Barging In (3 page)

A cute waiter dashed past, his hair a bright enough blond to make Dan’s look almost ginger in comparison. The ties of his apron accentuated the curve of his buttocks. Okay, he wasn’t as devastatingly gorgeous as Robin, but at least he knew how to smile. Dan tried to catch the waiter’s eye and failed. Blondie headed out the back door. Dan mumbled something to the landlord about needing to visit the gents and dashed off after Blondie.

The back of the pub was a labyrinth of crates, barrels and mysterious outbuildings. Dan poked his head around a few corners, hoping he might find the lad having a sneaky cigarette, but there was no sign of him. Sighing, he headed back inside. He’d catch him later. Or maybe just wait until this evening and hit a pub where he could guarantee the guys would be into other guys.

A pillar blocked his view of the bar, but Dan picked up a familiar sound. A rich voice, low but bristling with restrained fury. Fury he’d had directed at him only an hour or two previously.

“What do you mean? You’ve got other notices up there. What exactly is it that makes mine unsuitable?”

Dan couldn’t hear the landlord’s reply, but Robin’s response certainly carried. “Well fuck you, then, you arrogant cunt!”

Dan stepped around the pillar just in time to see Robin storming out the door, slamming it shut behind him so that the glass rattled in the panes. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground, and Dan picked it up, burning with curiosity. At the top, in careful lettering, handwritten yet set out like type, it said: Missing: have you seen Morris? There was a photograph of a cat underneath. Morris had a huge mane around his serene face, the white nose and bib striking against the dark tabby markings of his body. A beautiful creature—and enormous too—but what really caught Dan’s attention was the pair of arms encircling him. The head of the figure might have been cropped out of the photo, but there was no mistaking those tattooed arms. At the bottom of the page there was a plea for anyone with information on the whereabouts of Morris to call Robin on his mobile.

So this was the mysterious missing “he”! Dan folded up the notice and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Turning to the grim-faced landlord, he gave a smile. “I don’t know, some people,” he offered, shaking his head.

“They should know better than to try and put their notices up in here. I won’t have it. I’ve told them before. They’re not getting any favours from me after they drive away my summer trade by mooring their scummy boats outside and letting their dogs run wild. Probably one of them that ate his precious cat.”

“No, Nige, it was probably one of the other vagrants. They either ate it or stole it and sold it on. Them pedigree cats are worth a few bob, you know.” The old man at the bar leaned towards Dan with a conspiratorial leer. “That lot are bad news, you know. Better steer clear of ’em, if I were you. Nice young lad like you could get led astray.”

The mocking laughter followed Dan out of the pub as he made a dash for the fresh air. He ran up the steps to the towpath and looked in both directions, but there was no sign of Robin. Bugger. Still, he had his mobile number, which wasn’t bad work considering they hadn’t exactly hit it off. He meandered back to the
Faerie Queen
,
pondering the tensions he’d just witnessed between the boaters and the local community. There was a story here. He was sure of it.

Now he just needed to get an insider’s account of what was going on.

Dan waited until early evening but then couldn’t contain his impatience any longer. He cycled out to Mel’s boat, relieved to see the lights on inside and her flower-bedecked bicycle resting on the roof. Although the boat was a couple of feet wider than his narrowboat, it was much shorter. He found it hard to imagine how anyone could contain their whole life in such a tiny space.

“You going to stand out there all day or come on in to the warm?”

Dan grinned at Mel, who had stuck her head out of the hatch on the side of her boat. “Wasn’t sure if I was meant to knock on the side or if I should climb onto the deck and knock on the door.”

“Either way’s fine with me, sweetie. We don’t stand on ceremony around here. Just hop onboard.”

But before Dan had a chance to climb up, Robin pushed his way out of the doors and onto the deck. He gave Dan a curt nod of recognition. “I’ll be off, then,” he called back to Mel.

“No, sweetie, you should stay. Get to know Dan.”

Robin gave Dan a look he couldn’t interpret. Dark and complicated and downright intimidating.

“I’m going out, remember? Besides, I’ve got posters to put up first.”

