BooksBarbecue
Back Drift
Chapters (50)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. Acknowledgements ♦ Diolchiadau
  50. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

He kicked the trailer chocks, picked up the hitch. Felt her weight balanced in his hand. He pulled and felt her move towards him, her weight bearing down on him. This would usually require the help of two to three men. He started to move backwards as she sprang towards him. There was an incline to the ramp into the boatshed and she ran with it, her weight increasing with every step. He braced himself against her, breathing hard, tried to stop her overwhelming him, knocking him over. Backwards he inched, until her bows edged out of the boatshed for the first time in ten years. Her shape distinct. Feminine. He gasped as the tyres hit the sand, her weight deadening. He had thought this might happen. The cove had changed imperceptibly over time, its depth, the way the sand was distributed. It was not the same cove as it had been when the boat had been dragged up the beach. It was deeper, the tideline different. She was stuck. He pulled, his body warming, sweat on his back. He swore, spat, tugged his jumper roughly over his head and threw it down. He went to find some rocks. As heavy as he could carry, he placed them carefully in the stern of the boat to raise her back a little, take the pressure off the hitch. He carried them, one after another, until he felt a shift in her weight. He yanked at the handle of the trolley again and she moved a few inches. Heartened, he tried again, leaning all his weight backwards, and he started to pull the boat, inch by inch, towards the sea.

The Lieutenant Colonel lay in the room he kept in the officers’ quarters, his head heavy after another sleepless night. He had come back to the barracks, opened a bottle of whiskey. Hadn’t returned the call from his wife. He got up, rubbed his head, swung his legs unsteadily to the floor. He needed to shave.

The investigations team had arrived but the protocol was so painfully slow. He knew this, had been grateful for it in the past, but now he needed them to conclude their investigation, needed to escape this awful limbo. He listened as exercises were conducted in the yard outside. He moved to the bathroom, splashed his face with water.