While the Storm Rages, page 9
Clem sat out front, nervously watching Frank and Samson get acquainted, which boiled down to the little dachshund cowering arthritically every time the donkey showed any interest in him. One unfortunate, misplaced hoof could easily mean curtains for the old dog, and he seemed to know it. Samson knew it too, and he did his best to put the dog at ease by rubbing his head gently on Frank. Sadly, it wasn’t long until Frank sought the safety of Clem’s lap, where he remained, breathing heavily as he slept.
‘You are a silly thing,’ she cooed to him. ‘Could you not see Samson was trying to be friends?’
But Frank slept on and Clem instead took the opportunity to take in the landmarks as they passed. This was her city, the only one she’d ever known, yet here on the river, it was like seeing it anew.
She felt herself shiver as they rolled past Big Ben exactly on the hour, hearing its chimes ring out. It was like everyone around them, no matter how big or small their boat, stopped to take in the noise. Like it was the only thing that mattered. With every landmark Clem’s brain flicked to stories she’d read about them, whether it was the plague or the Gunpowder Plot, and if the boat’s engine hadn’t been so loud then she would’ve tried to pass the stories on to the boys – not that she imagined they’d be interested for a second.
Big Col had positioned himself too far away to hear, at the stern of the boat, sometimes on his own, sometimes he brought Delilah out of the cabin and talked quietly to her, as the python slid and slithered its way around every limb he owned. It was like Big Col’s entire upper body was swathed in snakeskin, like he was wearing the most decadent jacket. Two minutes later and his trousers seemed to have been tailored by the python.
Noah saw this and shivered. Not with cold, but fear. There were times when Delilah seemed to be squeezing tighter than was comfortable; Big Col’s hands or even neck turning slightly scarlet, before the snake moved on and gripped him elsewhere. If it bothered Big Col in any way, then he was mighty good at hiding it, though Noah made a note to stay well clear until Delilah had been fed something substantial, like an elephant.
He shook the image from his head and turned his attention back to steering a route down the river. The Houses of Parliament stood judgmentally behind them now, and he could see the towers of Battersea Power Station ahead and beyond it the west of London.
They were doing this, just like he said they could. And all right, he might not be a particularly good navigator, and Windsor might not be round the next corner. But it wouldn’t be long. It really wouldn’t.
Only then, the engine went bang.
25
It wasn’t a bomb-like bang. But it was enough to shock them all, Samson in particular, who threatened a stampede up and down the deck.
‘What the blazes was that?’ Clem shouted as she and Big Col piled into the cab. Noah was still dressed as his dad, but lacked a captain’s composure. The skipper’s cap was pushed askew and he looked out of his depth, a boy lost in his dad’s mac, as much as he tried to hide it.
‘It’s fine,’ he gasped, pulling hard on the wheel. Too hard. Or so it felt to Clem.
‘Go the other way!’ she yelled, unhelpfully. ‘That’s starboard. We need portside!’
These weren’t new terms to Noah. He’d chugged up and down the river with his dad enough times to have heard them on plenty of occasions. He thought he had the hang of them too. But now, with smoke billowing from below deck, all that went out the window. At that moment in time, he would’ve been flustered by forward and back.
‘What do you mean?’ he yelled.
‘You’re steering us into the middle of the river. LOOK OUT!’
Noah might not have been a bona fide skipper, but he didn’t need to be to see the biggest boat yet speeding towards them on their right. Fifteen times the size of Queen Maudie, any kind of contact would’ve seen the vessel act as a tin opener, leaving the boat AND them, well beyond repair.
‘Portside! Portside, NOAH!’ She yelled. ‘LEFT! LEFT!!!’
That was an instruction he could follow, and he pulled hard and left with his whole body, so much so that the cap fell from his head, demoting him instantly from captain to cabin boy.
Queen Maudie howled and cried in pain, sending more smoke through the floorboards, but her cries were drowned out by the oncoming boat’s horn, blaring its condemnation as it passed on the starboard side, closer than anyone wanted, the wake from the river making Maudie tilt and rock like a rowing boat on the high seas.
