HE HAD BEEN CLINGING TO THE BOAT FOR HOURS. Salty spray pelted his face as the churning water pushed him tight against the overturned skiff. His fingers ached—but he couldn't let go. He had Georgie to think about.
"Georgie," he called. "You hanging on with both hands, like I told you? You keeping your head up, lad?" He listened for his cousin's reply. But the darkness brought no answer, only the smacking of waves against the hull.
At first, Alec had not been alarmed when Georgie upset the Wayfarer and dumped them both into the Channel. He figured they would flip the little fishing skiff over and climb back in. But the swells knocked them around so that within minutes they were too weak to do anything but keep holding on. With every wave, they drifted farther into the churning sea. By nightfall, Alec knew their only hope was for someone to find them.
"Georgie, you hearing me? You hanging on tight?"
"Alec," Georgie answered. "My arms hurt. I'm cold."
Alec heard the weakness in his cousin's voice, and the panic he had fought to keep down rose again. Hand over hand, he edged toward the tow rope that dangled from the bow. If he could get the rope loose, he could tie it around Georgie's waist—keep him from drifting away. But Alec was cold, too, and it was hard going against the waves. When he reached the rope, it was wet and knotted. He couldn't work it free.
"Georgie, I'm coming back around to help you," he called, trying to sound calm. "We'll try again to lift you up and set you on the hull. Let's do that. What do ya say, mate?" Alec chattered as he worked his way toward the far side. The waves kept coming. One moment, he would be looking down on Georgie and the skiff, and the next, he was below his cousin, watching Georgie rise above him.
The cold water was wearing him out. It had to be well past midnight. Surely their families were looking for them, but would they know where to search? Would they realize Alec had ignored his father's orders to stay out of the Channel when the wind was whipping so? Would they guess that Georgie had come along?
"Alec. Alec, are you still...?" The little voice choked.
"Aye, Georgie. I'm here. I'm coming to you. Right now. I'm coming." Alec inched his swollen fingers along the gunwale and rounded the end of the boat. As he grew closer, he saw the little lad bobbing like a buoy in the dark. Gripping the skiff with one hand, Georgie dug helplessly at the water with the other. His body flapped against the side.
"I'm here, Georgie," Alec shouted, and the boy turned toward him. It was so dark, and the waves were fiercer now. Alec strained to see Georgie's eyes.
"I'm scared, Alec. You said they'd be coming for us. Where are they?"
"They're out there, Georgie. I'm sure they're looking for us right now."
"Can they find us in the dark?"
"It will be light soon," Alec lied. "We'll spy the white cliffs and the castle—then we'll get help. Once they discover we went fishing in the Channel, they'll come, mate." But now, he doubted his own words, and the gradual numbing of his arms and legs made him realize that he could not hold on much longer himself.
"Stay with me, Alec. Don't—don't go back—back where I can't see you."
"Aye, Georgie. I'll stay with you." Alec wondered if the overturned boat would be unsteady with both of them on the same side. He thought again about the tow rope. Georgie's voice worried him. His tongue sounded thick, and his words came slowly, as if they were struggling to get out. Something inside Alec stirred.
"Hang on, Georgie. It can't be long now," Alec said. He stretched toward the tow rope.
"I'm so ... tired, Alec. I don't think ... I don't think. I want to ... rest."
"Georgie, don't sleep!" Alec turned away from the rope. "If you sleep, you'll forget to hang on. So don't sleep, Georgie, don't sleep. Do you hear me? We can't sl—"
But his words were swallowed up by the roar of a monstrous wave that rose from beyond the skiff and poured down on them, knocking Alec free of the boat. His head dipped below the surface as he clawed at the water, searching for a hold. Then his fingers caught the edge, and he drew himself up against the skiff. He reached for Georgie. He wasn't there.
"Georgie! Georgie! Where are you?" Alec screamed. "Georgie, do you hear me?" He listened in the darkness. Nothing. Nothing but the waves cutting in, smothering his words.
