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Tuesday 14th December
The little dog settled in quickly. She soon learned to toilet outside and, thankfully, seemed to understand having a collar on. She wasn’t keen on being lead walked and pulled like a train, but they solved the issue with a harness. After gaining her trust, Jago soon got used to early morning walks around the harbour walls and on the beach, with a second briefer one when Merryn got out of school.
On a steel-cold morning, when it felt barely light, he walked past the RNLI station to find the door to the boathouse open. It was lit inside and felt too inviting to ignore. Like a moth to flame, he stopped and read the list of rescues chalked up on the board:
Crew launched to two fishermen in water from capsized boat. One taken to hospital suffering from hypothermia.
Crew launched, along with coastguard and search and rescue helicopter, to locate two walkers and one dog cut off by tide. All brought back to shore by lifeboat and safe.
Crew launched to reported swimmer in difficulty.
Jago shivered. He knew there was a group of local women who swam every morning, but couldn’t see the appeal in December. Reading the board and noting the tide times for the day, a wave of longing engulfed him. He missed volunteering with the RNLI. He’d been based at the London Tower Station and had volunteered for them since turning twenty. He missed the adrenaline of a shout, the camaraderie of being part of the crew, the sense of doing something worthwhile. He missed it so much it felt like an actual pain.
A young guy came out to update the chalkboard. He looked to be in his twenties and had spiky jet-black hair. ‘Morning,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘Nice dog.’
Ivy whickered and hid behind Jago’s knees. They’d learned she was nervous when meeting all strangers, not just men. Jago was having to work hard with her.
‘Hi. She’s a bit skittish I’m afraid. A rescue. We’ve only just got her.’
The man nodded. ‘Hold on a sec.’ He rubbed out the details about the swimmer. ‘False alarm,’ he added as explanation and disappeared. When he returned he had a handful of dog treats. ‘We keep some by just in case we get a call out to rescue a dog. Most of the time they’re too distressed to take one but occasionally it can win them round. Would your dog like one? I’m Jamie by the way.’
‘Hi, Jamie. I’m Jago. This is Ivy. You can try, I’m not sure how you’ll get on.’
He watched as Jamie crouched and offered a biscuit. ‘Hey there, little Ivy. See I’m not scary.’ He continued making soothing, nonsensical noises until Ivy decided he was no threat and took the treat. She even submitted to a chin scratch.
‘Thanks,’ Jago said. ‘That’ll help her socialisation. We’ve no idea what she’s been through but we’re pretty sure she was mistreated at the hands of a man. You’re very patient,’ he added, admiringly.
Jamie stood up. ‘I like dogs. Would love one of my own but haven’t the time. I come across one or two when I’m volunteering. Then it pays to have patience.’ He grinned. ‘Although a lot of the dogs are far easier than some of the humans we rescue.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Jago said feelingly. ‘I was on a shout when we got a drunk out of the river. Swore and kicked out at us, then gave the paramedics an equally rough time when they tried to get him in the ambulance.’
‘You’re a volunteer?’
‘Was. In London. On the Thames.’
‘Wow. Different set of challenges up there. You don’t do it anymore?’
Jago shook his head, not elaborating.
‘Well, if you ever fancy returning, we can always do with experienced crew members. And, if you want to get to know a few of us, we hang out in The Old Anchor on the harbour here. We’re having a carols and mulled wine event too, next week. Come on down and join in. Speaking of which,’ Jamie grinned, ‘I’d better get Welly Major and Minor out.’ When Jago looked mystified, he added, ‘Our mascot dogs made out of old yellow wellies. They’re a hit with kids. Not as pretty as Ivy here but they attract attention and, more importantly, donations in the bucket. I’ll see you around then, maybe in the pub?’