Mel huffed, but she didn’t argue. They both watched as Robin cycled off into the gloaming. “Come on in, then. See what a real boat’s like on the inside. Bet it’s nothing like your hire boat.”

It certainly wasn’t.
Dark
was the first word that sprang to Dan’s mind. Closely followed by
warm
. No, make that
sweltering
. And
cluttered
followed rapidly on as he looked for somewhere to put his jacket.

“Here, let me. The bed’s about the only place to throw it.” Mel walked the few paces through the crowded living area and pulled back a curtain. A rumpled pile of bedding filled up the tiny bed cabin. It was a totally different layout to his hire boat, where the bed was open to a corridor along the side so it didn’t seem too cramped, although maybe he’d feel differently tonight when he actually slept in it. Mel’s bed took up the width of the boat and had only a small entryway to climb up onto it—God, it must be like sleeping in a cupboard.

A cupboard that smelled of damp, overlaid with the reek of incense.

“Want something to drink? I’ve got herbal tea or vodka.”

What a choice! Dan eyed the state of Mel’s tiny galley. It looked like a crockery and food bomb had exploded all over the narrow strip of worktop and sink. You could catch something nasty just by looking at those mugs.

“I’m fine, thanks. Just popped by to ask you about something.” Now that his eyes were adjusting to the dim light, he could make out the knickknacks that encrusted every surface like bohemian barnacles. Was there anything here that wasn’t covered in beads and baubles? Mind you, if he could get the lighting right, it would make a great backdrop for a portrait shot.

“Okay. Come on, sit.” Mel patted the sofa beside her. There wasn’t much room, so Dan would have to squeeze up tight. He hesitated a moment, caught a sharp gaze that made him feel strangely inadequate, and resigned himself to getting up close and personal with Mel.

“So, are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“Right, yes. I was wondering if any of the boaters might be interested in having their photographs taken. On their boats, I mean. Like a portrait of them and their home.”

She screwed up her forehead in thought. “Maybe. Depends what it’s for and how you approach them.”

“I’m trying to break into photojournalism, and it struck me that I could write a social interest piece to go with the portraits. Something about poverty and prejudice on the waterways.”

“Interesting.” Mel narrowed her eyes, and Dan put on his best earnest face. It usually worked well for him, but Mel seemed impervious to his charms. “I like the idea, but I wouldn’t want to sell it to them like that. We’re a proud lot. We chose this lifestyle, and you could say we’re rich in many ways.”

Dan glanced around the claustrophobic space. He wasn’t going to argue if Mel thought this heap of junk represented riches, but she was clearly deluded.

“Some of the boats aren’t as well kept as yours, though, are they? What about the ones that are like tents on the top?” He’d passed one like that with a crumbling wooden hull and a black tarpaulin stretched out over a central beam. There were a few plastic windows set into the canvas, and the air above the stovepipe rippled with heat, but the sight still made Dan shudder. “Do people actually live on those during the winter? They must freeze.”

“Nah, what d’you think stoves are for? If anything, you end up getting too stuffy and have to open the hatches.”

“But they’ve only got a bit of canvas between them and the elements.”

“So? Our ancestors used to live in caves. You’d be surprised what your body can take when you put it to the test. But maybe you’re too used to your central heating and electrical appliances.” Mel gave a mischievous smile. “You’ve gone soft.”

“I bloody well haven’t! I cover cycling holidays all the time. They’re tough work, especially when you have to camp as well.” Dan had once been sent on a gay cycling holiday which was great fun, despite having to get his sore arse back on the saddle each day. He smiled to himself. “That’s just once in a while, though, I suppose. What made you choose to live this way?”

“I’m not sure. The way I grew up, I suppose. Mum met my dad while travelling in Gujarat, and I spent my childhood all over the world. Never really learnt how to settle down in one place, but then again, I reckon some people are just like that. You know, they have the wanderlust.”

Dan nodded. “Yeah, I spent all my childhood in one house in a South London estate, but I’ve never been able to settle, either.”

“I’m not surprised if you grew up somewhere like that. Rough, was it?”

Dan grimaced. “Could be at times. But like Mum always says, what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.” And in his case, made him want to spend his whole life on the run so he didn’t get stuck somewhere like that ever again.