"Please, Georgie. Please be here!" he begged, turning first in one direction and then in the other. "Georgie! Georgie, answer me. You can't leave me!" He tried to lift himself higher to see over the boat.
"Where are you? Oh, Georgie, just answer—please answer!" His chest burned within his numbing body.
"Georgie," Alec groaned. "Georgie."
But the Channel didn't care. It threw wave after wave against the skiff, against Alec. His fingers ached, and he waited for them to simply let go and allow him to follow Georgie to his grave. He dropped his head back into the water and closed his eyes. He remembered how Georgie had looked, expecting Alec to save him. Now Georgie was gone. And Alec was alone.
He thought again about what he'd done. What will our families think when we don't return? Will they know we've drowned? He didn't deserve to survive. He had ignored his parents' words, and it had cost Georgie his life.
He felt his arms sag lower into the Channel. His tongue was swollen; he tasted the salt seeping into his mouth. He had little strength to push the water away. How ... how could I have been so selfish ... to bring ... to bring Georgie with me. Angry now, he raised himself halfway out of the water and pounded the useless skiff. Whump! "It should be me! I ... I... should be gone!" he shouted. "It ... it should be me ... not Georgie!"
Far away, he heard a faint noise. He listened, certain that the wind and his body were playing tricks on him. But then he heard it again. Wheet, wheet, the sound rang out. Wheet, wheet. Alec knew the sound. It came from a fisherman's whistle. Wheet, wheet, wheet. The sound was louder now—it was almost upon him.
"Alec. Alec. Are you out there?" a voice called. Wheet, wheet, the whistle blasted. "Alec! Alec!"
"Georgie, do you have Georgie?" Alec answered. But he knew it was no use. He was too weak to be heard above the waves. Still, he tried again.
"Here. I'm here," he whispered. "Over here. Please. Please save Georgie." He slipped farther into the water.
"Alec? Georgie?" the voice called louder.
Alec wanted to answer. He knew the voice—a strong, rough voice—a voice he'd heard his whole life.
"Here, Father," Alec answered, resting his head against the boat. "I'm over here." But the wind spit the words back to him. He let go with his right hand and slammed his fist again on the boat. Whump, whump, whump! The sound carried above the waves. "Over here, Father," he said. "Here. This way."
"Alec, Alec! We're almost there. Hang on. We see you!" his father called.
The waves rolled on, drenching his head and forcing the boat away from his chest. He pulled himself close again and pressed his cheek against his curled fingers. It was too late; he knew the Channel would take him, too. Then the skiff jumped, bumping him from the opposite direction as his father's boat pressed up against his. He heard the boats scrape together, and then something touched his head, his shoulder. His father was reaching for him, bending far over the stern, placing a rope over Alec's head and beneath his arms.
Alec felt the rope tighten as his father tugged on its end. With each rolling wave, the boats smacked together and then drifted apart. Alec wanted to help, but his arms and legs were too numb to move. He felt himself being pulled from the dark water, his legs dangling beneath him. He heard the rope groan as it stretched over the gunwale. Then he felt hands reaching under his arms, dragging him over the side and onto the ship's deck. His father slipped the rope from around him. It was then that Alec heard his uncle Jack.
"Where's Georgie, Alec? Was Georgie with you?" Jack shouted. "What's happened to Georgie?"
Alec, his body shaking, whispered, "Gone—he's gone. Georgie's gone. He couldn't hang on ... drifted away."
His father turned to Jack. "We'll find him. We just have to keep searching."
Thinking his father had not heard him, Alec said again, "He's gone. I tried to help him, but the waves.... He couldn't stay with the skiff. I tried to get the rope. I couldn't—"
Alec's father did not answer. His gaze moved sadly from Alec to Georgie's father, who stood—even in the rough sea—and called out.
