The Boat by Clara Salaman Page B

something. Above the noise of the rain, he thought he heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie or a radio. The fat man from customs had a hand in all this, he was sure of that.
    ‘We need to get to the road,’ he said.
    ‘Not down there, not past that guy,’ Clem whispered.
    ‘No, let’s get to the other side of the harbour.’
    They scuttled out of the bushes and ran across the quay, jumping down on to the shingle beach where the fishing boats had been pulled out of the water. They pressed themselves up against the wall, catching their breath.
    ‘Are you scared, Johnny?’ Clem said, still clutching the carpet, her soaked hair flattened against her cheeks by the rain.
    ‘Shitting it,’ he said.
    She rather wished he hadn’t said that. She felt the last of her own bravery ebb away. He mustn’t say things like that. He mustn’t be scared – as long as he wasn’t scared they would always be all right, nothing could ever harm them. She could feel the panic welling up. He took her hand and they ran along the shingle beach in the darkness, their footsteps lost in the pounding rain. When the shingle ran out they climbed back up on to the quay, Johnny keeping the bag on his shoulder, hiding their faces. They walked quickly along the water’s edge in the semi-darkness, ducking in and out of the line of moored gulets, all empty and locked up, past the fishing boats and the abandoned wrecks. Clem’s hand was small and slippery in his. They needed to get past all the boats and up to the road.
    They passed the café with the yellow awning; laughter and noise spilt out through the rain. As they rounded the quay two men holding torches appeared from directly ahead where the road they needed joined the harbourside, which made the dash for the road unviable. One of the men shouted something to the other and Johnny and Clem backed into the darkness on to the stern of a gulet, Johnny swearing under his breath.
    ‘Johnny,’ Clem said in a small voice, her body twisting round. ‘There are four men behind us…’ He turned quickly and, sure enough, behind them in the darkness, maybe fifty yards away, four men were walking towards them.
    ‘Get in the boat,’ he said and they clambered aboard over the cleats and ropes, shuffling forwards in the rain, creeping over the transom into the cockpit. He thought perhaps they could nick one of these boats. But it was no good, they had to get past the marina, they’d never be able to slip away.
    ‘We just need to get over there,’ he said peering over the stern, nodding towards the lane where the men were still lurking. ‘Unless we go the other way…’ He looked over towards the castle and the rocks beneath it.
    They waited in the cockpit, keeping their heads down, until the men behind them had caught up and split off into two groups, one of which stood under the yellow canopy of the restaurant and the other turned back towards the marina. Instead of using the quayside, they quietly clambered over the boats, beam to beam, Johnny with the bag across his shoulders now like a backpack, Clem still clutching her carpet, climbing from one boat to the next in the darkness.
    There was a shout from behind and a flash of torches across the rigging and decks of the boats further behind them. Their only option now was to leg it quickly towards the rocks beneath the castle where the huge man-made, wave-breaking boulders piled up against each other.
    They were both nimble on their feet and they ran as fast as they could through the driving rain. Behind them they could hear the cry of voices as torchlight flashed across the water but neither of them turned until they got to the rocks. Breathless, soaked and terrified they began to scrabble across the boulders on all fours, slipping in their panic. Clem cried out with pain; she’d gashed her face. Johnny grabbed her wrist and pulled her along, gripping her so tightly that her fingers throbbed and her arm socket ached. Not until they got to the