Uncharted Waters

We cast off, delighted to be moving. She spreads the navigation chart out in front of them and begins plotting a course for Fulfilment. He opens his copy of Yachting Monthly. She points at their shiny new copy of Sailing for Dummies. "I'll take a look in a moment," he says, biting into a sandwich.

"Aye, aye Captain." She salutes. They both laugh. The boat begins to rock but she has a steady hand on the tiller. "Alright love?" he says finishing off the first bottle of water.

"No problem," she says, "Can I get you another drink?"

The wind picks up. A gentle rain begins to fall. Yachting Monthly, the chart and Sailing for Dummies are getting wet. So are our intrepid explorers. "I'm cold," he says.

She responds, "Here. Have one of my sandwiches and open the flask of tea." He loves her. She thinks of everything. That's better.

"Look,” he says, “The wind’s getting up, and it's getting just a bit parky. I reckon if we raise that other sail, we'll get there a bit quicker. Have you worked out where we're going yet?" He puts down his copy of Yachting Monthly, leaving it open at an advert for an expensive yacht and reaches to release the sail.

"Hang on," she shouts. "Sailing for Dummies says that if the wind..."

"Don't worry, aand if you disobey the skipper, I'll have to flog you," he grins. She smiles weakly in return.

As he tugs at the rope securing the sail, it suddenly breaks loose and sweeps the flask and remaining food overboard. He glares at her accusingly. She bites her tongue. The boat lurches. He sits down, gripping the sides. "Grab it!" he shouts. She turns. It hits her. After a few bruising minutes of grappling with the flapping canvas she's soaked in spray and her knuckles are chafed.

The boat has turned sideways to the waves. The sky has darkened, and the sea has begun to swell. The boat looks small. The tiller squeaks as it flaps from side. "It's broken," she says. "This is all my fault," She begins to sob.

The wind ruffles the pages of his discarded magazine. Sailing for Dummies lies under the few inches of water that have gathered in the bottom of the boat.

He moves to the boat's stern. "Come here," he says and extends one arm. Gingerly she joins him, happy to clasp her hands around his chest and to have a protective arm around her shoulders. She can feel his warmth through their damp clothes. She closes her eyes and sinks into him. "I'm sure it's not far," he says. "And we can always go back." Her eyes slowly open. She peers into the gloom beyond him. Night falls.

She wakes with a start. It's daylight and the sun's already warm. She's stiff and she's sticking to his jumper. There's a funny taste in her mouth. She'd desperately like to brush her teeth, and she's thirsty.

She looks around. No sign of land. He's snoring. His morning stubble covers his double chin and his hair is matted. He's going bald. She must look awful. She runs her fingers through her hair.

Sailing for Dummies has begun to disintegrate but she notices a bucket. And a radio. She wakes him. He yawns. She can see his fillings. "What time is it?" His eyes are still closed. "I've found a radio."

He rubs his eyes and struggles to sit up. "I'm starving."

"And there's a bucket," she says, "shall I bale while you try and contact the coastguard?"

"I don't know how to work the bloody radio." He's in one of his moods. She's going to have to be careful.

"OK. You bale." Her tone is hard. He looks up at her, his head still in his hands. How the fuck did he end up here? She presses the 'ON' button and the radio hisses into life. There's a button the handset that says, 'Press to speak.'

"Hello. Is there anybody there?" She releases the handset button. Nothing. He's tidying up a split fingernail with his teeth while watching a bird fly overhead.

Again. "Hello. Can anyone hear me?"

Suddenly, a lifeline. "This is the coastguard. Please identify yourself." Relief. She turns to look at him. He's holding his knees. "It's the coastguard!" Although his gestures look like he is shooing her off as if she were a wayward dog, she recognises this as his way of indicating she should carry on.

"Hello. We're in a boat heading for Fulfilment. We got caught in the storm, our sail broke. Neither of us know much about sailing." There's a short pause. She glances over at him for reassurance. "Well?" he says.

The radio crackles. A distant voice returns.

"If it's any comfort, you're not alone. We hear from thousands of boats just like yours. We can help a bit, but Fulfilment is out of our jurisdiction. You said 'we?'" She presses the 'Speak' button. "I have my husband with me." She flashes him a smile.

"Well you're going to need a strong bloke if you're ever going to get to Fulfilment and it would help if he knew a bit about sailing and navigation. Keep an ear out for the shipping forecast. Do you have a copy of Sailing for Dummies?"

She looks across at Yachting Monthly. Its pages have begun to stick together. She swivels round looking for the navigation chart. "Have you seen the chart?" She looks hopefully towards him. "You had it," he replies. She presses 'Speak'. "Afraid not."

"Well I'm sorry, but you're on your own. Your best bet is to look out for some other boats. Try and hook up with them. There's bound to be a few sailors amongst them and maybe a copy of Sailing for Dummies, or one of the many other sailing and navigation manuals. I hear Fulfilment's a great place, but it's pretty difficult to reach. Storms, choppy seas and strong currents, but if you monitor the forecast, learn to sail, maybe join a club and most of all, stick together, work together and support each other you may just make it."

Pause. "Thanks. Speak to you later. Err... over and out."

"Good luck."

She hears an echo in her mind's ear, "Work together, support each other and you may just make it." That's all they have to do.

"Well that's no bloody good is it?" His voice brings her back. She turns to face him. He has a tiny booger hanging from his left nostril. "We need to go back. We should never have started this. What were we thinking of? This is madness!"

Her tummy rumbles. "But..."

"The bloody sail is broken. The food's all gone. The water's gone, and neither of us know the first thing about sailing".

"I know something about sailing." She's aware of the irritation in her tone. "We agreed we're headed for Fulfilment. We just need to hook up with some of the other boats. The coastguard said there were thousands of us, and if we work together and support each other...

"Support each other? We can't eat support! Support isn't going to sail the bloody boat!"

Why does he always speak to her as if she were a child? Her eye begins to twitch. He's staring at her, an exasperated expression on his face. Why isn't he even prepared to try? Does he love her? What does he want? Is he happy the way things are? Why doesn't he want more? Together. Together. If they work together. If they BOTH do it.

She feels her anger begin to rise, then the sadness swelling underneath it. And the disappointment. And a tiny bit of despair. And in despair's tiny fist, a particle of grit and in it a lever for her determination, and in that determination a glimmer of hope, and in that hope a sense of salvation, and in that salvation a distant land where the citizens of Fulfilment laugh and love and soar and cry and die with the joy of life. That's her place, her destiny. That's home.

And in that moment the twitching stops. A tear wells up, surface tension straining to keep it intact as it teeters on the brink. His face is now fuzzy. He's no more than an outline. The tear bursts, leaving its track on her cheek and a little burst of salt in the corner of her mouth.

One sharp sniff and she's back in the boat. He's back in focus. Her eyes fix on his. "I can't go back," she says, and she feels her heart swell once more and as it does it cracks just a little. It once was his. It's a precious thing but if he is unable or unwilling to care for it, she has no option but to wrap it gently, place it in a strong box and store it down below until she reaches Fulfilment and can unpack it with her people.

"I hate boats," he says. "I'm going back. You go on if you want. This is all your fault. I don't know why I listened to you in the first place." He scans the horizon for signs of land. What is it they say? He thought, "Any port in a storm?" They'll get to a port. Maybe even a nice one. She'll have a shower, do her hair, bit of make-up, some dinner, couple of glasses of wine. Maybe even a bit of sex. They'll probably laugh about it later. Tell their friends at dinner parties. How he'd turned out to be a natural sailor and rescued his little damsel in distress from the briny drink. It's not that bad. He turns to face her "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," she says.