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.And David.She hadn’t heard from either of them for hours.She should go and see them, but she didn’t.It was so much easier to stay here … and not to move, to let her mind drift …She vaguely realised that the tiredness and the cold had paralysed her brain and frozen her will-power.It was weak and shameful to give in to it, she knew, but she was incapable of moving, of acting, of doing … She was in a sort of trance, half-believing that by staying still and ignoring things, the nightmare might somehow go away.She thought: I would pump the water out, I would go and see David and Peter … I would … But it’s safer to stay here – and, oh God, easier too – And I’ve got to steer, haven’t I? And, if the others had needed me, they would have shouted for me, wouldn’t they? And I’m so tired, I can’t do any more …Her brain was so fuddled she couldn’t sort the arguments out.They’d been scrambling in her mind for hours – though exactly how long she had no idea.Time seemed to spread out before her like a fan, wider and wider … until suddenly the fan closed and there was no time any more.She was confused … Sometimes she couldn’t even remember how long she’d been at sea.One night? Four?Once she saw grass growing out of the water … Another time she saw lights, sparkling …Now, once again, she dozed.Suddenly she was wide awake.A noise.She could hear it, loud and distinct, above the persistent wail of the wind.A tearing noise …A second later there was a loud flogging.The sails? – Or the mast …!She murmured, ‘God!’ and stood up, feeling the first touches of panic.What to do? Christ, what to do?‘Mummy! Mummy!’ Peter was almost screaming.‘It’s all right! Just sit tight!’ Julie shouted.What to do?The piece of rope was still fastened round the tiller.She took a loose end and tied it to the cleat on the uphill side of the boat.Then she made her way carefully across the deck and tied the other end to the lower cleat.The flogging and rattling were deafening.Julie pocketed the torch and made her way forward along the uphill side of the deck.She lunged for the mast and found it.It was vibrating and shaking violently – but it was upright.Something at least.An avalanche of spray poured down on her.She blew the water off her lips and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.She reached for the torch and shone it upwards at the sail.Or what remained of it.She groaned.There was a tear right across the middle, from one side to the other.The tattered remnants of canvas were beating themselves to death, shaking the wooden spars like a dog shaking a rabbit.They would have to come down … the lot: the sail, the long wooden pole at the bottom of the sail, the shorter pole at the top.She looked at the ends of the two poles: they were both held by ropes – ropes that must end here, at the bottom of the mast.But which ones? There were a dozen ropes tied to cleats on a wooden frame at the base of the mast.Trial and error.It was the only way.She undid one rope and, shining the torch upward, gently let the last turn slip off the cleat.Nothing: there was no tension on the rope.She tried the next.Ah! A lot of tension here.She searched the sail for signs of something coming down … Nothing.Without knowing why, she shone the torch forward.The little sail – it was half down! Blast!She hoisted it up again as best she could and tried another rope.At last: the outer end of the lower pole was moving downwards.Right: mark that one and look for the ropes controlling the shorter, higher pole.She found one finally and let it down until the outer end was almost in the water.Now the other inner end, the one joined to the mast.Triumphantly, she found that one too and lowered it.Now, the two poles were lying almost parallel to each other, just a few feet above the water, but swung well out from the boat.She would have to get them in somehow …She went back and hauled in on the rope near the tiller, the one she’d used to adjust the sail.There was much less pressure on it now and, to her surprise, the lower pole came in quite easily.She lowered it carefully on to the deck.Panting hard, she regarded the upper pole.She couldn’t see any way of getting it in: in the dim yellow light of the torch she could see no rope leading from its end towards the boat.The boat lurched and the pole suddenly swung inwards, lunging over the deck.Aha! Julie thought.Nearly got you!She waited for it to happen again.It swung in once, but not so far and she couldn’t reach it.Then at last it swung right over, almost knocking her off her feet.She threw an arm round it and held on for dear life.The boat rolled back; she was jerked against the boat’s side.She held on grimly and looked for something to tie round the pole.She felt around with her hand and touched a rope which was fastened to the pole.She took hold of it and held tight.The boat lurched and the pole tried to swing out again, dragging her towards the rail.She gripped the rope tighter until it ground into her flesh.Then the boat rolled back and the pole swung in again.She stepped quickly backwards and, fumbling around the base of the mast, felt for a cleat.The pole started to pull outwards again but she got one turn of the rope onto the cleat; waited, then got two more turns.She went to the other side of the mast and, finding the right rope again, lowered the pole onto the deck.Triumph! As she leant panting against the mast, she smiled to herself in the darkness.She’d actually tackled something! – And succeeded.She said aloud, ‘Well done!’She unfastened the rope which held up the little sail in front and tightened it a bit more, then rubbed her hands.What next? Yes: the other jobs! She had the ridiculous feeling she could do anything now.Getting the big sail down had been only half as difficult as it had looked.Now everything else would be easy!First – David … She went forward and shone the dim yellow light of the torch into the area under the deck.It was still fairly dry here, thank God.David was awake and bewildered, his eyes large and staring.He tried to smile but it was an effort.He seemed to be in constant pain.‘Sorry … not helping …’ he whispered.‘Don’t be silly.No need to worry!’ She patted his arm.‘Just you rest!’ She put the water bottle to his lips.As she put it down she noticed a dark stain on his sleeve.Vomit … And – she stared, horrified – something dark, blood.‘Are you all right, David? Oh, David!’‘I’m … all right
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