Narrow Escape (7 page)

“Row?”

“Oh yeah. Some bloke's having a right go at the new owner.” She went back to examining her pink wrinkly toes completely oblivious that we were hoping for more. Eventually the continuing silence made her look up again. “What?”

“Which bloke? What are they rowing about?” Honestly, teenagers would try the patience of a saint.

She shrugged and stood up. “I don't know.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation at our stupidity. “I didn't hang around to find out.” She sauntered into the kitchen and began turfing out the cupboards looking for something to eat.

Drew shook his head. “I hear all the fences have to come down.”

I nodded.

He studied Mortimer who was currently splayed out on his back with his legs in the air in front of the fire. “What are you going to do with ‘stupid-head' over there?”

I shrugged. “I suppose he'll have to be tied up. If I don't restrict him somehow he'll be fine until some jogger or walker goes past then he'll be all over them like a cheap suit.”

Drew snorted a laugh. “By the time he's finished with them they'll just be one quivering heap of trampled drool.”

Mortimer snored and twitched, completely unaware of his upcoming restricted lifestyle.

Geoff shrugged. “He gets a lot of walks, he'll cope as long as we put him on a long enough lead.” He frowned for a moment. “Actually I could put a long running line down the boat and we can link him to that, he'll have almost as much freedom as he had when the fence was up.”

Drew shook his head. “I'll bet you a tenner he spends his whole life getting wrapped up in his own lead and you spend the rest of yours untangling him.”

Well, I knew how bright Mortimer was, there was no way I'd take that bet. I jumped as Sarah, Drew's wife, hammered on the door. Mortimer also jumped at the sound and managed to bash his head on the log burner.

Sarah, commonly known as ‘Bill', battled her way through Mortimer's over-enthusiastic greeting and settled down on the sofa. I'd only just managed to refill the kettle and put it on the stove when there was yet another knock at the door. I winced, four adults, two kids, and a dog shaped like a piano stool was more than enough to fill any narrow boat, it was now standing room only. Keeping Mortimer back with one foot I opened the door and stuck my head out to see who was brave enough to walk all the way down the line to us in a wind that was rapidly becoming more than a little frisky. A bulky figure was silhouetted against the sky.

“Here, just a little thank you.” A heavy bottle was pushed into my hand and with a wave the figure turned and walked away.

“Oh, erm, thanks,” I called. He gave me another wave, then head down and collar up he made quick progress back toward the marina.

Back inside we studied the bottle. Large and black, it had a cork held down by wire. Worried by anything that has the potential to go ‘bang' I regarded it with a raft of suspicion.

“Is that champagne?” Bill peered over my shoulder as I was trying to work out what I'd been given.

“No, it says Cava.” I looked up at Geoff. “Can you have ten-year-old Cava?”

He looked blank. “How on earth would I know? I haven't had a drink since I was eighteen.” He took the bottle from me and turned it around in his hands. “I'm not even sure I know what Cava is.” He handed it back to me.

We all looked at each other then shrugged. “It was for you as well, and Geoff doesn't drink, do you want it?” I held it out toward Drew.

He shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “You keep it, but I'll tell you what, put the kettle on again and see if there's any more pirate coffee. I'm almost certain you have another bottle in that cupboard of yours.'

An hour later and we were all far too relaxed. “That's not going to be the end of it you know.” Bill drained her hot chocolate and stared into the flames that were flickering red and orange behind the glass of the log burner.

I giggled. “It will have to be, unless we drink the Cava, I've definitely run out of rum now.”

“No, you goose.” She climbed to her feet and began fishing around for her hat and gloves. “The fences coming down, I think that's only the start of the changes they want to make around here.” She pulled her hat down over her long ponytail with a decisive movement. “I have a horrible feeling, she's going to want to make some big alterations and we're all just going to be in her way.”

I peered up at her. “You don't think she'd want the live-aboards out of here do you?” My happy fuzziness faded at the thought.

Bill scratched her hat. “I don't think we fit her idea of how life should be.”

Geoff shook his head. “There's been a boating community here for at least fifteen years, longer I think. I can't see her getting rid of it, how would she pay the bills?”

Bill shrugged and dragged Drew to his feet. “I may be wrong, I hope I am.” She grinned down at her husband who was having problems fitting his fingers into the right holes in his gloves. “I think we'd better be off before my best beloved decides it's time for a song.”

