‘That’s good. We’ll turn back at the lighthouse. We’ll be home before the sun sets. That’ll please your mam.’
‘Okay.’
Thomas picks up his crutch and secures it under his armpit as he steadies himself in front of the wheel. Focusing on the horizon, the spinning eases. He begins humming, and the random notes form into an old song he’d learned as a boy.
‘Jack was every inch a sailor,
Five and twenty years a whaler,
Jack was every inch a sailor,
He was born upon the bright blue sea.’
He shouts over his shoulder. ‘How was that, Emmy? Shall I teach you the words? Emmy?’
‘I’m checkin’ the outside for leaks, Da’.’
Thomas glances to the stern, his heart leaping into his throat. The boy teeters on his stomach over the side of the boat. Forward and back with each dip and swell of the sea. Forward and back. Forward and back.
‘Emmy! Get off there, b’y! My God! Get your life jacket back on!’
A large wave slams the boat. The boy teeters forward, hovering like a baby bird on the edge of a nest.
‘Emmy!’ Thomas lurches towards his son, hobbling over the fishing net and coiled ropes with his crutch.
Too late.
The next minutes last hours, days, years. The sea, which had looked so benign in its bakeapple colours just moments before, has turned black, its glistening inkiness broken only by the whitecaps of the swelling waves and the small dark head bobbing in the water.
Thomas staggers back into the bridge and shuts off the ignition. Grabbing the life preserver, he heads starboard and launches the orange ring out to the flailing boy. ‘Grab it, Emmy! Swim to it son. It’s just a stroke away.’ Thomas gathers up the fishing net and throws it over the side so that it hangs from its fastenings down the side of the boat.
‘Da’!’ Emmett takes a mouthful of water. ‘Da’!’ He coughs just as another wave splashes over his head.
Throwing the crutch aside, Thomas plunges into the water. It sucks him down into a deathly quiet until he can no longer sense where the surface is. A large dark body slides past him, its belly gleaming white, and the barnacles on its huge mouth glowing an iridescent green in the murky water. The creature’s black eye watches him as it glides past. Its body rises in a graceful arc to the surface to breathe through its blowhole.
Following the humpback’s lead, Thomas musters every iota of strength as he breaks through the surface and crashes through the water towards his son.
Emmett raises his hand out towards his father. Then he’s hit by another wave, and he’s gone.
Thomas dives into the freezing black water. His hand brushes the hood of Emmett’s yellow jacket. Grabbing it, he twists the fabric into his grasp and pulls his son up to the surface. Emmett gasps and grapples for Thomas’s arm.
‘Calm down, Emmy. Breathe, son. Just calm down.’ He reaches around Emmett’s shoulders and swims towards the orange life preserver, thrusting it over his son’s head. ‘Grab hold of this, son. You won’t goes anywhere. You’re fine now.’
The fishing boat is about sixty feet away, bobbing like a dull white cork on the black ocean, the fishing net draped like a web over the side. The lighthouse has awakened, and the white light flashes from the top of the cliff about a mile away. Thomas reaches through the water and takes hold of the rope connecting the life preserver to the boat. He sidestrokes awkwardly towards the boat, cursing the German grenade for stealing his leg as he pulls Emmett and the life preserver along behind him.
The cold Atlantic tugs at Thomas’s body. He can no longer feel his hands, and his boot drags at his foot as he splashes towards the boat. His mind, fuzzy at the edges from the many beers, focuses on the boat. There is nothing but the boat. You must get to the boat.
After an eternity, his hand brushes the wooden hull. ‘We’re here, Emmy.’
‘Don’t go, Da’.’
‘I’m not goin’ anywhere. Now, you has to be brave, son. Grab hold of the net. You knows how you liked to climb the riggin’ when that American fella’s schooner came into Rod Fizzard’s last summer? It’s just like that. Pretends the net’s the riggin’ on that schooner.’
Emmett grabs hold of the net. ‘I gots it, Da’.’
‘Good fella. Now, I’ll lifts off this life preserver so you can scamper up the riggin’, just like last summer.’
Emmett slowly climbs up the net. When he reaches the top he turns around, his face lit by a bright smile. ‘I did it, Da’!’
Thomas smiles up at his son. ‘Good boy, Emmy. Be careful now. Just gets in the boat and I’ll be right up after you.’
A thud as Emmett slips and falls into the boat.
‘Emmy?’ Thomas thrusts the life preserver away and swims to the net. ‘Emmy!’
The net swirls around Thomas as he grapples for a hold. Twisting around his leg, it tangles through his boot and around his body, dragging him down into the sea.
The large grey body with its white belly slides by, the barnacles that ghostly green. The black eye watches him as the creature glides past. The whale rises in a graceful arc to the surface, where all that exists is light and the memory of Ellie’s smile.
***
Emmett reaches for the side of the boat and pulls himself to his feet, his head throbbing. He peers out into the inky blackness.
‘Da’! Where you at, Da’?’ He scans the surface of the water. Fear stabs at his belly.
‘Da’! Da’!’
His voice breaks into a sob as he slides to the floor of the boat. ‘I’m sorry, Da’. I’m sorry. I didn’t wear my jacket inside out. The fairies gots you, Da’. I’m sorry.’
Chapter 71
Tippy’s Tickle – 16 September 2011
Ace levers himself onto one of the long counters in Florie’s store, and jabs an Ugly Stick against the wooden countertop, setting the bottle tops jingling as he pounds at the tin can head with a drumstick.
‘Here ye, here ye, we is gathered here tonight to celebrate two …’ he holds up two fingers ‘… what’s that, Thor? Three, not two …’ he holds up three chunky fingers ‘… three important events in the life of this hidden paradise of Tippy’s Tickle.’
‘Get on with it, b’y! The cod’s thawin’!’
Ace winks at Thor who is holding a glistening frozen codfish above his head. ‘Right you are, b’y.’ Ace bangs the tin can head. ‘Firstly, we gots to pay homage to the Queen of Tippy’s Tickle, who’s all of eighty-nine years on this earth today. Now, I’s been told she landed on this here rock back in nineteen forty-six, which actually makes her …’ he screws up his face as he counts on his fingers ‘… a young maid of sixty-five ’cause your life starts when you comes to The Rock. Florie, take some candles off the cake, girl!’
Florie gives Ace a thumbs up. ‘Right you are, b’y!’
‘I thought you didn’t approve of all this tourist stuff, Florie,’ Ellie says.
‘Well, if you can’t beat them, you joins them, right? And we could all use a knees up.’
‘The cod’s startin’ to whiff, son!’