Читать книгу ELVIS SAILS AGAIN - DAVID J CHRISTOPHER - Страница 10

In Nidri, Jock's verbal torture continued. He was now being shown Barry and Brenda's favourite photographs on their new mobile phones.

"And this is Brenda's sister's little boy, isn't it Bren? Lovely little chap. And this is his little sister. Oh, she's a little terror but with her angelic face she gets away with it, doesn't she Bren?"

Brenda nodded, happily accepting that she was the silent support in this seemingly endless monologue.

It had now been four hours since Barry and Brenda had arrived at the Nidri office. They had followed Jock around like hungry cats every time he found an excuse to leave his desk. Plying them with alcohol hadn't worked. Barry had politely refused and told him an interminable story about how much they used to drink before "seeing the light and going teetotal."

"You see," said Barry, "Once you give it up you notice what a strange effect it has on people. Give someone a few drinks and they gabble on endlessly thinking they are interesting, isn't that right Bren?"

Brenda nodded.

Jock looked out of window desperate for some respite. The weather was on the turn, and black clouds were gathering.

"Think we're in for a spot of rain," said Jock during a rare pause.

"Never rained in all our nine years of Sailawaying. Let me look. No, it's going to pass right over. The rain never falls on Barry and Bren, isn't that right Bren?" responded Barry.

Whatever skills Barry possessed, being a weather forecaster wasn't one of them. With minimal warning the skies darkened, lightning forked across the black sky and thunder boomed. The torrent began. Within moments Jock could hardly see the pontoon out of his office window as he gazed out, trying desperately not to appear disinterested as Barry told him about the improvements the couple had made to their house since last year.

Jock nodded and grunted "yes" and "really?" at what he thought were probably appropriate junctures, as Barry ran through the works to the kitchen, the loft extension, the landscaped patio area, and then the new electric gates.

"Holy shit," Jock cried, so loudly that Brenda fell backwards off her chair. "They're open."

For the first time in four hours Barry shut up momentarily, scratched his head and looked at Jock searchingly.

"No Jock, they're definitely not open, the thing about electric gates you see is they close automatically."

"Not your flippin' gates, the boat hatches. Look, they're are all wide open. Please excuse me."

Stopping only to grab a waterproof cape hanging on the back of the door, he charged out of the office, ran down the path and onto the pontoon. Each of the twenty boats was open to the elements, and Jock knew how much water could fall from the sky in a few minutes. He had once pumped out twenty litres of rainwater from a dinghy after a ten minute storm.

He jumped onto the first boat, went inside, and closed the front hatch tight. Then he closed the windows and finally pulled the entrance hatch firmly shut. One boat down, nineteen to go. If the rain didn't stop, and it was if anything getting heavier, by the time he got to number twenty it would be seriously wet inside, possibly even beyond economic repair.

"Don't worry Jock, we've got this side covered."

He looked up to see Barry and Brenda, already soaked to the skin, leaping from one boat to the other making them watertight as they went. In a third of the time it would have taken him on his own, the boats were all closed to the elements. They were certainly damp inside, but there was no doubt things would have been much worse without Barry and Brenda.

"Come on you guys, let's get you some dry clothes from the lost and found, then we'll head back to my place for a shower," he told them as they made their way back to the office.

"Well," said Brenda piping up for the first time, "I thought we would get wet at some point this week, but I didn't think it would be before we had even set sail!."

Stavros pulled the coach into Nidri, and turned left towards the waterfront, then right to Sailaway's place. The rain which had followed them from Preveza had now moved off towards Meganisi. The holidaymakers stopped their assassination of the classic "Singing in the Rain."

"Not exactly a typical Greek village, is it."

Cynthia was gazing mournfully through the steamed-up window of the coach.

"My friends, we are arriving. The holiday begins here," announced Stavros from the front of the bus. "By the way, that Taverna over there is the best. It belongs to Stavros," he said proudly patting his chest with both hands.

Two thirds of the way back on the coach sat Gemma. She was travelling with her friend, Natalie. Gemma surreptitiously pulled out her notebook and wrote a few words in it. Then she joined the others climbing down off the coach.

"See you later at Stavros place, yes?" he was saying to each of them as they passed by.

They pulled their soggy luggage up the path and into the building, expecting the warm welcome advertised in the brochure. But there was nobody home.

"At least they've left us some wine," said Tony as he spied the bottles on the side. "I suppose we help ourselves."

When the sun rose the next day there was little movement from the boats. A late night, a month's supply of Sailaway's booze, and the time it had taken to get to sleep had all contributed to the inertia. Only one boat stirred into action. The cabin hatch of R2D2 was flung open and out popped Barry and Brenda ready for the start of what they knew would be a brilliant day. They were wearing matching T shirts. Hers emblazoned with Wife on the Ocean Waves, and his with "Husband on the Ocean Waves."

"Very funny darling, well mine is anyway," Brenda had said when Barry had produced the t-shirts a week earlier. "but what happens if we're not together? Your t-shirt doesn't really work on its own, does it?"

