Page 50 of Oar Than Friends

‘Teamwork makes the dream work,’ cried a voice from the other side of the boathouse.

‘Yeah,’ I pulled my beanie off and ran my fingers through my hair, gathering up all the strands and tying it up in a knot on top of my head, ‘it was a good morning, although I’m almost too tired to speak.’

I hadn’t mentioned it to Oz yesterday, but today marked the first day of official Tideway training. My first day coxing on the River Thames. I knew it would be different from rowing on the Cam, but even on a relatively calm day like today, the drag of the current had felt stronger than anything I’d experienced. I knew I’d had a good session; while I hated to admit it, Oz had been right about coxing along here, and without his brief instructions during our community trash picking I had a feeling I would have struggled.

Seeing as this was my first time on this stretch of the river, I was quietly confident I hadn’t done too badly. Though from the way Coach Stephens had yelled down the megaphone from his motorboat I could be mistaken. The only thing I did know – it was going to be a long five months until the Boat Race if I had any hope of staying in my seat. I might be an experienced coxswain but I had my work cut out for me, because the thing about coxing – it’s based on skills, instincts, practice. And I was going up against people who’d coxed on this river before, coxed in this race.

It was going to be tough, but I knew I was tougher.

‘Nice work today, Kate.’

I turned to find Coach Godwin, my coxing coach, out of his motor boat and heading in my direction.

I startled a little at the compliment, especially as he wasn’t known for dishing them out. He was the type ofguy who grunted with a brusque nod if you’d done something good. ‘Thanks, coach.’

‘Is that the first time you’ve rowed on a tidal river?’

I shook my head, hoping he couldn’t tell what little experience I’d had. ‘No, but I’ve not spent a lot of time on tideways. Back home it’s mostly freshwater rivers. I’ve done a little racing on the tidal stretch of the Connecticut River, which is like the Thames I guess, but also nothing like it.’ I laughed, hoping my nerves didn’t show through.

He nodded, slowly.

In the six weeks I’d been part of the coxswains’ crew I’d learned that Coach Godwin was a man of few words. Though he couldn’t be more than forty, he had the aura – not to mention the thick beard – of someone much older – considered, thoughtful with his words, and curt with his delivery. I should probably find him a little more intimidating than I did, but he also reminded me of Vinny, one of my older cousins who ran my dad’s fishing crew.

More importantly, Vinny was also the guy I credited for saving my dad when Jake died. He’d carried him in those days; when he’d set aside his own grief for the guy he always called hissurrogate baby brotherand stayed with my dad while he stared out at nothing but the water after a memory had caught him so hard he’d forgotten what he’d been doing a minute before; when he couldn’t focus on anything but his own grief.

It was most likely why I could hold a conversation with Godwin longer than most of the other coxswains, who found his way of speaking too abrupt, borderline rude and a massive knock to their confidence. Three of the girlswho’d joined the coxswains’ university crew at the beginning of term had already dropped out and gone back to cox for their respective colleges, under less pressure.

‘It’s impressive. I haven’t seen many coxswains handle the Tideway on their first time like you did today. In my years on this river I’ve only seen four, maybe five hit dead centre of the Hammersmith cables and you managed without me even asking.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Was it a fluke?’

I shook my head, ‘No, sir. I meant to do it.’

‘Could you do it again?’

‘Yes.’

He stared at me, and I waited for his next set of questions to be barked out, ‘How’re you finding the training? You weren’t full time at your old club, right?’

‘No, sir, it wasn’t affiliated with my school. Training wasn’t as intense, but I still managed four times a week.’

He hummed under his breath with a glare that had me glued into place. ‘Who taught you?’

‘My coach was a guy called Chad Brownings. He’d spent most of his career as coxing coach at Harvard. He really showed me how to read the water. I think that’s probably what helped today,’ I smiled.

I was not about to add that the president of O.U.B.C. had probably been more responsible for my performance today than anyone, or anything else. I could almost picture the smug look on Oz’s face when I updated him later, as he typed out a reply something along the lines of ‘I told you so’before we resumed our question for a question game. In fact, since we’d called a truce yesterday anddecided to get to know each other better our texting had resumed at a rate that made it clear we were making up for lost time, our fingers flying over our phone screens quicker than Swifties registering for tour tickets.

Oz:

Q4AQ. What’s your favourite music?

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