‘And?’ Suspicion was audible in this one word.
‘Well, Hamish is making sure she’s safe and sound through the night.’ Hoynes took the phone from his ear, knowing what was likely to be forthcoming.
He wasn’t disappointed.
‘You mean my boy is aboard a boat for the whole night – alone! – wae some lassie!’
‘Aye.’
‘I canna believe it, Sandy. You get doon there right this moment and haul her back onto the quay! If she needs a bed for the night, she can stay here, and Hamish can sleep on the boat. All on his own, as nature intended for a single young man.’
Hoynes grimaced. He’d expected opposition, but not solutions. ‘Aye, a noble gesture on your own part, Ethel, yes indeed. But the situation is more complicated than you imagine.’
‘I’m no’ aboot tae put words to what I’m imagining. What’s tae stop this lassie coming up tae the Glebe Fields? I’ll have Hamish’s bed made up for her in a jiffy. Aye, and I’ve a fine pot o’ broth on the stove, so she’ll no’ go hungry.’
‘She’s injured,’ said Hoynes, uttering the first thing that came to mind.
‘Injured? What kind o’ injury?’
‘Her leg – it’s near snapped in two, so it is.’
‘Heavens! The poor girl. But should she no’ be in the hospital, rather than a fishing boat?’
‘It’s the problem o’ getting her there. Doctor Duncan came doon earlier wae his Plaster o’ Paris and the like. Set it for her exquisitely, if I may say so. Botticelli couldna have done a better job, himself.’
‘Is he no’ the wee man that has the fish and chip shop at Tarbert?’
‘Might be a distant relative, I’m no’ right sure. But the dilemma was simple. Wae the roads and pavements fair blocked wae snow, there was no way we could get her up tae the hospital.’
‘And how did she get aboard?’
‘Aye, that was the tragedy o’ the whole thing, Ethel. She slipped on the gunwale as she was coming aboard. Landed wae a right clatter, so she did. That’s when the leg got broken.’
‘Oh, it jeest gets worse.’
‘Aye, it was some performance, right enough. So you’ll see, I’m obliged to her in a’ sorts o’ ways.’
‘Could you no’ make a sledge and drag her up tae the hospital?’
‘I’m a fisherman, Ethel, no’ an Eskimo! Anyway, whisky and Eskimos aside, you’ll have no fear o’ temptation getting the better o’ them. The lassie’s in agony. I’m sure nature’s urging is well beyond her.’
‘I’ll get my good boots on and head down the pier myself. Hamish can go back hame.’
‘Noo jeest hold your horses, Ethel. I’ve one woman aboard. Another would be tempting fate too far. You must understand my position.’ A film of sweat had broken out across his forehead. Hoynes was sure it wasn’t the whisky, and the room wasn’t overly warm. ‘I’m under a lot o’ pressure, and that’s a fact.’
‘You’ll be under even mair if nature takes its course. My Hamish is a fine young man – damn near a saint compared to his father. The stirring o’ the loins is a force o’ nature you canna mess wae.’
‘You’re havering. Hamish would have to be some monster to take advantage o’ a lassie wae her leg in a stookie. When I left them she was fair oot o’ it in her bunk. Doctor Duncan gave her a right strong sedative.’
‘Well . . .’ Ethel still sounded doubtful. ‘It would make me much easier o’ mind if you were to head down there and sit with the pair o’ them. Goodness knows what my Hamish would dae if she took a turn.’
‘She’ll be fine. But listen, I can hear your concern. I’m just at my tea. I’ll head doon the quay just as soon as possible. How does that suit, Ethel?’
Across from him, Marjorie glared.
‘Aye, that puts my mind at rest. And you be sure to take care tomorrow. I’ll be praying for yous all.’
‘Much appreciated, Ethel. And don’t worry. There’s nobody that knows the way better. Not a skipper in the fleet.’
They said their goodbyes and ended the call.
‘My, but you’re a piece o’ work, Sandy Hoynes,’ said Marjorie. ‘Still at your tea, indeed! You’ve been sitting wae a dram for the last hour and more.’
‘If I was in France right now they would consider that normal. Drink is all part o’ the nourishment o’ the body. So, technically I was in the right.’
‘Big o’ you to go back to the boat, mind you.’