‘You idiot!’ Big Col roared. ‘Don’t you know your left from your bleedin’ right?!?’
Noah couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘You can talk! You didn’t even know where the king lived, did you, genius?!’
‘That’s enough!’ Clem barked, stepping between them. ‘Noah, get your eyes on the river and us over to the bank! Big Col, just... well... just stop it, will you???’
Big Col, much to her surprise, did exactly that, storming from the cab and slamming the door with such force that the whole boat shook again. Noah swore under his breath as he quickly steered Maudie to a mooring before any more damage could be done.
‘Help me tie her up, will you?’ he said to Clem, and as she jumped ashore, feeling her legs tremble at the sensation of being on dry land, Noah killed the ignition, before lifting the trap door to the engine.
The result was instantaneous, smoke billowing into his face like he was standing over a factory’s chimney. It was a relief to see only smoke and no flames.
‘What’s going on?’ yelled Clem, standing behind him.
‘Just overheated, that’s all.’
‘You sure?’
‘Course I’m sure. I practically rebuilt this engine with Dad, you know!’
This was partially true. He’d lost count of the number of tools he’d passed down to his father as he tinkered and hammered and spannered the boat back to life. Not to mention the number of cups of tea he’d made. Without those, Dad would’ve overheated, never mind the boat.
‘So what do we need to do to fix it?’
‘Nothing for now. She’s just not been used for a while, Dad had been... tinkering with the engine before he left.’
Clem knew Noah well enough to understand what that meant. ‘You mean it was broken before we even set off?’
Noah jumped up from his knees and shushed her, paranoid that Big Col would hear and demand answers.
‘No!’ he hissed. ‘It wasn’t broken. It just wasn’t, you know... finely tuned.’
‘You mean it wasn’t working properly?’
‘Well... parts have been harder to get hold of, lately.’
‘So you led us onboard, and sold us the idea of sailing all the way to the Duchess’ estate, when you knew full well that this rusty old bathtub was never up to the job?’ She was furious now.
Noah hushed her again, like he was afraid the boat herself would hear and take umbrage. ‘I knew no such thing. And there’s nothing wrong with Maudie. She could go to China if we asked her. She’d just have to do it... slowly.’
‘Slowly because we’d have to swim in front and tow her behind us!’
Their argument had attracted not just the attention of Frank and Winn, but Big Col too, who reappeared, arms out like a scarecrow, with Delilah draped across them. There was very little space in the cab as a result.
‘Why don’t you get Samson in here too. We can turn it into a proper East End knees up!’ moaned Noah.
Big Col though, wasn’t one for sarcasm. ‘Are they the towers we saw this morning?’ he asked, pointing back to Battersea Power Station.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Clem. ‘That’s Battersea.’
‘So you mean we’ve been travelling all day and we’re still in the same place?’
Noah felt his fists clench and he swallowed down the reply he wanted to give.
‘How long we stopping for?’ continued Col.
‘Long enough to let the engine cool. Then I’ll top up the water and oil and we can set off again.’
‘Right,’ said Big Col. ‘Good. Cos it’s definitely time to eat.’
Noah looked at Clem, and Clem looked at Noah. Both of them gulped in fear.
They didn’t like the way the snake was looking at them.
26
The engine did not cool quickly, and nor did Big Col’s hunger. In fact, there was soon a red-hot longing for food in each of them that couldn’t be satisfied by the tins they’d found onboard or scavenged from the larders at home.
There was barely enough sardines or spam for the dogs, never mind the humans. Samson was easily enough pleased, there was grass aplenty in Battersea Park, though Noah brought it to the donkey in a bucket, rather than trying to lead him ashore. Samson was so stubborn and the grass so lush here that they doubted they could tempt him back onboard a second time. As Noah brought him the bucket, Samson gently rubbed his enormous head on Noah’s arm, as if in thanks. It made Noah glow, craving contact with him, feeding him directly from his hand as he scratched behind his ear.
