We walked into the water, a few feet apart. The sea was cold enough to make Nate catch his breath. Up to our left, cheers rained down from the harbour wall where a crowd had gathered. The noise became fainter as we began swimming and left the beach behind. Ahead, on the water, two boats: to the right, still, the film crew, their bright lights sweeping the waves, directly in front the Maybelle chugging steadily into the dark. It was the Maybelle we focused on. We’d been told not to swim too close to the engine because the diesel fumes would make us sick. So I let Nate take the lead, tucking myself in behind. Captain Farley watched from the boat’s railings.
‘Pace yourselves,’ he reminded us. ‘You’ve only been going five minutes. Settle in and find your rhythm.’ 236
As Nate’s stroke lengthened, I concentrated on my own.
Breathe, arm, kick, kick.
Captain Farley’s torch stayed fixed on Nate, as the film crew and the pilot would be expecting. I didn’t mind the darkness. There were no stars, no moon. The sky was heavy, blackish-blue, and seemed to spill down into the sea. I imagined I was swimming with my eyes closed. We’d been warned there would be waves at first, but the sea had already quietened to a gentle swell.
Up on the boat, Captain Farley moved away from the railings. Someone was brewing coffee. Over the throb of the engine, I heard Mr Hawkins’s throaty laugh. I settled into the swim.
Breathe, arm, kick, kick.
*
We might’ve been swimming ten minutes, or an hour. I was swimming well, in a smooth, steady rhythm, and my mind began to wander on to other things.
‘Don’t ever be ordinary,’ Mam had told me.
But sometimes, I wished I was. I’d have loved to have gone home each night to my own mum and dad, to sit down for supper in the house I’d been born in. Yet if my life had been normal, I’d never have met Lena, or Nate. 237I wouldn’t be here now, swimming to France.
I kicked on through a cold current, glad when it warmed again. Over to my right, on the film crew’s boat, the cameraperson kept following Nate’s every move. Ahead, on the Maybelle, Captain Farley’s beam swung over me before finding Nate’s head.
‘Your two hours is almost up,’ he warned.
I felt good, still: no aches, no pains, and I’d hardly thought about the cold.
It was time to swap.
Nate and I stopped, treading water. The swap itself would be straightforward enough now the captain was in on it. All we needed was to be a safe distance from Mr Hawkins’s eagle eyes. The rest we’d trust to our matching costumes and orange hats and pray they made us indistinguishable from each other, as had been the case at the gravel pits.
At this point, Mr Hawkins should’ve been steering the boat. But instead, to our great frustration, he was leaning against the railings, only a few feet from where we’d changeover. Light from the Maybelle and the film crew’s boat lit up the sea around us, as well as the ladder and the side of the boat. Mr Hawkins would see everything. When Nate climbed out it would be blindingly obvious it wasn’t me. 238
‘What do we do now?’ Nate hissed.
I glanced worriedly up at the captain, who understood the situation.
‘Shouldn’t you be steering, man?’ he barked at the pilot.
Mr Hawkins stiffened. ‘All right, no need for that tone.’
But he did disappear from view, which made it safe for Captain Farley to beckon Nate to come alongside the boat: Nate, though, didn’t move.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.
‘Something’s on my leg!’ he yelped.
‘What is? What’s wrong?’
‘Arrggghh! It’s biting me!’
My first thought was: shark! Wasn’t there a Channel swimmer who’d been bitten by a great white? Hadn’t they died? Panic scrambled my brain.
‘Stay back, Nellie!’ Captain Farley yelled, as I swam closer to try and help.
Mr Hawkins appeared again. ‘Do NOT touch him! Remember the rules!’
‘But he’s being attacked!’ I cried.
‘Get it off me, Nellie!’ Nate screamed.
I didn’t know what to do.
‘Hey! What’s happening? Everything okay?’ a film 239crew person called from their boat.
Captain Farley pointed at something in the water.
‘Could it be a jellyfish?’
‘Most likely. They’re a common hazard in these parts,’ Mr Hawkins confirmed.
I was relieved to hear it: a jellyfish had to be better than a shark, surely. Yet if Nate’s yelping and squealing was anything to go by, he was still in a lot of pain. We had another problem now too. Even if we were wearing the same orange hats, the same costumes, the second Nate got out of the water we’d see a sting mark on his foot. Mr Hawkins would tell us apart in an instant. As would the film crew. As would Mrs Lamb and Mr Wrigley.
Nate’s groaning turned angry: ‘Is someone going to help me here? It’s stuck to my leg!’
‘Hold on, lad!’ Mr Hawkins called.
He disappeared again, reappearing moments later with a broom.
‘A broom handle usually does the trick,’ Mr Hawkins instructed, passing it to me. ‘Flick the beast off with it and you’ve not touched the lad. Job done.’
