Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 64

The other side of the headland was still buzzing with people too; Polly hadn’t seen such crowds in months. Police were setting up a cordon – she wondered why, until Kerensa pointed out that it would be to stop looting.
‘But if it’s all gone overboard anyway, why can’t people just have some?’ said Polly.
‘Because they’d fight and steal and because the next time a boat appeared on the horizon they’d wreck it?’ suggested the pragmatic Kerensa.
‘No they wouldn’t,’ said Polly, but some of the teens down on the beach looked a bit tasty, almost daring the police to let them have a go. On the upside, there didn’t appear to be any oil.
‘What are those?’ she asked, pointing to where some things were bobbing up and down in the water, tiny against the looming, ominous outline of the vast ship.
‘I don’t know,’ said Kerensa. ‘Let’s go and have a look.’
They scrambled down to the beach, where a policeman told them to get back. Just as they were about to do so, there was a sudden loud noise and a ridiculously flashy long-nosed boat charged into view. It was made of pale brown wood and looked like something from the 1950s, but it moved like a bullet. In the back were luxurious leather seats and a low bow. It turned in front of them in a flashy arc, sending up a massive spray of water into the air.
‘Yeah, Officer?’ came a loud, grating familiar voice. ‘We’re here to pick up these chicks.’
‘Chicks?’ said Polly.
Kerensa had already run forward to have a look. In the beautiful boat were Reuben, driving, and Huckle.
The policeman waved the girls on.
‘Don’t climb on the wreck,’ he shouted. Orange patrol boats and white police boats were circling it anyway, protecting it from scavengers.
‘I’ll buy it,’ said Reuben crossly, reversing close into shore so the girls could splash aboard. Huckle stretched out a hand to help them in.
‘Nice,’ said Kerensa, looking round approvingly at the walnut-lined interior.
‘It’s my Riva,’ said Reuben. ‘It cost eight hundred thousand dollars; it’s just one of my little boats.’
‘Actually, I hate it,’ said Kerensa, turning away from him disdainfully.
‘Hey,’ Huckle said gently to Polly. The way she looked was worrying him: there was nothing there behind her eyes, no ready smile or warm glance. ‘How are you?’
‘Have you been looking for them?’ asked Polly urgently.
‘No,’ said Reuben. ‘We thought today would be a good day to take a pleasure fucking cruise.’
‘Ignore Reuben,’ said Huckle, putting his hand on her arm. ‘Of course we have.’
Polly shook her head. ‘I couldn’t get you on the phone. Where are they? Why can nobody find them?’
‘They’re probably at the bottom of the ocean, like, being eaten by sharks?’ said Reuben. He put the boat in gear.
‘Shut up, rude friend,’ said Kerensa.
Reuben looked at her.
‘You’re very attractive to me,’ he stated loudly and with no conceivable sense of embarrassment whatsoever. ‘What expensive gifts do you like?’
Kerensa ignored him and sat as far away in the boat from him as possible. They moved slowly ahead. At first Polly couldn’t quite make out what was holding them up. Then she saw that they were pushing through something. It was very peculiar, but the water was absolutely full of…
‘Are those…’ she said, suddenly roused to action.
Huckle looked at her and gave a half-smile. ‘I know. Everything else must have sunk. But…’
Spread out for miles, under a pinkening sky, were thousands upon thousands – uncountably many – of little yellow rubber ducks. Some had moustaches, some had pink hats, some were dressed as golfers, or demons, or were wearing policemen’s helmets, but they were all little yellow ducks.
‘They must have been in one of the crates,’ said Huckle. ‘And burst free.’
‘The ducks ESCAPED?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Look at them!’ said Kerensa. ‘Roaming free!’
‘Not so cool for Toyota,’ said Huckle. ‘According to the internet, they had a huge shipment of cars on this boat. I don’t think they’ll be driving out of here.’
They all looked down, wondering morbidly what was beneath the boat.
‘I’m going to open a diving school here,’ said Reuben suddenly. ‘It’ll be the best diving school in the world. People can dive down and pretend to drive underwater cars.’
‘That’s a shit idea,’ said Kerensa.
‘Hush,’ said Huckle. Polly didn’t say anything at all.
They pushed through the field of yellow ducks, bobbing up and down on the water, and as they cleared the headland, Polly gasped.
It looked like a regatta. Right across the horizon, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but boats. Tiny rowing boats, great racing sloops, fat pleasure cruisers, bright orange rescue boats, little black tenders. Every one of them patrolling the water, looking for a sign, looking for a clue, looking for the lost fishermen.
‘Oh my God,’ said Polly.
The Riva joined them, cruising past the little island – Polly could barely look at it – and onwards up to the main channel, where they would have to watch for ferries. They waved at other boats as they passed, but mainly kept their eyes on the water for any trace – a lifejacket, a piece of cloth, a floating radio transmitter, a piece of mast – of something that would give them a clue as to the whereabouts of the missing boat.
Afterwards, Polly would remember this trip as if it lasted for days, even though it was only a few hours. She trailed her hand in the water – it was still warm despite the sun starting to go down – desperately scanning the horizon and staring beneath the waves, as if she could see something there if she gazed hard enough. Reuben would open up the throttle and shoot them to another space and they would look again, then go on…
Polly couldn’t believe that Tarnie – so tough and hard, yet vulnerable underneath – could possibly be gone. He was the best captain in the fleet; all the others said so. He was so strong. He wouldn’t have let anything happen. And Jayden, so mouthy and so young, who hated fishing; and little Kendall. But they’d been raised to it; salt water ran through their veins. They had to come back, she thought fiercely; they had to.