And as for Delilah, she continued to unsettle them by doing very little really. Her presence even for the shortest periods, before being returned to the warmth of the cabin, was enough to set their nerves on edge, though that probably wasn’t helped by the agitation hunger brought with it.
‘I’m still starving,’ Noah moaned, looking longingly at the empty tins. He’d have run his finger round the edges for stray flakes of fish had the dog’s tongue not already done it.
‘Stop moaning,’ Big Col snapped. ‘You should be more like Delilah. Makes her food last, she does.’
‘Probably because her last meal was a pony,’ replied Noah. ‘And she probably ate the rider on its back too.’
‘You two are paranoid. She’s not going to eat you. She’s not going to be hungry for days.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, exactly that. She’ll often go five or six days between meals. ‘’S what snakes do.’
Noah looked at Clem, outraged almost. ‘Did you know this?’ he said.
‘Thinking about it, I reckon I did read about it somewhere, yes.’
‘Then why didn’t you tell me? I’ve spent all day worrying that this... thing was going to eat me while my back was turned.’
This did little to impress Clem, who like everyone, was now both hungry and irritable.
‘You know, Noah, I’m getting a little bit sick of being your walking encyclopaedia. If you want to know things, why don’t you start finding them out yourself, because the last time I checked you had eyes for reading too.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Noah bristled.
‘Do I need to explain it twice? Or are you lacking a brain as well as eyes?’
Both of them were on their feet now, fingers pointing and eyes flaring. Even the dogs were agitated: facing each other as they stood at their owners’ feet, teeth bared and snarling.
It was a moment that could’ve derailed their entire friendship never mind their mission, had help not come once again from the most unlikely of sources.
‘Does your dad fish?’ asked Big Col, a question so unexpected it dragged them from their stand-off.
‘What?’
‘It’s a simple question. Does he fish? When he’s on the boat?’
‘Er, yes. Sometimes.’
‘Where’s his rods then? In fact, just point me. It’ll be quicker. And the quicker we fish, the quicker you two will be full enough to stop arguing.’
Noah and Clem looked at each other, still riled, but also slightly ashamed to have been caught bickering by Big Col. Noah mumbled something and pointed him to the cabin and the rod Dad stowed there.
‘Hmm,’ said Big Col, a look on his face that Noah didn’t recognise. Usually if the bully were concentrating, his face had a look of constipation about it, but minutes later, as he handled the rod, he actually looked like he knew what he was doing.
‘Line’s tangled,’ Big Col said. ‘By the time we unravel that it’ll be 1940 and you two will have either killed or eaten each other.’
And with that, he pulled a knife from his pocket, which made Noah gulp. He’d no idea Big Col was carrying it, nor why he thought it necessary.
‘What are you doing?’ Noah said.
‘Nothing for you to fret about. In fact, in about an hour, your stomach will be thanking me. So shut up and watch.’
Noah did exactly that, out of both fear and interest. He watched as Big Col cut the line free, removing the spool of twine altogether, before putting the rod back in the cupboard carefully.
‘Don’t you need that?’
‘Nah. Prefer to do it my own way. Besides, Dad would never let me near his fishing rod. We had words when I used it once.’ Noah saw him flinch and rub at his arm before heading outside and down the gangplank.
Noah stood at the doorway and watched him on the bank. If there was something bothering Big Col, then he soon shook it off, dropping to all fours, head down in the long grass, almost doglike, sniffing something out.
Noah wanted to ask what he was doing but held his tongue, snapping his fingers to get Clem’s attention instead. ‘What’s he up to?’ he mouthed quietly, before realising he was doing what he always did: asking his friend for the answers.
Clem hadn’t a clue anyway, so they both watched silently, until... after a good few minutes, Big Col jumped to his feet.
‘Aha!’ he yelled, delightedly, holding not a snake this time, but a long, wriggling worm. ‘This one’s a beauty.’
Bounding up the gangplank, he waved the worm in their faces, making them worry this was tonight’s menu.
