Lifeboat Read Online Free Page A

stamping hooves.
    â€˜At first I think we are alone, the horse and me, but as it turns it reveals a tiny, burly man, in shorts and sandals, clinging to a tatty lead rope. He is being dragged by the horse, tossed like a bobbing cork on a wave, but he is not unhappy. He skates along by its side, grinning, trying to hold on and close the stable door after the horse, as the horse tries to bolt. I step up to help him. He smiles and thanks me; I reply in form.
    â€˜The horse hears my voice and swings to confront me. It steps at me, snorting and sidling. I stand still, bewitched by its beauty and coquetry, the way the muscles on its arching neck undulate, the strength of its chest, the delicacy of its legs, stamping a demand that I explain myself. The horse is large upon me, tossing and shaking its wave-cap mane, ears pricked forward, eyes rolling. But I am not scared and so my stillness interests it. It stretches its head forward elegantly to my child’s face and blows softly upon me. Its breath is sweet, musky. Instinctively I blow back to it and for a still, still moment our faces touch.
    â€˜Even now I can feel the magic of its velvety, quivering muzzle. It is our moment, the horse and I, we are in our own world washed over by the sun. Then the horse is gone, spinning around, charging up the street dragging its little man behind. I stand, holding the moment with my breath for many minutes after they have left. Why I remember this I cannot tell you. But the memory makes me happy.’
    He fell silent. But he was smiling, and until that moment I hadn’t noticed that he never had before. And in his happiness I saw a rock to build on, a mountainside to climb in the sun, a hill to lie on in grass amongst flowers. I longed to feel that happiness myself. Tears spiked my eyes. I looked down and blinked hard, angry to be crying, confused as to why. I took a deep breath and looked up. But the man was not watching; he’d left the table to stand at the windows again, staring out to sea across the busy dockyard. He moved quietly for someone of his size.
    In my confusion I asked: ‘And do you remember in which country this was? Do you remember the nationality of the horse?’
    He turned slowly and stared at me as if I were mad. My mortification saw an easy exit and hid within my annoyance:
    â€˜Well, if we are to discover who you are I will need more than just happy memories.’
    He stood still, holding my gaze as a look of great pity swept the landscape of his face, like the shadow of clouds.
    In hindsight, I see that what he had described was a tiny moment of perfection. The big things in life are so impressed upon us that we often forget those small perfect moments, forget how to recognise them, how to feel them. Then forget them altogether.
    The woman stirred from her sleep and sat up, bright eyed and blinking.
    â€˜I am hungry,’ she announced. ‘Where can I get some food?’
    I took them to the waterfront, to a small cafe that serviced the dockworkers. We ate rolls, with cheese, figs and grapes, and watched the boats go past. I didn’t know if I was allowed to take them outside, but decided not to ask. I think this was the first time my association with these two prompted me to disregard the regulations.
    â€˜You slept again,’ I said, by way of starting the conversation.
    â€˜And dreamt. I dreamt I was in Africa,’ she said, smiling at both of us. ‘I was with my father, listening to the lions roar before bedtime.’
    â€˜Your father? You’re sure it was your father?’ I asked.
    â€˜Yes, I am. I can’t say why I am so sure, but I see his face so clearly and I know who he is to me.’
    â€˜Tell me what you dreamt.’
    â€˜I am not sure it was a dream. It seemed so real – there was such detail.’
    â€˜That’s good. Maybe as you rest your memories are returning. Tell me.’
    â€˜But if it was just a dream?’
    â€˜It