Day 432

Not moving anything. Water's at three-ninety-four. Full.

check the rain tank gauge, then set a kettle on the stove for coffee

Coffee'll be black. No milk left.

pour boiling water over grounds in two tin mugs, set one by her sketches careful not to splash

Barometer's down to nine-eighty-one. Pressure's dropping fast.

tune the shortwave to 16.01 MHz, volume just above silence, then fill the kettle again for a second round

I'll wedge the door with the oak shim from the workshop and run a line to the piling. Wind's picking up.

grab the oak shim and a length of three-strand rope from the shelf, step onto the porch to brace the door against the frame

Rope's new. Three-strand from the crate. It'll hold.

wrap the line twice round the door handle, cinch it down to the porch post with three half-hitches, test the door — solid

Got the crowbar. You want the long handle or the short?

Walk down to the crate at the water's edge, testing the sand for footing.

Brace yourself against the wall. I'll start at the seam.

Slide the crowbar under the lid's edge, heel down, and pry up slow to feel the resistance.

Then I'll break it open.

Put my full weight on the crowbar, driving it down to split the lid along the grain.

Clear.

Set the crowbar aside and reach in, pulling the top layer aside to see what's underneath.

Mostly. Cans at the back. Rope on top.

Pull the coil of new rope free first, shaking off sand, then start hauling tins out one by one.

Crate's worth of tins in the pantry. Rope's dry enough to coil. You need anything before I check the generator oil?

carry the recovered tins to the pantry and stack them, then wipe down the new rope and coil it on the porch shelf

Right. Back in a minute.

go to the generator shed, check the oil level, top up if needed, and listen to the engine note

Generator's sound. Oil clean.

return to the cottage porch, set down the dipstick rag, and sit beside Jenny to examine her ankle properly

Kevin — walk to the north piling and crouch to inspect the greenheart shim and the gap under the sister plank

Not widening. Shim's tight. But the void's dry — no water to pack mud back under the toe. Next high tide's the test.

press the tip of the crowbar against the shim edge, feeling for give, then straighten and wipe sweat from my forehead

Mud'll hold if the shim holds. Shim holds if the bolts hold. Bolts are good.

turn back toward the cottage, squint at the barometer through the porch window, then walk up the steps to the radio shelf

Tide'll be high enough. Barometer's steady at 982. Not dropping.

pick up the shortwave handset, click to Tom's frequency, and key the mic

(to radio) “Tom, this is Kevin. The north piling shim is secure, but the scour beneath the toe has widened. I’ve got a spare rope and a heavy rock, but the mud may need a fresh layer of sand. I’ll try to get a supply boat in if the tide holds.”

press the mic, speak into the shortwave, then set the radio to standby.

(quiet, to the radio) “Tom, I’m re‑checking the ankle. The swelling’s going up. I’m applying a fresh dressing now. Hold.”

pull the antiseptic out of the kit, open the tube, and apply a clean gauze‑wrapped poultice over the swollen area. Then seal with a fresh bandage and tighten the wrap.

Two days if the weather holds. If it doesn't, we've got limpets, beans, and the garden.

Pour water from the kettle into two tin mugs, set one in front of her.

We'll have the sea beet tomorrow. Fresh, not dried. I'll hit the north pools at low tide.

Push the notebook toward her, open to the sea beet transect page. Then stand and walk to the rain tank, tap the side to check the level. 391 litres. Enough for now.

I'll take the dinghy round. Anchor off the point, swim in. Not walking the rocks with that ankle watching.

Turn back to the table, pick up the pencil she left beside the mug, roll it between thumb and forefinger. The graphite's worn down to a nub.

I'll beach it on the sand spit. Hull's got the epoxy patch on the starboard garboard — holds.

Set the pencil down. Walk to the porch door, pull the spare spark plug from the shelf, turn it over in my hand. The ceramic's clean. The gap's set.

Two days is what the trust said. Barometer says we'll be lucky to see them in four. Your ankle?

Check the pot on the stove, then move to the radio shelf to verify the shortwave is still receiving on 16.

I know. It's spreading. I need to lance it again — properly this time. Deeper, flush it out. You'll want the bourbon if we have any.

Check the cupboard for the half-bottle from the supply crate, then return with the cleanest blade from the first aid kit and a bowl of boiled water to cool.

Light's coming. Bite down on this if you need to. (I hand her the leather strap from the medevac kit.)

Move the storm lantern to the table edge, switch on the headlamp, and lay out the scalpel, sterile gauze, and bowl of cooled boiled water within reach. Then take her ankle gently in both hands to steady it.