‘Ready about,’ Anthony shouted. ‘Pull the rope hard.’ She did, and the sail flapped in the wind. ‘Now. Duck! Watch the . . . oh hell.’
The swinging boom this time hit her on the side of the head as the boat wheeled round. She cried out with the pain. ‘Keep hold of the rope,’ he cried. ‘Haul it in! Haul it in!’
‘I can’t. Everything hurts. Stop shouting at me.’
‘Here, take the tiller. Hold it steady.’ He reached for the rope and pulled the sail tight, then hitched the rope round a convenient cleat and returned to take the tiller.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Untie that rope and hold in that sail for dear life. When I say “ready about”, hold it firm, I’ll move the tiller and the bow will swing round. Then watch out for the boom which will move across the boat. And that’s the moment you tighten the rope and hold on for dear life. Got it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, crossly, rubbing her face on her sleeve. ‘Just stop shouting at me.’
‘I’m not shouting, I’m giving instructions.’
‘You could at least say please.’
He looked at her in astonishment, then his expression turned to a comic urgency as he cried, ‘Ready about. For God’s sake, do it!’
‘Please,’ she shouted back, but ducked under the boom just in time and hauled on the rope.
‘Please and bloody thank you,’ he said, and she sat up straight and smiled.
‘You are something else,’ he said finally.
She was starting to enjoy it now, the excitement of the wind and the spray dashing her face, the flight of the craft skimming through the blue-green water. She was freezing, but getting to the stage of numbness where it was starting to feel warm. She closed her eyes and was relaxing a little when he shouted, ‘Ready about, again. Please.’ And she pulled the rope and got the sail across just in time.
They were right out to sea now, far from land and she didn’t like to think of the fathoms of water beneath. It was an act of faith, this, being on a boat, working with the weather and the capriciousness of the sea. No wonder sailors were a superstitious lot. What else did they have but the signs of the sky and the water and the hints the gods gave them? She looked back the way they’d come. St Florian was a scar of white and grey on the flank of the land.
It was on their way back that the disaster happened. They were nearing the harbour and Anthony ordered her to swap places again and hold the tiller while he reeled in the sails. He was just coming to reclaim his seat and Lucy stood up to swap over, but she let go of the tiller too early. A great gust of wind blew the boat round and she wobbled, screaming. She grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be him; he stumbled, roared and fell over the side.
‘Help, what do I do?’ she shrieked at the empty water. After a long, long moment he surfaced, gasping, still holding tightly to the rope, and clutched the side of the boat.
‘Sit down!’ he spluttered. ‘No, over there. Now lean out that way.’ With a supreme effort he managed to haul himself back in. He didn’t stop to recover, but seized the tiller and brought the boat under control. His eyes were steel and she was afraid to say anything. They entered the harbour and slipped quietly into their mooring.
She waited until he’d tied up before saying meekly, ‘Anthony, I’m terribly, terribly sorry. It was my first time. I didn’t know what to do. I should have listened to you.’
She was relieved to see a slow smile spread like a flame across his frozen face. His eyes sparkled and he started to laugh.
‘What?’ she said. ‘What? Tell me!’ Then she started to laugh, and soon they were both helpless with laughter.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please. Oh, wait till I tell the boys that.’
‘What boys?’ she asked, but he was still laughing.
Finally he said, ‘Go on, you go and get changed. I’ll finish up here.’
She climbed up onto the jetty. ‘Thank you,’ she called down. ‘Buy you a drink in the bar later?’
‘I’m staying in a borrowed house till Sunday,’ he said an hour later, taking a draught of the local bitter. They were sitting opposite one another at a wooden table in front of the hotel, the evening being mild. ‘It was my friend’s boat, really, but it doesn’t get used much now. I thought you did very well, by the way.’
Lucy almost choked on her lager in surprise. ‘Don’t be daft. I was a disaster.’
‘No, really, for a first-timer. You kept your head.’
‘And tipped the skipper in. Surely they used to make you walk the plank for that.’