I swam alongside Nate.
‘Okay, lift your leg,’ I told him. ‘Up a bit, so I can see it.’
Wincing, he raised his right leg above the water. I was expecting something white, but the jellyfish was an ugly, 240reddish-brown blob. It was an absolute whopper, the size of a dinner plate, and covered not just his foot but also his shin. I aimed the broom, swinging it hard, but the swell of the sea shifted me too high, and I caught Nate hard on the knee.
‘Arrgghh!’ he cried. ‘You’re supposed to be helping!’
The next swing got right under it. The jellyfish lifted like a giant scab, and flew off into the sea.
‘What did the jellyfish look like? Did you see it?’ the captain wanted to know.
‘Big, brown,’ I said. ‘Hairy-looking underneath.’
The captain repeated what I’d said to Mr Hawkins, who was busy steering the boat. The engine note dropped. The pilot reappeared at the railings, making frantic arm movements to Nate.
‘You’ll have to come in!’ he insisted. ‘If it’s a lion’s mane we need to get the sting out. I’m sorry, but there we are.’
We knew what this meant.
Once Nate was out of the water, in full view of everyone, the swim was over. The Maybelle would turn back for Dover.
Even Nate, who was looking weak, hesitated.
‘I could try swimming for a bit longer,’ he suggested.
‘Don’t be daft,’ I told him.
Two pairs of arms reached down to help Nate up the 241ladder. I swam closer, ready to climb on board after him. Any moment the disappointment of giving up was going to hit me like a ship’s wave.
A shout from the film crew’s boat made everyone look around.
‘Hey! We’re still filming! Keep him swimming, can’t you?’ the person yelled.
‘He’s injured!’ the pilot shouted in reply. ‘We’ll have to take him back to Dover.’
‘Whoa! Hang on there! How injured is he?’
‘He needs medical attention.’
‘Could he not try to keep going? Is that possible?’ the film person suggested. ‘It’d make great footage, guys, and we are trying to make a film here. That’s what you signed up for.’
The pilot looked flustered. Once again Captain Farley took charge.
‘Don’t touch the boat, Nellie!’ he ordered. ‘Stay exactly where you are!’
I stared at him in surprise. ‘Shouldn’t I come in?’
He shook his head, then said something to Mr Hawkins in a fast, urgent voice.
‘The girl?’ The pilot frowned at me. ‘Won’t it be obvious?’
‘Not if she keeps her distance from both boats.’ 242
‘Is she any good, though?’
‘The very best,’ Captain Farley replied.
*
For the next while, I swam in a kind of fever dream. Nothing had gone to plan. Yet in the end we’d not had to do much pretending, and here I was, swimming the English Channel. At one point, Captain Farley shouted, ‘Feed time!’ and a bottle tied to a rope was thrown from the boat, landing with a slap beside me. I took a huge swig: the Ovaltine was cold but tasted sweet and delicious.
A while later, I noticed the sky was changing. There was light up ahead along the horizon, a soft blue glow, and the sea became more than one colour. My heart soared.
Daylight!
As the sun climbed higher it made the water glitter like pennies, and threw my shadow on to the hull of the boat. This was now my swimming partner, our arms rising and falling in perfect togetherness.
‘You’re halfway!’ Captain Farley shouted from the deck.
A little later, from the film crew boat, another shout: 243‘How’s the boy doing? He’s swimming real good,’ then a loud whistle and a cheer: ‘Keep going, Nate!’
They assumed he was the one in the water. Our plan, even now, was still working. It gave me a much-needed boost, because at this point I was beginning to flag.
Sometime later, Nate appeared at the railings, still wearing his costume and orange hat. His foot was covered in a wet cloth.
‘They got the sting out!’ he hissed, crouching down so the film crew wouldn’t see too much of him. ‘And I’ve had coffee and ham sandwiches!’
It was a relief to hear he felt better, but I’d have died for a hot drink and a sandwich. Next feed time, it was more Ovaltine. My mouth was sore from the salt water, and swallowing wasn’t so easy. Then we had to swim around a huge oil tanker that appeared in our path. Those extra yards were a struggle. And when the tanker had passed and there was still no sign of France, I began to tire even more. The muscles in my shoulders were burning; my hips ached. This was the longest swim I’d ever done – by hours – and I wasn’t sure if I could keep going.
Once the doubts started, they quickly overwhelmed me. I struggled to get my stroke right. My arms and legs seemed to be fighting against me. The captain must’ve seen the change because he threw me another bottle. 244
‘Coffee!’ he said.
The drink was warm, bitter, and sent a blast of energy through me. When I’d finished, he threw down a chocolate biscuit. I didn’t care that it was wet and salty, and crammed it in my mouth.
‘Five miles out!’ Mr Hawkins called.
