by Fiona Foden
“Sorry,” I say, falling back on to my seat and grinning at Leon. “It’s just so good to see him, you know? It feels like ages. Oh, I miss him so much.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. Anyway,” he adds, “if all goes to plan today, maybe you’ll be seeing him a lot more.”
I nod, hardly daring to hope that Promise might possibly be ours again, and that the Stag, and Chantelle, and a horrible-looking school I haven’t even started at yet, could fade away as if they’d never been part of my life.
There’s someone I’ll never forget, though. As the bus climbs the hill away from the river, I turn to look at Leon. Sure, it seemed as if my whole life was over a few weeks ago. But now, it feels as if something else is just beginning.
It’s early afternoon by the time we arrive in Clingford. The walk from the town centre to the boatyard isn’t as far as I remembered and, by the time the big blue and white sign saying “McIntyre Boat Repair & Maintenance” comes into view, my mouth feels so dry I can hardly swallow. “I’m not sure about this,” I say quietly.
Leon gives me a concerned look. “D’you still want me to go in and have a look around first?”
I pause for a moment, twisting Bella’s thin silver ring around my little finger. “No, let’s go in together.”
“Are you sure? What if Bill sees you?”
“What if he does?” I say, sounding braver than I feel. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
“OK,” Leon says. Now he’s the one who looks a little unsure.
“So let’s go,” I say, marching along the overgrown lane towards the huge wooden shed. The yard is strewn with bits of rusty machinery, and we step carefully around them as we make our way to the shed door. It’s all splintered and rotting at the bottom, and creaks loudly as I push it open. After the brightness outside, it takes a few moments for my eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom.
“Can you see anything that looks like Promise?” Leon whispers as we both peer around the cavernous shed.
I shake my head, checking each boat in turn as we wander past. Some are half-painted and a few are gleaming proudly, perfectly restored. But most of the boats look ancient, as if they’ve been dumped here when there’s no hope for them at all.
“It’s sad,” Leon says, as if reading my mind. “Most of these look like wrecks.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Promise definitely isn’t here, though – these are all a lot more modern. There’s nothing like her at all.” I keep glancing down towards Bill’s glass-partitioned office at the far end of the shed, even though there’s no sign of him so far. We pace around, checking the whole place one more time. “What if we’re too late,” I say, my insides feeling as heavy as lead now, “and he’s sold her already?”
“But the website—” Leon starts.
“Well, perhaps he hadn’t got around to updating it.”
He nods. “Then … I don’t know. Maybe we could still track her down somehow…”
That’s what I love about Leon: the way he manages to convince me that there’s still hope. Like he cares as much as I do. “He probably has some kind of book,” I say, “where he keeps details of the people who’ve bought boats from him…”
“…Or it might be on his computer,” Leon says eagerly. “Shall we try and find it?”
“I saw it. It’s in his office.”
“Can I help you?” barks Bill as he looms into the shed.
My heart leaps, and I try to compose my face into something like a normal expression. “Er … we were just passing by and thought we’d have a wander around,” I say brightly. How dumb does that sound?
His thick dark eyebrows swoop down. “Yeah, well – it’s not a playground. You can just wander right out again.”
“No, I know that,” I say. “It’s just…” I tail off. Think, think… “My dad saw an advert for a boat on your website,” I explain in what I hope is a confident voice. “He’s on his way to have a look. We’re supposed to be meeting him here.” Bill squints at me, probably wondering why I’ve changed my story. I swallow hard and glance at Leon.
“Which boat are you talking about?” Bill asks.
“Er…” The name! It’s whizzed right out of my head again.
“Lily-May,” Leon says quickly.
Bill’s face sets in a scowl. “Lily-May,” he repeats slowly, and I see a flicker of recognition in his small, dark eyes. He remembers me from when I came here with Mum, I think. “She’s been sold,” he growls.
“Oh,” I say flatly. “Oh … I see.”