"Georgie! Georgie! Where are you, lad? Answer, Georgie; it's me, Da. Answer us, lad!"
Their cries were hopeless. Alec knew Georgie was gone, but he had no strength to argue. Curling up in the blanket his father had placed over his shoulders, he wanted to hide from the men. He had been found and Georgie was lost. Now he could do nothing but cower in the boat and listen as his father and Uncle Jack called again and again for the drowned boy.
"Georgie! Georgie! We're here. Georgie?"
He fought to stay awake, but soon he settled deeper into the blanket and fell asleep to the rhythm of the desperate cries and the rolling swells. He slept fitfully, rousing to hear the men calling, then drifting off, worn out from his fight with the sea. When he awoke, the early hint of dawn was creeping over the horizon. They were nearing shore. Alec looked aft to see the Wayfarer tied up and trailing behind. He heard the ship scrape against the planks of the wooden dock, and he lifted his head to peer above the gunwale. His father and Uncle Jack were making ready to haul up. He thought about Georgie and scooted back into the bow, where he could see the shore but stay out of view. People hurried toward the dock, lanterns dangling from their hands. They were anxious to hear what the fathers had found. The first voices he recognized were those of Mr. Walter, the baker, and Mrs. Tanner from the Fifty Shilling Tailor Shoppe.
"They've come. Frank and Jack. They're home," Mr. Walter called.
"Fetch their women," Mrs. Tanner shouted.
Alec saw the crowd gather, many holding their lanterns high, trying to peer into the ship. He spotted Farley Woodhams, owner of the town dairy. Next to Farley, Alec recognized Captain Cairns, skipper of the Britannia. Familiar faces should have comforted him. Instead, he hid again beneath the ship's gunwale, out of sight of those who called for news.
Mr. Walter spoke again. "Frank, you've been out most of the night. Did ye have any luck?"
"Aye," Alec's father called. "Some." And he nodded toward Alec, who rose high enough for people to see him.
The crowd cheered, then hushed as they saw Jack turn away and look out into the Channel.
"Oh my ... no!" Mrs. Tanner cried as she realized Georgie was not with them.
Someone reached in and hoisted Alec from the boat. His legs buckled as Mr. Woodhams grabbed for him, and he crumpled into the dairyman's strong arms. More people were rushing toward the boat now, but Alec only wanted to hide.
Just then, two women scurried down the docks, arms wrapped tightly around each other. They pushed through the crowd as people moved aside. Alec's aunt Lucy broke away and ran to him. Her eyes searched his face, and then she rushed to the ship and looked over its edge. Grabbing the crumpled blanket, she tossed it aside. Her Georgie was not there. In an instant, her cry pierced the darkness, and with her wail, the town felt the loss of one of its youngest members.
"Where's Georgie, Alec?" his aunt demanded, turning toward him. "Where's me boy?" she screamed, grabbing his slicker.
Alec tried to pull away, but she was mad with fear. "What have ye done with me son?"
Before he could answer, he felt his father's grip on his shoulder. At the same moment, Uncle Jack's arms surrounded Lucy and pried her fingers from Alec's slicker. Thomas, Georgie's older brother, stepped up and took her other hand.
"But, Jack ... Thomas..." Aunt Lucy looked from one to the other. "He's out there, ye know. What if he's alive? We've left him all alone! Ye didn't stay out long enough!"
"Lucy." Her husband turned her toward him. "The boy's gone. We looked, and called, and trolled for hours. The lad is lost to us, Lucy. We can't be thinkin' otherwise. He can't be helped."
Lucy looked up, her eyes searching her husband's face. But Jack shook his head and said again, "He's gone, love."
She started to speak, then covered her mouth and leaned into Jack. Alec could hear others in the crowd sniffling and whispering as Aunt Lucy, Uncle Jack, and Thomas turned and shuffled along the dock to their auto, parked near the shore.