Mel’s head snapped up as if she’d had a brainwave. “I’ll tell you what angle would work better. You know the main thing that pisses us off? Bloody BW and their poisonous little rules.”

“BW?”

“British Waterways. We pay their wages with our licence fees, but they still hassle us to move on every two weeks. One day over and they threaten to take you to court. I knew one poor woman went into labour and had to stay in hospital for a couple of weeks; she got back with her newborn to find her boat covered in court orders. She didn’t half kick up a stink.”

It sounded unlikely, but then what did he really know about this strange, close-knit community?

“So, can’t you just move half a mile or so and moor up again?”

“I wish. Doesn’t work like that, sweetie. You have to move to a new neighbourhood, although they can be pretty vague about what that actually means. They’re really strict about it around here, though. It’s a popular spot with the tourists, and they want to keep the canal clear for them.” The way she pronounced “tourists”—just like Robin had—left him in no doubt that there was animosity between them and the boaters. Did that mean the others would be suspicious of him? He wasn’t really a proper tourist, but maybe he represented all tourists with his travel writing. The thought wasn’t exactly encouraging. He’d have to turn on his high-voltage charm with these people. Should work. They were only used to 12V battery power after all—he’d dazzle them.

“What about marinas? I’ve seen a few of them on the journey down.”

Mel looked at him like he’d said something beneath contempt. “Have you seen how much those places cost? Most of us don’t have much. If you wanted to stay in one of those places, you’d have to get regular work, and then you may as well just move back onto dry land. What’s the point in having a boat if you don’t move around?”

“Right. So it is poverty at the root of it.”

She frowned. “Okay, maybe it is, but I still wouldn’t put it like that if you’re talking to anyone else.”

“Point taken. How about if I say that I’m writing a piece about the boaters fighting to maintain their traditional way of life?”

Mel nodded. “Could work. You’d need to get to know them, though. They don’t take kindly to outsiders poking their noses in. You saw what Robin was like.”

“I don’t know about that. You’ve only just met me, and I’m in your boat already.”

Mel gave a throaty laugh. “I’m not a typical boater, darling. I’m a lot friendlier than your average Marge. ‘Gits and Marges, on the barges,’” she recited in response to Dan’s quizzical look. “Tell you what, though, I could help you out if you want. Could be fun.”

Dan grinned. “I could do with an assistant. My usual helper pulled out at the last minute.”

“You’re on,” Mel said, holding out a hand for him to shake. “I’ll have to have a think about who we should approach first. I know a few people here already, but I’m sure there’ll be others who’ll be interested.”

“What about Robin? He’d make a great subject.” Especially with his shirt off.

“Would he now?” Mel tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. Could she read his mind? “I’m not sure how he’d feel about that. I hear you had a little incident earlier on.”

Dan winced. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention. There was this incredibly hot, half-naked guy chopping wood—where was I meant to look?”

Mel’s smile had definitely morphed into a smirk now. “I thought so. One of my favourite canal-side sights, that is.”

“So, are you and he…”

“Just good friends. Why do you ask? Not thinking of trying your luck, are you?”

“It crossed my mind. Does he swing that way?”

Mel frowned. Her gaze seemed to have focused on something in the distance, which was impossible as they were in such a confined space. “Not sure. He’s definitely interested in women, but he said he was going out tonight but he didn’t want company. And he did ask me if I’d ever been into the White Hart, but he wouldn’t say why.”

Bull’s-eye! Dan tried to suppress his excitement. The White Hart was most definitely on his list of gay-friendly pubs in Bath. It didn’t sound like his kind of place from the write-up, but he’d happily check it out if there was a chance of running into Robin again.

“Mel, you’re an angel!” He pulled her to him and lavished a kiss on each cheek. “I’d better get going. Need some time to prepare for a night out on the town.”

They swapped mobile numbers and arranged to meet up the following day.

“Oh, and Dan?”

He turned back from unlocking his bike.

“If you do run into Robin, you make sure you treat him well. You don’t want to start falling out with the boaters, do you?”

Dan shook his head, his mouth dry. She might be tiny and not have two pennies to rub together, but this was one woman he did not want to get on the wrong side of.