Page 88 of You Float My Boat

A brilliant smile split his face; my favourite smile. The ginger beer smile that I could almost feel reaching into my chest and squeezing it gently.

‘I like the sound of that. Now, can I kiss you officially? Not as an appropriate rule but because I can’t not. Then I promise we can start rehearsing.’

I was barely able to nod my head before his lips fell to mine.

Best Charlie Masterson kiss yet.Officially.

14. Charlie:

(February 14th – also known as Valentine’s Day)

‘Okay, oars up.’

The eight of us followed Marshy’s command and for the final 25 metres we glided down the river towards the dry dock, stretching out our legs.

We needed it. My muscles had been screaming for the last fifteen minutes, and based on the groaning coming from Brooks in six seat behind me so were his.

It was safe to say that since the beginning of the year, our training sessions had ramped up.

At the beginning of January, they’d been hard. But we’d powered into February and with less than two months to race day, the training was pushing us to the brink of collapse because‘you’ll be near death on race day, no reason why you shouldn’t get used to it now’, Coach had reminded us last week.

Every day he’d spouted one of his little missives about how we likely wouldn’t survive, or how many ambulances would be waiting for us by Chiswick Bridge. Some iteration of it, anyway. Even this morning while I was trying to concentrate on how to breathe he’d been yelling foreboding warnings down his megaphone from the support boat behind us.

It didn’t help that Oz seemed to have taken it uponhimself to become a one-man rowing machine. As stroke it was his job to set the pace, but if I didn’t know better I’d swear he was trying to kill us – given I was still sucking fresh air into my lungs – or at least take seriously Coach’s instructions to drive us to collapse. Even over the many years I’d rowed with Oz, through school and for Great Britain, I couldn’t recall ever seeing him more determined to win a race than he appeared this week.

In fact, it was possible I’d blanked on last year’s training because I don’t remember pushing ourselves quite so hard,ever. Which, in hindsight, may have contributed to why we’d lost.

At the rate we were going, not even the Olympic squad could beat us. Not this year. Every single drop of sweat we had was being poured into this race. It was one of the reasons the main OUBC crew was leaner. The weak links had been cut weeks ago, and we were now down to the final numbers our crews would be selected from.

Blue Boat and Isis. Two boats. Two coxes. Sixteen rowers.

It hadn’t been announced yet, but we all knew who would be racing in the number one spot – Marshy, Bitters, Joshi, Fellows, Drake, Frank, Brooks, Oz and me.

We were the crew to beat.

We were the crew to take Oxford over the finish line first. We would be crowned champions.

We could feel it. All of us. Weknew.

There was no way we’d lose this year. None.

‘Nice pace today, fellas. Fast, very fast,’ added Marshy from the confines of his thick winter parka and wool beanie, huddled at the front of the shell.

‘Jesus … Christ,’ puffed out Brooks behind me. ‘How was this a Friday session? We’re out on the river all weekend, when am I supposed to recover?’

‘When we’re dead?’ I turned around to find his bright-red face dripping in sweat. ‘Poor little Brooksy, d’you need me to run you a hot bath when we get home?’

‘Thanks, mate. I do actually,’ he grinned, before dropping his voice. ‘Take it this session was about Kate?’

My head flicked up to where Oz was talking to Marshy. Call it a coincidence, but since Kate and Oz had broken up the punishing durations of our training regimens seemed to have increased. While all the boys had noticed, only Brooks and I had put two and two together, to equal an Oz who seemed to be trying to exorcise himself into forgetting Kate, seeing as drinking himself into forgetfulness hadn’t worked.

It wasn’t just in training either. On Wednesday I’d gotten home to find Oz revising, an occurrence rarer than a solar eclipse. At least he hadn’t attempted to cook anything, because then I’d really start worrying.

I turned back to Brooks. ‘That’s a fair assumption.’

‘Maybe we can get them back together before he kills us all then.’

‘Hmm.’

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