Narrow Escape (22 page)

Elaine nodded, “We tried to pay it as well,” she said. “I wonder why she didn't tell us what was going on, she must have known.”

I held out the other email. “I don't think we need to worry about that either.”

Elaine took the email and read it. “Oh dear,” she said again.

The email was a list of new opening times for the office and to inform us that the man that mowed the grass would now be in charge of electricity cards and mooring fees. On the surface it seemed innocuous enough but when you read beneath the surface it appeared to mean that, for some unknown reason, the cheerful and helpful lady in the office would no longer be available.

“Has there been ongoing resistance to changes in the marina?” Elaine quoted from the email.

I shrugged. I hadn't seen that many changes apart from surface tarting and I really couldn't see why that would cost so much.

“Can I keep these?” Elaine waved the pieces of paper at me.

I nodded.

“I don't think this is the end of this.” She looked mournful. “Do you think they'll ask us all to leave?”

I honestly didn't know, I wanted to say ‘no, of course not' but I just couldn't bring myself to actually say it out loud, it would be a lie. These people didn't appear to care that there had been a boating community here for over twenty years. They didn't appear to care that we had children and jobs and a life here. All they seemed to see was the profit margin and, with that in mind, I was fairly sure that, like the newts and hedgehogs, we were merely an irritant that messed up their ‘KewGarden' ideal.

With the loss of our helpful lady in the office, morale on the marina went from bad to worse. Rumours ran riot and small knots of people could be seen gathering together and the talk was always of what was to come.

Donna's boat had all the repairs to the stern tube finished and was ready to go back into the water. She was telling me all about it when I bumped into her in the car park one cold and blustery afternoon.

“Just don't talk to me.” That was her opening sentence when I met her. “I'm so angry I may well say something I regret.”

“What's up?” I said.

“The boat blacking has been cancelled.” Donna was almost spitting feathers.

I must have been having a dim day because I couldn't see the problem. “But yours is already out and fixed and blacked,” I said. “What's the problem?”

Donna fixed me with a glare. She was only tiny but I was eminently glad that that glare was obviously someone else's fault even if it was currently directed at me. “If other boats don't come out,” she said, “they won't be going back in so mine won't be going back in, will it?”

I held my hand up, there were far too many ins and outs in that sentence. “Hang on, so yours is still out, it didn't go back in with the others last month?”

She nodded and slumped against the bonnet of her little white van. “I kept it out because there was supposed to be another round of blacking and mine was going to go back in with the next batch,” she said.

“Oh … So what happens now?” Being part of a big batch of boats going in made the crane hire very reasonable. Paying to do it all by yourself was an expensive job.

“Well I'm stuffed on both fronts,” Donna said.

“Both fronts?” I was a little confused.

She drew circles in the raindrops on her bonnet. “Hmm, I went and ‘had words' and I may have got a little angry and said some things I shouldn't. I've just been fired.”

“What?” Well, no job and a boat to put back in, that really was stuffed on both fronts. “When did this happen?”

Donna shrugged. “A couple of days ago,” she said. “I've just been told my services are no longer required. They've made up some excuse about cutting staff but I know it's because I may have called her something not exactly complimentary.”

“Oh dear.” I seemed to be saying that a lot recently. “So what are you going to do?”

Donna gave me a big grin. “Well, I'm going to make sure all the work is done on that boat before she goes back in the water, which means it'll be standing outside the office for a fair while yet.” She shrugged. “If it's in her way I'm happy for her to put it back in the water.”

I laughed. “Seems fair.”

“I don't suppose Geoff could have a look at the electrics for my new engine, could he?” Donna looked hopeful. “I have had someone look at it but they couldn't work it out.”

I pointed down the road, I could see Geoff's van approaching, the ladders bouncing as the van dipped in and out of the huge pot holes that we were expected to negotiate. I always wondered where our mooring fees went, it certainly wasn't on anything necessary like safe travel.

Geoff parked his van and climbed out into the rain, he looked a little alarmed as both Donna and I approached him with big smiles. “Uh oh,” he said, “this looks like trouble.”