Barry had brushed away her concerns and now wore the slightly too tight shirt with pride.

"Right then, what a beautiful day for sailing Bren," announced Barry clapping his hands together, "I wonder where our flotilla leaders are? Usually here by now."

Barry and Brenda had enjoyed the previous afternoon and evening. They felt they had built up a rapport with Jock during their long chat, which had been cemented by their assistance in the rain.

"I think we saved the day you know Bren," Barry had said to her in a quiet moment, and then, being someone who never knowingly understated things, added, "without our intervention those boats would probably have sunk on their moorings!"

Brenda nodded in agreement. Barry was her hero. She had married him ten years ago after they met and fell in love whilst together in the Archives Department of Birmingham City Council, where they both still worked. She could never understand why others did not see what she saw in Barry. They always ignored his brilliant ideas and didn't get his sense of humour. For some reason their social life outside work was limited to their respective families. She and Barry lived in a modern semi-detached three bedroom house in a pleasant enough suburb of the City. After they had bought the house five years earlier, she had expected that it would soon be populated with little Barrys or Brendas, but that had not happened. Brenda looked at Barry affectionately. It had been his idea to lend Jock a hand when the rain began, and she had gladly mucked in. That was how things usually went, and Brenda was happy with their unspoken arrangement. She saw herself as Jane to Barry's Tarzan.

Barry smiled back at Brenda. He had listened to the problems that Jock explained he was facing following the departure of Zach and Jamie, with a look that increasingly suggested he had the answer. He had finally touched Jock on both shoulders in comradely fashion.

"Have no fear, Barry and Brenda are here," he told him.

Barry had noted that so far on this holiday things were not being done as they usually were. Who else, he thought, was in a better position to act as temporary flotilla leaders than them? They had been on the same holiday, in the same week, for almost as long as he could remember. There was little that Barry did not know about the itinerary. Barry saw himself as the next best thing to a professional.

So at yesterday's welcome gathering Barry had made it his business to ascertain who from the group would be in his flotilla. Having done so he set about flitting from party to party introducing himself and Brenda, copying what the flotilla leaders usually did at these events. On doing so he had discovered to his delight that all the other parties were virgins to Sailaway. Some claimed yachting expertise, but none had been to the Ionian before.

He had got on well with Keith and his crowd, finding much in common with them. As for the foursome from Cornwall, he thought Richard was a bit of a know all as far as yachting was concerned, but Anne seemed pleasant.

Barry had talked to the six other parties as well. He thought back trying to remember their details. A flotilla leader would certainly have to have these details to hand, but for the moment Barry was struggling.

"I'll fudge it by calling them all guys, Bren," he explained. "Everyone in the charter business seems to. Though heaven knows why. Still if I want to sound like a flotilla leader then I had better talk like them too."

Barry being teetotal, had made sure he kept a clear head for the next day whilst his fellow holidaymakers had got roaring drunk. That explained why he and Brenda emerged from R2D2 so promptly, bright eyed and bushy tailed. The intention was to knock on all the boats to ensure that the 10am morning briefing was not missed. The briefings were always Barry's favourite bit of the week. Everyone came together after breakfast, with charts in hand, to be told where they would be heading that day. Of course, as the itinerary never changed Barry knew the route off by heart but that never dulled his sense of excitement. There would be suggestions as to where people might like to stop off for lunch en route, a suggestion that in his experience was followed slavishly. There would be warnings about hazards that they might encounter and of course weather information would be shared. Coming to the area as they did in September, the weather report was crucial.

In Barry's mind taking on the unpaid role as flotilla leader made complete sense. Jock couldn't do everything. Barry was a trained manager, used to dealing with his staff in the department, or at least when the Department Head was absent which was increasingly often as the threatened economic cuts bit deeper. It didn't cross his mind that his involvement could be seen as interfering. Barry was the sort of person who liked to help. As a child he had spent all his annual holidays at Woolacombe in Devon, helping lead the beach donkeys around the enclosure for the other children. It had not struck him as strange that he was missing out all the beach activities enjoyed by the other children. His wages amounted to a few coins, enough to buy an ice cream at the end of the day, but he didn't care. That had not been the point.

This week, thought Barry, will be seventh heaven. No doubt, the last minute replacements that Jock had spoken about would be young things who wouldn't have a clue. Better still they might cry off mid-week, or perhaps not even turn up. He would be on hand to let them know how things should be done, and by the end of the week fellow holidaymakers would be shaking his hand gratefully and telling him how invaluable he had been.

"C'mon Barry, I thought we were going to wake everyone up, best wake up yourself, you seem miles away," said Brenda.

"I was Bren, I was," replied Barry, "I think this could be the best week ever. Let's get on with it then."

The couple went from boat to boat banging on the hulls with their palms and shouting "morning campers, rise and shine."

Job done, they left the pontoon in search of Jock, to see what else they could do to help.