It was Ma Blackwell who handed me my towel. Her face, stern and soft and so familiar, swam in front of my eyes.
‘You silly, clever girl, you!’ she cried.
Mr Blackwell was there too, in his best Sunday suit: each taking an arm, they helped me further up the beach.
‘What are you doing here?’ I gasped. Monday was market day in town, and they always went, so they couldn’t be here in France. I had to be dreaming.
‘And miss this? Not likely!’ Ma Blackwell exclaimed.
Mr Blackwell’s voice shook with feeling. ‘Our Nellie, the first kiddie to swim all the way to France! Imagine that!’
At this point my legs gave out again. I sank on to the shingle beach and began to sob – proper, exhausted, 250wrung-out tears. The Blackwells crouched next to me, rubbing my back and handing me hot, sweet tea from a flask.
‘You did it!’ Mrs Blackwell said. ‘My goodness, girl, you did it!’
‘So go on, have a good blub. You deserve it,’ Mr Blackwell urged.
I smiled. Laughed. Cried even harder, though not just that this wild dream of mine had actually come true. The Blackwells were calling me ‘our Nellie’, and it felt wonderful to be someone’s again. How they knew that I was doing the swim instead of Nate, and how they afforded the ferry, I didn’t know, but I suspected Captain Farley was behind it.
‘Where is Nate?’ I asked then, looking around.
Mr Blackwell nodded towards the water’s edge: ‘Looks like his father’s on the case.’
Mr Clatworthy was standing knee-deep in the sea, calling out to the pilot boat that was moored twenty yards offshore. On the other boat, Mrs Lamb waved her arms about in a very angry fashion. Mr Wrigley was with her, spectacles glinting in the sun. And next to him the bulky black shape of a camera, and a person crouched behind it, still filming.
‘Oh heck.’ I huddled into my towel. 251
I’d known this was coming, the moment when everyone realised what we’d done. It was going to be messy and difficult, trying to explain ourselves. Already a full-scale shouting match had broken out down at the shoreline.
‘Don’t you tell me the rules of Channel swimming!’ Mrs Lamb was yelling. ‘Your son and his little pal have made idiots of all of us! It’s a disaster!’
‘Where the blazes is my son?’ Mr Clatworthy shouted back. ‘That’s what’s concerning me, frankly!’
It was worrying me too: where was Nate? He’d been up on deck not so very long ago – limping, yes, but seeming to be okay. Had the jellyfish sting got worse? Was he suddenly, badly ill?
Scrambling to my feet, I joined Nate’s dad at the sea’s edge.
‘Mr Clatworthy,’ I began. ‘Nate had a – oh!’
I stopped, choked with relief, as Nate reappeared on deck.
‘What’s happened?’ Mr Clatworthy cried, noticing Nate’s foot, which was wrapped in a comically fat bandage. ‘Was there an accident?’
‘Yes, with a big brown jellyfish,’ I explained. ‘They got the sting out, though, so fingers crossed he’s all right.’
As if to prove he was, Nate swung his good leg over 252the side of the boat. Captain Farley warned him not to jump, that they’d get him to shore, if he could just wait. Poor Mr Hawkins looked utterly exasperated.
‘In all my born years, I’ve never known a swim like this one!’ he cried.
Of course, Nate couldn’t wait. I watched, heart in mouth, as he heaved his other leg – the bad one – over the railings, and jumped into the sea. He landed neatly enough, called out, ‘Bravo, old girl!’ to me.
Yet the waves were breaking messily around him. The current, as I knew, was strong, and Nate, weak from the jellyfish sting, was struggling. I felt a jolt of fear: this was not how things were meant to end. Flinging off my towel I ran into the water. As I did so, Mr Clatworthy charged past me, fully clothed, to dive beneath the waves. Moments later, he appeared next to Nate.
‘I’m all right, Dad,’ Nate spluttered. ‘I can manage,’ though he clearly couldn’t.
Without any fuss, Mr Clatworthy put his arms under Nate and guided him back to the shore. They came in together. When Nate’s feet touched down, he stumbled. Before the sea could swamp him, Mr Clatworthy scooped him up and carried him those last few steps up the beach. I gave Nate my towel. 253
‘What are you doing, jumping in like that?’ I demanded.
He shook the wet hair from his eyes. ‘Had to, didn’t I? To congratulate you. You do realise what you’ve done?’
