Narrow Margins (29 page)

Amelia and Huw, two days away from moving into their own pad, came down to help and, surprisingly enough, they really did help. They took it upon themselves to keep the kids occupied while we ran around inventing new swear words and stuffing items into boxes; it was the best thing they could have done. They also went out for takeaway food and delivered all our rubbish to the tip – the thanks they got were heartfelt and genuine.

The new car arrived the next morning and, after packing it to the roof with belongings that we felt wouldn't be needed for the next month, Geoff and Huw took off for the day to dump it at storage, leaving Amelia and I to pack some more boxes.

Watching me pack up my kitchen, Amelia suddenly remembered all the items that she was short of in her own flat, and we ended up packing half of the boxes in her car. Saucepans, cutlery, cooking utensils, mugs ... it wasn't as though I didn't need those items, it was just that she needed them more, and for once I could do the proper ‘mum' thing and help out a little.

That evening, we went out for a meal and although the food was very good, the mood was quite sombre. Amelia was having problems dealing with our complete lack of anything resembling a plan and became quite vocal about the remote possibility of having ‘normal' parents; I assured her it wasn't likely to happen and asked her, ‘If we were to move back into a house now, and become “normal” as you so call it, what difference would that make to you?'

She looked at me over a cup of tea. ‘None, really, but at least my parents would be the same as everyone else's.'

‘And that is important because ...?' I prompted.

She sighed. ‘Actually,' she looked down, ‘I quite like telling people about how mad you are, and if I do anything that seems a little insane I can blame it on family influence.'

‘Gee thanks – do you do insane things a lot?'

Huw butted in, ‘Only when she's bored.'

I laughed. ‘Being bored and doing insane things is a family trait,' I informed him. ‘You'd better watch out, it will only get worse as she gets older.'

The evening finished with everybody in a much happier frame of mind. We had become resigned to not knowing exactly what we were going to do next and Amelia had decided that she was quite happy to be the boring one for the next couple of years, although, after that, anything might happen. I had informed her that any time she felt like breaking away from normality, not only would I finance it if I could, I would physically cheer her on.

The next morning started very early, a little hung over, and spitefully bright, as if pointing out exactly what we were going to be missing with the loss of Happy.

A smaller narrow boat pulled in front of us and, after a quick chat, graciously agreed to take all my beloved plants, including Charlie's odd collection of strange and bizarre cacti. Although lovely people, they didn't make me feel any better by expressing shock and horror that Happy was being sold.

Sitting down to dinner that evening, I took one mouthful and suddenly couldn't eat any more; Geoff raised his eyebrows at me.

‘I'm sorry,' I sniffed. ‘It's just really hit me – in two days' time, we are going to be rolling in money and will once again be completely homeless.'

Geoff took a mouthful of his own tea. ‘I know,' he said, ‘but we'll buy a new boat, and it will all be all right.'

‘The kids think they want a house, you know.'

‘I know,' he sighed. ‘I just don't think I want to go back to “normality”. It would be so boring.'

‘We can't just keep travelling around looking for a new boat. The whole home schooling thing isn't working out well and I'm really aware that we aren't working very hard at it.' I took a deep breath and continued, ‘We don't even know where we are going when we leave the boat. I mean, what direction are we even going to be heading in?'

Geoff put his cup down on the shelf. ‘Tell you what,' he shuffled over until he was sitting next to me. ‘Let's head over to Suffolk. We can land ourselves on my sister for a little while, at least we'll be able to use the Internet, and it will give us a base to work from.'

‘Well, any plan is better than none at all.' I took another deep, shuddering breath. ‘I don't want to sell her; I can't remember now why we felt we needed to.'

Geoff assumed a superior expression. ‘It's because those wretched kids keep growing, especially that Charlie and ...' he shook his head, ‘I really need to retrain so that I can get a job.'

‘Oh yeah, that little thing. Tell you what, I can sort out one of those problems, we'll just stop feeding Charlie.'

With at least a sort of mini plan in mind, I felt somewhat better; at least I knew where we were going when we finally got into our car and drove away.

Our final day of boat ownership arrived and we woke in the morning, aiming to be sad all day, but as the lemon scent had now worn off the carpet, the smell of cat was now overriding every sense, even the emotional ones. Geoff had bought a new piece of carpet and underlay the previous day and his first job of the morning was to get rid of the smell. He dragged the old carpet and underlay out of the boat and almost immediately the smell began to clear. It was such a relief, I was sorry we hadn't done it three days previously.

By four o'clock, everything was done. Gerald had called by and picked up the keys, and Amelia and Huw, with lots of kisses and goodbyes, had wedged themselves into their car, overflowing with household items that either they wanted or we didn't have space for in our car, and had convinced them that they needed.

Happy was depersonalised, empty and echoing. We did a final walk-through, checking under beds and in cupboards. The new carpet looked great and smelled of, well, new carpet; we had cleaned and polished and scrubbed and the whole boat looked crisp, clean and professional.

Under Sam's bed, I found his ready-packed rucksack containing his beloved beddybear, one hand-held games console, some games and a handful of Beano comics. I showed the contents to Geoff.

‘There would have been ructions if he had left this behind,' I laughed shakily. He smiled and, taking the rucksack from me, continued walking up the boat.

Charlie and Sam were sitting quietly (for once) together on the sofa. Charlie had her rucksack and Geoff gave the one he was holding to Sam with a shake of his head.

‘Come on,' Geoff indicated the door. ‘Time to go.'

The kids nodded and climbed out through the doors and on to the tow path.

‘Have you got everything?' he looked enquiringly at me as I leaned against the kitchen unit.

I sighed. ‘I think so. Come on, let's get out of here.'

Out on the bank, he stood for a moment in the twilight. ‘Are you sure, you lot, that everything is out, because once I lock this padlock we can't get back in.' After a moment's silence, we all nodded. Geoff hesitated for a few moments just waiting for the normal ‘Argh, I forgot ...' and then turned and decisively locked the padlock into place.

Without a word, we all hoisted our backpacks and headed down the tow path toward the car. Just before the bridge, Geoff and I turned to look back at Happy, floating in the darkness.

I looked up at him. ‘We had fun?'

He nodded. ‘Yes, we did. Are you upset?'

‘No, not really.'

He nodded again. ‘Come on then, onward and upward. Let's get this monkey show on the road.'

As he left, I stood for a moment and thought about what I had just said. It had been the truth, I wasn't really upset, and I
was
looking forward to doing something else. I peered through the deepening dark for a final glimpse of Happy. Without her cheerful, yellow lights throwing squares and circles of reflected illumination on to the tow path and into the water, she looked dead and cold.

I turned decisively away. Geoff was right, onward and upward, a new boat would be great. I thought about it for a moment, then shouted up the tow path to Geoff who was standing under the bridge watching me.

‘Geoff?'

‘Yes?'

‘I've made a decision.'

He stepped out from under the bridge with a quizzical and wary look. ‘What would that be then?'

‘Do you know where the passports are and how fast we can arrange tickets to Holland?'

He frowned. ‘Yes, and pretty fast. Why?'

I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath; a new challenge, new things to learn, new things to run into. I grinned at him and, heaving my rucksack out of the dirt, threw it over my shoulder.

‘Let's go to sea.'

About the Author
…

© Inkwell Photographic

Marie Browne

Marie Browne is a gently harassed mother of three who, for the past fifteen years, has been desperately trying to escape the Customer Service industry.

Apart from her husband and kids, the best things in her life are real ale; barbecues; ugly mad dogs that nobody else wants and cream-covered designer coffees. She also has an obsession with shoes but her husband is threatening to get her help for that.

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