He was quite happy to re-wire Donna's engine and, before the next weekend was out, the engine in her boat was happily turning over and ready to go. When I asked him how come the neighbours get such prompt service and I've been waiting for him to put up a blind for six months he happily informed me that sometimes doing something different was as good as a holiday.

At the very end of September the rumour mill took off and once again everybody was worried that the marina was no longer going to be open to live-aboards.

Half the boaters were getting ready to go, the other half were debunking the whole idea. It really wasn't a cordial place to be.

Chapter Ten:
Then October Adds A Gale, A Bad Time For
Boats Trying To Set Sail.

On the 3rd of October, the question on everyone's lips was answered with gut-wrenching finality:

‘…(‘the company') hereby gives you notice that the licence by which you occupy a mooring space … (‘the Marina') will be terminated with effect from 4pm on Wednesday 9th January 2013 (‘the Termination Date') and requires you to vacate the Marina by no later than the Termination Date.'

There was a lot more: Threats of what would happen if we failed to comply, threats of what would happen if we didn't leave and, on the back of the letter, the threats were repeated in legal jargon.

There was a second letter that accompanied the first. In a totally different tone it informed us that due to the works to improve the marina it was going to have to be closed for at least three months while these ‘essential' works were being done, however, they hoped to open the marina again in April and we would all be welcomed back with open arms.

Oh well, I thought that's not too bad. Geoff caught my expression and silently pointed to a line I'd missed. It said: ‘However, please note that when the Marina reopens NO residential use of boats moored at the Marina will be permitted. This will be a rule which we will enforce strictly, and once it reopens the Marina will be exclusively non-residential.'

“I'm not sure I understand.” I handed the letter back to Geoff.

He took the letter and handed me a cup of tea. “What don't you understand?” he asked.

“Nobody in their right mind would throw sixty-plus live-aboard boaters, some of whom have children, most of whom have jobs and cars and responsibilities out of their moorings in early January.” I couldn't believe what I'd just read. Boaters don't move much in the winter, we live a hand-to-mouth existence as it is and the idea of having no safe haven in the worst months of the year just convinced me that I was right to think how incredibly stupid and ill-informed this woman and her chump husband were.

Geoff slumped onto the sofa. “Well we always suspected that they had absolutely no idea about this lifestyle.”

I nodded as the whole thing sank in. “Oh my God! What are we going to do?” While
Minerva
was perfectly capable of moving under her own power, we still depended on having access to an electricity supply and Charlie's little boat didn't have an engine at all. I took a breath and waited for Geoff to be the voice of reason and calm.

There was silence for a couple of moments.

I nudged him … “Geoff?”

He stared at the wall for a couple of moments and then he shrugged. “I honestly don't know.”

Well that wasn't what I was expecting at all.

We were sitting there in silence when there was a knock on the door. I opened it and Bill climbed in waving the same letter, Drew was no more than a step behind her.

“So, what are you going to do?” Bill looked down at her letter and shook her head. “Three months is nowhere near long enough for people to get ready to go,” she said. “Some of these boats don't even have engines, some of the people down here have no other electricity than shore line. These aren't travelling boats, these are boats that are lived on and occasionally taken out for a nice jaunt.”

Drew shook his head. “This is bullshit,” he said. “Where on the local river will sixty-plus homeless boaters go?” He looked out of the window as the rain dropped like stair rods from the glooming clouds. “This weather is just terrible, how on earth are we supposed to get ready to move in this?”

Bill took over. “And what are we supposed to do with all the stuff in the storage units and where are we supposed to go?”

‘Where are we supposed to go? Where are we supposed to go?' Those six words were to become everyone's mantra for the next three months. There were no answers and, as usual, I got up to put the kettle on.

That week things began to look really grim.  By Thursday evening groups of angry boaters lined the flood defences and cluttered up the marina car park. People moved from group to group but the conversations were all the same.

A car drew up and a photographer for the local paper got out. “Hello,” he gave us a cheery wave. “I'm looking for some pictures of the boaters that are going to have to move.”