‘What we’ve done,’ I pointed out.
I knew I’d gone beetroot red, but I didn’t care. Even Mr Clatworthy being there didn’t ruin the moment, though he looked different now he was sopping wet and shivering – less sure of himself, somehow.
‘You’d better tell me all about this jellyfish, Nathaniel,’ he said, trying to sound stern.
Nate’s grin faded. ‘Sorry, Dad. I know you must be disappointed that I didn’t do the swim.’
‘Disappointed? That’s not the word I’d use.’ He pointed at Nate’s foot. ‘Though I’m hoping the jellyfish came off worse?’
A look flashed over Nate’s face, as if he wasn’t sure if his father was joking. Mr Clatworthy’s serious expression crumpled and suddenly he was smiling. Nate smiled back, relieved and a bit bewildered.
‘I’m proud of you, son, for trying something so difficult,’ Mr Clatworthy admitted, a little catch in his voice.
I wasn’t sure if he meant our swapping places plan, or the swim itself: it didn’t matter. What did was that when Mr Clatworthy pulled Nate into a hug, his son hugged 254him back. Though they were soon interrupted by Nate’s little curly haired brother, charging over and yelling, ‘Let me see your bandage!’
And we all laughed.
In the water, meanwhile, Captain Farley lowered himself into a small rowing boat to come to shore. Mrs Lamb was still fuming, insisting everything was a ‘disaster’. What I wasn’t expecting was for Mr Wrigley to laugh. And it really was such a huge bear of a laugh we heard its full force on the beach.
‘It’s the complete opposite of a disaster!’ he insisted. ‘These children have turned this swim into a wonderful epic of a story, and we’ve filmed every last second of it! It’s going to be incredible!’
*
Officially, Mr Hawkins told us, the swim was void. The registered swimmer, the name logged by the association, was ‘N. Clatworthy’, not N. Foster. The news came a little while later in a hotel dining room where Nate and I were tucking into egg and chips.
‘We followed most of the rules, though, didn’t we?’ I reasoned.
Nate speared a chip. ‘Sorry, Nell. I know how much 255this meant to you.’
‘Means,’ I corrected him. ‘It’s not over. I’m going to relive this day for the rest of my life!’
Besides, I didn’t do the swim for glory or for my name to be up on a wall somewhere, or because, like Mrs Lamb and Mr Wrigley said, it’d become the newest craze. I did it because I wanted to. I did it to prove to myself I could keep going when times got tough, and that being stubborn, being a ‘sticker at things’, was actually a strength. And I did it for my best friend, because without Lena making me believe it was possible – that anything was possible – I would’ve grudgingly accepted Mrs Lamb’s decision to choose Nate, and that would’ve made two of us miserable.
‘Wish Lena could’ve been here, that’s my only regret,’ I admitted.
And yet Mr Clatworthy’s reaction had almost made up for it. He must’ve come to France hoping his son would make the record books, and instead discovered he’d let a girl from Syndercombe take all the glory. I’d still not got over the hug he’d given Nate.
‘Was your dad really okay about it?’ I asked.
‘Actually, he was.’
‘What did he say to you in your hotel room?’
‘Well, I told him about you, about how you were 256positively dying to do the swim and I … well, I wasn’t, frankly, and how we’d conjured up the plan, so I’d not be sent back to school, and you’d get a stab at your dream – and the sponsorship deal money, to boot.’
‘He didn’t mind?’
‘He didn’t. I think it shocked him to see the lengths I’d go to, to not go back to school. In fact …’ Nate paused. ‘He actually apologised for not listening when I told him about the bullies. And he said I’d done something he’d failed to do, and that was make friends in Syndercombe.’
‘It’s hardly the same, though. You don’t work for the water board. You didn’t stretch the truth.’
‘That may be so. But as I’ve told you before, my father rarely approves of anything I do, so I’m counting this as a small victory.’
Which I took to mean that despite the difficult, complicated relationship he had with his father, this was an unexpected step in the right direction.
We’d barely finished our chips when Captain Farley came striding into the dining hall with Mrs Lamb and Mr Wrigley. There was something in the way that he was leading them towards our table that made my insides flutter with sudden excitement.
‘Hullo, Nellie.’ The captain stopped at our table, hands clasped behind his back. He was, I could see, trying to be 257upright and serious, but struggling not to smile.
