Narrow Escape (13 page)

Charlie thought for a moment. “Fine,” she muttered.

It wasn't a victory but it was as close as I was going to get.

Later that evening, with the kids in bed, I was restless and couldn't help myself. I paced up and down our tiny saloon. On the fifth or sixth pass Geoff grabbed my hand. “Will you sit down?” he said.

I sniffed and then wished I hadn't, the smell was still lingering and I held my breath for a moment to stop my stomach from rolling.

“I'll put the kettle on.” Geoff heaved himself up from the sofa.

“Can you set fire to a couple of those scented candles while you're there?” I stole his warm spot. Mortimer stood up, stretched and then, mincing along the sofa, climbed on my lap. Well at least I didn't have to worry about the smell any more. A dog that heavy sitting on my stomach meant that I couldn't actually breathe at all.

Geoff leant on the sink and laughed. “Do you realise that you've gone bright red?”

I nodded and pushed my rather disgruntled hound back onto the sofa. “Is this going to happen again?”

“What, a mouse dying under the floor?” At my nod he shrugged. “I think I found where the poor little devil got in but I can't guarantee that I blocked it up completely,” he said. “It was right in the corner, under the television cabinet. I was lying flat on the floor with my arm underneath the boards and trying to keep my face out of the smell. I'm not convinced I did as good a job as I might have done under easier circumstances or if I'd had the right tools.”

“The right tools?” I tried to imagine what on earth he'd need to block a hole over an arm's length away.

He nodded. “A gas mask would have been good. At those close quarters even I could smell the wretched thing.”

I sniffed and then wished I hadn't. “How long do you think it will take for the smell to go away?”

He shrugged. “I got as much water out as I could but it's going to take a couple of days for the dampness to dry out.” He sniffed the air and Mortimer looked up at him in surprise. “I can't smell anything at all now,” he said.

It has to be said that neither of us can boast a full set of senses. However, it seems that for those we have lost the others have tried to take up the slack. I am completely blind in the dark, I have no night vision at all (much to the amusement of my family) but I do have a fantastic sense of smell. Geoff on the other hand seems to be able to see as well at night as he can during the day but unless something is stuck up his nostrils and has a really damaging aroma he doesn't even notice it. I count myself lucky, due to his lack of ability to smell, he doesn't have much sense of taste either. This caused quite a few sulky moments when we were first married and I needed to be complimented on my cooking. It never happened. Years later I'd worked out I could serve anything but unless it was tainted with scotch bonnet chillies or had alcohol in it, he would only ever comment on the texture.

“Well at least if it gets worse I'll be able to bunk in Charlie's boat,” I said.

“I don't think Charlie would be very pleased with that arrangement,” Geoff said.

I took a deep breath, I was actually going to have to say the words and acknowledge reality at some point during this conversation. “She won't care, she won't be there, she's moving out,” I said.

Geoff did what he normally did under these circumstances and went silent. I had nothing else to say about the matter so there we sat for a couple of minutes. Eventually Geoff nodded and leaning over put the kettle on again. “She
has
been straining at the leash for a couple of months now,” he said.

I nodded and felt glum.

“Is she going somewhere nice, is she joining the army, or has she found a squat?” Geoff frowned at the kettle.

I explained all that Charlie had told me and Geoff listened in silence. When I had finished he shrugged.

“We can stop her, we have that legal right until she's eighteen,” he said.

He held his hand up as I opened my mouth to argue. “No, I don't think it would be a good idea to stop her, I'm just saying that we could.” He thought about it for a moment. “They all have to fly the nest sometime, some earlier than others. All we can do is catch her if she falls and make sure that when she does fall, and she will, she can't afford this, she feels that she can come back with no teasing or micky taking.”

I looked up at him annoyed. “I've never teased her about things that go wrong,” I snapped at him.

“I know that. You know that.” He handed me a fresh mug of coffee. “Charlie, however, always feels that we are out to sabotage her life. It's normal, I think.”

