EIGHTEEN

Despite the fact that I was thirty and had a baby, I still couldn’t quite get past feeling that spending Friday nights at home meant that I had become a social outcast. To make things even sadder, my father had taken to calling me on Friday nights. Although I’d never asked him why, I was pretty sure it was because he figured he would always find me in.

The terrible television programs on Friday nights just added to my paranoia. The only conclusion I could reach was that I must be the sole person in Australia home regularly on Friday nights, otherwise there would be a viewers’ uprising at the number of times one of the sixteen Lethal Weapon movies was rerun.

Despite the ‘entertainment’, I had developed a Friday-night ritual that made me feel at least a little as though I was still capable of celebrating the weekend. As soon as I put Sarah to bed, I’d pour myself a glass of wine, open up a bag of cheese and onion potato chips, and lie on the couch to plan my woeful television viewing.

I was just in the middle of deciding whether I could stomach yet another do-it-yourself program, when the phone rang.

‘Hello, Sophie. It’s David Fletcher.’

‘Uh, hi, David. How are you?’ I stammered in surprise. He had called a couple of days earlier to ask me if we could get him a finished product and firm prices within two weeks. He was confident that if we could, he would be able to do a deal for four thousand books. I hadn’t expected to hear from him again until our deadline, and certainly not on a Friday night.

‘Fine, thanks. I’m pleased I caught you in.’

There was no need to enlighten him about my standing date with a packet of chips. Instead I made a noncommittal noise, which I hoped he would interpret as meaning that there was some degree of luck in my being there to answer the phone.

He started speaking again but the background noises were so loud I could hardly hear him. I could only make out a few words, none of which made much sense. ‘Late … Tomorrow … Broken thumb.’

‘David,’ I interrupted, almost shouting until I remembered Sarah upstairs. ‘I can’t hear you. Where are you? You sound like you’re in the middle of a circus.’

‘Hang … second,’ he said, obviously moving to a quieter spot.

‘Sorry, I’m just heading in to see Bohemia and it is absolute chaos.’

I had never heard of Bohemia, which wasn’t surprising given that I didn’t exactly have my finger on the entertainment pulse of Sydney. ‘Is that the new Julia Roberts movie?’ I asked, vaguely recollecting an article I’d skimmed in the newspaper the week before.

There was a brief silence while he obviously chose his words carefully. ‘Um … no, it’s the Australian Ballet’s latest production. Tonight is opening night.’

‘Right,’ I muttered, deciding not to try to explain how I’d totally missed all the publicity that must have accompanied such an event.

I couldn’t quite think of anything to say next, but fortunately, David continued. ‘Listen, I’m really sorry to call you on a Friday night but I’m desperate and thought you might be able to help. My yacht club’s annual fun race is on tomorrow. But I’ve just had a call from my race partner. He’s broken his thumb and can’t do it.’

‘Right.’ Stop saying that, I thought desperately.

‘I’ve tried calling everyone else I can think of but they’re either racing themselves or busy. You seemed to know a fair bit about sailing at lunch the other day. I know it’s late notice, and you told me it wouldn’t work with Sarah, but, I wondered if you could possibly sail with me?’

‘Um.’ Oh yes, I thought to myself, that was a huge conversational improvement.

‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m really in a jam. Is there someone you could leave her with for a few hours?’

‘Well, yes.’ Karen had felt so guilty that I’d had to take Sarah to my meeting with David that she’d made me promise to leave Sarah with her for a few hours sometime soon.

‘Do you have something planned?’

‘Well, no.’ At least I’d moved onto two-syllable answers, I thought forlornly.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell David that I’d been so desperate to change the subject after the breast pad incident, that I’d somewhat overstated my boating experience. ‘David, I’d love to, it’s just that I haven’t sailed for years. I’d hate to make you lose.’

‘Nonsense,’ he replied, obviously thinking that I was just being modest. ‘Let’s meet at the marina an hour before the race and I’ll run you through everything. Thanks, Sophie, I really appreciate this.’

As I hung up I realised that at no point had I actually agreed to race. I made a mental note never to try to negotiate with David – he was clearly not a man who heard no very often.

