What remained of the evening was spent in our hotel room. Nate lay on his bed, snoring: it amazed me that he could sleep at a time like this. The captain and I occupied a pair of armchairs under the window, both of us tense and quiet. My mind was whizzing. The pilot’s suggestion was a help to us, yes, but once I was in the water and Nate was on the boat again, he’d have to pretend to be me until France. There was so much that could go wrong.
‘Nellie, I’ve something for you,’ the captain said, suddenly.
Taking a book from his pocket, he passed it to me. The book was old, leather-bound, with gold on the page edges like the special Bible Reverend Matthews used at weddings and Christmas. On the cover it said Selected Poems 227by Christina Rossetti. I’d never heard of the book, and wasn’t sure why he was giving it to me.
‘It was your mother’s favourite,’ he explained, seeing my confusion.
I swallowed. ‘Oh.’
‘She’d often read in the library at Hadfield Hall. She’d sit in the window seat, you know, the one that gets the sun in the mornings?’
I knew the seat he meant, yes, but didn’t know Mam liked poetry. Nor did I realise that she read the books she was paid to dust, or that Captain Farley didn’t mind when she did. I felt caught out, somehow, that I should’ve known these things and didn’t.
‘Umm …’ I mumbled. ‘Thank you … errr … I suppose.’
‘Yes, well.’ Captain Farley looked awkward. ‘I am also fully aware these past months have been testing for you.’
Testing? Did he mean Mam not being here, or being overlooked by Mrs Lamb, or the village flooding or Lena leaving? There was plenty to choose from, all told.
‘I have been sad,’ I admitted. ‘Especially when Lena left. I thought she didn’t want to go back to London, but I was wrong, wasn’t I?’ 228
The captain grew thoughtful. ‘You know, sometimes there are reasons as to why a family can’t be together. And if those reasons change, and the family can reunite again, then—’
‘I am happy she’s got her mum back,’ I interrupted. ‘Honestly, I am.’
‘Ah, Nellie.’ He smiled, softening. ‘You’ve been a true friend to Lena – and to Nate, at a time when they both needed your friendship very much.’
‘Actually, sir, I needed theirs too.’
‘Indeed. Friends and family, eh? Where would we be without them?’
He fell quiet again. I’d not seen him like this before, softly spoken, dreamy. Nor had I ever heard him talk about Mam and poetry books and families.
‘Your mother would be terribly proud of you, Nellie,’ he said with a sigh.
‘For the swimming?’
‘For everything.’
It was the nicest thing I’d heard for ages. I hugged the book to my chest.
Behind us, on the bed, Nate was waking up. It was time to get ready. Bending over my bag, I put the poetry book away to read later when this was all over. As I did so, Captain Farley dropped his voice: 229
‘Do what you have to do tonight.’
I froze, all the blood rushing to my face.
‘Supporting Nate, d’you mean?’ I asked, straightening stiffly.
The captain gave a tiny shake of his head.
‘I know how much you want to do this, Nellie, and I know that Nate doesn’t. You’re going to swap places in order for you to swim the Channel – ah, let me finish!’ he insisted, when I tried to interrupt.
‘You’ll be breaking the rules so you probably won’t make the history books, but, if you succeed, if you keep going, if no one spots what’s happened and pulls you out of the water, you’ll still be the first child to swim to France.’
My heart was in my throat. He knew everything. So much for his noisy car engine: he must’ve heard us talking on the way here. Or did it start back at the gravel pits on the day he’d thought I was Nate? Maybe he’d always known I’d pull a stunt like this: I’d certainly had my suspicions.
‘Don’t look so terrified,’ the captain said. ‘Just stick to your plan and I’ll do my very best to go along with it.’
I stared at him. He knew what we were doing, and was going to help us? I honestly didn’t know what to say.
Behind us, the bed creaked as Nate sat up. 230
‘What have I missed?’ he asked, yawning.
I blinked: crikey, where to start? But Captain Farley was tapping his watch. There were energy drinks to be made, maps to be read, goose fat to be warmed so it was easier to smear on.
‘I’ve got news – brilliant, bizarre news, in fact,’ I whispered to Nate. ‘I’ll tell you on the way to the boat.’
*
The harbour was a five-minute walk away. I made sure Nate and I were a few paces behind the captain and Mrs Lamb before I told him.
‘The captain says he’s going to help us swap places.’
