November-Charlie by Clare Revell

his head and glowered at her once again. “We have two log books. The official one with all the bumpf in it never leaves the bridge.”
    “Bumpf?”
    “Course headings, crew manifest, papers etc. Which reminds me, I need to add two stowaways to it.”
    “Why?”
    “Because we’ll never get through customs, never mind the Panama Canal otherwise, and you need to be listed as crew. The other logbook is more of a diary, a record of our trip and so on. Lou, do you want to take charge of that?”
    “Not really. Anyway, I thought we were sharing all the jobs?”
    “We are. But you like writing, so I thought…”
    “Sure, as long as I get to be first officer.”
    He didn’t smile. “I don’t care. I’ll go fill in the rest of the crew.” Jim slammed the door as he left the room.
    Lou looked at Staci. “Let’s leave him to it for a bit.”
    Staci rubbed a sleeve over her eyes. “OK. Least, he didn’t send us home. I thought he was going to for a moment.” Staci looked at her with huge wide eyes.
    “Me too, but I think you crying on him was a good move. You’ll have to do it again when we want him to do something.”
    Staci grinned. “Don’t tempt me. We better be good and do all the chores.”
    Lou nodded. “Yeah.”
    “It’s like having our own house, isn’t it?” Staci said.
    “Yes. It’s nice,” Lou replied as they walked toward the galley. She made coffee, carried Jim’s up to the bridge and put it on the table. “Everything OK?”
    “Yes,” he replied, swerving to miss the bank.
    Lou grinned. “Do you want some company?” she asked, trying not to put him off once more.
    “Not right now. Just let me get the hang of it on my own. You’d better dig out yours and Staci’s passports and have them ready for customs. Mine’s already on the bridge. According to my shipping plan, we’re stopping in Cornwall to collect my father, then we’re crossing the Atlantic.”
    “Really?”
    He raised an eyebrow. “You think they’d let me sail the Atlantic alone?”
    “No one in their right mind would.” Lou disappeared down the steps before he could retaliate. “Stace, I need your passport. You did bring it, right?”
    “Here.” Staci handed them both to her.
    “Thank you.” Lou took them up to the bridge and put them on the table. “Don’t forget your coffee. Have you done the crew manifest and everything?”
    Jim nodded, too intent on what he was doing to reply.
    Lou went out through the bridge door and climbed down the ladder to the deck.
    They were sailing through a more built up area. Washing hung in gardens. Cars whizzed by on roads. A boat passed them on the other side of the river. Factory chimneys smoked in the distance. Ducks nested in the reeds and a swan swam regally by them, turning her face away from the chugging intruder.
    Lou sat on the warm deck, her legs stretched out in front of her. The sun blazed warmly down and the river sparkled in the sunlight. The birds sang in the trees and seagulls glided and called to each other.
    The scenery changed and the docks were visible in the distance. Lou got to her feet and went back inside.
    Staci was on the bridge, curled up on the couch.
    “Docks coming up,” Lou said needlessly.
    Jim took a deep breath then exhaled. “Here we go,” he said. He grabbed the mike and tuning the radio to the correct frequency called in and requested customs clearance. Once granted it, Jim steered the boat to the designated terminal.
    Lou went up on deck. She tossed the ropes to the dockhands on the quay and as Jim cut the engines, they tied up the boat.
    The two uniformed customs officers boarded Avon . “Good morning, miss. Routine customs inspection. Do you have your papers ready?”
    “Sure, follow me,” Lou said. Outwardly calm, inside she was terrified but determined not to show it. She led the way to the bridge, where the two customs officers inspected their passports and paperwork.
    “Cornwall, then the States?” asked one, looking at the