“Your, um … your dad’ll be so disappointed,” Leon remarks to fill the tense silence. He turns to Bill. “He’s really keen, you see. He’s pretty sure she’s the boat for him.”
“Yeah, well, he can be as keen as he likes,” Bill replies, “because she was taken away a couple of days ago.”
“D’you know where to?” I ask.
Bill shrugs. “No idea. None of my business, is it?”
I nod and start to make for the door. “OK. Well … thanks anyway.”
“Thought your dad was meeting you here?” Bill calls after us in a sneering tone. He knows we were lying all right.
“I’ll call him and tell him there’s no point,” I reply as we step back outside, where the day already looks a little less perfect.
We trudge in silence along the tree-lined lane that leads back to the main road. The blue sky has turned grey now, as if washed over with murky ink. “Are you OK?” Leon asks gently.
I nod. “Yeah. I just feel … kind of stupid.” I stop and look at him.
“You shouldn’t,” he says. “We tried, didn’t we? We did our best.”
“Yes, but…” I tail off as a cool breeze whips through my long dark hair. “I should have phoned the boatyard this morning to check if Lily-May was still there. I just didn’t think of it. Guess I was more concerned about getting here…”
“It’s not your fault,” Leon insists.
I exhale loudly. “But it’s been a complete waste of time, hasn’t it? And you’ve spent all that money on our fares, too.”
Tears prickle my eyes, and I look down so Leon can’t see. “That doesn’t matter,” he says firmly.
He’s right, I suppose. There are far bigger things to worry about, like all the lies I told at home. “Mum’s bound to find out,” I add glumly. “Next time she speaks to Charlie or Kate, she’ll mention my supposed day with them on the river, and they won’t know what she’s talking about.” I glance back up at Leon. “She’ll be horrified when she finds out. She’ll never trust me again.”
“Yes, but you did it for all the right reasons,” Leon points out. “When she realizes that, she’ll understand.”
I turn this over in my mind. “Are some lies OK, d’you think?”
“Of course they are,” he says firmly.
Fine rain begins to fall as we start walking again, hitting our faces like damp breath. “Bill knew we were lying,” I add. “I’m sure he remembered me.”
Leon nods. “He couldn’t wait to get rid of us.”
I glance at him, glad he’s here with me, despite everything. “D’you think that means Lily-May really was our boat, after all?”
“Possibly.”
“Or am I just being stupid and hoping too much?”
“No, you’re not,” Leon says. “I only wish there was something else we could do.”
We’ve reached the town centre now, and although Leon buys us each a bag of chips, I can hardly manage to eat them. We pass the museum where Mum and I saw the beehive, and head for the park with the pointy-roofed cafe. As we sit at a small table with a Coke each, the day I came here with Mum floods back into my mind. After the bad news about Promise, it felt as if she just gave up. And I’m not prepared to do that yet. “Leon,” I say carefully, “we’ve come all this way, so I think we should keep trying
. Keep looking for Lily-May, I mean.”
His face brightens. “You mean, try to track down the person who bought her?”
I take a sip of my Coke. “Maybe. I mean, it could be someone local, couldn’t it? Lots of people have boats around here, and boaters usually notice when a new one is moored nearby. Probably because not much happens when you live on the river.”
Leon smiles, and I sense my spirits rising. Somehow, I’ve managed to unearth a little sliver of hope. “I don’t want to be like Mum and just give up,” I add firmly. “Anyway, I’m going to be in so much trouble when all this comes out. It can’t all be for nothing.”
Leon finishes his drink and gets up from his seat. “Let’s go, then. There’s still plenty of time before we need to start heading back, so how about we follow the river as far as we can?”
“Yes, good idea,” I say as we step back out into the park. The drizzle has stopped, and a chink of sunlight is forcing its way between puffy clouds. “You know what?” I add. “I still have a good feeling about today.” I look at him, and the smile that lights up his deep brown eyes makes me feel that anything is possible.
