Chapter 23
AL
The spectators are stamping their feet and blowing into their hands to stay warm on the banks of the River Shannon. Al’s body temperature has soared as he sweats with panic and fear.
‘I can’t do it, Beano,’ he says decisively.
Beano hasn’t an ounce of surprise on his face. His role is to remain calm under pressure on the boat. ‘You can do this,’ he says simply.
‘I can’t. I can’t. You have to call it off. I’ll buy everyone drinks, I don’t care.’
Al pulls his legs back, considering diving into the river and swimming for it.
‘Hey!’ he yells across to the umpire in the boat nearby. ‘I need to get off!’
‘What’s up?’ Buff asks behind him.
‘Sorry, man, I can’t. I can’t do this.’
‘No sorries, we’re doing this,’ Beano says calmly, raising his voice so that the others can hear him. ‘Lads, The Stroke doesn’t think he can do this.’
Al waits for the groans, the irritation, the curses and insults to come his way. He waits for Brick to hit him over the head with a blade. But they don’t come.
‘Come on, Al, you can do this,’ Bo shouts from behind him.
‘You can do this, Al,’ Brick backs him up.
‘I can’t. I can’t.’ Al has well and truly given up. He just needs to get off this boat.
‘You’re The Stroke, the greatest there is, come on,’ Mick shouts.
He feels a clap on his back from Buff.
‘We believe in you,’ from the middle rowers.
‘Let’s obliterate these fuckers,’ from Brick.
The umpire looks over to see what’s going on. The other team’s cox has his hand raised to signal they’re ready.
‘Al,’ Beano fixes him with a firm, but kind and still calm look.
He acts like they have all the time in the world.
It’s his job to deliver everything with confidence, to sound like he knows what he’s talking about.
‘Look at us all. We’ve been doing this together since we were twelve years old.
We’ve won together, we’ve lost together.
We’re older now, we get through life’s ups and downs together, when our wives and girlfriends are annoying us or leave us, we’re here, when we think our kids are mental and messed up, and we wonder how they’ll survive in the world, we’re here. ’
Buff chuckles.
‘When we find weird lumps, or strange rashes, we’re here.
We’ve lost parents, we’ve lost siblings, we’ve lost friends, Flick lost his hair.
We lost Buff for a night in Barcelona and he still won’t tell us what happened.
We’ve sometimes lost ourselves and yet we’re here.
There is no expectation that in this moment of time you are perfect.
We’re all in the same boat and we’ll all pull together. Yeah?’
Beano puts his hand on his shoulder.
‘We’re all in the same boat!’ Brick shouts.
‘He said that already,’ Stick says.
‘I can’t bleedin’ hear him back here.’
Someone laughs. Eddie probably.
We’re all in the same boat.
‘Breathe man,’ Buff says, behind him. ‘We’re all in it with you. We’ve got you. Just row.’
Al breathes and hasn’t quite calmed himself or made up his mind about whether to continue when Beano raises his hand to the umpire to signal that he’s ready.
Clear skies and perfect rowing conditions but Al starts badly.
He catches a crab, entering the blade into the water at the wrong angle, instead of a smooth stroke.
A schoolboy error. Then despite what they’ve said to him in the boat about them all being in it together, he wants to prove that he is the leader and will lead.
He has been going it alone for six weeks now, fuelled by angry sad music, by bitterness and revenge acts, and he can go it alone now.
He lost Walter and Tara, he already lost his team.
In an effort to prove that he’s not weak, that he’s the best, capable, he can bounce back, a superhuman who uses personal heartbreak as motivation, he goes at one hundred per cent.
He’s the leader and he will lead. A stupid mistake.
‘Don’t fly and die,’ Beano calls.
From the start the other team show exceptional power and co-ordination and they take an early lead.
Al’s emptying his tank too quickly, feeling fire in his lungs and legs too early.
He’s a human metronome, he’s supposed to set a pace for his crew that he knows they can withstand.
They’re thirty-eight years old, not eighteen, they cannot sustain this pace and nor can he.
He eases off, operating at ninety-five per cent, the pressure still intense but trying to undo the risk of blowing himself up.
Beano calls to the crew, motivational and strategic calls.
Al’s pulse is loud in his ears. His heavy breathing.
Everything else around him drowned out. Nothing else matters other than this moment.
‘Maintain composure,’ Beano says. ‘We can close the gap.’
Buff picks up on Al’s change in pace and communicates to the rest of the crew, his blade emulating Al’s rhythm.
He needs to be the perfect follower and responsive to Al’s catch and drives.
He’s testing Buff, but Buff is on the ball.
Al focuses on the movement of his legs, it’s a leg sport, not an arm sport.
What they want is limbs, bodies and blades perfectly synchronised, moving like clockwork.
Each of the crew should be at a different point of the stroke, giving the image a hypnotic wave-like movement.
‘Walk all over them,’ Beano calls and Al knows that they must be approaching the crew.
All of a sudden Al can tell by the movement of the boat and how they’re taking off that he’s in synch with his crew, and he remembers that even though he’s essentially leading, this is not about him.
They couldn’t do this without him but it couldn’t be done without any single member of this crew.
Moving together in this way right now is a deeper experience.
For Al, they are and always have been a support network and he needs them now more than ever.
He feels them on his side, rooting for him as they’re rooting for themselves.
Al, Walter and Tara were a three-person boat, he sees now that that wasn’t healthy, it couldn’t and didn’t end well. They tipped him overboard, the ultimate humiliation. He lost trust in people. And today, in this moment, it’s a value that’s returning.
‘Hold them off! Make it hurt!’
He pushes and they push with him, he hears Buff groan behind him.
They push over the finish line as the leaders, and family members and loved ones from the side celebrate.
‘Easy,’ Beano says, calling an end to the race so that they know when to ease up on the pressure. ‘Check it down.’
They bury their blades to bring the shell to a stop as quickly as possible.
Al’s legs are burning, his lungs are burning, the lads are cheering. He feels pats and punches, hears their rejoicing. The loneliness and sadness of the past six weeks, maybe more, are a stark contrast to this miraculous moment. He never thought he’d feel like this again. He starts crying.
‘We’ve got your back, man, we’ve got your back,’ Buff says.
‘I almost swallowed my own balls there,’ Brick announces, breathless.
Mick leans over the side of the boat and vomits into the river.
‘Morning sickness?’ Eddie asks and they all roar laughing.
‘Let’s get to the pub for these free pints,’ Beano says, with a wink to Al.