‘Maybe.’ Jago turned to go but yearned to stay. He felt a desperate tug to go into the office and sign himself up as a volunteer again. He hadn’t realised, until this moment, how much he’d missed it. He stayed to watch Jamie put out two ‘dogs’ created from standard issue RNLI boots. One large, the other smaller. With their four welly feet and a head made out of two more wellies cleverly placed sole to sole, with an eye drawn on, they were endearing.
Putting up a hand in farewell, he walked to the furthest most point of the harbour, his mood uncertain. Finding a bench which looked back towards the town, he sat and watched as the day began to wake up. It was very calm but cold, with a fog clinging to the river valley and mist dancing on the tide. Above him a gull called mournfully. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and buried his nose in the collar. There wasn’t much happening. The harbour was deserted, apart from one or two other early-morning dog walkers. No fishing activity going on, either they’d packed up for the winter or had gone out earlier. The only action in the harbour was a man on his yacht doing routine maintenance. His boat boasted a mini Christmas tree attached to its mast complete with fairy lights. The faint sounds of Greg Lake’s ‘I Believe in Father Christmas’ floated over the water from the onboard radio. It almost made him smile.
Jago’s thoughts were pulled back to the lifeboat station. As he glanced over, he could see an older woman opening up the shop next to it. Jamie had come out again and the two were having an animated conversation. The woman put a hand to Jamie’s arm and bent over laughing at something he said. They looked close, they looked as if they were having fun. It drilled into Jago it was the community life of volunteering he was missing. Was craving.
Working for the lifeboat here would be very different to London, though. He wasn’t stupid enough to think there were no dangers lurking in Lullbury Bay but the Thames was dark and treacherous, with swift undertows and hidden dangers. At night it could be lethal. As it had been for his father.
On Kenan Pengethley’s last ever shout, he had gone into the water. It was a rule you never entered the water except as a last resort. An absolute last resort. The irony, the enormous irony was it had been his last day on paid duty.
After the awful first few days, when Christmas had been forgotten like so much crumpled wrapping paper, information gradually trickled in. His father, one of the few paid employees of the RNLI, had just handed over his shift and was about to go home. A call had come in. Someone had been seen going in the water off a bridge. Almost simultaneously, the phone had also rung with news that volunteer Dougie Ekua’s wife had just gone into labour. Kenan had offered to go in his young colleague’s place. One more hurrah before he hung up his boots completely, he’d told the other crew. When the lifeboat had got to the location, the casualty had disappeared underneath a pier. Kenan had gone into the murky icy water and came out without his helmet, his head having taken a fatal blow. The man they rescued, thought to have been a suicide attempt, survived.
As Jago stared across the harbour, while Ivy snuffled fishy smells and fragments of bait caught between the cobbles, he thought back to that Christmas, a year ago.
The presents had lain abandoned under the tree for days until he and Avril felt they had to make some kind of effort for a bewildered Merryn. He and Rose had already split up by then, with the divorce about to go through, so he’d gone back to live at home. As he drove through the wet streets in the days afterwards, the happily blinking lights hung on porches and roofs mocked him with their gaiety. He’d taken his father’s presents away and stored them in his room, donating them to a charity shop a few weeks later. He and Avril had held it together as Merryn had opened hers a few days later, but Avril had had to disappear into her bedroom soon after. He’d turned the television up loud to cover the sound of her wailing. It had been an ancient episode ofThe Two Ronniesand it formed the backdrop to the game he and his sister had played. Later, when both were in bed, he’d got properly drunk on his father’s favourite whisky and disappeared into welcome oblivion.
The year that followed had been a blur; filled with making plans, putting the house on the market, deciding where to move to, ruthlessly stripping out any belongings of Kenan’s. They’d deliberately not given themselves time to think, or the space to grieve, and now it was coming back to haunt them. He saw it sometimes in Avril’s unexpected panic at things she used to take in her stride, he saw it in Merryn’s endless questioning and her desperation to cling on to anyone who offered her even the slightest show of affection or friendship. Had they done the right thing to uproot and move to somewhere so different? Time would tell.