I knew he was coming, I'd called the paper. I'd had a nice chat with the reporter and given him the bare bones of the story. I was a little confused to see just a photographer though, I'd been expecting the reporter as well. I asked what had happened to him.

“Oh, he's already got the story,” the photographer didn't pause from lining us all up on a rickety staging. “He just needs this picture and I have to be quick because it's going in this evening's issue. Now come on, no smiling, you're supposed to be sad about all this.”

“We ARE sad about this,” I said. “Where did he get the story from?” I had to push because I know I hadn't given him any major details at all.

“I don't know, I just take the photos,” he said.

I stared, stony–faced, into the camera and hoped that the reporter had taken the time to talk to another of the boaters.

The next morning Bill stamped into the boat her face flushed with anger and waving a paper. “Have you seen this?” she demanded.

My heart sank, “No, and I'm not sure I want to know who he talked to.”

“Who do you think?” Bill snapped.

I picked up the paper and read the piece with a sinking heart. As suspected the ‘reporter' had gone straight to the owners who'd basically made it look as though we were moaning about being asked to leave (for our own safety) for just three months and then we'd be welcome back in the spring. It looked as though we were just looking for something to gripe about.

“Call himself a reporter?” Bill was fuming. “Those of us that live aboard haven't even been mentioned.”

“If he didn't ask the right questions, she won't give him any answers, will she?” I kicked the paper down the boat and watched with a grin as Mortimer tore it to shreds.

There was another knock on the door and I opened it to find Andrew, an older live-aboard from some way down the line holding a copy of the paper. “Have you seen this?” he said.

I sighed. “Yes we have.”

“I called the paper,” he said.

Oh well that was interesting. “What did they say?” I said.

“That they were very sorry and they'd try to print some sort of balancing piece,” he said.

“Try?” Bill huffed in exasperation.

“It's too late, the damage is done.” I wandered over to put the kettle on. “This was the first piece and the first time we tried to do something about it and it's failed.”

“We can't think like that Marie,” Andrew was obviously furious with the whole thing. “I haven't got anywhere to go, I can't just move, my daughters are here, what am I supposed to do?”

“I have a job, Geoff has a job, Sam's at school, Bill has a job, there are other kids here that go to the local schools. What are any of us supposed to do?” My brain had turned to mush.

As I wandered out to see them both off, Elaine from next door waved at me.

“Hey there,” I wandered over to their boat. “How are you doing with all this?”

Elaine gave me a relieved smile. “We've found a place at a local marina,” she said and handed me a piece of paper with a telephone number scrawled on it. “Dion went out there yesterday to have a look, it's a fair walk to the mooring but I hate the thought of not knowing where I'm going.”

I could understand that sentiment.

“Ring them now,” she said tapping the piece of paper that she'd put into my hand. “We'll go together, we've been neighbours for so long I'm not sure I want someone new.”

Well that was nice; at least we weren't bad neighbours. I grabbed my phone and dialled the number. The lady on the other end was most encouraging; she'd already heard about the debacle at our marina and laughed as she said she was just waiting for the deluge of phone calls. She told me to call back on Tuesday but everything should be fine.

Well, that was easy.

Geoff, not being one to hang about decided that our first task was to clear out the storage unit. “We really need to get this done you know,” he said. “We should have done it ages ago.”

He was right of course and grabbing my coat I followed him down to the unit.

I pushed a bag of old clothes around the gravel with a gentle foot. “You know,” I said. “I can't help thinking that kicking families out in January is about as low as you can get. It's going to ruin the run up to Christmas for everyone with the worry. This is my home, my kids have been brought up here, they built swings in those doomed trees, they know all the walks around here and the animals and all sorts of things. Milestones have happened to them while they were here. Hopefully they've got a lot of good memories about the place.

