Narrow Escape (6 page)

“Oh, hello there.”

The next morning that cheery, cut-glass voice hailed me over the fence. I sighed heavily and for once didn't stop Mortimer trying to love someone to death. Her dog, which looked strangely like a skinny sheep on a piece of string, panicked at the heavy onslaught from the other side of the frail fence and tried to run on the spot, turning Mrs Owner in circles. I let it all carry on for a couple of seconds before my innate sense of fair play got the better of me and I hauled Mort away and sent him inside.

“Oh …” She huffed and untangled the sheep's lead from around her legs. “Thank you, he's a bit boisterous isn't he?”

I nodded. “Sorry, he's still a baby and he doesn't realise how heavy he is when he's being …
enthusiastic
. Luckily the fence keeps him in so at least he's not out terrorising the neighbours.”

She gave a little laugh. “Yes of course, um, I wanted to ask you about the car parking.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes,” she said. Frowning at me she took a deep breath. “You know we've asked people not to park on the flood defences. Come and have a look at it, look at all those deep grooves from the cars, it's becoming very messy.”

I opened the gate and, drifting up the steps, joined her at the top of the floods.

She was right, the land beyond was a deep mire of heavy pits and troughs which were filled with water. It was a mess.

“You do realise that all those deep trenches were made by the electricity people when they came to put up the new pylons, don't you? Those over there …” I pointed to another set of pits and troughs, “… they were created by the railway trucks that were here putting in the new crossing last month.”

“We don't want people parking on the grass, look at the mess.”

I hummed experimentally; maybe I'd lost my voice. She certainly didn't give any indication that she'd heard me say anything at all. “Yes,” I said, “I understand that, but we're not the ones making the mess. We have been parking there for six years and we don't do it in the winter, we don't want to get stuck in the mud.”

“There's a nice car park down at the marina.” Her voice became just a little more shrill. “We want you to use that.”

Oh dammit all. I was obviously going to have to be a little more direct. “We don't want to use that.” I turned and looked at her. Maybe if I maintained eye contact she'd listen to what I was saying instead of just running through her pre-planned monologue. “Can you imagine carrying a week's worth of shopping from the car park to here? The place is a complete mudfest. It's like a bad Glastonbury festival at this time of year. Five bags of shopping and a child weighed down by school stuff and in his school uniform. None of this is what I want to drag through the muddy swamp that is between the car park and here.” I paused for a moment. “Would you?”

Her eyebrows shot up and she paused. I don't think that the idea of carrying shopping bags any distance at all had even occurred to her. She shook her head. “No, I suppose not.”

“It's not just shopping.” Feeling I might be actually making a point I ploughed on. “It's wood, it's coal, and it's coming home in the dark and the rain. You're suggesting that we all walk along the top of the floods? You've just come that way, look at your boots.”

She stared down at her expensive leather boots; sure enough they were muddy to the ankle. “I see,” she murmured.

“We're not trying to be unhelpful, but we have to live in this mud and we have to try to run normal, day to day lives.” I wanted to add ‘We don't climb into our four by fours and drive away at the end of the day' but I stopped myself. “We have jobs, we have school runs and shopping to do. We don't all sit in our boats contemplating our navels until spring comes around and then float off to have fun, you know.”

Mrs Owner studied me for a moment. Obviously the possibility of us having to ‘do' things hadn't occurred to her at all.

“What if we built a new car park down there?” She pointed to where the little road turned a sharp corner.

I nodded and treated myself to a silent cheer. “That would work very well and we'd be more than happy to use it, we could walk up the gentle slope to the railway line and then along the top. I think everyone could deal with that.

Her face broke into a big smile. “There, I knew there would be a compromise.”

I nodded and grinned back at her. If every conversation went like this maybe the new owners wouldn't be so bad after all.

Both smiling at each other we headed our separate ways and looking up I was about to give her a wave when she spoke again.