‘Well …’ He cleared his throat. ‘The officials have agreed that—’
Mrs Lamb interrupted: ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t prolong the agony!’
‘What?’ I cried. ‘What have they agreed?’
‘That you did it, Nellie.’ Captain Farley beamed at me. ‘They’ve studied the film crew’s footage, and agree you followed the rules. Officially you are the first child to swim the Channel.’
I stared at him, open-mouthed.
‘Congratulations, my dear!’ Now it was Mr Wrigley coming forward, his hand outstretched for me to shake. ‘We’re awful proud to be your sponsor. This is a great day for Wrigley’s.’
I almost laughed: it all felt too unreal. But suddenly Nate was leaning across the table, clapping me on the back, and Mrs Lamb, looking me up and down, said she always knew I had it in me.
‘Thank you,’ I muttered, in an absolute daze. ‘Thank you.’
Needing to tell the Blackwells, I went outside to the terrace where they’d been drinking tea in the afternoon sun.
‘T’int nothing like our milk, is it, eh?’ Ma Blackwell was 258saying as she sipped. ‘Creamier – oh, here’s our champ!’
I pulled up a chair, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Officially the champ, so I’ve just heard.’
Ma Blackwell’s teacup clattered down in its saucer. She threw her arms around me. ‘Oh, Nellie Foster!’
‘Ah, but are we still allowed to call you that, now you’re famous?’ said Mr Blackwell with a twinkly smile.
Untangling myself from the hug, I asked what he meant. Especially as Ma Blackwell was shaking her head and shushing him, and he’d the hangdog look of someone who has just said something they’re not meant to.
‘What’s going on?’ I demanded.
‘Nothing,’ Ma Blackwell insisted.
‘Wasn’t he going to tell her today?’ hissed Mr Blackwell at the exact same moment. ‘When he gave her the passport?’
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Ma Blackwell flapped her hand for us to be quiet. Captain Farley, still smiling, and looking very unlike his usual serious self, stepped out on to the terrace.
‘Ah, Nellie, might I have a word?’ he said, then glanced at the Blackwells. ‘In private.’
We moved to a quieter part of the terrace, but not before I heard Mr Blackwell say: ‘Told you he’d tell her today.’
I felt nervous all over again, but braver too, somehow. 259Whatever the captain was about to say, I knew I could probably face it. The captain sat down to speak: I stayed on my feet. First, he handed me a passport. My passport, I realised, proudly.
‘You needed certain paperwork to land in France, even as an extra on the pilot boat,’ he explained.
‘Oh, crikey.’ I’d forgotten all about passports. ‘Thank you for arranging it.’
He stayed seated, as if he had more to say.
‘The paperwork … ahem.’ He started again. ‘On the paperwork I had to give details of your next of kin – your parents, Nellie.’
I swallowed.
‘I do believe you to be of an age now where you are old enough to hear the truth.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Your mother and I … I’m—’
‘The person who put the yellow roses on her grave?’ I guessed at last.
He looked at me, looked away, nodded.
It all added up. ‘And the swimming classes, the poetry book, helping us swap places—’
Now it was Captain Farley’s turn to interrupt. ‘Yes, you’re right. I tried to make sure you had what you needed, Nellie. I couldn’t do it officially, not without scandal, but I paid an allowance to your mother every 260month, and after she died, continued to pay it to the Blackwells, with increases when required.’
‘That’s why Ma Blackwell was at the hall that day,’ I realised, remembering her signature on the paperwork.
‘Ah, yes, indeed.’
I should’ve been shocked: maybe I would be later, when it’d properly sunk in. But I already had a hunch that the captain and my mother had been friendly, I’d just not wanted to admit it. All those times Lena and I had played our stupid Mamas and Papas game, and that one single time she’d mentioned him, it’d felt too close to the mark. I wished she was here now to hear this conversation: she always did have a way of making the difficult things seem easier.
‘You’re my father, that’s what you want to tell me, isn’t it?’ I asked.
Captain Farley blinked. His nose was red, his eyes filling up, but I didn’t want him to cry, at least not until he’d said the words out loud. So I waited until he’d composed himself with another deep, shaky breath.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am your father.’
I let it hang there between us for a moment.
‘I’m glad you told me,’ I then replied.
And for the first time ever, just to see how it felt, I took his hand.