“Well,” he says, making sparks shoot through me as he grabs my hand, “let’s start looking right now.”
As we make our way down to the river, I wonder if I’ve really gone crazy this time. For one thing, we are holding hands. It doesn’t seem real. I keep at glancing at Leon, and he keeps looking at me, and it’s a wonder I haven’t actually burst with happiness. We’re not talking now. The two of us are too intent on scanning the riverbank, as if Lily-May will materialize magically before our eyes.
There are plenty of boats – scruffy little cruisers, the odd cheerfully painted narrowboat – tied up along the riverbank. But there’s no beautiful antique one made from nut-coloured wood. In fact, I’m starting to think that my imagination has run away with me, and that Promise really was sent off to be broken up at the scrapyard, just like Bill McIntyre said.
The sun has come out properly now, forcing its way between overhanging branches and dappling the tree-lined path. As it leads us out of town, back towards Bill’s boatyard, it becomes so narrow we have to drop hands and walk in single file. I’m in front, scanning the greeny-tinged river ahead. “Look,” I say as a bright-red narrowboat appears around a bend. “Maybe they’ve seen something.” We stand and wait until the boat is almost alongside us. “Excuse me,” I shout, “have you seen a wooden boat called Lily-May?”
It’s an elderly couple on board. The man frowns, adjusts his peaked cap and says something to the woman beside him. “Don’t think so, love,” he calls back.
“Are there any boats up that way, towards the boatyard?” I ask.
They are chugging away from us now, and I hurry along the path to keep up. “Not that we noticed,” the woman says, looking bemused. Then she turns to the man and says something to him, before calling back to me, “Actually there was just one, round the corner.”
“What was she like?” I’m now having to jog to keep up. Leon has stopped on the path and is throwing open his arms as if to say, What are you doing?
The man laughs. “My dream boat,” he says.
My heart leaps. “OK – thanks!” I look back at Leon, who’s striding towards me.
“What did they say?” he asks.
“They passed something on the way – the man said she was his dream boat…” I grin. “I think we should have a look, don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course.”
I try not to get my hopes up as we hurry along the riverbank. After all, “dream boat” could mean anything. While we always regarded Promise as perfect, occasionally I’d heard a passer-by murmur, “Look at that old thing – can you imagine living on that?” Leon and I fall into silence as we follow the bend of the river. My phone bleeps with a text, and I stop to read it: How u getting on? Bella asks. Any news? Desp to hear!
Nothing yet, I reply while Leon continues to scan the river ahead.
“Hey, Josie,” he says suddenly. “Look at that.” We both peer into the distance, where a boat has come into view. It’s wooden, yes, but around twice the size of Promise, with gleaming brass-edged windows, and it’s covered with so many pots of brightly coloured flowers, you can hardly see the deck at all. It’s a floating palace – the kind our boater friends would drool over when something similar chugged past our mooring. “Oh,” I say flatly. “That’s a dream boat.”
He puts an arm around my shoulders and fixes me with one of those smiles that light up his whole face. For a split second, I think he’s going to kiss me. It certainly feels as if something amazing is about to happen. My heart skips, and my breath catches in my throat. “Well, I think it looks like a heap of trash,” he quips.
“No it doesn’t,” I shoot back.
Leon shrugs. “I guess some people might go for that kind of thing,” he says, grabbing my hand again and starting to hurry along the bank, “but I still think it’s a bit flashy.”
I frown at him as we march along, unable to tell if he’s joking or not. Further ahead, Bill McIntyre’s garish blue and white sign peeps out between thick branches.
It’s then that I see what Leon is getting at. Tucked behind the huge, posh boat is a much smaller one, which was hardly visible from where we were standing. But now we’re closer, I can see the familiar curve of a hull, the row of narrow windows and the slightly upturned, pointed bow.