Nate appeared on deck again, pointing excitedly up ahead. ‘Nellie, look! You have to see it! There’s France!’
Lifting my head from the water, I saw, finally, a dark smudge on the horizon. I’d imagined this moment so often, and yes, the French coastline did look like heaven. Five miles meant a few more hours swimming, but the sight of land made it feel possible again. I could – I would – do this.
My focus now was to get through the next couple of hours. I tried not to think about the pain in my shoulders and hips. Head down, I concentrated on my stroke.
Breathe, arm, kick, kick. Breathe, arm, kick, kick.
As my body settled again, the French coast became ever clearer. I could make out the colours of it now, the pale sand, the mottled rocks, the green sweep of land rising up from the beach. It looked quite a lot like England.
‘You’re nearly there, old chum,’ Nate encouraged me. Then, a bit later, ‘I can see people on the beach!’ 245
After that, he went quiet, worried no doubt about how he was going to explain what had happened to his father, and to the film crew. It would be one heck of a shock to everyone when I got out of the water. I tried to concentrate on keeping to my rhythm. But I kept thinking how lucky Nate was, having his family there waiting for him. How I wished that someone would be there for me, to cheer when I walked up the beach. I began to feel upset, and then angry.
Soon every single thing annoyed me – the boat cutting off my view of the coast, Nate and the captain and Mr Hawkins, drinking coffee and eating sandwiches, the film crew playing awful music through loudspeakers, and someone with a megaphone reminding me that I was on course to be the first child to do this, ever.
When Nate tried to talk to me again, I told him to shove off. It brought the captain straight back to the railings.
‘Give me a wave!’ he said. ‘Show me you’re all right!’
I tried to ignore him. What a stupid waste of energy! My arms were for swimming, not waving! I wished he’d stop fussing and go away. But he didn’t.
‘You’re only a mile offshore now, but the current’s strong so you’ll need to be careful. Listen to me, Nellie.’
I tried. But everything in my head was jumbled. I 246couldn’t think a sensible thought or speak a single word. I knew I had to listen to the captain so I could reach the shore safely, but my anger had dulled to total and utter exhaustion. I didn’t care any more. I just wanted to stop. Mrs Lamb had called this part of the swim ‘the wall’. Lots of swimmers hit it: the crucial thing was to keep going.
Breathe, arm, kick, kick.
On the headland, I could see a row of white buildings, gleaming against the blue sky. There looked to be a lighthouse up there too.
‘You’re aiming for that cove.’ Now it was the pilot talking and pointing. ‘There, to the left of those rocks.’
I lifted my head to hear the sound of waves breaking on sand. The beach was only small, with no obvious way down to it. And yet standing there, just as Nate said, was a group of people. The Clatworthys, I guessed – Mr, Mrs, Nate’s younger brother – and more reporters, more cameras ready to capture the story.
‘Keep to the left of the boat. It’ll shelter you from the crosswind,’ the pilot advised.
‘You’re only five hundred yards out now!’ cried the captain.
‘That’s five lengths of the gravel pits! You can do this!’ The third voice was Nate’s. 247
I kept kicking, kept moving my arms in time with my feet, but the voices sounded very far away. I was too tired. The current was pulling at me, driving me on past the beach, and it was so much easier just to give in and go with it. I couldn’t fight. All I wanted was for someone to tell me I could stop. I’d done my best, I’d had a go, but it was all right to give up.
It was then I sensed someone moving alongside me in the water. I turned, expecting to see Nate and his bandaged foot, supporting me for the final push. But there was no one there – or rather, if there was, it wasn’t a person: it was a shaft of sunlight, turning the murky water bright. Something – someone – was urging me on. My arms began to move more freely, the pain in them easing, and I felt that yes, I could do this, and I’d be all right. Maybe it was just the shelter of the boat, or maybe someone was guiding me in. A lucky spirit, maybe, a selkie. Or my mam.
Over the crashing waves came the sound of cheering and yelling. The Maybelle slowed and cut its engine. I swam past the boat, past the shouts of the captain, Mr Hawkins, Nate. From behind me different voices:
‘This looks brilliant! Get a close-up of him coming out of the water if you can!’
Breathe, arm, kick, kick. 248
Just a few more strokes and I’d be there. My feet brushed against sand, then shingle. I touched the bottom of the sea, and immediately my legs gave way. I sat down with a splash. Someone from the beach came racing out through the breakwaters towards me.
‘Don’t touch her!’ A voice from the boat. ‘She has to walk three steps up the beach!’
I stood up, focusing on the place where the waves were breaking. My legs buckled again. I sank down. Stood up. Sank down. Everything was white and swirling. I crawled on my knees to the water’s edge. Slowly, shakily, I got to my feet.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps …
Until a sea of arms went around me.