“When Charlie left her dad, here is where she came. When she made her first friends in Cambridge, here is where they came. I'll always remember Jack mincing down that flaming muddy slope, complaining loudly about the country and desperately trying not to let his designer boots touch the common soil, or Scarlett coming up over the flood dressed in huge boots and a tutu, with the light behind her looking like an evil fairy. Sam learnt to ride his bike here; he must have face-planted himself about a hundred times before he got the hang of it, he was just one big bruise for days. He learnt how to climb trees and took part in all the odd things people do here. Like that time that Jo and Nat took him and little Jake to sing Christmas carols down the river in their rowing boat and he sat in the pool of water at the bottom and came home soaked. The terrible set of cars we all have and the mass jump lead sessions in the winter as everyone has trouble getting their vehicles started. Steve's terrible parties and his awful music which nobody minds because he always takes them away. The barbecues, the laughter and the friends, all of this will just dissipate as we're forced to find new places to stay. These sort of things have been going on here for over twenty years. Does she not understand that she's not just closing the place to a couple of boaters, she's breaking up a community. She's like some sort of Victorian landowner, she's a Scrooge. With one badly worded letter and the flick of a pen it all ends because some spoilt brat wants to make more money.”

Geoff sighed and opened his mouth to say something but I was still in mid flow and didn't shut up.

“I just want her to know how she has affected our lives so very very badly and I want her to feel ashamed. I want her not to be able to look my kids in the eye. I want …” I ran out of steam and stood in the drift of our possessions trying not to cry.

Geoff stared at me for a moment then gave me a hug. He stayed silent for a moment just making sure I'd finally run out of things to say and then, as usual, tried to inject some sanity into my ranting. “But she doesn't know about any of that.” He held me at arm's length and gave me a long look. “They're running a business and all she ever gets is grief. All she sees is that we are trouble and everything they try to do we kick against.”

“Well maybe if she took the time to get to know us rather than prancing about like the landowner's daughter and making up petty and ridiculous rules she'd see things differently. We kick against what she's doing because a, it's stupid, and b, we were happy the way we were.” I bent and picked up an old teddy of Sam's that was laying face down and grubby in the gravel. Shaking it hard I flicked the bits of grit from its little tan paws and polished its eyes on my shirt. “Quite frankly I'd pay her money just to go away and leave us alone. I think we'd all do that.”

Geoff nodded and, leaning on each other, we stood for a moment watching the black clouds roll in. Eventually, he became all business again. “What on earth are we going to do with this lot?”

I looked at where he was pointing. Buried under boxes of books and black plastic bags full of old clothes was a fourteenth-century burgundian tent resplendent in blue and yellow and three complete sets of armour and weapons ranging from the middle of the 12
^th
century right up to the Tudors.

“Oh my goodness, I'd forgotten about this lot,” I said.

Geoff looked sad. “I'd always hoped we'd finally manage to go back to re-enactment one day.”

I picked up my barbute; it was very rusty and a lot heavier than I remembered. “I'm not sure I could still wear all this stuff and fight,” I said.

“I'm not sure this would even fit me now.” I pulled my steel breast plate from the top of the pile and strapped it on. Armed with sword and buckler I gave Geoff a couple of experimental pokes just to see if I could prod him out of the dark humour I'd put him in with my rant.

He never could resist a scrap and, after placing his own barbute on his head, he picked up his favourite weapon, an axe.

Once, the fight would have lasted for at least ten minutes, today we could barely manage two before we collapsed in separate heaps, giggling uncontrollably and contemplating calling an ambulance due to the chest pains, nausea, and aching limbs.

“What the hell are you two playing at?” I looked up to see Bill and Drew standing behind us laughing.

“Well, I'm playing at being a dead body and Geoff is playing at being fit and young and the winner,” I said.

Drew laughed. We'd done a lot of re-enactment with both him and Bill over the years. “What happened to you, old woman?” he prodded me with his foot. “You used to be evil with that buckler, you used to wait until they were watching your sword and then brain them with that flaming shield. There's more than one man with a crease in his armour due to you.”

“I'm old.” I staggered to my feet and took my helmet off.

“Well, I'm not.” Grabbing my helmet and sword he advanced on Geoff.