I sighed. “We'd better keep next weekend free for moving duties then, hadn't we?” I said.

Geoff nodded. “Two down, one to go.” Pushing Mortimer out of his warm spot he sat down beside me. “Hey! You never know, I might get some of my socks back,” he said.

“Don't count your chickens … or your socks before it happens,” I said.

“How about ducklings?” Geoff laughed.

Chapter Five:
Boaters Fear Unkindly May, Gales By Night And Rain By Day.

Charlie, buried under a pile of clean washing, stared mournfully out of the window. “Is this rain ever going to stop?” she asked.

“I don't know, love.” I huffed in exasperation as I found yet
another
DVD that I'd thought I'd lost and had paid to replace.

She looked over as I waved the case and had the good grace to look a little chagrined. “Sorry, Mum, I really didn't know they were all under there.”

“Well you might as well keep them now,” I said.

With two vehicles packed to the roof and her rats sitting in state on the front seat of Geoff's work van we were finally ready to move child number two out of our lives. I looked up and down her tiny boat; it looked very sad with no clutter to cosy it up.

I was surprised at the house in which she'd chosen to live. Very contemporarily decorated, there was no television, and hardly any electrical gadgets. But it was cosy and warm and the most important thing, as far as Charlie was concerned, it had a bath. It was all she'd talked about for days.

I did understand. There are days when, if offered the opportunity, I would probably have sold something medically essential just to have an hour-long bath in deep, hot bubbly water. The type of baths that I'd spent at least twenty per cent of my life in before we took to the waterways. A long drink of something a little alcoholic and a really good book. Other people may dream of Ferraris or winning the lottery, I dream of having a nice long bath.

If anyone ever asks I tell them that it's the one major drawback of life afloat. Water, water everywhere but we are doomed to quick showers, ridiculously tiny baths, and hot water cylinders that don't hold enough to fill a bucket. The newer boats are much better equipped, some of them have proper baths but there is something irritating about having to refill your water tank every time you have one.

I peered into the bathroom at Charlie's new home and I had to admit I was a little jealous. Just for a moment, I considered asking if I could borrow the bath while the owners were out of the house. I didn't, I felt that it was possibly a little inappropriate.

Geoff staggered in with the rats' unwieldy cage and placed it carefully on the floor. “That's the last of it,” he said.

Charlie nodded and looking around at all her worldly goods boxed and labelled, she appeared a little glum.

Geoff gave her a hug. “Call us if you need us,” he said. “You know you can always come home. No questions asked. We'll miss you and your boat's just going to be waiting for you.”

Well, that was a bare-faced lie. He'd spent the previous evening gleefully drawing up plans to turn it into a floating shed and workshop. Obviously, even when afloat, a man without a shed is a man missing something important.

Charlie looked up at him and gave him a big smile, she obviously wasn't fooled for an instant. “So you won't be putting anything in it while I'm away then,” she said.

Geoff laughed. “I might store a couple of things.”

Charlie rolled her eyes at him and, after giving him a hug, pushed him out of the door.

When we had put all her stuff away in a room that seemed to be only a third the size of her boat, I dragged her down to the supermarket and bought a week's worth of food for her. “This should keep you going for a while,” I said as we staggered back, both with bags over each arm. Hmm … walking to a supermarket, well that was an interesting experience. I could see how this ‘living in town thing' might have its benefits.

I stopped when we got to her front door and placed everything on her front step. I gave her a hug. “You know you can come home at any time, right?” I seemed to have a lump in my throat and it was difficult to get the words out.

Charlie seemed to have the same problem. “Mum, I'll be fine, good grief I'm only twenty miles from home.” She coughed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Go away.” She gave me a big grin to take the edge from her harsh words.

I nodded and, with a last hug, walked back to my car leaving her waving forlornly on the pavement. The rain seemed to be getting heavier. It was a little difficult to see as I drove away.

The rest of that week the weather matched my mood. Heavy grey skies and cold winds made all of us grumpy and short-tempered.