“Oh, there was one other thing.”

I tried to ignore the rolling, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was reminded of the 70s detective, Columbo, the man in the mucky mack. He always said ‘Oh, just one more thing' before delivering a stinging accusation or pointing out the huge gaping hole in the main suspect's alibi.

“Yes?”

“All of these fences have to come down.” She turned to walk on.

What? No, no, no that would be a very bad idea, poor Mortimer would have to be tied up and that would just be terrible for him.

“Why?” I called after her.

“Because they're untidy,” she said. She turned with the same look that I use on Sam when I'm having a long-suffering day and trying to get an obviously sensible thought across to him.

“I'm sorry you think so.” I looked along the lengths of green wire held in place by long, thin steel pegs. The winter hadn't been kind to it and yes, if I was honest with myself, there were some places that could do with being a little more upright. “We could reset it all so that it's neat and tidy again.”

She sighed. “I don't mean the fence is untidy, it's all untidy, the whole place. In the spring we want to start mowing these banks so that they're all the same length, take down these terrible steps and put nice new ones up, and all the boats will have jetties.” She smiled and shrugged as though that concept was so obvious even a three-year-old would get it. “Don't worry,” she called back toward me. “It doesn't have to be done until spring. But then everything will have to go, not just the fences.” Gathering her dog/sheep up she walked briskly away leaving me fuming behind her.

I was still fuming when Geoff arrived home. “We need to leave.” I bellowed at him as soon as he stuck his head through the door.

Geoff, obviously used to this type of behaviour nodded and walked calmly past me heading toward the kettle.

I bit my lip until he was settled and attentive then launched into a tirade. He heard me out and let me run out of steam before he spoke.

“We can't,” he said.

Not really thinking the whole thing through, I again launched into the myriad of reasons why we should. No marina fees, no electricity to pay, freedom to do as we liked and go where we liked and, the biggest reason of all, not have to kowtow to the upper classes.

He nodded again. “All excellent reasons for heading out of here,” he said. I can't argue with any of them but we do have a few downsides that you seem to have forgotten.

“Like what?” I dropped onto the sofa and gave him a mutinous glare.

“Well, we've been concentrating on doing up the inside so that we can live in here,” he said. “We really aren't equipped to be without an electricity hook-up just yet. I'd have to make all sorts of changes to get her completely self-sufficient.

I glared at my coffee.

He continued, wagging a finger at me. “The prop shaft is in bits.” He began ticking points off on the finger. “We will need a generator. The lights will all have to be changed. We will have to lose the freezer. There will be no short walk to a washing machine.” He peered at me just to check I was keeping up.

I muttered at him to show that I was.

“If we move, what do we do with the cars? With Charlie's little boat? How do we get Sam to school? Are we going to have to walk miles from where the car can park to home?” He shook his head. “We'd planned to get this all done by the time Sam went to college. We have three years before that happens, we're just not ready. If you wanted to seriously travel we should have done things in a different order and concentrated more on the systems rather than the comfort.”

Having dumped a huge steaming heap of reality onto my fury he waited for me to get to grips with it all. Eventually I groaned and fell over, face first onto the sofa. “I hate changes; I like this the way it is, mud and all. I don't want it to become all ‘homes and gardens'. First it will be the grass and the parking and fences, then she'll start moaning that the boats are looking skeezy.”

“Well, ours does look like a wreck.” Geoff grinned. “She has that sort of battered tin can thing going for her. It's a strange fashion but it might catch on.”

I threw a pillow at him.

The next morning was a Saturday and we had been looking forward to a very long, warm lie-in. Not a chance. About nine o'clock we were woken by a hammering on the roof.

“Whasafufup?” Geoff surfaced from beneath the covers and struggled to keep his face away from the enthusiastic greeting of Mortimer who had once again managed to sneak into bed between us. How on earth does he keep doing that without us noticing?

