the water. That’s something. It’ll take time though.’
‘We need to get back. You’re frozen. You should go inside. Try and get warm.’
Somewhat to my surprise, he doesn’t argue. When he goes into the cabin, Queenie follows him as if she’s his dog, not mine.
I start the engine, lift the anchor and head out. After we’ve cleared the bay and I’m confident I can put the auto helm on, I steal quietly over to the seat in the wheelhouse where Callum left his jacket.
The toy rabbit is in one of the inside pockets. There’s hand stitching around one ear where the original seam came loose and someone – me, I think – sewed it back up. I feel sure that this is Kit’s toy. I can’t begin to calculate the odds of it ending up on the Endeavour, the odds of both this and the body of poor Jimmy Brown doing so, but this is the last comforting thing my baby ever saw. I tuck it inside my shirt. It’s filthy, cold and wet against my chest but I wouldn’t have it anywhere else.
As I drive into Stanley the fishing fleet are setting out for the day. I reverse into my mooring and tie the boat up. I haven’t heard from man or dog the whole trip back. So I’m not entirely surprised to see both of them curled up on the main bunk, snuggled under rugs and dead to the world. Queenie opens her eyes. I wait for her to scramble off and join me but she stays in the crook of Callum’s arm.
Just before I leave the boat, I tuck Benny Bunny into a drawer in the wheelhouse. I want him close, next time I head out from harbour. I want him with me at the end.
* * *
I’m weary. Body and soul. Weary of being forced to think about children who mean nothing to me, of putting what little energy I have into looking for boys who are not mine. I never used to be so cold. I’m not naturally a monster. There was a time when I’d have been as distressed as anyone by the losing of Archie, by the finding of Jimmy. There are days when I think the old me is almost gone.
Now, for the short time I have remaining, I want to be left alone, with the only two people I care anything for. Even if they are ghosts. But at this stage I cannot do anything that will draw attention to myself. I have to go through the motions, just for one more day.
So I head for the office, to see if normal business has resumed or if we’re spending another day searching for Archie. Susan is in something of a flap.
‘Your Aunt Janey’s been on the phone. Needs you to call her right away. Problem over at Speedwell.’ She is holding the phone out to me and I have no choice but to take it and dial my aunt’s number.
Speedwell is an island off the south coast of East Falkland very close to George and Barren. Aunt Janey and her husband own it and live on it some of the time. She answers so quickly I know she has been sitting by the phone. ‘Catrin? We’ve got a big problem. Whales on the beach. Hundreds of them.’
Susan is watching me. I pull a face to let her know it’s bad. ‘Are they alive?’ I ask Janey, and to be honest, I’m hoping they’re not.
‘Most of them. But the birds are starting to have a go at them. Catrin, it’s really horrible.’
It takes a lot to upset my Aunt Janey. I tell her I’ll be with her as soon as possible, just as John arrives.
‘Mass stranding on the south coast of Speedwell,’ I tell him. ‘Well over a hundred, according to Janey. Pilot whales, most likely, from her description.’
Neither of my colleagues replies immediately. It’s the sort of disaster we dread, can never really prepare for.
‘We’ll have no help.’ Susan has gone pale with distress. ‘Everyone will be looking for the little boy.’
Ordinarily, with a major marine incident, we could rely upon both the police and the military for assistance. But with a child still missing the chances of them sparing personnel are slim.
‘I’ve got that fisheries meeting this morning,’ says John.
The meeting has been planned for months. We’re
‘We need to get back. You’re frozen. You should go inside. Try and get warm.’
Somewhat to my surprise, he doesn’t argue. When he goes into the cabin, Queenie follows him as if she’s his dog, not mine.
I start the engine, lift the anchor and head out. After we’ve cleared the bay and I’m confident I can put the auto helm on, I steal quietly over to the seat in the wheelhouse where Callum left his jacket.
The toy rabbit is in one of the inside pockets. There’s hand stitching around one ear where the original seam came loose and someone – me, I think – sewed it back up. I feel sure that this is Kit’s toy. I can’t begin to calculate the odds of it ending up on the Endeavour, the odds of both this and the body of poor Jimmy Brown doing so, but this is the last comforting thing my baby ever saw. I tuck it inside my shirt. It’s filthy, cold and wet against my chest but I wouldn’t have it anywhere else.
As I drive into Stanley the fishing fleet are setting out for the day. I reverse into my mooring and tie the boat up. I haven’t heard from man or dog the whole trip back. So I’m not entirely surprised to see both of them curled up on the main bunk, snuggled under rugs and dead to the world. Queenie opens her eyes. I wait for her to scramble off and join me but she stays in the crook of Callum’s arm.
Just before I leave the boat, I tuck Benny Bunny into a drawer in the wheelhouse. I want him close, next time I head out from harbour. I want him with me at the end.
* * *
I’m weary. Body and soul. Weary of being forced to think about children who mean nothing to me, of putting what little energy I have into looking for boys who are not mine. I never used to be so cold. I’m not naturally a monster. There was a time when I’d have been as distressed as anyone by the losing of Archie, by the finding of Jimmy. There are days when I think the old me is almost gone.
Now, for the short time I have remaining, I want to be left alone, with the only two people I care anything for. Even if they are ghosts. But at this stage I cannot do anything that will draw attention to myself. I have to go through the motions, just for one more day.
So I head for the office, to see if normal business has resumed or if we’re spending another day searching for Archie. Susan is in something of a flap.
‘Your Aunt Janey’s been on the phone. Needs you to call her right away. Problem over at Speedwell.’ She is holding the phone out to me and I have no choice but to take it and dial my aunt’s number.
Speedwell is an island off the south coast of East Falkland very close to George and Barren. Aunt Janey and her husband own it and live on it some of the time. She answers so quickly I know she has been sitting by the phone. ‘Catrin? We’ve got a big problem. Whales on the beach. Hundreds of them.’
Susan is watching me. I pull a face to let her know it’s bad. ‘Are they alive?’ I ask Janey, and to be honest, I’m hoping they’re not.
‘Most of them. But the birds are starting to have a go at them. Catrin, it’s really horrible.’
It takes a lot to upset my Aunt Janey. I tell her I’ll be with her as soon as possible, just as John arrives.
‘Mass stranding on the south coast of Speedwell,’ I tell him. ‘Well over a hundred, according to Janey. Pilot whales, most likely, from her description.’
Neither of my colleagues replies immediately. It’s the sort of disaster we dread, can never really prepare for.
‘We’ll have no help.’ Susan has gone pale with distress. ‘Everyone will be looking for the little boy.’
Ordinarily, with a major marine incident, we could rely upon both the police and the military for assistance. But with a child still missing the chances of them sparing personnel are slim.
‘I’ve got that fisheries meeting this morning,’ says John.
The meeting has been planned for months. We’re
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