble into the kitchen with it clamped to his face. He cursed as he saw the pile of dirty dishes and hauled them out, pushing them along the wooden draining board with a fine disregard for those that fell off the end and smashed on the stone floor. Finally, the sink was clear and he filled it with water, dipping his hands in and trying to loosen the ticking. At last he was able to peel it off and he hurled the sopping, bloody mass of feathers across the room where it lay like a shot bird.

  There was a small piece of a mirror wedged behind the water pipe on the wall and he peered at his reflection, turning his head from one side to another as he took in the full extent of his injuries. Whenever he moved his mouth the hole in his cheek threatened to open, an obscene second mouth with ragged, swollen lips. It even hurt when he blinked his eyes. He tilted his face away to the left and saw for the first time that he was missing his ear lobe. His fingers moved towards the mutilated ear but he jerked back before making contact. After staring at his ruined face for a long, long minute he emptied the water out of the sink, put the kettle on to boil and began to hunt through the kitchen drawers for something to cover the wounds. It took an agonising twenty minutes to wash his cheek and ear in water mixed with a little salt and a further ten to pull the torn edges into place and fix them with strips of old sticking plaster. He knew he should go to a hospital but that was out of the question. He’d just have to shift for himself and hope it healed, preferably without looking too bad. Not for the first time he wished he had Big Bill to call on, the ultimate loyal friend and support who would have seen he was fed, got him something a bit better than aspirin and been his eyes and ears out on the Levels. Without him, all Derek could do was stay out of sight and hope Ada hadn’t set the police on him. If she had, it would be the last thing she ever did, he vowed. Her and that retard of a son too.

  ‘You have got to be joking!’ had been Alex’s reaction to the news. Up early on Monday morning, and none the worse after her rather adventurous weekend, she had dropped in to the workshop to offer Eddie her commiserations on the end of the raft-race bid. Much to her surprise the place was humming with activity and there was an air of celebration about the gathering. She hesitated, standing in the door and watching before Eddie spotted her and beckoned her inside.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, looking around at the crowded workbenches. In the centre was the raft, cleaned of the mud and slime from the river and undergoing some modifications to the underside. The rudder was off and her colleagues from the aborted weekend test were sanding and planing the components before setting them aside to be varnished. They glanced up as she entered and both grinned broadly at her.

  ‘Hey Miss!’ one of them called.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake call me Alex,’ she said. ‘After all, we all nearly drowned together so this is no time for formalities.’

  The pair laughed as if this was a wonderful joke.

  ‘Right-oh,’ said the short one of the pair. ‘Well, I’m Chris …’

  ‘And I’m Mick,’ chimed in the other.

  ‘So what’s going on,’ she said. ‘I thought we’d lost Jimmy so we were still down a rower.’

  Eddie beamed with all the confidence of a magician about to put a rabbit from a hat.

  ‘We have another volunteer,’ he said, waving towards the corner, where an all-too familiar figure lurked. Alex grabbed Eddie none too gently and hustled him out into the yard.

  ‘If you think I’m getting into any type of craft with Brian, let alone a home-made bloody raft, then you are completely out of your mind,’ she hissed. ‘He’s a drunk and a gluey! He’s not safe on dry land let alone out at sea. I cannot allow you to do this – he’ll put everyone at risk.’

  ‘Come on Alex. He’s willing to do all the training; he was in the Boys Brigade for years and he’s cleaned up his act. This could be just what he needs to get him back on track.’

  ‘Who told you he’d cleaned up? Him – or maybe Paul has put in a good word for his protégée. Well, you do this without me.’ She turned on her heel and began to walk away.

  ‘Pauline told me,’ said Eddie. Alex stopped and swung round to face him. She had the greatest respect for Pauline and trusted her judgement almost as much as Lauren’s.

  ‘What does Pauline have to do with this?’

  ‘She runs the Boys Brigade,’ said Eddie. ‘She’s known him since he first joined as a Junior. He was a member up until early last year, all the way through the Company into the Seniors. Look, confidentially she’s offered to put him up for a few weeks and keep an eye on him. I know it’s frowned on but if anyone can get through to him it’s Pauline.

  Alex stared at him very hard, using what several of her probationers called her ‘death stare’. The silence stretched between them until Eddie blinked first.

  ‘One drink, one sniff, one smart-arse remark and that’s it,’ she warned.

  ‘Deal,’ said Eddie smiling. ‘Thank you – really, thank you. After Saturday I don’t think I’d have the guts to send them out without a life-saver on board. We can’t do it without you.’

  Alex flapped her hand at him as she walked towards the front door. ‘Flatterer’.

  As the race day approached, the raft project became the focus of attention amongst staff and clients alike. Even Garry strolled over a couple of times to see how things were going, and as the crew got down to some serious training, a number of young women began to stray into the yard, standing in little groups as they nudged and giggled, casting appreciative eyes over
the muscular torsos of the rowers.

  Alex began to spend more time in the workshop too, a place of respite from the strain of her weekly meetings with Garry. Hidden in the depths of the workshop, and utterly focussed on what he was doing, Kevin had sketched out modified plans for the rudder and made a few doodles as he toyed with a smaller, lighter but more responsive frame to hold it. He didn’t know exactly why he was changing some parts, but as he sketched, rubbed out and sketched again he knew it would work. He could almost feel how it would respond and he cast his eye around the workshop, identifying and mentally assembling the materials he needed. He hummed to himself, happily absorbed in this new task and entirely ignorant of the eyes staring hungrily at him from the shelter of the overhanging trees on the other side of the wall.

  On the Friday before the race itself, Eddie was out in the yard, laying out the life jackets and checking each one carefully. He knew if anything went seriously wrong the lives of the crew could depend on these ungainly vests and he wasn’t about to take any chances. Each rower in turn had their jacket fitted, adjusted and stencilled with their initials before they were packed away in a box. As he slammed the lid shut and locked it he had one last glance round the workshop where the raft, complete with Kevin’s new rudder brackets, sat waiting on its trailer. They had trained on dry land, had several weekend sessions out on the river (considerably more successful than the first) and together had planned the strategy for the race itself. The only thing they’d not been able to do was try it out at sea. That was frowned on by the Lifeboat Service who had enough on their hands during race day proper without unsupervised launches going on all over the coast in the weeks before. Eddie ran his hand over the side of his creation and gave it a little pat before switching off the lights and heading for home. It was all up to the crew now. He’d done everything he possibly could.

  As Eddie drove out of the gate a figure slipped over the wall and made for the workshop. There was one window at the back that didn’t lock properly, he knew. He’d been watching on and off for weeks and it was the work of a second to lift the catch with the blade of his knife and slide it open. No alarm either of course. Really, they were just asking for trouble. Derek Johns had lost some weight since his encounter with Ada, mainly as it had been too painful to eat initially, and then he had had to live on what he could forage once his larder was empty. He had no problem slipping through the gap and lowering himself on to the workbench. There was a loud clatter as he knocked a tool off onto the floor and he froze, listening for any approaching footsteps. All was still and he breathed again as he stepped down and approached the raft in the middle of the space. He walked round it, casting his eye over the slightly ungainly looking craft. It was well made though, he thought, and a lot of care had gone into the construction. Not particularly beautiful, still it might actually make it if it didn’t capsize half-way to Minehead.