Free Making Laws for Clouds by Nick Earls Page A

them as they could when we got into port,’ Harbo’s saying, ‘rum or beer, and then they’d be roaming round looking for the first chance to swing the leg over. And I’d done nothing up till then, not even kissed a girl. Anyway, that’s how it started for me with the sea. But what am I telling you that for? That was years ago. That’s where it started, and this is where it’ll end. Me and
Stella
. Nice and quiet. This’ll do me.’
    â€˜Why’d you call her
Stella Maris?
’ Tanika says. ‘And who is she?’
    â€˜Who’s who?’
    â€˜Stella Maris.’
    â€˜Stella Maris? She’s an Italian movie star from the fifties. Very deluxe. No, I’m kidding. She’s the star of the sea. It’s Latin. Someone else called her that. It’s not really right for her, is it? She did a good few years fishing off here, then some bloke bought her and refitted her so that he could live on her. He went broke and he had to sell her pretty cheap since she was neither one nor the other – not really a fishing boat any more, but not really a cruiser either. Anyway, how’d we get onto that? That’s right – I think he might have given her the name. But, look, I shouldn’t be keeping you here, at least not until I can make a decent cup of tea. Stop drinking it, Kane. It’s bloody awful, and I don’t require that kind of politeness.’
    He grins and I realise how old and wrinkly his face is, or how old and wrinkly it’s become, how many years it must have spent on decks in the sun and wind. Thrashing-down weather, endless sunlight beating into his skin, making wrinkles and cancers. He’s had bits cut off here and there – the top of one ear, chunks of scalp, and something at the corner of his mouth. He looks as though the mice got at him during the night and, with the sun setting and not much light coming through the porthole behind him, the last of his hair is like a wisp of pale grey smoke. The sea has worked him hard, every cell of his body, and it’s no surprise he likes it nice and quiet now.
    There’s a cool salty breeze coming in from the east when we get back on deck, and the last orange piece of sun on the hills.
    â€˜I’ve got a few blokes to catch up with,’ he says when we’re down on the concrete and Tanika offers him a lift home in the bus. ‘A couple of boaties at the yacht club for a couple of beers. Just to get me measured up for that smart white skipper’s cap I’ll need to go with the new-look
Stella
. Lots of gold braid and shit, hey?’
    â€˜No worries, skip,’ she says. ‘I’m sure it’ll suit you. So, you’re right for a lift after that?’
    â€˜Yeah, they’ll drop me back at the place where I’m staying. I’ll be right.’
    We walk with him to the gate and watch him as he heads over to the club. Big old Harbo, all limping and bandages and creaky old parts that aren’t quite up to what they used to be. Lumbering through the darkness of the car park, then stepping into the light of the yacht club foyer, showing his wrapped-up hands to the receptionist in lieu of a signature in the book and taking a seat to wait for his boatie mates.
    â€˜You got much on tonight?’ Tanika says. ‘Any Friday night things happening?’
    â€˜Sure. But family, you know. Fridays we do takeaway if we can. And I’ve got a Domino’s voucher. Two pizzas for fourteen ninety-five if you pick them up yourself.’
    â€˜I’d take you home,’ she says. ‘But, you know, that’d be you and me in the bus by ourselves. Just us and your pizzas. And you can guess my new deal for driving the bus. The new rule they came up with for me as regards passengers.’
    And here, in the car park, when the evening’s become night, with the chandlery lights glinting in Tanika Bell’s eyes, I could break a lot of other