Lifeboat Read Online Free

glass and I realised he had actually caught the bee in mid-flight. It was an incongruously delicate move for a man of his size. I could hear a faint buzzing from inside his immense hand, and wondered that he didn’t seem at all worried about being stung.
    â€˜Where can I release it?’ he asked.
    I motioned for him to follow me from the room to a window in the hallway. As he gently encouraged the insect from his hand, I noticed the long sinewy muscles of his arms and wrists and the calluses on his ill-kept fingers. They were the hands of a working man, used to hard physical labour. His size and fitness suggested an ominous strength that his gentle capture of the bee belied. He released it and we returned to the interview room without saying a word.
    Although we had been gone only minutes, the woman was curled up fast asleep on the bench. He walked over and checked on her, and came back to sit down in front of my desk.
    â€˜She slept a lot on board,’ he remarked.
    â€˜The harbourmaster found no markings on the boat.’
    He didn’t reply. I tried another tack.
    â€˜Now you have been rescued and slept safely, do any memories return?’
    He looked at me so stolidly I wondered what I’d said that was wrong. I felt a flicker of annoyance tap through my fingertips.
    â€˜What?’ I asked, putting down my pen with a sharp click.
    â€˜Rescued.’
    â€˜You dispute that you were rescued?’ I asked.
    â€˜I cannot make that judgment yet.’
    â€˜Surely it’s better to be here than lost in the middle of an ocean?’
    â€˜Last night I was locked into a bare room – I saw life through a barred window.’
    I couldn’t argue with the truth of what he had said, so I shuffled my papers instead and tried a simpler question.
    â€˜Do you remember anything?’
    â€˜Some things.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜I am not sure they are relevant.’
    â€˜But they’re all you remember. I do not mean to upset you, sir, but anything is something when you have nothing. What you remember could be important, no matter how insignificant it seems.’
    â€˜And let you be the judge of that?’
    His tone was sarcastic, which surprised me – sarcasm is an attack I usually equate with smaller, sharper people. Nor did I expect antagonism.
    â€˜I’m just trying to help,’ I said, sounding plaintive, even to my ears. He raised his eyebrows at me.
    â€˜You are just a child.’
    I was not going to allow him to bully me.
    â€˜But I am the only one who speaks your language fluently, which is why they have appointed this “child” to help you. Yours is a difficult situation, but if you would prefer I can hand you back to stand in line behind the lost fishermen this department usually processes.’
    He said nothing.
    â€˜So, tell me what you remember, please, sir,’ I said, opening my notebook and picking up my pen. I glared at him, daring him to push me. He met my stare and pursed his lips, then laughed.
    â€˜Very well,’ he said. ‘I suppose as all I remember seems so childish, who better to tell it to.’
    I chose to ignore the barb and simply nodded, waiting for him to begin.
    â€˜I remember a cobbled street,’ he said. ‘Pumpkins drying on the roofs of whitewashed houses, bright against wide blue sky. I’m walking up this street; I am happy; the sun shines on my back. I think I am a child of six or so. In front of me a door slowly swings open. The door is blue; a different blue to the sky. The two blues jar and shimmy against each other. From inside I hear clattering; hooves, shod hooves on cobblestone, clanging with an urgency that is compelling, beating at the sunshine from inside the cool, dark interior of the house. Then a beautiful horse bursts out. A palomino; the most beautiful horse I have ever seen – proud, muscular, copper sheen shining in the sun. The horse prances about, swinging wide on