‘What are you waiting for?’ he said. ‘Get on the bank there and get a fire lit. Give me half an hour and we’ll be ready to cook. You have my word.’
They didn’t move, not straightaway. Instead, they watched the boy cut the worm into multiple pieces, before attaching a piece on to the twine he’d cut from the rod. Leaning over the side of Queen Maudie, he cast the line into the river like a professional.
Only then did he realise he was being watched. ‘You do know how to make a fire, don’t you?’ he asked.
Clem and Noah nodded and backed away to the riverbank, hungry enough to place every ounce of trust they had in the fists of Big Col.
27
The smell was otherworldly. Like something from a dream.
They’d had fish, plenty of times, but had never watched it be caught, gutted and prepared like Big Col did it. His thick stumpy fingers seemed to take on a life of their own, all deft and precise like a surgeon’s.
When his line twitched the first time, they’d thought it was a fluke, and then they watched, expecting (but not hoping) for him to fail the second time around. But ten minutes later another fish lay twitching on the deck, then a third and a fourth.
Big Col didn’t make a fuss about it, or show off, nor did he take any delight in putting the fish out of their miseries. Instead, he talked to them quietly, apologetic after the deed had been done and then set to work filleting them.
He didn’t step away from the cooking either, though he did moan about the size of the fire, putting that right effortlessly before frying the fish in an old pan of Dad’s, without the flesh ever sticking or burning. The only noise he did make was a long low burp that escaped his lips as he lay back sated, and it bounced off the trees that lined the riverbank.
‘Well,’ said Clem, full but suddenly tired, ‘that was delicious.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Noah, who still found it hard, despite the feast, to say thank you to his nemesis, ‘it was... needed. Thanks. Who taught you to do that? Your dad?’
Big Col lay there, hands behind his head. ‘’I’ve watched him fish a lot, but teach me? That’s not really him.’
‘Well, you were obviously a good watcher then,’ said Clem
Big Col side-eyed her, not sure if she was trying to get a rise out of him.
‘No I mean it,’ insisted Clem. ‘I thank you. Noah thanks you. And our stomachs definitely do.’
But Noah had done with the niceties, pulling himself to his feet and unexpectedly kicking dust on to the dying flames to put them out. ‘Delicious as that was, we haven’t got time to pat ourselves on the back. Windsor is still further away than I’d like, and it’ll be dark soon. Be good to have London properly behind us before that happens. Can’t help thinking I’m going to turn round and find my mum running towards us with her rolling pin in her hand.’
If ever there was an image that was going to stir them into action, it was this one, and they gathered everything back onboard.
‘You sure this old sieve is up to it?’ asked Big Col.
‘You do the fishing and leave the boat to me,’ replied Noah tersely. ‘Besides, I topped her up with water, so she should be much cooler again.’
‘Till next time,’ huffed Big Col, not caring who heard.
Noah swallowed his irritability, donned his skipper’s cap and mac once more and took a deep breath before turning the Queen Maudie’s key, feeling his confidence return when she roared into life without the slightest complaint, or even worse, smoke.
‘Full steam ahead then,’ he said, and with Winn happily perched on the box beside him, he pulled nervously and slowly back out into the traffic.
It may have been their full bellies, it may have been the repetitive rumble of the engine beneath them, but the next hour or two passed without incident or concern. The traffic on the river thinned somewhat, as did the buildings on the banks. At the start, in Wapping, it had been all warehouses and cranes, followed by the big, obvious landmarks, but now, in West London, it became more about houses, but not the sort the children knew. There didn’t seem to be rows of terraces, simple two-up two-downs, these were glorious, four-storey town houses, some semi-detached, others standing proudly on their own. Noah found himself slack-jawed, wondering how anyone could ever afford such a thing? Did these people own banks or simply rob them? It seemed alien to him, even the football grounds out here seemed grander. Once they sailed under Putney Bridge, they saw Fulham’s Stadium, Craven Cottage, perched on the riverbank to their right. Although there was no game playing, Noah could imagine the roar of the crowd.
