Free A Yacht Called Erewhon by Stuart Vaughan Page A

they wound on the tension. The tree didn’t give easily, but with audible creaks it gradually moved. Matt and I checked the gap. It was close.
    ‘We’ll lash this one off here,’ said Dad. ‘We don’t want to push our luck.’
    Matt and I picked up another bar and headed over to the other guy, but Mic and Dad were close behind. ‘We’ll do that!’ Dad said. ‘You two get that tape ready.’
    I looked at Mic. The T-shirt she’d borrowed from Mum was soaked in sweat, but the smile on her face said it all: she was loving it.
    Again they started to wind on the tension; sweat pouring from the end of Dad’s nose as Mic’s face flushed. The dust they’d stirred up with their feet quickly became caked on her soggy shirt as it clung to her, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care. I thought to myself, Mum’s shirt has never looked that good!
    Matt and I had the tape at the ready, and I watched the gap grow as the second tree moved aside.
    ‘That’ll do!’ I yelled. ‘We’ve got at least two inches. I could drive a Kenworth through now!’
    I climbed back into Aggie’s seat, and Erewhon creaked as we started to inch forward. Dad had his hand on the steering tiller, and Matt and Mic stood on either side with chocks at the ready in case things got out of hand. The widest part of thebeam was now between the trees, and the guys were singing with the strain. The rear bogies were climbing the ramp and the planks coming free at the rear. Matt and Dad continued to shift them forward to create the descent.
    With relieved sighs all round, Aggie finally fell silent and Erewhon was back on hard ground. I glanced at my dust-caked watch—it was almost nine. We’d been so engrossed we’d missed smoko and dinner. I unhitched Aggie, and four tired bodies climbed on board for the short trip back to camp. Mic slipped into the seat beside me and surveyed the controls.
    ‘Do you want to drive her?’ I asked.
    ‘Can I?’
    I’d been joking, but she wasn’t. I slid sideways to allow her full access to the levers.
    As we neared the riverbank, I could feel her tense as she prepared to make the left turn, but at precisely the right moment she dragged on the steering lever and dabbed the left brake, and Aggie rumbled around and headed for the camp. The light was almost gone as Mic reached forward, slipped the gear lever into neutral, and shut the engine down.
    ‘Time to get rid of the grime!’ I announced, heading for the water. Stripping off my grimy clothes, I dived in head-first.
    Mic was about two steps behind. ‘Come on, you lot!’ she yelled to the others, as we thrashed around in the gently flowing water, washing away the dirt of another day’s hard slog.
    The sight of Mic’s Coppertone Girl tan-line disappearing under the water was all the enticement Matt needed to join in. Dad stood on the bank, somewhat stunned by her lack of inhibition.
    ‘Come on, Jim!’ Mic called, ‘If you’re worried about being naked, I’ve seen you all swimming here since the day you arrived!’
    Despite his sunburnt face, Dad was blushing as Mum,completely naked, walked casually past him, dumped a pile of towels on a nearby log and plunged in.
    Dad turned his back, dropped his clothes, and executed a giant belly-flop into the river. Twenty minutes in the water had us all relaxed. We climbed out, wrapped ourselves in the towels, and walked to the camp. Mum, who by now seemed to have completely forgotten her no-cooking policy, had prepared a huge meal.
    Over the dinner table, I swung the conversation around to Mic and where she called home.
    ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s just moved about a hundred yards from where it’s stood for about thirty-five years.’
    We all looked at each other. ‘You lived on Erewhon ?’
    ‘It was my way of getting in contact with my ancestors. Nana’s spirit is still on board. That’s why I’ve been a bit wary of your intentions. But she says that if you’re going to restore Erewhon , she’s