Against the Tide (2 page)

Caroline's screech cut through the tableau. ‘Do it, Jack!'

The Dutchman's voice grated in my ear. ‘You don't have the guts, boy.'

Fire shot through my body and into my brain; the blood roared in my head. I exploded forward, rolled my shoulder and flung my elbow back into his face. Released from his iron grip, I scooped up the ball and hurled it into the net. Goal!

The crowd roared. The goal judge waved his flags and I turned back to face the team in triumph. The whistle shrieked – not the congratulatory looping blast for a goal – but the long sharp screech of disapproval. I looked at Phillips.

He jabbed his white flag at me, spat out his whistle and bellowed, ‘White seven. Permanent exclusion for brutality – leave the pitch and this area immediately.'

I grabbed the ball, pulled it back and aimed at him. ‘You bast–'

Cookie snatched it from me and pushed his nose into my face, cutting off my words, ‘Don't make it worse. Just get out and get changed.' He shoved me to the side then helped Nelson to drag the Dutchman to the wall. Blood streamed from his nose. The crowd was silent.

I levered myself out. My arms were trembling and I scraped my thigh on the rough concrete. Brewster, the club manager, studied his hands as I stumbled to my feet. My face was burning. I untied my cap, crumpled it in my fist and dropped it onto the table. One of its long wet laces whipped onto the match sheet. I turned and marched towards the granite steps, up and away from the silence of the arena.

‘Jack, wait.' Saul bustled through the crowd. I stopped, praying he wouldn't add to my embarrassment. He spat his cigarette into the sea. ‘“
O, vengeance, vengeance! A very excellent piece of villainy
,” Jack. If you were a
kaffir
, I'd have to cut your balls off.' He roared something in Afrikaans and slapped me on the shoulder.

Everyone could hear him. I remembered a line from our play where Bassanio curses Gratiano for his noisy friendship. I blurted it out now. ‘“
Thou art too rude, too wild, too bold of voice
.”' If I pushed him into the water, I might regain some credibility with the crowd.

He must have sensed my thought as panic flickered in his golden eyes. He edged towards the steps. I moved closer, feinted with my right hand and flicked his hat off with my left. This drew an appreciative laugh from the gallery as it spun into a puddle, but his freckled cheeks flushed with anger. Perhaps he did deserve a swim. I reached out, but he scooped up his hat and darted off towards the diving boards, chased by the laughter from above. I shrugged and moved away.

‘Jack.' Rachel's voice.

I paused and looked back. Saul was showing her his soggy hat. She grinned at me over his shoulder. Behind her, I saw the Dutchman sprawled on the concrete while Brewster administered first aid. Caroline was standing in the group surrounding him. Well, she'd got her blood. I willed her to look in my direction but she seemed focused on the casualty.

Rachel beckoned me towards her. I couldn't. I was in enough trouble already. Exclusion meant that I had to leave the pool area without delay. A cold shower wouldn't do any harm.

2

I was still shivering as I entered the men's open-air changing room. Saul never came into this high-walled arena even though he was now eighteen and entitled to a privilege all the juniors craved. From our experience at school, I suspected that he found the casual nakedness uncomfortable. Unlike Saul, I'd never been teased or even asked about my circumcision. During our brief and embarrassing conversation about the facts of life, Father had explained that it had been for medical reasons. Ironically, with his bright copper hair, Saul looked far less Jewish than I did with my dark curls and prominent nose.

I wasn't surprised to find Nutty prostrate on the central wooden platform, barbecuing himself in the sun. I crept in, wrinkling my nose at the smell of olive oil and vinegar, with which he had smeared his old body. Fortunately, he was toasting his back this afternoon. As I reached my clothes, I heard him stir.

‘Ah, young Jack, I thought you were playing that infernal game.'

‘I was.'

‘Where are the other savages then?'

‘It's just me. I was thrown out for brutality.'

‘Well, perhaps you'll stick to swimming now.'

I didn't answer, just sat on the bench in the sun and contemplated his prone figure.

‘You want to tell me what happened? A balanced view, mind, and don't blame the ref, even though it was our beloved centenier.'

‘I thought you hadn't watched the game.'

