Ellie pulled her arms into the suit, stretching the fabric till her hands were free. She zipped up, feeling the looseness at her hips. She went over to Ben who was frowning, looking past her at the shore. She kissed him firmly on the mouth and stroked his arm.
‘We’ll make it,’ she said.
She stepped over the discarded lifejackets. They would be no use to them in the water – they were for floating, not swimming. They kept you alive if help was coming, but if you wanted to save yourself, the only way was with your arms and legs, willpower and stamina.
Ellie and Ben went into the cabin. She pulled up the hatch in the floor, and Ben lifted another hidden hatch at the bow. Ellie reached in and took the wrench from a hook and began opening the through-hulls, small valves built into the bottom of the boat. They were used to expel excess water or sometimes to let water in to cool the engine, but if they were left fully open the hull would fill with water. She undid one, seawater rushing in over her hand, pouring into the hull. She quickly did three more, the water up to her ankles already. She looked up and saw Ben doing the same at his end.
‘I’ll cut the sink drain,’ Ellie said. ‘You do the hoses at the front.’
She had to shout over the water rushing in, up to her shins already, a sudden sense of urgency in the cabin. They’d started this thing, it had to be done quickly.
She reached over to the emergency pack behind her and opened it. Lifted a small axe and a serrated knife. Scuffed the knife along the cabin floor to Ben who grabbed it with a splash. She shifted her weight and picked up the axe, swung it down at the sink drain. Cutting it meant nothing would prevent the cabin from filling up. Two quick hacks and it was severed. She shunted herself out the cubbyhole in the cabin floor and reached for the bilge pump. She turned it off then went back to the trap door. She took a couple of quick practice swings, then brought the axe down on the bottom of the boat, next to the through-hulls she’d opened. Everything they’d done so far was fine, but the boat might not fill quick enough, better to make sure.
She hacked at the hull, water splashing in her face. She felt the wood splinter and crack so she swung again and again, heaving her arms, putting her weight behind it, feeling the planks of wood break open, one giving way under her foot and making her slump forward. She dropped the axe, throwing her hands out to regain balance, pulling her foot out of the hole.
She looked up and Ben was standing above her holding out his hand. She took it, stood up. The water was already halfway up the legs of the table in the middle of the cabin. The boat lurched to the port side. With the water rushing in, the balance was shifting and erratic.
They went upstairs.
Ellie looked around, then up. ‘We should drop the mast. It might show at low tide.’
She went over and disconnected the forestay, then pulled the mast pin out and dropped it. Ben joined her and together they pushed at the mast, watched as it toppled, bounced and clattered off the deck.
They stepped over it as they went back to the stern, Ellie looking out, making sure no one was around to offer them help. If they got assistance, the boat might be salvaged. They would have to explain everything to the coastguard, the police. She looked at the shore. Small brown dots of deer munching on grass were the only movement.
Ben was at her side, resignation on his face.
‘The end of the Porpoise,’ he said.
Water was already at the top of the cabin, a slurp of it washed around their feet on deck. The boat sat low in the water, it had filled much quicker than Ellie imagined, she thought they’d have to wait a while. It was as if the boat wanted to sink to the bottom, give up battling against the waves every day, struggling to tame the wind whipping down the Forth. Their boat wanted to be at peace at the bottom of the sea.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Our little purpose.’
Ellie knew it was stupid to fill an object with memories, to connect it to other things in your mind, but she remembered the first time they’d taken Logan out on the boat when he was five. A dead calm day, a short potter round the bay with the motor running, Ellie panicking every time he got up or bumped on to his bottom, every time he ventured near the side of the boat. She followed him like a shadow that day, hands outstretched, prepared to catch him if he fell, ready to jump in after him if he went in the water. He had a mini life-jacket on but all the protection in the world wasn’t enough for a mother looking after her son, making sure he came to no harm.
The water had filled the footwell of the deck and was creeping up the sides. About three quarters of the boat was underwater, the whole thing swaying with the roll of each wave.
‘She’s going down fast,’ Ellie said. She hugged Ben and turned to shore. ‘Ready?’
Ben took a breath. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
Ellie looked at him. ‘Stay together in the water. Look out for each other. No matter what.’
Ben nodded. ‘Of course.’
They climbed on to the stern, only a few inches clear of water now, looked at each other one last time, and dived in.
The shock of that first cold stab to her heart when she went in the water never reduced. The breath hammered out Ellie’s lungs as she stroked, feeling the chill in her bones. She kicked to the surface. Ben was just ahead, turning back to check on her. She waved briefly, pointed to shore, then began swimming, even strokes in the water, pushing the body of it behind her with every touch, every kick of her feet, every swish of her rubber-clad legs. Already she was warming up with the effort, her breath short but regular, heart thudding, the pulse in her ears mingling with the slosh of the water, the splash of waves, the wind whistling overhead. She was in Ben’s wake now, feeling the ripples from his body, the slipstream connecting the two of them like an invisible thread.
She heard a noise and turned back. The Porpoise had slumped on its side, taking on more water with a thwack and slurp, the port side of the hull exposed, but only a little, most of it already underwater. This could work, she thought.
She pushed towards land, imagining herself a porpoise gliding through the water as if it wasn’t there, at one with the sea. The water was her plaything, hers to manipulate. Her arms and legs were aching, but it was a good ache, it felt righteous and worthwhile.
Up ahead Ben was splashing through the waves. As the shore got nearer she could make out individual deer, their heads turned away, not worrying about anything approaching from the water.
She closed her eyes and breathed, head in, head out, breathe, just keep going. She pictured Jack sinking to the bottom of the Forth, weighed down by rocks. She pictured Logan falling through the air, less than six elephants to destruction. She imagined Sam doing the same, meeting up with his father and Logan at the bottom of the ocean, a crowded bustle of all the people who ever died in the Firth of Forth, all suddenly alive and sharing their stories, the terrible, ordinary lives that had led to their deaths, a thousand people jumping off the bridge since it was built, more than the congregation of a church, or the entire roll of a school, all waiting on the seabed for others to join them, for Ben and Ellie to join that blissful release.
Ben was slowing down ahead of her and she caught him up. They were still a hundred yards from shore. He said something to her but she couldn’t make it out, then his head went under. She stopped, treaded water. His head and one arm came back above the surface, his other hand reaching down to his lower leg, grabbing at his calf muscle.
Cramp.
His head went under again.
She waited a few seconds.
This time he didn’t come back up.
She dived under, trying to see through the murk, the saline stinging her eyes. She powered over to where he had disappeared, grasping at the water, pushing downwards, turning and stretching her hands out. She saw movement out the corner of her eye and spun round again, kicked and stroked towards the swirl in the gloom. She spread her arms and made wide sweeping movements from left to right. Eventually she felt the material of his suit brush against the back of her outstretched hand and grabbed at his body. She got a hand under his armpit and hauled him upwards, kicking furiously to get back to the surface. She could feel his heartbeat through the wetsuit.