I wondered how David’s girlfriend felt about him calling up strange women and asking them to race with him. She was probably racing on another boat and would be delighted for him to be saddled with a liability like me, I decided.

Despite what I had led David to believe, I had only been in one sailing race in my life and that was in the ten-year-old category in Brisbane. The whole experience was a bit of a blur, but I did have a vague memory of an enormous boat almost running over me after I lost control of my tiny dingy at the first marker. Not surprisingly, I hadn’t been keen to repeat the experience and had taken up hockey instead. I hadn’t exactly made the national team in that either, but I had figured that at least I was unlikely to drown.

I did what I always do when I’m in a tight spot. I called my father. I couldn’t imagine Dad not being on the other end of the phone whenever I called. Although he kept insisting that it had been nothing, his heart attack had made me very aware that he was getting older.

‘Darling. How are you? How’s Sarah?’

One of the great things about talking to Dad was that nothing Sarah did was too minor to be celebrated. The big news this week was that she had rolled over for the first time.

‘How’s my genius granddaughter? Walking yet?’

Having spent quite some time describing Sarah’s latest manifestation of genius, I briefly filled Dad in on my sailing dilemma. I was always grateful that Dad never asked if I’d heard from Max and, true to form, he didn’t ask any questions about David either.

He talked me through a typical race and what I would be required to do. It seemed it was most likely to be a class race, which meant we’d be competing with boats of a similar size.

Apparently, as a new crew member I was most likely to be handling the ropes (or ‘sheets’, as Dad insisted I start calling them).

‘Remember, if you want to look like you know what you’re doing, follow the skipper’s instructions exactly,’ were his last words before we said goodbye.

*   *   *

So I knew I was in trouble when, during the final leg of the race the following afternoon, I found myself rummaging around in the bowels of the boat unable either to see or hear David.

Up to that point, the race had been surprisingly good fun. David had met me at the marina walkway and given me a rundown on how things would proceed. He assumed that I knew what he was talking about, and my occasional nods seemed to be all that was necessary.

I mentally blessed my father when David asked me if I’d be happy to handle the sheets. I’d figured out without any major calamities what I had to do and, despite the fast pace, actually enjoyed the first half of the race. Completely forgetting I couldn’t actually sail, I started having fantasies of buying my own boat and teaching Sarah to sail. David obviously loved being on the water and his excitement was contagious. Apparently, the deal for this race was that all the losing boats were to pool together and buy the winner a case of expensive champagne. As a result, the rivalry was more intense than usual.

These boats had been racing against each other for years, and the catcalls and heckles echoing across the water only added to the atmosphere. So when David suddenly started shouting instructions at me as we approached the mark around which we had to turn for the final leg, I was brought back to reality with a thud.

‘Okay, this is the bit that separates the men from the boys,’ he yelled. Bearing Dad’s instructions in mind, I didn’t question him about the political correctness of his expression. ‘The wind will be behind us once we’ve changed course, which means we can use a spinnaker to take us in.’

Unable to add anything, I just nodded and tried to look intelligent.

‘We won’t have time to change it once it’s up so we need to pick the right spinnaker now. I can feel a change coming in the wind. I reckon it’s going to freshen and swing around to our port side. What do you think?’

‘Ah … Yes, I think you’re right,’ I said with a conviction I didn’t feel. There was certainly no way I was going to disagree with him.

‘Okay. We’ll need the small spinnaker. Go down to the front hatch and grab it. We need to have it up just as we reach the mark.’

He was back in businessman mode and it was less a question than a command. Reluctantly, I headed down below.

Dad had also warned me that because the wind was so unpredictable, things could change suddenly in a race. I knew that a spinnaker was the big, pretty sail that went at the front (bow, I corrected myself mentally), but why we needed a small one was a mystery. There seemed to be canvas bags of varying colours everywhere and I had no idea which was the right one.

‘It’s the one in the red bag.’ I could only just make out David’s words through the wind, but I could clearly hear the impatience in his voice. He added something else but I couldn’t hear him. I looked around frantically and finally saw an edge of red canvas poking out from behind some other bags.