‘I slipped in here after the diving, as soon as I saw him sucking on his whistle. I say, young Rachel has improved, hasn't she?' His eyes were shaded under his arm but there was conspiratorial twinkle in his voice.

‘Yes, she's got more rotation now, sharper entries.' I didn't bite on his bait.

‘It would seem your mutual trainer, Miko Pavas, has been more successful with her than he has with you then.' He laughed.

‘How do you know about that?'

He tapped his nose. ‘It's a small island, Jack. A foreigner; is he Hungarian or Romanian?'

I shrugged. ‘Romanian, I think, though he says he used to coach the Hungarian team.'

‘Well his methods are working.' He grinned. ‘She'll soon be up to Miss Hayden-Brown's standard.'

Another little dig. Caroline's father had paid almost as much in coaching fees for her diving as he had for her piano lessons. His money hadn't been wasted on either.

Of course, Miko had not been accorded the privilege of entry to the open-air; his membership application had been “awaiting processing” since the beginning of the season, so he paid a daily rate each time he walked down the bridge that separated the pool from the promenade.

I kept quiet.

‘Come on, tell me what happened.'

‘Nothing. I was being fouled by that guest player, you know, the Dutchman?'

Nutty had been there when we changed before the match and I was sure that introductions had been made. I was also sure that my opponent had given me an odd look as I changed into my trunks.

He nodded. ‘And?'

‘I retaliated.'

‘Jack, getting a story out of you is like milking a bull. What happened?'

‘Okay, I lost my temper, used my elbow. Miko calls the move
nincs fék
, or something.'

‘That sounds painful.'

‘It's meant to be a rotation and follow through. It's just that his nose got in the way.'

‘I suggest that you don't use that phrase when you explain yourself to the committee.'

‘Oh shit. You think it'll be taken that seriously?'

‘Of course it will, if Centenier Phillips has anything to do with it.'

‘I don't understand him at all. He used to be so friendly. I was in his swimming class when I was eleven or so. He even gave me extra lessons, got in the water with me, showed me how to get the right shape for front crawl.'

He raised himself up an elbow and peered at me. ‘You don't know, do you?'

‘Know what?'

‘Oh, nothing.'

What was he trying to tell me? ‘Why doesn't he come in here? Change with the rest of us?'

He smiled. ‘Probably doesn't want to show us his war wounds.'

‘Seriously? Was he badly shot up?'

He laughed. ‘Only thing damaged was his arse.'

‘How?'

‘He sat on it for so long. No wounds, Jack. He was in
Ally Sloper's Cavalry.
'

‘Can't imagine him on a horse.'

‘Neither can I. It was a nickname for the Army Service Corps. ASC, get it?'

‘You got me there.'

‘Yes, our beloved centenier spent his war years procuring livestock for the troops to eat.'

‘So that's the connection with his butcher's shop?'

‘His family had that before the war. But that's not the reason he got the cushy job. He was fit enough for the front line but volunteered his expertise.'

‘I still don't understand why he seems to hate me so much.'

‘I don't think it's you in particular, but it's not for me to tell. You need to ask your father, or your uncle.'

‘Oh, that business in his shop. Mum mentioned something about a fight a long time ago. Phillips sacked someone. Uncle Fred went to see him and they had a big argument. I didn't know Father was involved.'

‘No, everyone knows about that.' He paused, considering. ‘I mustn't speak out of turn, but there was a water polo match back before the war – must have been the summer of 1911 or 1912. All I can say is your uncle had to jump in to separate them.'

‘What? My father and Phillips fighting in the pool?' I couldn't imagine it. Not much of a contest. My father was a great bear of a man.

‘I know what you're thinking but Phillips wasn't always that shape. It was a good fight whilst it lasted. The funny thing was that Fred came off worst and got bashed by both of them.'

‘I'll ask Uncle Fred about that. I'm sure you're making it up.'

‘Oh, no. It happened. They were both suspended. None of us really knew what it was about, though we suspected that a girl was involved. Anyway, that was a long time ago.'

‘Hey, come on. Don't leave me in suspenders.'

‘Right, but you will have to promise you didn't hear this from me.' He waited.

‘Okay, I promise.'