“This is ridiculous,” Geoff said. He rested his head on the window. “I've got so much to do to the outside of the boat. All that rust needs to come off. She needs priming and painting. We need to get her out of the water. I can't really do anything on the inside either because we need to paint and in this weather it just won't dry.” He banged his head gently on the window and I winced as with each gentle bump there was a cold splatter of icy condensation that wet his hair.

I shrugged, there wasn't really anything I could say and to be quite honest I wasn't feeling that positive either. The rain filled the front deck and although we had drainage holes to empty any overflow into the river, the water was coming in faster than it could escape. Cascading down over the front step in three or four little rivulets, it had soaked through the towel I had put there to catch it and was rapidly soaking the floor. The other irritation was that the smell was back. I couldn't trace it, it was like some intermittent ghost that only seemed to haunt me when I was alone.

As Geoff walked back into the boat I grabbed his arm. “Please tell me you can smell it now,” I said.

“I can't smell anything.” Geoff sniffed that air for the tenth time that day and shrugged.

“Well it's not there
now
.” I was beginning to become exasperated with the fleeting whiffs of awful sweet corruption that would disappear as soon as I'd been in the boat for more than ten minutes. I'd become so paranoid about it that I'd taken to burning incense almost continually and was living in a permanent sweet-smelling fog.

“I think you are losing the plot somewhat.” Geoff waved a piece of paper at me. “Anyway, never mind that for a moment, have you seen this?”

I looked up at the ubiquitous white envelope that he was holding. I could see that ‘Mr and Mrs Browne' had been scrawled on the front. My stomach did a slow turn that was nothing to do with the intermittent stench.

I sighed. “Let me guess, they're putting the mooring fees up yet again.”

Geoff shook his head. “No,” he said, “it's worse than that, it's a completely ridiculous demand to get all the moorings cleared.”

I flopped down onto the sofa and grabbed Mortimer for a cuddle. He was used to this sort of behaviour and obligingly turned himself upside down so that I could work out my woes with a tummy scratch. “Well, we did know this was coming, we'd been warned. When does she want it all sorted out by?”

“There is evidently a big clear-up scheduled for this weekend.” Geoff scratched his head as he took a closer look at the letter. “Oh no,” he said.

“What?” I didn't like the look on his face at all.

“They want
everything
moved,” he said.

I shrugged. “Well I suppose the bikes can go in storage and the lawnmower as well …” I tried to think of something else that we have lying about.

Geoff carefully folded the paper and handed it to me. “They want
everything
moved,” he said again. “
Everything
.”

I opened the letter and had a look. It didn't take very long for the words to sink in. “But if we move the log store all the lizards are going to be homeless. Where are we supposed to put all the wood and coal and what are we supposed to do with the fence?” I scrunched the letter into a ball and viciously kicked it down the boat. “We can't do all that over one weekend, especially a weekend that's going to spend most of its time raining on us.”

Geoff stared vacantly at me, I could tell he was thinking and not really paying attention to anything I was whining about.

“Hmm … I'll be back in a bit.” Geoff headed out of the boat leaving me fuming in his wake.

He was gone for about an hour and I started to worry that he'd gone to beard the ‘Owners' in their den and they'd buried him in wet concrete or something even more Hollywood. Eventually he stepped back through the door.

“Well,” he said, “it seems that everyone feels pretty much the same way. It's not what we are being asked to do that's causing a lot of the rants. It's the time that we're being given to do it in.” He paused for a moment. “And the threats aren't going down very well either,” he said.

“Threats?” I retrieved the scrunched up letter and smoothed it open. “What threats?”

“Bottom line.” Geoff peered over my shoulder and stabbed at the relevant sentence with a finger. “If we don't move all our stuff, they'll do it for us and charge us for the privilege.”

I spluttered for a while. “So what are we going to do, just get on with doing what we're told?”

“I don't think so.” Geoff gave me a rather evil grin. Let's see exactly how many people are irritated about this, shall we?”

