Page 133 of Oar Than Friends

Win the Boat Race. Win Oz back.

I zoned in, muting the sound of the helicopters and drones high above, the loud judder of the dozen speedboats behind us where the umpires were watching with eagle eyes, along with the support boats of first-aid crews and rescue teams, all battling with the roar of the fans stretched either side of the river.

My eyes snapped to the flag on top of the pole; my lucky flag. ‘Bring Oz back to me,’ I whispered, ‘and give us a win.’

I looked straight ahead, to my crew of eight; the boys I’d spent more time with in the past couple of months than anyone else. They’d welcomed me onto their crew, they trusted me to lead them to victory.

That’s exactly what I planned to do.

‘Okay, boys. We’re here. We’re finally here. We’re at the starting line we’ve trained eight months to get to, and we’re going to prove to all of them that we’re the best, because we are the best. For the next twenty minutes you’re going to power harder than you’ve ever done before, you’re going to fight harder than you’ve ever done before, and we’re going to fucking win this race. We are going to win.’

Murmurs of ‘Yes boss,’ sounded out.

‘Okay. Call out when you’re ready.’

‘Ready … ready … ready …’ the boys’ shouts moveddown the boat until only Tubbs was left in the stroke seat directly in front of me. I pulled my sunglasses down to meet his eyes.

‘Tubbs?’

A grin split his face. ‘Ready, Asters. We’re going to fucking cream those dark-blue motherfuckers.’

I smirked, moving my sunglasses back into place, and brought my hand down.

Pete’s hand came down too.

We were ready.

‘Attention,’ called the umpire, and we all held our breath. My fingers gripped around the steering mechanisms by my side. ‘Go.’

The red flag dropped.

Eight oars made the catch.

As planned, we went out fast. Tubbs set a punishing rhythm and I could feel the crew thundering us down the first stretch of the river towards the Fulham bend. The water smashed against the blades and waves rocked the boat, but we powered on. Fifty yards ahead I could see a calmer stretch of water and pressed down on the rudder to steer us towards it, which earned me a warning from the umpire behind us for being too close to the Oxford boat.

‘Ignore him,’ I shouted down my headset to the boys, ‘we’re not close. We have clear water.’

Twenty yards to my left, the Oxford boat was pushing just as hard, and from the pace of Oz’s rowing I could tell Pete had asked them to up their stroke rate. But we’d been expecting it, and I had no intention of letting them slip past.

‘Okay boys. Pressure’s on. Keep to my beat. One and one and one and one,’ I shouted out, watching as they hit each call. ‘Nice. Nice. Stay with me. Good.’

I glanced over, and from the way I was now lined up nearer to Oz’s seat than Pete’s, I could tell we’d inched ahead.

‘We’re hitting the mile marker, boys. Remember what we practised. Give me ten per cent more until Hammersmith Bridge.’ The waves crashed against the side of boat. ‘Ready? On my marks … Push. Push. Push.’ Each of my orders set the tempo I needed them to keep, and we burst forward. ‘Hips and knees. Hips and knees. Hips and knees. We have to get through it first.’

I might not have an oar in my hand, but my heart was racing as hard as if I had. In front of me Tubbs had turned a healthy shade of pink. Sweat dripped down his face as he exploded from his seat for each giant push on his thighs.

I glanced down at my stopwatch as we passed under Hammersmith Bridge. It wasn’t the fastest time we’d ever done it, and we weren’t going to set any records, but it was fast enough, and as we came away and moved around the bend it was clear we’d gained another foot length against Oxford. I could no longer see Oz.

The crowds screamed, flags, banners and scarves were all waving in the air as we passed the second mile marker, followed by the Chiswick Eyot on our right and Chiswick Steps on our left. The wind blew past us.

‘Ten minutes in, boys. We’re past the halfway point. You’re doing great. Keep it up. Keep it up. Keep it up.’

Glancing over at Oxford, I was now level with Brooksin six seat. We were still half a length ahead, but there was every possibility Oxford would step on the gas coming into the third mile, and we couldn’t afford to be complacent.

‘Another burst. Let’s dig deep, in three, two, one. Row. Row. Row.’

Tubbs looked like his jaw was going to break from the tension, and let out an ear splitting bellow with each stroke he blasted through his oar.

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