“So what d’you think?” Leon asks.
I’m running now, having pulled ahead of him, hardly daring to hope. My phone bleeps again, but I ignore it this time because I’m pelting along as fast as I can, past the big wooden boat, stopping abruptly as I reach the smaller one tied up beside it.
“It’s Lily-May!” I cry.
“I know, I can’t believe it!” He stops abruptly at my side.
My gaze skims the polished wooden hull. Her name has been carefully painted in swirly black letters on her side. As for the hull, instead of being a warm, nutty shade all over, there are paler sections which are obviously brand new. This boat looks like she’s been patched up – incredibly well, I have to admit, and recently, too. You can almost smell the fresh varnish.
“Could this be Promise, d’you think?” Leon asks.
I push bedraggled hair from my eyes. “I still don’t know. The shape is right, but see the door that leads down into the cabin? It used to be green, not that burgundy colour, and it was all scratched and rotting a bit, too…”
“Maybe it’s been replaced,” he suggests.
I nod, then check both directions to make sure no one’s coming along the path. The only living thing in sight is a lone duck, swimming lazily in the middle of the river. “C’mon,” he urges me, “what are you waiting for?” Leon leaps aboard, wobbling slightly, as people tend to until they’re used to the rocking motion. I burst out laughing as I join him on the deck.
“I can’t believe this,” I say, gazing around in wonder. “The deck is exactly the same, apart from some new bits here, and here…” I point at the paler planks of wood.
He focuses on my face. “So … is this your boat?”
I open my mouth, momentarily stuck for words. “This sounds stupid, but … I still don’t know for sure. I mean, there were loads of dents and scratches on Promise. There was a pretty serious crack running along the deck here.” I indicate the smooth, freshly varnished wood. “And see the windows? Their frames were silvery metal before, and now they’re black.”
“Shall we go in, then?” Leon asks impatiently.
I nod and reach for the door’s handle. “It’s locked,” I announce, trying it again in case it’s swollen in the hot weather and has just got a bit stuck. “We hardly ever locked up,” I mutter under my breath. “We just kept the key on a nail by the door.”
Of course, there’s no key here today.
I step back as Leon gives the door
a rattle. “Could we prise it open, d’you think?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t like to try. It would probably damage it. Hang on, though, there is another way in…” I run to the bow, followed closely by Leon, and crouch down at the large, square hatch. “Help me with this,” I say, trying to hook my fingers into the tiny gap to prise it open.
“Won’t that be locked too?” Leon asks.
“I don’t think so. If this really is our boat, then there isn’t a key. Murphy knocked it into the river ages ago and we didn’t bother getting a new one.”
“I think it’s jammed, then,” Leon mutters as the hatch still refuses to budge.
“It probably is. We never really used it.” I sigh, looking around for something to force it open.
“Er … would this help?”
I drop my gaze to the small red object he’s produced from his jeans pocket. “A knife!” I exclaim. “What are you doing with that?”
He laughs. “Oh, they’re handy, y’know. I was showing Rosie how to use it the other day.”
I don’t know what amazes me more – the fact that a five-year-old is allowed to mess around with a Swiss Army knife, or that I’m lucky enough to have found a friend like this. “You let your little sister use that?” I ask incredulously.
Leon shrugs. “Yeah, to whittle wood. It’s part of her education.”
Before I can completely embarrass myself by babbling about how brilliant he is, Leon has flicked open one of the blades and is using it to try and force open the hatch. “Nope,” he mutters. “Still won’t budge. Hang on a minute…”
“Leon, stop,” I hiss. “Someone’s coming.” A man with a dog has appeared from around the bend. As Leon quickly assumes a casual, cross-legged position on the deck, I perch on the cabin roof as if simply enjoying the afternoon sunshine.
“Hi,” the man grunts as he passes us, his dog zigzagging in front of him on its lead. “Nice boat.”
“Thanks,” I say with a forced smile.