Nate gave me a sideways look. ‘Are you making this up?’
‘No! I’m deadly serious. He knows everything!’
‘He’s not going to report us to the officials?’
‘He didn’t say so, no. I think he’s on our side.’
Nate blinked in amazement. ‘That’s extraordinary!’
‘It is,’ I agreed.
‘But then he always thought you were the better choice, didn’t he?’
‘You don’t mind?’ I asked, worried that he had been enjoying all the attention. 231
Nate laughed. ‘Cripes almighty, of course not! I’m delighted for you, old chum. If I’ve helped you as much as you’ve helped me, then …’ He trailed off. ‘How’s it going to work, though?’
‘Not sure exactly,’ I admitted. ‘All he said was for us to follow our plan.’
‘Well, the pilot won’t be in on it.’
‘Nor will the other boat with the film crew!’
So it was still going to be tricky. The pilot, when he realised, might insist on turning back. And the film crew would see absolutely everything. But as long as they didn’t interfere … All we could do was try.
*
At the harbour, two boats were waiting, engines idling: the larger of the two, lit up like a casino, was for the film crew, Mr Wrigley and Mrs Lamb. Before boarding Mrs Lamb had a final word with Nate.
‘I picked the best person for this swim, I truly believe that, so don’t let me down.’
I didn’t dare look at Captain Farley or Nate.
Our pilot boat was called the Maybelle. Before the Channel swimming craze, she’d been used for fishing: she still smelled of it, and was strung with ropes, floats 232and all manner of hooks and hatches. Once on board, we set off promptly. Every boat had its time slot, and there were other pilots scheduled to make the same trip later that night. It still amazed me that Channel swimming had become so popular.
‘It’ll be a tad choppy for the first few miles,’ Mr Hawkins warned as we chugged out of the harbour. ‘But the forecast is decent.’
As soon as we left the protection of the harbour walls, the sea sprang up to meet us. The Maybelle tipped and lurched as the wind blew hard into our faces. The boat swung round towards the beach, then slowed for Nate to climb the ladder down into the water. The distance back to the shore was thirty yards, and from here, at the pilot’s signal, the swim would officially begin.
I watched, legs twitching, as the final preparations were made. Nate took off his sweater, secured his orange hat. Captain Farley passed him the jar of goose fat, which Nate rubbed on his neck, in his armpits and all the other places that chafed on a long, long swim. His hands were shaking.
So far so good. He was acting the part perfectly. When Mr Hawkins wasn’t looking, I pulled on my swimming hat and googles. I waited for Nate’s signal. It was coming. Any moment now. 233
Captain Farley gave a curt nod. ‘Godspeed, Nate.’
Nate, slapping his arms around his torso, went to the edge of the boat. My heart raced as I watched him hesitate.
‘Everything all right?’ the captain asked.
Nate turned to us. ‘Please, sir, I’d like Nellie to start the swim with me.’
I was already scrambling out of my clothes and slapping on goose fat.
‘A top idea,’ the captain agreed. ‘Let’s get you both in the water, shall we?’
‘Hold on!’ Mr Hawkins interjected. ‘Surely it’d be best to save Nellie for later, when you’re tiring?’
‘It’s the boy’s choice,’ the captain replied, then said to us, ‘Though remember the rules. No contact once the swim starts. Two hours of swimming together, no more. We’ll get you back on board, Nellie, once he’s into his stride.’
A look of understanding passed between us: he knew this would be the critical moment when the swap would take place. We climbed down the ladder, me first, Nate right behind. Excitement skittered across my skin. Our plan was working.
The short swim took us to Shakespeare Beach. There, we stood at the shoreline, both flexing our feet, shaking 234out our limbs, ready to enter the water again. Thirty yards out to sea, the Maybelle’s lights bobbed above the water. Captain Farley and Mr Hawkins stood at the handrail: two dark shapes hunched together, discussing, no doubt, timings, wind direction and speed. To the right was the film crew’s boat, windows lit up, the railings lined with people.
I blocked out the fluttering thrill of what we were about to do. It was time to concentrate and imagine reaching the end. Picture the French coast, I told myself. Imagine Lena’s there on the beach, holding your towel, like she used to do at the gravel pits.
‘Ready?’ I asked Nate.
He swallowed loudly. ‘Ready.’
The Maybelle’s engine changed pitch. On board a torch flashed three times, then the little boat’s horn honked loudly. It was our signal to begin.