I stuck my head under the pillow. “I don't know, but I can guarantee if they are hammering with that much urgency and at this ungodly hour in the morning it's not going to be for me.”

Geoff groaned and fell over the end of the bed. He stuck his head out of the door. “Hang on, I'm naked,” he shouted through the gap. There was a snigger from outside and a string of abuse. Geoff laughed and shut the door.

“Who?” I peered out at him from under the pillow.

“Drew,” he said. He dashed about getting some clothes on and then disappeared outside.

I settled into his warm spot, irritating Mortimer who was lying there with his head on Geoff's pillow, comfortably cosy under the covers. He looked very human and happy. Tea, I needed tea, and obviously my husband wasn't going to do the honours.

By the time Geoff came back inside, the tea was made, Mortimer was sulking in his basket and the bed had been put away.

“What's going on?” I handed him a cheese and jam sandwich and a mug of tea.

“Some bloke's boat is sinking down the line.” Geoff took a big bite of his favourite snack.

I winced at his obviously enjoyment of the horrible-tasting butty. “Whose?”

He shrugged. “Don't know him, he's the guy that lives in London and bought it to do up.”

“What that really old blue thing that's now where Steve and Jude used to be?”

I stared out of the window at the sleet and wondered how our old friends were doing. They'd moved to Australia the previous year and occasionally posted pictures of vast blue skies and long golden beaches, happy children, and bouncy dogs. I really hoped they weren't having a terrible time.

Geoff nodded. “He bought it and then the weather's been so bad he hasn't really been back to look at it.” He snaffled another mouthful of sandwich and washed it down with a gulp of tea.

“And?” I prompted him. Any time now I was in danger of getting a point to all this.

“Well with all the rain and snow the water's cascaded down from the back deck and filled the engine room.”

“Oh dear.”

Geoff nodded. “Drew's been trying to help but the electricity's cut out and they can't get the bilge pumps working.”

“Ah.” Oh well it all made sense now. “And I suppose they want you to go and sort out the sparks?”

Geoff nodded and drained his mug. “Yup.”

For the rest of the day Geoff and Drew clattered backward and forward over the flood defences carrying odd bits of kit. At one point they both dashed off with a hoover. I felt that sorting out this guy's carpets might just be taking the neighbourly bit a smidge too far.

Eventually they both fell through the doors and collapsed on the sofa. I put the kettle on.

“How did it go?” I handed Drew a black coffee and went back to mashing Geoff's tea.

“Well, it's not sinking any more,” Geoff said.

“Thing is …” Drew took a gulp of coffee and pulled a face at it. “If he doesn't keep an eye on it and come back to visit it more often it's going to sink again.”

I sighed and waved my nearly empty bottle of rum at him, he brightened almost immediately.

“What's he going to do with it?” I tried to pour just a little alcohol into Drew's coffee but he pulled such a sad puppy-dog face that I topped it up. Well, that was another bottle in the recycling.

“He doesn't do anything with it,” Geoff said wrinkling his nose at the all-pervading smell of alcohol. “He bought it as a project, something to do up and relax on.”

I laughed. “Right, because these things are so relaxing to be around.” I leaned on the kitchen unit and thought about all the ‘relaxing' times we'd had. Looking down at my hand I realised I still had the scars from some of them.

Drew laughed. “Narrow boats are like kids. Most of the time they're fine but take your eyes off them for even a moment and you can guarantee disaster, especially with the older ones.” He grinned at Charlie as she dropped into the boat.

“What have I done now?” She sat on the step and stripping off her socks placed them carefully on the top of the log burner where they proceeded to steam.

“Nothing.” I stepped over all the legs and removed her socks before they burst into flame then hung them on the back of the chair. “Have you ever considered putting shoes on to walk from one boat to the other?” I asked.

She shrugged. “My boots are wet as well, I've just come from the marina and there's a huge row going on in the car park.”

She looked up from examining her toes as we all fell silent. “What?” she asked.