Pass the biscuits

We’d crammed an extra family aboard for a day-trip. Five children and three adults on our Moody 336. I’d promised my friend Lucy this sail all season, now it was mid-september.

‘We don’t have to go far, do we?’ my husband asked quietly as the engine started.

‘No.’ I glanced across the flat water to the village opposite the moorings. We’d be there in a flash; anchor off and let the kids jump in the sea, whilst we had a cuppa. We weaved our way out through the moorings. Small, excited faces sprouted in the companionway:

‘Where’re we going?’ ‘Can I steer?’

I picked the calmest of the bunch. ‘Clara – you can go first.’ She bravely clutched the wheel. The others stood up for a better view, obscuring the instrument panel.

‘Got the tide-table?’ I called to hubbie, who was putting the kettle on. ‘On the chart-table.’

‘Erm, no, it’s not.’ I sighed and nipped down to grab it. Hmmm. Just before low water. Springs, as well.

‘Lucy,’ I shouted up, ‘could you check the depths for me? Third instrument along. It should say one point something.’

‘Ah. Nought point five... nought point three.’ My heart sank. Clara gripped the wheel with her tiny hands. Crunch – we grounded. ‘Oops,’ I said quietly.

‘How long?’ my husband asked.

‘Erm. Best pass out that tea.’ ‘Anyone fancy a biscuit?’ Lucy rustled her handbag. ‘I’ve got plenty. This is so peaceful, sailing. Almost like we’re not moving at all.’