Devil's Rock - Chris Speyer [39]
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Chapter 11
‘If you’re wondering where your package is,’ said Grandad, ‘it’s by the kettle.’ Zaki pushed Jenna out of the way and crossed the boat shed. The logbook was still in the carrier bag but there was no way of telling if his grandfather had taken a look at it.
‘Glad you’ve popped round, I could do with a hand.’
‘Sure. What needs doing?’ asked Zaki enthusiastically, always eager for the opportunity to work with his grandfather.
The old man was taking the next plank for the boat’s hull out of the steam box where it had been softening.
‘Help me clamp this one up for starters.’
The plank had to be clamped into position while it was still hot and flexible to ensure a perfect fit. Grandad made minute adjustments to the plank’s position until he was satisfied and then the clamps were tightened.
‘Fetch us over them copper nails.’
They worked steadily along the length of the new plank, fastening it to the one below. The tide was in and the sound of waves lapping against the slipway could be heard in the pauses between the tap-tap-tappings of Grandad’s hammer. The rhythm of the work, the wood and varnish smells of the workshop, the sound of the waves, his grandfather’s proximity, patient, unhurried, calmed Zaki, and soon he was concentrating entirely on what they were doing. So it came as a jolt when Grandad rested his hammer and asked, ‘Your dad all right, is he?’
Zaki felt momentarily disorientated. Dad? He’d been a bit grumpy recently – was out a lot – he seemed a bit worried about something, but that wasn’t unusual. Was he all right?
‘I dunno – I guess so.’
Grandad went ‘Hmmm, hmmm, hm,’ picked up the next nail but then paused.
‘Never talks about buildin’ that boat?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Zaki.
‘Have you forgot why you all came back down ’ere from London? You were goin’ to build a boat but I haven’t heard much mention of it lately.’
It was true; that had been the plan. Zaki remembered the cold, winter morning in the London house, that seemed so long ago now, when his father gleefully announced they were moving back to Devon. At first, Michael had objected, said he ‘didn’t want to live in some hick town in the sticks!’, had threatened to run away. But his parents’ enthusiasm had been overwhelming; they were like a couple of kids, laughing every time they looked at each other, like they’d just decided to do something truly wicked. They were going to live by the sea – build a beautiful, big, wooden boat, then they were all going to sail around the world together!
He and Michael had climbed into their parents’ bed and they had all talked and talked. His father had fetched breakfast on a tray and they had filled the bed with toast crumbs while they discussed the best time to cross the Atlantic and looked at pictures of anchorages with turquoise water and perfect, white-sand beaches in the Caribbean, while a fine drizzle fell from the grey London sky outside the bedroom window. It was such a brave, wonderful, frightening yet exciting plan. What had happened to it?
At first, after the move from London, Grandad would come over on Sunday afternoons and boat plans would be spread out on the kitchen table to be discussed. Lists of ropes, rigging, deck fittings, navigation equipment and engine parts were written, and cabin layouts and sail plans drawn and redrawn on sheet after sheet of paper. Zaki pictured his mother dressed in one of his father’s old sweaters, her arms around his father, her chin resting on his shoulder, as they both leant over to examine Grandad’s latest sketch. His parents looked so happy, their eyes bright and full of life. At last, all agreed they had designed