Drew, coming from a robust Scottish family, was well known for falling into a giggling heap from time to time. The first time I'd met him we'd been attending a re-enactment show. I'd threatened to do him actual bodily harm if he didn't stop singing outside my tent. Sam had been about three months old at the time and I'd just managed to get him to sleep, it was four o'clock in the morning, and I hadn't slept at all.

Unlike a lot of people, Drew doesn't get aggressive when he's had a little too much. He smiles, wants to be everyone's friend, then he falls over and starts singing. It was all rather sweet and predictable.

We waved them off and watched them go up the steps and along the rise toward their own boat parked two down from ours. As I turned, the lilting sound of some Scottish drinking song could just be heard echoing back on the wind. I laughed and shut it out. “Do you think she's right?”

Geoff had sprawled out on the sofa and was yawning hugely; it had been a long day. “No.” He shook his head and then, closing his eyes, settled himself back on the cushions. “I can't see any reason why they'd get rid of all the boaters … some of them, maybe. Not all of us though, we're an easy source of income.”

As his snores, and those of Mortimer, filled the boat I began looking for something to make dinner out of. I hoped he was right but there was just this little nagging voice that told me, this time, he was wrong

Chapter Three:
Hooray It's March, The Sun Is Back. Beware Of Duckling Sneak Attacks.

Boaters, it has to be said, are a lot more like gophers than we would care to admit.

The first sunny day of March had everyone out and about. People we hadn't seen since the previous autumn suddenly decided to take a sunshine-filled constitutional. In little groups they wandered along the top of the river bank in an attempt to get some vitamin D and presumably to check that everyone was still where they'd last seen them and not at the bottom of the river.

All along the bank spring cleaning suddenly began. Various people decided to throw out clutter that they'd been refusing to acknowledge in the cold dark days of winter and small piles of grot began to grow outside each boat. It was quite sweet that there seemed to be a fair amount of grot-swapping going on. I had no doubt that the same would happen in the summer when the next round of cleaning out cupboards began.

Donna and Steve, tanned and relaxed from spending a winter in Thailand, arrived home and probably wondered why we were all a little grumpy. They had only had a couple of weeks of the new order before they'd, very sensibly, hightailed it out of the country and had settled in the sun while the rest of us had battled snow, ice, and various other trials and tribulations.

Donna, normally small, dark-haired, and pale-skinned, seemed to have become a negative of herself. The woman grinning at me from across the fence was almost blonde, and her skin had turned a glorious coffee colour. For just a moment I was tempted to dump her in the river, I was so jealous.

“So, how was the holiday?” I leaned on the woodpile and winced as she shivered in a huge woolly jumper. “You should have been here, it's been wonderful,” I said. “You missed all the snow, the cars that wouldn't start, the mud, the coal runs, and the frozen water systems.” I gave her a big grin. “I just don't know how you could have let yourself miss all that.”

Donna laughed. “I swapped it all for empty beaches and long swims in warm seas.” She spent the next ten minutes telling me about beach huts and travel through exotic climes. She obviously missed it all and coming back to this swamp must have been a little horrific.

I wondered, is it better to not go at all and stick with it or, is it better to leave and just come back to the tail end in the hope that things are going to get better? I thought about for a while then went back to being jealous. No, it was definitely better to head south for the winter. Let's face it, thousands of birds can't all be wrong.

“So, how's it going here?” Donna peered over at the new car park. “When did that turn up?”

“No more parking on the flood defences, evidently we're making it scruffy.” I couldn't resist just a slight dig.

“But,
we
didn't make it scruffy, it was all the lorries and trucks when they were putting that new pylon up.” Donna frowned.

“Fences have all got to come down as well and all the gardens have to be cleared.”

“Ack!” She stared around at all the junk we all had piled beside and on top of boats.

“It's all right; we don't need to do it yet.” I shrugged. “She just said, ‘spring'.”

Donna rolled her eyes and huffed, “Well that's just going to be great, isn't it?”

I shrugged and nodded.

“Hang on,” she said. “The fences are going to have to come down?”

I remembered that my next door neighbour had an almost incapacitating fear of dogs; it really didn't matter if the dog was large, small, vicious, or stuffed. She would go rigid and forget to breathe if there was one in the local vicinity. “Don't worry; we'll make sure Mort stays away from you.”

She grinned in relief, “Thanks.”

