The Death of the Elver Man (23 page)

‘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.

He’d toyed with the idea of setting fire to the whole thing but that would attract a great deal of official attention. The coppers tended to get a bit riled up about arson and it carried a very heavy penalty if you got caught. Besides, he had
nothing
against most of the crew – apart from a general contempt for their brown-nosing and sucking up to the probation staff. No, he was after something a bit more personal. He
examined
the underside of the raft and chose several of the plastic tanks mounted on the left. These were empty to give a bit more buoyancy, the air acting to counter the weight of the crew. Choosing a place on the inside, near the top of each tank he made two deep cuts. Then he turned his attention to the lifejackets, picking the lock on the box in seconds.
Rummaging
through the contents he found what he was looking for, made a few adjustments of his own and put everything back neatly, closing the lock once more. He flipped the catch
on the window behind him and set off through the park
keeping
in the shadows of the trees to avoid startling the natives. He’d done the best he could to repair his face but he knew he would never be considered handsome again.

Alex woke on the day of the race feeling sick. She’d
resolutely
avoided thinking about the actual day itself despite all the drills and practices, all the time spent with the small group who made up the crew and the larger supporting cast of builders, drivers, planners and general odd-bods who kept appearing to swell their numbers. Somehow she’d managed to keep the reality of this stupid adventure walled up in a tiny corner of her mind. Well, she thought, as she opened her eyes, the walls are down and this tiny voice is screaming. She sat up in bed and pulled an Edvard Munch ‘face’, mouth open, cheeks in and hands to the sides.

‘You’ve not got toothache have you?’ asked Sue,
materializing
at the door with a huge mug of coffee.

Alex dropped her hands hastily. ‘No, sorry, just trying to calm my psyche,’ she said taking the mug. ‘Mmm, good. That’s better.’

Sue eyed her suspiciously. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You’re never this calm and pleasant in the morning.’

Alex shook her head and took another sip. ‘I think I’m going to throw up,’ she said.

‘Perfectly reasonable and sane reaction to this afternoon,’ said Sue, with a distinct lack of sympathy. ‘Hurry up and get ready. You need to eat something before we set off. We can’t have the life-saver fainting and falling overboard now can we.’

Alex glared at her retreating back and wondered how the hell she’d got herself into this predicament.

On the beach at Watchet the crowds were already
gathering
and a holiday atmosphere reigned as families settled on the stony beach, unpacked picnics and settled in to enjoy the sun. Alex arrived just behind the minibus hired for the day to
make sure the rowers and support crew all arrived safely and on time. It was driven by Paul Malcolm, who got out looking harassed.

‘Hi Alex,’ he said. ‘Getting this lot out of bed was a joy I can tell you. Why did I agree to this? I’m dying for a pint but I daren’t drink in front of the lads.’

The bus emptied out, a cheerful bunch, covering their nerves with jokes, insults and the occasional shove.

‘Where’s Brian?’ she asked, looking over the group.

‘It’s okay, he’s coming with Pauline,’ said Paul. ‘How’s he done anyway?’

Alex had to admit she’d been pleasantly surprised by Brian over the last couple of weeks. He’d turned up, worked hard and fitted in with the rest of them with a minimum of fuss. Pauline assured her he’d not been drinking and the tell-tale spots around his mouth and nose had faded away. They were a little awkward with one another at first, seated crammed up against each other on the raft and having to work as a pair, but this faded as they developed a level of mutual respect. Brian had heard the story of the rescue and joked he was glad to be sitting next to her because she’d save him first. She watched how he picked up the unfamiliar art of rowing and was impressed by his stamina and his almost instinctive
ability
to adjust to the pitches of the raft. Above all he seemed to be enjoying himself despite the blisters, the aching muscles and the occasional ducking over the side. Perhaps he’d found what he was good at, she thought.