Home from the Sea



The pager sounds as it always does, and I slap my hand down onto my bedside table to grab it. I groan as I feel April stir in her sleep, and realise how early it actually is. There's no time to piss around, so I swing my legs out of bed, rip the bedroom door open and bound down the stairs, shoving a pair of my wife's crocs on, hastily unlocking the door, closing it, and then locking it again. I leg it down the street, thankful the lifeboat station is only a few metres away from my house.

When I get there, I rip the door open and see Leo and Davie already pulling on their waterproof jackets, and I run to my peg, grabbing them, and putting them on, and our manager comes in to have a briefing with us about the shout. Leo leans over to me, looking down to my shoes, and then back up to my face. "Nice crocs, Wren."

I want to tell him they're my wife's, that he needs to stop flirting with me, and that the fact he's been doing it since I joined is completely inappropriate. But I don't. I just nod, and turn towards the boathouse.

"Sorry it's early. Thanks for coming, Leo, David, and welcome to your first shout Wren!" I nod, clasping my hands behind my back. "Okay the casualty is a thirty two year old male. His boat is rapidly taking on water not far from Calshot spit. Cowes RNLI should also be on the shout, so listen to your radio, and good luck!"

We run to the boathouse, and step into our Atlantic 85 boat. She's a true beauty. Sleek lines, vibrant colours. She's like a thoroughbred racehorse on the water. When you're out there, you feel like you're flying. She takes whatever the sea throws at her and keeps on going.

"Wren?"

"Hm?" It's Davie.

"It's gonna be fine. Don't panic."

"I'm not panicking."

"Promise?" I look up at him, and smile. He's got one of those faces you could melt in. If only I was into men. I shake away the thoughts, and nod, as the tractor comes to take us out to the Solent.

It's four a.m. The indigo clouds are making way to soft pastel blue hues, and if white water wasn't splashing into my face, I might have enjoyed it. Davie takes the helm, and we quickly get up to a cruising speed of 25 knots. Our top speed is 35 knots, which is rarely done— mostly on maydays and time critical shouts. Davie figured we had plenty of time, and 25 knots should let us get there fast enough.

"Calshot lifeboat, this is Cowes lifeboat, do you copy?"

"Calshot lifeboat, reading you loud and clear. What's your ETA? Over"

"ETA five minutes."

"ETA is also five minutes. See you there."

"Roger that."

We speed down, swinging round Calshot spit and heading south west. The radio crackles every few seconds as we head towards the casualty vessel. Cowes RNLI are speeding, and are also going to meet us there, and we learn that the skipper of this vessel is with his wife and two children.

"Two of the casualties are children? How old?" I ask. I've always loved children, and the idea of them being on a sinking vessel, helplessly awaiting help is saddening.

"Two and Eight."

"My god."

"It's gonna be okay though, Wren. Stay positive." Davie turns briefly to look at me, flashing a smile. I know it'll be okay, it will always be okay with the RNLI.

We arrive at the scene a few moments later. The vessel is around 20m long, and is sinking onto her starboard side, with an approximate current list of 40 degrees. I exhale as we make contact with the crew of Cowes RNLI to assess the situation, and work out proceedings.