We chatted for a few more minutes then she disappeared back inside Steve's boat. I waved goodbye and then turned my attention to the woodpile. It had seriously decreased since the beginning of winter. Lifting the tarpaulin, I peered into the empty darkness. Even the multi-legged things seemed to have moved out. Well at least we wouldn't have to re-locate all that wood. Peering around the back of the shed, I was a little disconcerted by the amount of ‘stuff' stacked there. There was far more than I had expected: large logs that were waiting to become firewood, bits of plumbing, saggy old walls that had been removed to make way for open plan living. It was all stacked neatly and had obviously been put there with the mental label of ‘To be dealt with later'. Obviously, much later. I wandered away, if I ignored it maybe it would never happen. It was a method that had worked before and I was fairly sure it would work again.

There was a clatter behind me and Charlie, Sam, and Mortimer all leapt from the boat with matching grins.

“What are you lot up to?” I gave them a piercing look. “You all have that ‘don't ask me what I'm doing because you won't like the answer' look.”

Charlie shrugged. “Nothing …” she said.

Sam bounced up and down and cut her off. “We're going to get the push bikes out of storage and then we're going to tie them together so we've got four wheels and see if Mort's strong enough to pull us.” He finally had to stop talking in order to take a breath.

Charlie thumped him on the head. “Sam,” she shouted.

“What?” He rubbed his head and then promptly fell over as Mortimer took off after some walkers, dumping Sam on to his back in the mud.

I grabbed Sam's arm to pull him up and watched as Charlie rescued the walkers from a severe bouncing. “Well he's probably got the strength to do it.” I paused for a minute then shouted up at Charlie. “Try not to break my dog?” I sighed as she grinned and waved then disappeared over the defences being towed by an over-eager, over-stuffed staffy.

“Hey! Wait for me.” Sam shot off after them.

Geoff appeared from inside the engine room. “Was that all the kids disappearing?”

I nodded as he sidled across the grass and put an arm round my shoulder. “Does this mean we have some time together, just the two of us?”

I nodded again, I knew exactly what he had in mind.

“Good.” He planted a big wet kiss on my cheek. “I think it's about time we cleared out underneath the dinette, there are things in there that haven't seen the light of day since we bought this wreck.”

Yes, that was exactly what I'd expected him to say.

Two hours later and both of us, plus most of the floor of the boat were buried in damp mouldy paper.

“This is disgusting!” I moaned at him as he passed me yet another pile of old paperwork, green and grey with mould spores. The smell was making me positively nauseous. “Why is it all so wet?” I gave the paperwork a brief once over before dumping it unceremoniously into a black bin liner. I could almost feel the mould eating away at my fingers. I had to really work hard not to run screaming into the bathroom where I could use a scrubbing brush and bleach to get rid of the horrible feeling.

“It's just condensation.” Geoff dragged out another handful of old paperwork. “That, coupled with our terrible habit of keeping every piece of paper we've been sent, is beginning to make papier-mâché down here.”

I peered into the dark recess of the box that made up the seating part of the dinette. “This isn't going to get any better until we can get some ventilation in there, is it?”

Geoff shook his head. “No, and putting the new dinette in is going to be difficult because I have to try and incorporate a bed, and wardrobes and drawers.”

He ran a hand over his short silver hair. “There's just so much to fit in.”

I'd been struggling with his idea of putting in a replacement dinette for a while now. The problem was that I really didn't want one. I don't like them. I know that they are absolutely classical narrow boat fittings but it really didn't fit in with our lifestyle and, more than anything, we needed a place to put the computers and create somewhere to work.

Nonchalantly tying up the last black plastic bag I wandered over to put the kettle on. “I don't suppose there's any leeway on your thoughts about that dinette you want to make is there?” I turned and began washing my hands in the sink. Then I washed them again, just to make sure. The smell of mouldy paper had given the boat that second hand bookshop aroma.

“Possibly,” Geoff peered over the table. “What did you have in mind?”

“How would you feel about not having one at all?”

“I can't see how that would work.” Geoff leant on the wall and stared into space. “What would you suggest we put here instead?”

I handed him a cup of tea and joined him against the wall.

“What about an office?”

There was silence for a moment.

“Go on,” he said.

“Well if we take out the table and the seats, we'd have more space for a wardrobe and we could have drawers and shelves. We'd have space to put in that washing machine I've been lusting after and we could move the freezer from the grot cupboard by the bathroom into a space of its own.”

