Day 142

Trays are fine there. Stove'll hold warmth through the night. But the dinghy — transom rot's spread another finger-width since yesterday. Starboard gudgeon's hanging on one bolt. And the mast step lashing won't take a three-metre swell.

Walk to the porch and check the dinghy's mooring lines through the window, then grab the crowbar and head down to the dock to inspect the transom and gudgeon bolts before the tide turns.

Wiring's in the crate by the shed. Tarred marline too. Grab both. I'll check the mooring ring mortise while you're at it — it's been working loose.

Walk down the dock planks to the dinghy, crowbar in hand, and wedge the blade under the starboard gudgeon strap to take the load off the last bolt so the play can be measured.

Found the wiring in the blue box? Marline's on the coil by the generator. I'll hold the rudder; you drive the bolt once I've got the load off. And keep an eye on the mast step lashing — if it starts to sing, we reeve a second line through the kelson.

Place the crowbar as a lever against the transom knee and the keel to lift the rudder stock just enough to slack the starboard gudgeon bolt, then signal Jenny when the play's gone and it's safe to turn.

"On it." (I move to the kitchen window, wrestle the shutter shut against the gust, and slide the wooden bar into place. It holds—for now.)

Close and brace the kitchen window shutter against the wind and rain.

Flue drawing alright?

Walk over to the wood stove, check the flue damper is open, and add a split of dry wood to keep the heat steady.

Kevin — sit at the kitchen table and watch the steam rise from the skillet

Kevin — reach for the tin of corned beef fat on the shelf and set it on the table near her elbow

Kevin — pick up the fork and wait

You first.

push the skillet toward her side of the table

Kevin — eat a limpet, watch her face over the rim of my mug

Kevin — walk to the dock, crouch at the dinghy's stern, run calloused fingers along the starboard transom epoxy patch, press thumb hard against the scarf joint feeling for give, check the gudgeon bolt for movement, wipe salt crust from the port pat

Kevin — stand, wipe hands on thighs, squint at the barometer through the cottage window, walk back toward the cottage, pull the storm jib from the locker, lay it on the workbench, run fingers along the canvas checking stitching

Kevin — fold the storm jib back into the locker, pull the spare half-inch three-strand from the porch, coil it neat, carry it to the dock, tie a long splice into the dinghy's stern line where the chafe guard failed, serve it with sail twine

Kettle on?

set the file down on the bench, wipe hands on a rag, walk to the cottage kitchen

Tank's at three-eighty-eight. Plenty for a soak.

lean against the doorframe, watch her check the tray, reach for a mug from the shelf

Moldy packets are on the shelf. Viable ones on the paper by the stove. You want me to check them tonight?

take the mug, pour coffee from the pot on the stove, stir in a spoon of sugar

Gain's up. Static's loud tonight. Might hear them if they're close.

blow on the coffee, take a sip, set the mug on the table

Log the transect?

pull out the chair opposite her, sit, wrap hands round the mug

Right behind you.

Pocket the bronze sleeve and file, grab the remaining tools, and follow Jenny down the ridge toward the cottage.

Kevin — follow Jenny down the ridge path at a steady clip, footing careful on the slick stone, breathing measured against the tightness in my ribs.

Kevin — cover the last few meters to the cottage door, shoulder through behind Jenny, and pull the heavy door shut against the rising wind, latching it tight.

Kevin — shake water off my hands, walk to the kitchen table where the barometer hangs, and tap the glass to read the needle.