As he sat crunching, Skipper Bruce's mind drifted to Deck Hand Chris. He felt desperately hurt that his friend had not only abandoned him but had preferred his death and the money which would result to their continued friendship. There would be no more games of Risk, no more shared guffaws at Doctors, no more piggy-back rides down Market Street. He felt anger that Deck Hand Chris had felt their friendship so worthless, but most of all he felt a profound hope that his friend would return.
His thoughts were interrupted as a familiar lilac reflection appeared on the water in front of him. Looking up, he saw the Pride of Lamond appear around the rocks and First Mate Glen fling a bottle into the water as it passed.
Skipper Bruce lowered himself into the water and swam out to reach the bottle. Inside was a slip of Tesco Value paper on which was scribbled a short message, clearly written by Cabin Boy Matt:
That which is used to pay for that which we either need or want has arrived and he who has betrayed us has gone. You can come back to that from where we come.
With that, Skipper Bruce began to scramble up the steep cliff face towards civilization.
* * *
Deck Hand Chris was relaxing on his huge sofa in front of a huge plasma television watching Doctors. It wasn't the same without the Pride of Lamond's crew, but that mattered little. He had everything he could ever want. A small black boy whom he employed at a very competitive rate sat on an exercise bike in the corner powering the plasma television by way of a dynamo. Out of the window of his luxury eco-villa he could see, in the distance, fourteen enormous wind turbines rising from the ocean, the source not just of the West Coast's energy but also of his fortune. He was surrounded by dreadlocked friends smoking herbal cigars which had come from Deck Hand Chris' cupboard and drinking organic wine, the grapes for which had been crushed under the feet of local neds undergoing community service, which had come from Deck Hand Chris' well-stocked cellar. This was the life.
* * *
Skipper Bruce stumbled into The Lady's Head dirty, ragged and forlorn. His clothes were ripped, his double cowlick was mattered with dust, blood and sweat and his glasses were broken. Silence fell in the church-run bar as all eyes fell on the Skipper.
"Ski... Skipper," stammered First Mate Glen, standing up. "We... we thought you were dead."
"Yes," piped in Cabin Boy Matt in a flat monotone which he thought was quite convincing, "how great to see you, Skipper Bruce, who was dead but is now, miraculously, alive, how can it be?"
Skipper Bruce fell into a seat and Ethel, the 87-year old barmaid, quickly brought him a pint of Best, which he downed in one sift gulp.
"I fell from the harbour wall," began Skipper Bruce wearily.
"No, no," whispered First Mate Glen a little too loudly, "you were washed overboard during a storm."
"Ah, yeah, that's right," said Skipper Bruce. "I was washed overboard during a really bad storm and washed up almost dead on a desert island. Luckily some seals found me and nursed me back to health until I was strong enough to sit on their backs and be taken to the shore, from where I walked all the way back here."
Silence remained as the packed bar contemplated the likelihood of the story.
"Err, quick!" shouted Cabin Boy Matt to prevent anyone having too long to think. "Drinks all round to celebrate, err, on First Mate Glen! What a generous chap he is!"
By the end of the evening everybody was pleased that Skipper Bruce was alive and well, though nobody could quite remember the story of how he had survived.
* * *
Deck Hand Chris stood in the doorway to what had, until a few minutes ago, been his villa. Global warming had come under sufficient doubt so as to have undermined the need for non-polluting energy, while vast oil reserves in the Falklands and England's crushing of South American opposition to British sovereignty had secured traditional energy sources for decades to come. Not only that, but it had become clear that wind turbines were incapable of supplying Scotland's energy needs. Revenue from the off-shore windfarm in which he had invested everything had dried up and the turbines were costing more to maintain than they made. Now he had opened the door to find a representative from Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs claiming that he owed the government hundreds of thousands of pounds in outstanding taxes from the income he had made and that his eco-villa, and everything in it, was to be taken as payment. Even the little black boy spat on him as he left.
"What did you say your name was?" Deck Hand Chris asked the scowling man who had given him the bad news and who now supervised the loading of his property into a large government van.
"To people like you it's Jay," he replied in a thick Northern Irish accent, scowling even harder. "Don't ask my real name. I know what you people are like and I don't want repercussions. I've lost enough teeth from begrudged reluctant taxpayers already."
"And are you sure you've got this right?" he asked, "how can I owe so much?"
"You make this amount of cash and don't tell Revenue and Customs, this is what happens," replied Jay.
"But, I've got nothing, what will I do?"
Jay looked at Deck Hand Chris and shrugged nonchalantly. "Not my problem."
With that, he took a bottle of the organic wine, popper the cork and took a swig. "Blah! Tastes like Clem's feet!"
* * *
The following morning, Harbour Master Gamble approached Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt as they scrubbed the Pride of Lamond.
"Can I ask you a question? I mean, I know that was a question and that I asked that without your permission, but, I mean, what I mean to say, unless of course you already understand what I mean because this is fairly commonly used phrase, the question I began with, that is, but what I meant was, do I have your permission to ask a subsequent question to the one which I have already asked you?"
"Aye," replied Skipper Bruce.
"Well," said Harbour Master Gamble, leaning towards them conspiratorially, "you weren't really washed overboard, were you?"
Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt looked at each other.
"Err, no," replied Skipper Bruce.