“Hmmm.” Geoff stared at the wall.

“Then we could have a desk and put the computer stuff underneath so that we don't keep tripping over it and they'd be all tidily away.” I patted the partition that made up the short wall to the kitchen. “We could have a storage unit here for all the bedding and attach the desk to the back of it.” I paused and looked at him. “It's a terrible idea isn't it?”

He was silent for a couple of minutes. “No actually. It isn't.”

Well that was a surprise.

“I need some time to make some plans,” he said.

That was my cue to hop it. “I'll go and find something to do then shall I?”

He nodded vaguely, completely lost in plans and space restraints.

I wandered off down the boat and wondered what I could do with myself for an hour or so. I had a new book that I wanted to read and there was that DVD I hadn't watched. I actually had some time to do something relaxing, which would be nice. Luckily I was saved from apathy by Sam crashing through the door holding what looked like a brake lever and some trailing cable.

“MUM!” He jumped down the step and held on to the door frame as he panted and heaved.

He'd obviously been running hard.

“Charlie … *puff puff* ran over Mortimer … *puff gasp* and she's on the ground … *puff puff* and this fell off her bike.”

Geoff looked up from his plans and as one we almost trampled Sam into the carpet in our rush to get outside.

Charlie was still flat on her back in the grass. Geoff and I slid down the flood defences and my hammering heart slowed as she groaned and sat up. Mortimer slunk out from behind one of the cars in the car park that was about twenty yards away and came over to hide behind my legs. Geoff was lifting Charlie to her feet so I checked the dog over, he seemed fine.

“What happened?” I wandered over to them with Mort at my heels.

“That stupid dog tried to KILL ME!” Charlie shook Geoff off her arm and, reaching down, dragged her bike upright. “Look at this, he's trashed it, where's the bloody brake gone?”

“Sam's got it, he brought it in to show us.” I clipped Mortimer to his lead. “So, what happened?”

“Mort was running beside me. Sometimes we were going at the same speed and sometimes he was giving me an extra bit of whizz.” She winced and, pulling up her sleeve gazed mournfully at a beautifully grazed elbow. “Anyway, it was all going well, when stupid here decides just to turn left.” She groaned as she pulled herself upright. “Ouch. I feel like I've been trampled.” She glowered at Mortimer who was currently sitting on the ground scratching his ear, his long tail wagging gently and his mouth open in that classic, pink-lipped staffy grin. “So, he shoots right between the front wheel and the back, obviously he doesn't fit and we all come to a very sudden stop. All I remember is going straight over the handle bars as the back wheel went over the dog.”

“You. Ran. Over. My. Dog.” I gave her ‘the look'.

“I didn't run him over, he ran under me. He tried to commit suicide and take me with him.” She tried to take a step and moaned again. “Ow! My knee.”

“Come on,” Geoff said. He picked the bike up and put it over his shoulder and then let Charlie grab his other arm. “I'll give you a pull up the floods.”

Charlie turned, “Is he all right?”

I nodded. “He's fine, but I think this may be the last dog/bike experiment, don't you?”

She laughed. “No, I think we ought to do it again but next time have a video recorder set up.”

Geoff began to haul her up the hill. “Killing yourself for prize money really isn't the way to go,” he said.

I watched them stagger off and shook my head. It had to be Charlie that got broken and it was always Sam that watched her do these insane things. When she'd fallen out of the tree in France and broken her coccyx he'd been the one that picked her up. He was also there when she'd decided that having a new pair of roller blades would give her superhuman abilities. She had put them on at the top of a steep hill in Durham and just let herself go. Sam had watched as she'd face-planted herself into a cattle grid at the bottom. It was no wonder he was a cautious child, he never saw his sister succeed at doing something dangerous and stupid. Well, there could be worse ways to learn a lesson, I supposed.

By the time Mortimer and I got back to the boat, Charlie was dabbing at the abraded bits of herself with a wet cloth.

“Do you have any actual punctures or is it just shallow cuts and grazes?” I wandered over to check her knee.

“Just grazes.” She made a face as the water in her bowl turned alternately brown and then red.

Taking my Aloe plant from the top of the fridge I selected a sacrificial leaf. Collecting a sharp knife and my chopping board I laid the leaf down and carefully slit it lengthways revealing the juice and slime within. “Here, rub this on when it's clean.”