‘Ach, I’ll be there soon enough. That was a wee white lie. No’ even that. I said as soon as possible. In this case, that’s tomorrow morning.’
‘Sandy Hoynes, one day you’ll have tae answer for all the things you’ve done.’
‘Huh, like feeding a starving town? You look to your ain misdemeanours. I’ve no’ forgotten you using packet custard for the tart you put in for the June show and passing it off as your own.’
Marjorie dropped a stitch and rightfully blamed her husband.
9
The gull looked out over the loch from his position high on the old fort. Though the waters were as black as pitch, the town gathered around it had a luminous quality, a silvery glow, as though the place was defying night.
A catch of fishermen bustled under the bright lights of the pier. The gull cocked his head to watch as they struggled aboard their vessels, their distant voices, muffled by the snow, floating across the water and up the hill.
The ancient guardian of the town decided to fly over his charges in a spirit of goodwill. The great bird stretched his wings and called out in the still, dark morning. Then, soaring into the velvet sky, he dipped towards the little fleet of fishing boats.
Jim McMichael was sweeping away the accumulated snow from the windows of the Evening Star’s wheelhouse. ‘Here, Willie,’ he shouted to his first mate. ‘Is that a new hand Hoynes has aboard? I’m sure I spied someone talking to Hamish when I arrived. By the size o’ him, no more than a lad.’
Willie turned his head awkwardly. He’d lost an eye in the war while serving with the Royal Navy, and wore a patch over the hole where his right one would have been. ‘I’m no’ quite sure. All I can see is Hoynes himself.’
‘Ahoy, Girl Maggie!’ shouted McMichael. ‘You’ve a new crew member, I see!’
Under the lights of the pier, Hoynes’ large, yellow-oilskinned frame was picked out. ‘Sorry, my hearing’s no’ so good these days, Jimmy. What did you say? It’s down tae too much exposure to the elements o’er a long period. If you’re asking if we’ll make it through, I’m sure o’ it! Wae the snow being off and suchlike, it’ll be plain sailing. Hamish is forecasting clear skies. And, as we all know, he has the sight. Jeest you follow my lead.’
McMichael shook his head and addressed his mate in less strident terms. ‘Deaf, my arse. Likely taking advantage o’ some schoolboy who’s time on his hands. The lad will be getting a pittance for a rough passage and doing all the work. Aye, and Hamish wae the sight, tae – another pile o’ pish.’
Before Willie could reply, the call came from the Girl Maggie. ‘Aye, I heard you. Anyone that sets foot aboard this vessel has the best conditions on the west coast, and that’s a fact! And it’s been proved time an’ again that Hamish is fey.’
‘I thought you were deaf!’ shouted McMichael.
‘Sorry, I didna catch that, Jimmy. I’ll need to get going. We’ve nae time for all this chit-chat.’ With that, Hoynes disappeared into his wheelhouse.
Willie arrived by his skipper’s side. ‘It’s funny you said that, Jimmy.’
‘How so?’
‘Davey fae the Morning Sky was having a drink up at the County wae me last night. Swears that he saw a woman aboard the Girl Maggie yesterday. Smoking on the prow, so she was – according tae him, anyway.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Willie! Sandy Hoynes might be up tae many a lark, but even he’s no’ daft enough tae have a woman aboard. Och, you canna trust a word that comes oot o’ Davey’s mouth. I’m sure he telt us he’d been tae Buckingham
Palace last year.’
‘Technically he wisna wrong, Skipper. He was at Buckingham Palace. But it’s a pub in Fulham.’ Willie shrugged.
‘Right, get doon below and fire up the engine. We’re going tae be first oot the loch this morning.’
Hoynes squeezed his way through the hatch into the cabin below. Jo was dressed in one of Hamish’s thick sea jumpers, black waders and wellington boots, all of which were too large by far. Hamish was attending to some tin mugs beside a simmering kettle. The contrast in temperature was marked, the old potbellied stove doing its job well and heating up the tiny crew quarters.
‘You’ve nae time for tea, Hamish. I’d thought we’d be first away by a long stretch, but McMichael is on the button today. Get the engine fired up and we’ll beat them tae it past the island.’
‘Oh, can I take some photos?’ said Jo.
