Book 2, Chapter 52

‘Why is the world so weird?’ I thought while pounding the streets of Cardiff on Sunday morning. Running next to me was Beth, who despite being less than three years younger seemed to look on me as a substitute mother figure. Last night my sister sang with Robbie Williams in a local pub when everyone knows that people on the television aren't real. Robbie Williams? Williams? I had only just met my great-aunt Gabriela Martinez and great-uncle Tao Taulapapa; was I going to meet more of the Williams tribe? He didn’t sound Welsh but he did sing, which was very Welsh.

Back home, as I cooked breakfast, I worked out my plan for the day. In the afternoon I would be taking Molly out for a sail alone inside the harbour. Bill thought it would be a good confidence builder for me but to make it, in his words, more interesting, he and Ian would race me sailing Cyflym. The more devious side of my nature wanted to go down to the boats early and tie an anchor to the bottom of Cyflym but she was so sleekly built there was nowhere to attach one in a way that it wouldn’t be seen. It took until my second slice of toast for inspiration to strike!

After a visit to Dad's garden shed I collected Serena from across the road and we put my simple plan into effect down at the marina. Less than an hour later we went to see how the alterations to Mrs Clark's house were coming on. I liked the idea of people and business living side by side so Serena pointed out to me the modified plan for industrial and residential plots and their access. Having grown up playing on the site I did have in mind for the area something in short supply when a younger me wanted them; trees. Serena knew enough to suggest that London plane trees might be best to cope with the compacted soil conditions they would have to endure and my memories prompted me to ask if some trees for climbing could be fitted in anywhere.

It was relaxing to wander with Serena, chatting of a far future when the saplings we planted would be full grown. We’d been friends for years but were even closer now with a clear gender in common. There were differences between us however, especially in that Serena was in no hurry to settle down and have children whereas I, despite possibly or even probably being infertile, was already getting twinges of broodiness.

“I think it’s the hurdles to you having children that’s making you broody. I assume I can have children because nobody has told me otherwise. My birth certificate says female which means I can marry a man and even adopt children if I want. You have none of those things and it must feel as though you’re being told you can't or you mustn’t have them. It’s not right. It's ridiculous! At the least you should be able to change your birth certificate. Forchrisake! If it weren’t for Litara’s skills you'd still have a passport with an M on it!”

It was humbling to have Serena so angry in my defence but I didn’t feel like a victim and the last thing I wanted was to be the focus of more attention as a case for special treatment.

“It’s not just me though, is it Serena? What about Evan and Philip; what about Martina when she finds some girl to settle down with?”

“But your not a lesbian or gay or whatever. You’re different!”

“Am I? What about if I suddenly realise I'm a lesbian and want to adopt?”

“That's silly. I'd know already if you were a lesbian, or at least you would…”

Serena’s words kept going through my mind as that afternoon I prepared Molly for the race. I had diverted her by bringing up the red herring of same sex couples but the real issue for me wasn’t marriage or adoption. It was that even if I were pregnant I could be locked up in a male prison if found guilty of breaking some law. “It's not right.”

I've heard that mothers defending their children are the most determined battlers but not heard of prospective mothers defending their as yet un-conceived children. Regardless my mood was to dare all and give no quarter for the race and I was going to do it in front of everybody who had been at our last family outing to Bristol, including Aunt Sophie. It was to be a figure-eight, 2-buoy race with the start line between the dock where our family was gathered and the nearby downwind buoy. From there at the hooter we would tack our way to the upwind buoy on the other side of the harbour, round it clockwise to return to the downwind buoy which we would round anti clockwise and re-cross the start line to finish.

I think Ian, the racing expert and Bill the ocean sailor, expected me as a single-hander to sail conservatively right up until they saw me preparing the spinnaker pole and spinnaker. Using the engine I had no trouble leaving the dock to get out into the harbour where I locked the propellor shaft to allow the propellor to feather and reduce drag before raising the main and unfurling largest jib which I'd put on the roller. The 5-minute hooter went and Cyflym had only just got off the dock under sail ( she had no engine) and was having trouble manoeuvring so that as the minutes ticked down and I could finally approach the start line at full speed with the wind from the starboard, Cyflym was almost dead in the water on the start line to my port. The hooter went off as Cyflym started to accelerate with the wind from their port but at the last moment I shouted at the top of my voice, “Give way to starboard!” which is the first rule of racing, and skimmed straight across their bows, leaving their sails to flap uselessly in dead air for a moment.

I couldn't keep my advantage long because Cyflym could, by design, sail closer to the wind than Molly so needed fewer tacks before reaching the far buoy but Cyflym was also today marginally the slower boat through the water so we found ourselves fighting neck-and-neck for position to be first to round the upwind mark. Cyflym was first but luck was with Molly and I for a brief lull in the wind let me hoist the spinnaker fully up very quickly by hand, then locking it off, furl the jib before the wind returned.

Most of Cyflym's lead was soon lost when the wind came back from a slightly different direction and they had to jibe which left them only slightly in front of me and no faster because even though their spinnaker was larger, Molly being upwind stole their air. Back across the harbour we flew as the wind was increasing to the point where dousing the spinnaker would be frightening. By the time we were just upwind of the first buoy with the wind on our starboard quarters I'd unfurled the jib and positioned Molly to leave Cyflym in dead air with her boat speed dropping rapidly.

It was my chance and I adjusted course to put the wind dead astern and let fly the spinnaker halliard and its starboard sheet. That actually released the clip attaching the sheet to the sail which flew free into the wind-shadow of the main from where I hauled it into the cockpit out of the way before jibing the mainsail while frantically hauling in the mainsheet and starboard jib sheet!

I'm not very strong and I'm not particularly talented in anything but when the gods bestowed their gifts what the must have given me was luck and perfect timing. That I didn’t break any gear was luck but that Molly cut between Cyflym and the buoy rounding up into the wind to cross the line first was nothing less than perfect timing. Litara might have Robbie Williams on her side but I wasn’t without friends among the stars.

Back on the dock I was flattered extravagantly by the audience but as Cyflym limped in my guilty conscience got the better of me. After securing Ian's mooring line I took a long boat hook and fished about with it under Cyflym. It only took a moment until I got hooked in and unceremoniously hauled up the square of netting that Dad used to protect from birds the strawberries growning in our garden with one of Bill's fenders tied to each of its corners. Serena and I had hauled the assemblage under Cyflym' keel where two fenders straining upward on each side of the hull held the net in place and created an enormous drag on her progress.

I'm not sure that I felt very repentant but I faced Bill and Ian with my elbows tucked in and palms faced up to shrug and offer, “Sorry?”