Watching her sister move away, Alec's mum pressed her face against his wet hair. "Oh, Alec," she whispered into his ear. "Thank God you're home." But his father forced them apart and then nodded toward Farley Woodhams, who took Alec by the arm and led him along the dock to the lorry. Farley opened the door and let Alec climb in, and then he slid behind the wheel and waited.
From inside the lorry, Alec watched as his uncle prodded Aunt Lucy toward their auto. Thomas stood nearby. Aunt Lucy was shaking her head and pointing to the Channel. Then Thomas stepped over, whispered something to his mum, and opened the door. After settling her in the seat, he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side.
Alec's mum had seen it all as well. She looked his way and then turned toward her sister. For a moment, Alec sensed her struggle and wanted to call out, "Stay with me, Mum." But his shame kept him quiet, and he tried to understand when his mum moved away from Farley's lorry. She spoke to Thomas, who opened the door and helped her climb inside. Then Alec watched as his aunt rested her head on his mum's shoulder for the sober ride to the family home.
Alec's father climbed into the seat next to him and closed the door. Through the rear window, Alec saw the people from town dispersing, each of them off to do the business of a new day.
The lorry rumbled through the city streets. Alec looked up toward the white cliffs and saw the sun as its rays touched the walls of Dover Castle. The castle stood like a royal guard, keeping watch over the city. Gazing at it, Alec remembered the times he and Georgie had scrambled together among the rocky hills, tossing stones into the Channel far below. Georgie. Alec shook his head and leaned back against the seat. He thought about reaching across his father, flinging open the door, and jumping from the moving truck. He wanted to run as far from home as he could. But he knew he could not.
He shivered in his wet clothes as Mr. Woodhams and his father talked about the night before. Alec longed to have someone tell him that he was just a lad who was still learning, that he hadn't meant for such a thing to happen. He wanted to feel his father's arm around his shoulders and hear him say that everything would be all right. He wished his mum was sitting next to him, soothing his fears and keeping him warm. But no one spoke to him; their avoidance screamed his guilt. It was his fault; he knew it, and so did everyone else. Georgie had died, and he was to blame.
The lorry pulled up outside the Shaftbury Inn. Still stiff from the cold water, Alec waited for his father to get out and then lifted himself from the seat. His father paused only a moment, then stepped onto the stoop and through the doorway. Alec followed.
The Tiffany lamp on the desk lit the small lobby. The guest ledger was still open to the day before—June 29, 1939—the day he and Georgie had sneaked out to go fishing. A coal fire glowed in the grate, chasing away the early-morning chill, and the smell of bacon wafted into the room. Alec thought about their cook, Aga, who no doubt was flustered, worrying about Alec but needing to carry on with breakfast for the few guests at the inn.
Standing by the desk, Alec waited for his father to blast him with his words. He had felt their sting before, but today ... today he deserved them. No punishment would be too severe.
Just then, the dining room door swung open, and Aga rushed past Alec's father to scoop Alec up in her chubby arms. "Oh, lad, oh, Alec boy, I'm so glad to see you safe," she sputtered, kissing him roughly on his cheek. He pressed his face into her apron. She smelled of bacon and fresh bread.
But just as quickly as she'd come, Aga stepped back. "The boy's wet and cold," his father snapped. "He needs dry clothes and some rest." With that, Aga scurried off to fetch fresh clothing and hot tea as Alec and his father walked down the back hallway to Alec's room.
Standing outside the bedroom door, his father turned to face him. "I'm going to take the lorry and join your mother at Lucy and Jack's. You stay here with Aga and don't leave the inn." Then he was gone.
In his room, Alec found things as he'd left them. His bed was rumpled, unmade in his hurry to meet Georgie and take the Wayfarer fishing. Though he usually kept his journal hidden in his nightstand, it lay opened to yesterday's entry. Georgie and I will land a big one today; he'd penned. His parents must have read it when he and Georgie had come up missing. It doesn't matter, Alec thought. What I've done is far worse than stealing a look at someone's journal.