"I thought not, but I won't tell." Harbour Master Gamble winked. "I heard Deck Hand Chris wanted his share of the business back, and you didn't have it, so you pretended to have been killed to get the life insurance to pay him. Am I right?"
"Err, yes," replied Skipper Bruce.
"What are you going to do when the insurance company ask for the money back, may I ask, I mean, I don't mean to be nosey, I'm just a little curious, which, I know they say curiosity killed the cat, but given that I'm not a cat, as I hope you can tell, although I know that perhaps it is a little uncertain, I felt that it would be worth the risk, although I hope you don't think me imprudent for thinking so, I like to live life on the edge, if, perhaps, I may be a little impolite in doing so."
"I guess," answered First Mate Glen, "that we'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it."
"May I ask another question," asked Harbour Master Gamble. "I mean, I know that that is a question that I asked without first asking permission but what I mean is..."
"Aye," Skipper Bruce interrupted.
"Why didn't you just sell Deck Hand Chris' share of the business to someone else?" asked Harbour Master Gamble.
Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt looked at each again.
"We never thought of that."
* * *
Deck Hand Chris phoned all his friends for help, but nobody responded. They were either having their dreadlocks redone, tie-dying shirts or on a Greenpeace ship attacking Japanese whaling boats. Feeling very cold and incredibly alone, he spent the night in a cardboard box under a bridge and the following morning went in search of a job. He managed to find mundane work on a salmon farm feeding the fish. He longed to fill his stomach with the pink and green foul smelling flakes he was feeding them, but the owners of the farm refused to let him, saying that their insurance didn't cover their employees eating food that was unfit for human consumption, nor would they give him an advance on his pitiful wage, for which he was forced to wait until the end of the month.
Consequently, Deck Hand Chris continued to lay under the freezing bridge during the long, cold nights, his stomach cramping with hunger. He thought back to Skipper Bruce. He had had true friends on the Pride of Lamond, friends who stood by him during thick and thin, friends who had supported him after the doctors had told him he was unable to have children as a result of having received the sack whack, friends who would have helped him had he lost everything. Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt always had food to eat, even when catches were poor the Skipper had made sure that his crew ate. Why was he here, cold, hungry and alone? The longer he thought over his situation, the more obvious the solution became. He would have to swallow his pride and return to St Andrews, apologise to Skipper Bruce and beg that he offer him a job doing the most menial tasks on board the Pride of Lamond.
* * *
"No, Heth, we're not going to the Seychelles on our honeymoon..." First Mate Glen was pacing backwards and forwards along the deck of the Pride of Lamond, his mobile phone clamped to his ear. Wedding preparations were not going well. "No... no, I don't want you to feel bad... Heth, I'm not... It's just that I don't see the point in going somewhere expensive and exciting when we're not going to leave the bedroom all week... No, I'm not just being cheap... No... I'm not... There are some lovely hotels in Leith... Well, no, I haven't checked them out but... It can't be that bad... The what triangle? ...No, that's not the reason... OK... OK... We won't go to Leith... No I want you to be happy... I do... Heth, I do want you to be happy... How about Springburn? ...It's quite nice in August... It is... It is... Heth, I'm not being cheap... I'm not... No, I'm not saying you're a liar... I'm not... I'm not... OK... OK... I'm sorry for calling you a liar... I am... No, I'm not contradicting myself... OK... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Where would you like to go? ...The Seychelles? ...That sounds like a great idea."
Skipper Bruce was sat on quay with his binoculars out, scanning the horizon in all directions. He had remained there for a number of weeks, leaving only to sleep. The Pride of Lamond had come and gone on multiple voyages since his return, yet he had accompanied First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt on none of them, he just remained, watching and hoping that Deck Hand Chris would return.
Cabin Boy Matt sat beside Skipper Bruce fixing nets. "I think the best bit," he told him, "is when they open the boot and find Remington Steele in his tuxedo and a smooth grin holding a cocktail and he says..."
Suddenly Skipper Bruce leapt to his feet, flung his binoculars in the air and ran as he hadn't run since trying to get from from one end of St Andrews to the other so as not to miss the start of Diagnosis Murder. Cabin Boy Matt stood in shock and First Mate Glen dropped his phone.
"My friend, my friend!" cried Skipper Bruce as he ran towards Deck Hand Chris, who he had seen in the distance. The American tourists stopped and stared as he sprinted past, some of them taking photographs of the crazy Scottish sea captain. When he reached Deck Hand Chris, Skipper Bruce flung his arms around him and embraced him.
"Deck Hand Chris!" he cried. "I'm so glad you're back, come with me."
"Wait, wait," stammered Deck Hand Chris. "Skipper, I've been terrible to you, I've treated you badly, please take me back as..."
"Nonsense!" cried Skipper Bruce, "come on, we're going to have a massive party."
* * *
That evening The Lady's Head was filled with music and dancing. The entire town turned out to celebrate the return of Deck Hand Chris and witness Skipper Bruce giving him part ownership of the Pride of Lamond once more. DJ Vector and the Yorkshire Rapper even had a rap battle in his honour.
But First Mate Glen was outraged that Deck Hand Chris had been accepted back as an equal when he and Cabin Boy Matt had been working hard during the long months of his absence. He refused to go into the party and sat outside, listening to DJ Vector's beats and sulking.
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