I often say to people that as a couple Geoff and I fit together perfectly. I am fiery and impetuous and on the whole I'm usually my own worst enemy. Geoff, on the other hand, considers a situation from all angles and takes the road that leads to definite but boring compromise. This might sound a little dull but he gets the job done. I'm the one that wades in if we need a little madness in our lives; he's the one I follow when we need to ‘take a stand'.

Another hour and he was waving his own piece of paper at me. “What do you think of this?” He grinned as he passed it over. “I think I've covered all the bases there.”

I sat down to read. I was only halfway down the page when I began to chuckle. “Yes, honey,” I said, “I think you've covered everything.”

The letter he had concocted was obviously meant to include signatures from those in our boating community who were going to be affected by the latest list of demands. The letter started out with an assurance that we would always endeavour to cooperate with their programme of works. It then went on to state that the amount of notice we'd been given to complete these works was inadequate and, further, for them then to try and impose a charge when we could not possibly comply was beyond unreasonable.

He also pointed out that they had changed the rules yet again and were now asking us to move things that had been specifically classed as acceptable in a previous letter. He gave all the reasons why we have what we have outside our boats and gave very good reasons why the coal, the wood, and the fences need to stay. He quoted the marina rules and the date that they'd been set. In a
pièce de résistance
he then went on to outline the breeding season and habits of the common or Viviparous Lizard and warned that Mr and Mrs Owner were in danger of contravening the Wildlife and Countryside Act of 1981.

His very last paragraph asked for revision, consultation, and adequate notice of changes. It was all beautifully written and sounded more than reasonable. I knew that it was going to be a thorn in the paw of the lion.

By the end of the evening we had every signature except one. That one was understandable, the people in question worked for the marina. I could understand that, if they took part in this, the danger to their income was probably going to be considerable.

The very next morning he dropped the letter into the office and I sat back with some trepidation to await the outcome.

There is a very real danger to being the one that sticks your head above the parapet when trying to take a stand. You are the one that gets shot at. So, when Mr and Mrs Owner could be seen wandering along the top of the flood defences, I knew exactly where they were headed.

“Geoff, GEOFF!” I shook him awake and waited, hopping from one foot to the other in anxiety, as he slowly came to. He opened his eyes and sat up from where he was having a quiet nap on the sofa.

“Wha …?” he said.

I pointed out of the window at the approaching pair. “I'm not getting involved in this,” I said. “I know me, I'll lose my temper and just make things worse.”

Geoff nodded and grinned. “That's fine, you chicken.” He yawned hugely and stretched, humming ‘Ride of the Valkyries' by Wagner. “I know how much you love this type of situation.” He stepped out to meet our nemesis.

I have to admit, I hid. Sitting myself down at the computer I drew the curtains. I told myself that the sun was shining on the screen and made it impossible to see what I was doing. From where I was sitting I could hear the sound of two raised voices occasionally punctuated by Geoff's much more measured and even tones. I felt terrible, I should be out there supporting him, but I was already in a major panic and as usual I would merely add another layer of aggro to the whole situation. He was wrong, I'm not a chicken, I'm a full blown coward.

Eventually all became quiet and Geoff wandered back into the boat with a grin.

I leaped up to put the kettle on for him. “So … how did it go?” I asked.

“You are such a wuss-bucket.” Geoff flopped back down onto the sofa with a sigh. “We've been given two weeks to clear everything and the log pile gets to stay.”

“I'm sorry, I just do angst so badly. I always make things so much worse.” I did feel bad, but it was true, confrontations make me very uncomfortable.

Geoff glanced up at me. “It wasn't really a confrontation, pet,” he said. “They weren't angry, they just wanted to make sure that we knew what was going on.”

“It
would
have been a confrontation if I'd been out there,” I said.

Geoff settled back onto the sofa, groaned as Mortimer climbed onto his chest and then closed his eyes again. “Just remember,” he said. “Calm blue ocean, find a happy place.”

I watched him as his breathing deepened and his hands relaxed.