He sat on his bed and covered his face with his hands. He was sure to be an outcast now; the whole town would know. Why couldn't it have been him? Why had he let Georgie come along? Like the waves in the Channel, the questions kept coming. What would he do now? How would he ever face Georgie's family? Where would he go to escape what he had done?
"Alec," Aga whispered, rapping lightly on his door. "Here's some clothes, laddie. And some tea and toast. I'll just leave it all here. We'll talk in a bit. Get some rest, Alec boy."
He listened to her steps as she went back toward the scullery. Cracking open his door, he lifted the food and clothes from the hallway, closed the door, and peeled off his wet shirt and trousers.
The damp morning air surrounded him. His fireplace, untended since he'd been gone, stood cold and dark before him. He opened the flue, gathered some paper and kindling from the hearth, and reached for the match tin on the mantel. The tinder caught quickly and flared, casting a warm glow in his room. When the embers signaled it was time for the coal, he reached into the nearby bin and scooped a load of the black lumps onto the fire. Being careful not to add too many at a time, he formed a deep bed that soon glowed with a blue flame. Then he adjusted the flue and settled near the fire, waiting for its heat to warm him. The hot tea burned as it slipped down his throat. He didn't care. He thought about Georgie.
They had been best mates, even though Georgie was three years younger than Alec. Alec's father discouraged him from making many friends. "Living like we do, here in the inn," his father said, "it gives you no time or space to be with other lads. Keep with Georgie. He's family."
Alec remembered how Georgie loved to play hide-and-seek in the inn. He liked to hide in the larder among the tinned meats and jellies. He would tuck back under the bottom shelf, while Alec, knowing Georgie would be there, rattled about the scullery and drawing room before springing open the larder door.
Some days, they sneaked under the archway by the Church of St. Mary to make their way up the hill to the castle. Looming above Dover, the castle had sheltered the city for two thousand years. "As far back as the Romans," Aga told them, "the people of Dover would build big fires at the top of the tower so ships could find the opening near the cliffs."
Stone walls rose high above the farmlands to the north and west, and a drawbridge sealed tight the castle's main entrance. But Alec and Georgie spent their time on the side that overlooked the Channel. Holding hands, the boys peered over the edge and looked down at the chalky white cliffs that plunged many feet below them. From their perch, they saw the whole town of Dover, and on a clear day, they looked across the Channel at the coast of France.
To protect the castle, a small number of guards were posted inside its walls. "It looks like a playground for the king," Georgie said one day, glancing back at the stronghold. "I wish we could see inside of it."
"Maybe someday we will, Georgie," Alec said. "Maybe one day we can find a way to sneak in. But for now, we need to keep it a secret that we even come here. Father would not like it."
But his father had found out. One of the vicars at the Church of St. Mary had spotted the boys going up the hill and told Alec's mum the following Sunday.
"I don't want you wandering up Castle Hill Road, Alec," his father said. "That castle is off limits to the people of Dover. You've no reason to be climbing around there, annoying the guards."
Alec and Georgie had obeyed Alec's father and stayed away from the fortress. Instead, the Channel became their playground. On warm days, when the wind was quiet, they would load the little skiff with sandwiches and bait and shove off into the waters beyond the docks. Some days, they might catch a snapper or two, but most days were spent rowing around in circles or out and back to the shore. Alec's father didn't forbid their sea excursions, but he had warned Alec more than once to mind the weather and take no chances.
Now, with Georgie gone, Alec wished more than anything that they had obeyed about the Channel as well. But the truth loomed before him.
Sitting in his room, he felt the cold leave him while the sadness lingered. He knew he couldn't stay at the inn much longer. He'd made a mess, and he had to do something. At thirteen, he was nearly done with school. Once that was finished, he would not stay. If he was to be shamed, he would be shamed alone.