armchair. She made the Viking longship model on the shelf beside her look like a virility symbol.
*
10 th October. Wind ESE, 5, gusting 7. Rain.
The dragon wanted the sea. So did I. Neither of us liked Draca being cooped up at the mooring.
I called them all. Again. Everyone who sailed with me, the men who used to badger me to come along. Now every last one of them said no. Couldn ’ t they feel the joy of a strong ship in a storm?
I took her out anyway. One last trip before winter. Jack should have been there, just to see me. Seventy-five years old and still sailing single-handed.
Wind was light in the morning. Managed to hoist the mainsail on my own, too. Ran the halyard to the windlass. Bit slack but I did it. She holds her course at almost any point of the compass, if you lash the tiller. And I set the square sail , but that ’ s easy after the main. Running before the wind with the square sail set, off Anfel Head, we were invincible.
But Draca didn ’ t want to come home. Anfel Head again. Threw a fit when I turned, and fought me, all the way back. I think the dragon knows his friends are down there. The oath-breakers in the realm of Rán .
And that blow wasn ’ t forecast. Wind 4, they said, rising 5. We had Force 7 and I couldn ’ t reef. No strength in my hands.
Now Draca ’ s hurt. We came back on the engine, trailing rigging. It was all I could do to keep the lines inboard and clear of the prop. If that had fouled we ’ d have been in real trouble.
Feel bad. Feel a fool as well. Don ’ t want to see the cowards at the yard. If I ’ d have had help, we could have reefed.
But, now I ’ m back, I don ’ t think it would have been such a bad way to go. I think if I went out again, and there was a big wave, I ’ d die happy. Especially in The Race, fighting a storm, like the oath-breakers. I think Draca would like that, too. End it together.
*
Jack frowned. ‘ The dragon wanted the sea … ’ Grandpa had imbued the carving with life and will. And what did he mean by ‘ the dragon knows his friends are down there … ’ ? Rán , Jack knew, was the Nordic sea goddess, who harvested the souls of drowned sailors. Perhaps the cancer had been in Grandpa ’ s brain earlier than they thought. Outside, the sun was on the water and a sailing breeze stirred the leaves; the wind was picking up. Inside, a fly beat itself against the window behind the net curtains : hum – smack, hum – smack, hum – smack. It evaded Jack ’ s efforts to brush it through an open pane, and found another square of glass to assault. No matter. Chasing the fly had only been an excuse to stand behind Charlotte ’ s chair and slide his hand into her shirt, but she pushed him away, tutting her irritation.
‘ Lottie, living with you is like being a kid in a sweet shop who ’ s told he can ’ t taste the goodies. ’
‘ I ’ m ‘ working from home ’ . ’
‘ Neither am I. ’
‘ Maybe later. ’ Her fingers danced over the iPad, and Jack gave up. Above the desk, tufts of bookmarks waved from a mighty tome of Nordic sagas. He pulled it down, opened it at random and grunted in frustration when he saw it was written in Old Norse, with margin and footnotes in Danish. A yellow, sticky note pointed at a single word, haugbúi , with a caption written in Eddie ’ s awkward scrawl : lit. ‘ cairn-dweller ’ . Ghost, undead man.
Jack put the book back, uncomfortable. Beside him, Charlotte stretched in her armchair, pulling her arms high and wide, and arching her back in a way that made him want to throw her bloody iPad out of the window.
‘ Let ’ s go and see George. ’
‘ I thought you were working. ’
‘ M ’ bored . Done enough to show willing. ’
‘ I can think of more exciting things to do. ’
‘ Let ’ s get it over with. ’
They couldn ’ t even flirt any more.
II: JACK
Charlotte dressed up for the boatyard, enough to make Jack wonder who she was trying to impress. Wide-brimmed straw hat, supercool shades, crisp cotton and a lot of leg. Shoulder bag with phone, iPad and suncream . Charlotte stepped through the boatyard like an exotic wading bird, tottering on heels that did wonders for her calves and nothing for her balance.
Jack ’ s mood lifted at the sight of Draca . His ship. Or would be, soon. She ’ d been beautiful, once. Still was, until you came close, even without her mast, even with the tide so far out that only the aft end of her keel and the tip of her rudder were in water. She lay on blocks, tied to pilings and with ‘ legs ’ of timber supporting the hull, like a grand old lady on crutches. The bowsprit was still rigged, stabbing inland from beside the stem post and adding a fencer ’ s elegance to a bluff bow, but her stern gave her grace. It swept up from the keel into a slender counter that would stretch out over the water when she was afloat, lovely enough to take your breath away.
‘ Is that it? ’ Charlotte ’ s expression was unreadable behind the shades.
‘ I said she needed work. ’
Jack walked on. He ’ d seen George out on one of the pontoons, and wanted to meet her in the open, not in her office like a schoolboy in the headmaster ’ s study. He braced himself as they converged on Draca .
It was easier to apologise than he expected. Maybe the warmth of Charlotte ’ s greeting helped. George brushed away his fumbled words, once she ’ d disengaged from Charlotte ’ s hug, saying it was ‘ all cool ’ . She stood in an assertive, shoulders-back slouch with her fingertips pushed into the pockets of her shorts, a pose that went more with an old gaffer in a flat cap and dirty overalls, not a young woman in baggy shorts and a tight, hooped T-shirt. She reminded Jack of young marines , just out of training, who can scowl because they ’ re trying to look hard.
‘ Have you decided what you ’ re going to do with Draca ? ’ George lifted her chin towards the hull.
‘ I ’ m going to restore her. Bring her back to her former glory. She ’ s mine now, or will be when we ’ re granted probate on Grandpa ’ s will . ’ And George ’ s hairstyle was strange, too. Close-cropped at the back, like an old-fashioned schoolboy ’s , and an orange streak through the front.
‘ Good. I ’ ll send Chippy Alan over, our shipwright. He ’ ll have a look at her with you and you can agree what ’ s needed. ’ George turned, tilting her head to look Charlotte in the eye. ‘ Do you sail, Charl ? ’
‘ Charl ? ’ Jack didn ’ t think anyone had ever called her that before.
‘ No, but I ’ d love to learn. ’ Charlotte ’ s smile broadened.
‘ I ’ ll take you out, if you like. Are you staying long? ’
Charlotte made a knees-together, bum-out squirm of delight.
‘ Leaving early in the morning. ’ The shades came off so that George could have the full, big-brown-eyes treatment. ‘ But I could come back at the weekend? ’
George shook her head. ‘ Weekends are busy. Plus I need to keep the charter boats for clients. ’ She paused again, sniffing the wind, eyes on the sky. ‘ It ’ s quiet today. All the kids are