A secretive smile crossed his face. ‘I believe her name was –'

‘Renouf, you little shit.' A wet polo cap slapped my face. Fletcher jumped onto the platform, towering over me. ‘We lost that because of you and you can't even look after the kit. You should have rinsed it along with your stupid little brain!'

‘What the hell is wrong with you, Fletcher? What have I done to upset you?'

‘Apart from break his swimming records and steal his girl? Probably not much,' Nutty answered.

His languid tone provoked a fit of the giggles, which I couldn't contain. I tried but had to surrender to insane cackling.

‘Shut up, farm boy. It's not funny!' Fletcher boiled over, thrust forward and grabbed my throat.

Trapped between the bench and the platform, unable to use my legs, I flapped uselessly at him. Dimly, I heard Nutty protesting. Unable to breathe or speak, I pleaded with my eyes. Light faded, leaving an image of his smile as I drifted into a roaring darkness before his face disappeared, and I collapsed onto the concrete floor.

Cookie materialised to lift me back into the sun. I rolled onto the platform, still in a daze.

‘You all right, Jack?'

I blinked, tried to cough. Nutty pressed a bottle of lemonade into my hand. I looked around and saw Fletcher, slumped on the bench, holding his head. The drink was warm but I managed to gulp some of it down.

I smiled my thanks to Cookie, then turned to Nutty, sure that he had been telling me something important before Fletcher arrived. ‘What were we talking about?'

He rubbed his chin. ‘Ah, your mother –'

‘Is Renouf here?' Nelson's voice cut through the chatter. He spotted Fletcher first. ‘What happened to him?'

‘Slipped,' was Cookie's reply.

‘Disappointed in love,' was Nutty's.

‘Clumsy lump. Renouf, we need to see you in the manager's office. Get dressed and cut along.'

Nutty rolled his eyes at me and mouthed “later” as I struggled into my clothes.

3

Patrick Brewster had been secretary/manager of the club for the past two seasons, after a long career in the Royal Navy. As I stood before his desk, he spoke to Nelson.

‘You know my feelings on sportsmanship, Jim. Water polo is not a game for hooligans; it was devised by gentlemen and should be played in that spirit. What happens in the harbour in Guernsey, once every two years, should not influence the way the game is played here, in our pool.' He stroked his beard. ‘That great spirit, which drives our amateur sport, is indeed fundamental to the Olympic Movement, and should not be subverted by those from Europe,' he waved towards the east, ‘who believe sport is a form of warfare and not a game.'

There was more to this than throwing a leather ball around a floating pitch. I felt a flush spreading to my cheeks, sensed Nelson's discomfort behind me. Where was this leading? Were they going to throw me out of the club for defending myself?

Brewster leant back in his chair and sucked on his pipe. ‘We are competing against the crew of HMS
Jersey
next week. Shall we send them back to sea with broken teeth, cut lips and fractured noses?'

Nelson cleared his throat. ‘It was my fault. I should have replaced Jack at half-time when I realised what was happening. The Dutchman –'

‘He has a name you know.' Brewster fumbled around for the scrap of paper. ‘Kohler, that's it, Rudolph Kohler. He's here on holiday, staying at the Palace Hotel. The manager asked me to find a game for him. Seems he plays in the Dutch league. Fine hospitality we've offered.' He scratched his head. ‘Now, what to do, eh?'

Phillips spoke up. ‘Well, Mr Secretary, under the club rules, exclusion for brutality should be reported to the full committee and the player suspended until a meeting has been convened.'

‘Quite, thank you. Yes, that's clear enough. Tell me, do we have any discretion in the matter –'

‘Really, Mr Secretary. We can't ignore the rules. That, that –'

‘Yes, thank you, Centenier Phillips.' He looked up at me. His tone was formal now and I stiffened. ‘Jack Renouf, following your actions this afternoon, I have no option but to suspend you from water polo until next Sunday, when this incident –'

‘Just water polo? Surely he must be suspended comp –'

Brewster continued over Phillips' interruption. ‘Just water polo, gentlemen. That is sufficient penalty. Renouf will miss the match against the Royal Navy and, I believe, the league match next Friday. Is that correct?'