When I emerged from the cockpit, I saw that the competition had changed dramatically. About half the boats in the race had dropped behind us, but three were well ahead and were just about at the mark.

As I watched, the first boat made the turn and I could see its spinnaker unfurl, creating a beautiful splash of colour. As soon as the big sail filled, the boat leapt even further ahead.

‘We need the spinnaker up now!’ David was almost shouting, the frustration showing on his face. ‘Here, you take the tiller and I’ll do it – I’ll be quicker.’

As he glanced down at the bag I saw him wince. ‘This is the wrong spinnaker,’ he shouted through the wind. ‘It’ll be too big. When the wind picks up, the whole thing will blow out.’

The mark was now only about six boat lengths away and closing fast. There was no time to find the other spinnaker even if I’d known what I was looking for – I’d obviously blown it. All the fun had gone out of the afternoon.

Suddenly David turned, hauled the bag up to the bow and attached the spinnaker.

He turned to me and with a wicked smile shouted, ‘Here we go. It’ll either kill us or cure us!’

I tried not to think about how much a new spinnaker was worth and managed a tense smile back.

As we reached the mark, David called, ‘Ready about – leeho!’ (At the earlier marks I had once again blessed my father for preparing me for this.) I pushed the tiller away from me, which brought the nose of the boat around so that the wind was behind us.

The spinnaker filled with wind and it felt as though Moby Dick himself had come up behind us and started pushing. Our spinnaker was at least double the size of those of the other boats and we quickly overtook the one in front. Within about another twenty boat lengths, we overtook the next yacht and suddenly found ourselves in second place.

There was no time for celebration, though, as Aslan was travelling at a very precarious angle and felt to me like she could flip over at any second. Suddenly, just when I was sure we were going to be tipped into the water, the wind eased a little and the boat slowed, returning to a healthier angle.

David’s triumphant cry made the crew of the boat ahead turn around. The lighter wind meant that their smaller spinnaker wasn’t able to keep pace and we edged past them just before the finish line.

David’s ear-to-ear grin didn’t look like dimming any time soon as he pulled the spinnaker down. ‘That was fantastic! I have to confess, though, I really thought we were going to go over.’

I nodded. I’d been prepared for absolute disaster – a ripped spinnaker, capsized boat and a very annoyed business colleague – and I hadn’t quite taken in the abrupt turnaround of events.

We motored back to the marina in the midst of the other boats, whose crews shouted their grudging congratulations, some asking whether they could recruit me, figuring I was David’s secret weapon. If only they knew, I thought, trying to look as though I’d expected no other result.

As we tied up in the berth, David looked at his watch. ‘Our timing couldn’t be more perfect. The club bar opened ten minutes ago – fancy cracking open some of our champagne with our opponents?’

I looked at my watch with regret. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t. I need to be back by five so that Karen can get away – I’m already running late. Have a glass or two for me.’

For an instant I resented having to go home and miss the celebrations, then immediately felt guilty for feeling that way. ‘I’ll do better than that,’ David smiled, then added, ‘how about we catch up sometime to share some of the champagne? After all, I certainly couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘Sounds great.’ I felt a small stab of excitement. Surely his interest couldn’t just be business, but then how did his girlfriend fit into the picture?

‘Excellent,’ David replied. ‘I’m off to Hong Kong next week for a trade show but I’ll give you a call when I get back.’

At his mention of the trade show, my stomach dropped. We should have realised David would be there too. But it would look pretty strange if he ran into Debbie when we were supposed to have our suppliers all sorted out.

‘You might see Debbie while you’re over there,’ I replied as casually as I could. David looked surprised and I hurried on, making it up as I went along. ‘Our supplier has to be there, so it seemed the logical place to meet them and finalise the shipment of the covers.’

‘That makes sense,’ David acknowledged. ‘Well, anyway,’ he flashed that smile at me again, ‘thanks for helping out.’

He refused my offer to help clean the boat down and I headed for the car park, relishing the feeling of the salt in my hair and the sun on my back.