‘You can stay right where you are until we get oot o’ the loch and put some sea room between us and the rest o’ the fleet. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to appear.’
‘The Dark Ages, right enough,’ she murmured to herself.
‘Aye, and they’ll be staying dark for you until we’re in the sound.’
‘Aye, aye, captain!’ Jo gave a mock salute.
‘I’ll get the tea, Hamish,’ said Hoynes.
‘Nae bother. I’ll get us going, jeest directly.’
When Hamish disappeared and Hoynes busied himself at the galley, Jo delved into her pocket. In her hand was a little plastic bag with three sugar lumps. She secreted them back into her pocket before Hoynes turned round.
‘Do you take sugar?’
‘Yes, please, just one spoonful.’ She smiled innocently.
‘It’s lumps we have here. No time for messing aboot wae spoons when a gale’s blowing.’
Jo smiled broadly. Being a free spirit, she now viewed the journey as a trip in more ways than one. It was great to be away from the smoke and noise of Glasgow. She was a country girl herself, but from a landlocked part of Stirlingshire. Though boats weren’t her thing, she was sure it wouldn’t be a problem. After all, she’d performed all sorts of difficult tasks for the paper, including taking photographs at an Old Firm game. No sea could present such dangers.
‘Here’s your tea,’ said Hoynes, handing her a tin mug. ‘And in that brown poke there’s sugar lumps. You’re on tea duties fae now on. We all have tae pull our weight in dire straits like these.’
‘Don’t worry. I spent my first two years at the paper making tea for those chauvinistic oafs. I’m sure I’ll manage.’
‘You’ll find no chauvinists aboard this vessel. Equality is high on the agenda, and no mistake. Noo, I like my tea sweet – four lumps. When I call doon fae the wheelhouse, you get yourself moving quick smart, lassie.’
Jo raised her brows.
Suddenly the boat shuddered as the Gardner engine thudded into life. After a few coughs and splutters, it soon settled into a steady pulse, like an old man struggling out of bed in the morning, coughing, cursing and then hurrying off to the toilet.
‘Aye, there’s a fine sound, right enough. Next stop, Girvan. I better go and get us underway. You mind and stay here until I give you a shout.’
Hoynes climbed through the hatch and onto the deck, just as Hamish emerged from the engine. The skipper cast his eye about and noticed that McMichael was about to sail; first mate Willie was busy at a hawser looped over a bollard on the quayside.
‘Quick, Hamish, get you up on that quay and untie us! McMichael’s making a break for it. Mind, we’ve got the press aboard – even though she’s just a slip o’ a thing – and we don’t want the vessel portrayed as some sluggard in a national paper. It widna be good for morale at all.’
‘Whose morale?’ Hamish asked.
‘Mine. Noo, get a shift on.’
Hamish strode across the snowbound deck, and in one fluid movement hurdled up onto the pier. As he busied himself untying the vessel, Hoynes squeezed into the small wheelhouse and began the manoeuvre away from the quay, his eyes flicking between the loch ahead and the progress of the Morning Star.
Job done, Hamish leapt back aboard in his usual manner, forgetting about the snow. Luckily, he skidded into a mess of nets, only his dignity hurt.
‘Serve you right!’ shouted Hoynes. ‘There’s nae place for a’ that flash stuff on a serious vessel like this.’
‘It was you that wanted away quickly! The way you were turning, it would jeest have been you and Jo as a crew, for I’d have been left on the pier like a right dumpling.’
‘Wheesht! I’m concentrating, man.’ The tip of Hoynes’ tongue was sticking out between his teeth as he made for the open water of the loch with all speed, well aware that – as things stood – he was on a collision course with the Evening Star.
‘You’re going tae see us wrecked before we even make harbour!’ shouted Hamish. ‘How will that look in the newspaper?’
The two fishing boats were neck and neck now. Hoynes looked to his left, only to see McMichael signalling to him with his right hand in a way that could best be described as ungentlemanly.
The Evening Star was a bigger boat, of more recent manufacture, but with size came a sluggishness of acceleration. Though McMichael had been first to leave the quayside, Hoynes was gaining on him as they both made for the gap between the twin piers.
‘You’ll need tae get a move on, Sandy!’ yelled Hamish, as black smoke issued in great clouds from the wheelhouse chimney.
