4

I finished the boat alone. I was determined to do it: with Jem proving how responsible he was, I was resolved to show I could be too. Though it didn’t stop me nearly exploding with excitement. For days, I couldn’t sleep right, couldn’t concentrate. My brain was a whirl of boatbuilding and sea-sailing, and how far along the coast we’d travel.

Finally, when the boat was ready, I went to find Jem. It was a Sunday, after church. Jem was outside, feeding our chickens. The weather had turned savagely cold these past weeks, and he’d taken to wearing old Mr Redfern’s cloak, which made him look even more unlike himself.

‘The boat’s finished. You coming to try it out?’ I asked, praying he’d say yes. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d laughed and had fun together.

Jem looked at me, eyebrows pinched. ‘On a Sunday?’

The day of rest. Not just hymns in church, but spending the whole day quietly, refraining from all but essential work. Our hamlet observed the rule more and more nowadays, but it still surprised me to hear it from my brother.

‘It’s not work,’ I pointed out. ‘It’ll be a test of sorts. An investigation.’

He thought about it – a bit too long for my liking, but I tried to be patient.

‘Very well,’ he said, finally. ‘As long as we don’t go further out than waist-deep.’

Personally, I’d hoped we’d go along the coast a way. But he’d agreed to come so I was glad. And he was, of course, being sensible: of the two of us, I was the better swimmer, though neither of us was exactly good at it.

‘Promise,’ I answered. ‘We’ll just see if it floats.’

He nodded, emptying the remains of his pail amongst the chickens. The little smile on his face made my heart go skywards.

The boat was where it always was, hidden under leaves and moss. Neither of us had tried moving it again since the first time, and once we’d swept the coverings aside, I was struck by how big and solid it looked – still like a tree trunk, really, despite my best efforts. The makeshift oars I’d fashioned out of twigs didn’t look up to the job, either.

‘I hope it works,’ I muttered, in a sudden rush of worry. There were so many things that could go wrong, and I was now imagining them, all at once.

Jem rubbed his hands purposefully. ‘Only one way to find out.’

With a fair bit of grunting we half dragged, half carried our boat out of the woods and along the path to the beach. Thankfully the only living things to see us were the cows grazing on the common, their heads swinging up to watch as we staggered past.

‘Bet they think we’re mad,’ I observed.

‘Maybe we are,’ Jem replied, which didn’t exactly calm my nerves. Yet he was in good fettle, whistling under his breath, and his cheery mood quickly rubbed off on me.

The boat would float. Jem would be impressed. The sun was shining, the frost almost melted. And the sea – oh, the sea! – was a beautiful pale green, and as flat as a griddle pan. I felt ready to burst. Finally, we were going to sea in our boat!

The second our bare toes touched sand, Jem began walking faster – running, almost, which was no mean feat with such a heavy load.

‘Slow down!’ I laughed, struggling to hold on to my end of the boat.

He didn’t, of course, and nor did I. We charged into the breaking waves, the cold of it making me catch my breath. The little carved-out space where we were meant to sit quickly filled with seawater. As fast as we scooped it out with cupped hands, it came in again.

We were still in the breakers, that was the problem, where any boat – even a vast sailing ship – would be bobbing like a cork.

‘We need to go further out!’ I yelled.

Jem’s enthusiasm began to cool. ‘We agreed not to go too deep …’

But we had to, for the boat to float. Before Jem could stop me I’d clambered on board, pushing aside the oars. The boat tipped so dangerously I was sure the whole thing was going to flip over. Just in time it steadied itself, with me crouched down, gripping the sides.

‘I’m floating!’ I cried. ‘Oh, Jem! Look!’

‘I’m looking!’

Not wanting to be left behind, he tried to scramble up beside me. The whole boat lurched again. I braced myself, ready to be pitched out into the water, yet somehow, sodden and panting, Jem managed to swing his legs up on to the boat.

‘Sit down!’ I insisted.

He crouched opposite me, his knees crushed against mine. The wood was digging into my hips, the small of my back. We were jammed in tight, trembling with cold. Yet the boat was floating. And it kept on floating with us on board.

‘Well, you did it,’ Jem said, a smile spreading across his face. ‘You made a boat.’

I grinned back, a little dazzled.

‘We did,’ I corrected. ‘You helped me.’

He laughed. Shivered. Laughed some more. And all the gloom and nasty, knotty worries of the past few weeks seemed to shrink inside my head. With the sun on our cheeks and the sea breeze stiffening our wet clothes, I felt that sense of peace Father had spoken of seeping into my bones.

Then, like he’d plucked it from the air, Jem said, ‘You’re so much cleverer than me, Fortune.’

I was taken aback. ‘You’re the blessed child of Fair Maidens Lane, not me!’

‘But I truly don’t want to be. It should be Mother or you or Abigail instead,’ he said, and went silent in that thoughtful, scrunched-up-face way of his.

I was almost sorry for him, then, and patted his knee clumsily, which made the boat rock. Life in Fair Maidens Lane used to be simple. As long as we did our work and didn’t bleed to death or set fire to anything, we were pretty much left to ourselves. Now it was as if we had an unseen master standing over us, making sure we all behaved.

‘Shall we paddle a bit?’ I said, keen to shake off a return of the gloom.

I realised then I’d lost my oar, which in truth was little more than a bundle of twigs. Luckily, Jem still had his tucked down beside him.

‘We’ll have to take it in turns,’ he said.

‘Five rows each?’ I suggested. ‘Otherwise we’ll go round in circles.’

Jem paddled first, then handed the oar to me. It didn’t do much other than make a splash, and I added it to the fast-growing list of things in the boat I needed to improve on.

Yet the fact of the matter was we were floating. We were at sea. I’d done something useful, and it felt bright and brilliant.

‘Perhaps next time we could try it with a little sail,’ I chattered on, passing the oar back to Jem. ‘Here, take it.’

But he was gripping the sides of the boat.

‘Fortune,’ he said quietly. ‘Have you seen how far out we are? This water certainly isn’t waist-deep.’