‘I know what I’m at, Hamish.’ Hoynes returned McMichael’s crude gesture with gusto.
‘We needna worry about beating them to the loch, Sandy. Once we’re in open water, we’ll gain on them.’
‘I’m in command here. And we’ll be first oot o’ this harbour. I’ll bet my life on it!’
A collection of elderly fishermen had gathered on the quayside. Ostensibly they were there to wish their former colleagues godspeed, but also with an eye to any calamities or notable happenings that they could discuss over a dram later.
‘Bugger me,’ said Peeny. ‘It’s like watching two slugs racing for a plughole.’
‘McMichael is a determined bugger, right enough,’ said McKirdy. ‘But Sandy Hoynes should know better. Whoot’s the point in sinking two boats jeest tae see who can make it oot the harbour first? Aye, wae whisky supplies aboot tae run low in the whole community.’
‘By the look o’ that smoke piling fae the Girl Maggie they’ll no’ make it to the end of the pier, never mind Girvan,’ observed Peeny.
By this time, the spectators included the crews of the other boats in the fleet. Their heads appeared through portholes, above hatches and through wheelhouse windows, as the race progressed slowly, but with no little excitement.
‘McMichael’s got the better o’ it, and no mistake,’ said Peeny. ‘Hoynes is bound tae end up wae egg on his face.’
‘There’s been bad blood between the pair o’ them since that darts match at the Douglas Arms,’ said Tommy Duncan, his pyjama collar poking out the neck of his pea jacket. ‘If you recall, Sandy had tae score twenty-one off three darts. Mind, he missed the board and near blinded auld Jenny. McMichael cleaned up. They County boys took it right bad, so they did.’
Both fishing boats were now nearing the gap between the two piers, the Evening Star ahead by a nose. Those on the quay and on the remaining boats considered the race was won – until something extraordinary happened.
A head appeared from the cabin hatch of the Girl Maggie. McMichael was the first to spot it, and sheer shock caused him to let go of the wheel. His boat veered dangerously to the right, heading for the new quay on the other side of the harbour.
Hoynes saw his chance, cut in ahead of his rival and made it out into the open loch first. He had the time to return McMichael’s earlier gesture again as he coasted past the Evening Star, her skipper desperately turning the wheel to avoid a collision.
The faces of those back at the quay, fishermen young and old, bore a collective look o
f disbelief.
‘I must have had too much tae drink last night, for I could swear I jeest saw a lassie poke her heid oot o’ Sandy’s hatch thonder.’
‘Well, I never touched a drop,’ said Duncan, ‘and I saw her too.’
Provost McMurdo and the town clerk appeared. ‘Oh, we’ve missed the first boys away,’ said the former, slightly bemused by the stricken looks on the faces of those before him. ‘Is there something wrong?’
Peeny turned to the provost. ‘Hoynes has a woman – a lassie! – aboard his boat. We all saw her.’
‘Oh, well, I can’t see that being a problem,’ replied the provost.
The old fisherman fixed him with a steely glare. ‘You’re a vet tae trade, Mr McMurdo, yes?’
‘Yes, what about it?’
‘Well, think on. A fisherman going tae sea with a woman aboard a boat is as vexatious as a vet leaving his wallet in a barn. Do you get my point?’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Aye, oh dear indeed! It doesna do tae provoke the traditions of the sea – no, not at all. I’ll be surprised if we set eyes on Sandy Hoynes and his boat again, and that’s a fact.’
With a general murmur of agreement, those gathered on the quay shuffled off, heads down, as though they were stepping away in widow’s weeds from a funeral.
10
The Girl Maggie forged ahead in the still waters of the loch, easily beating her rival between the two buoys that marked the channel past the island and into the sound.
When Hoynes glanced behind, the first grey light of day revealed a ragged string of fishing boats in his wake, headed by the Evening Star. He smiled at the thought of his fellow skipper’s indignation over losing the impromptu race out of the harbour. But he was puzzled as to why McMichael had made such an elementary mistake in steering. In any event, Kinloch’s fishing fleet had set sail to rescue the town from starvation. He was merely first amongst equals. He smiled at the thought. As he turned to face forwards, a large gull deposited a great mess across the wheelhouse window.
A Large Measure of Snow Page 5
