by Jane Linfoot
It takes Aunty Jo one blink to take it in, then she overcomes her shyness. ‘Cathedral window patchwork – how wonderful.’ A nanosecond later she hurls herself into a discussion about backing fabrics that’s so involved I can’t even understand it, let alone join in.
I spot Loella brandishing a hissing iron at one of the ironing boards beyond the fabric piles and give her a little wave. ‘Hey, this is every bit as mind-blowing as you promised.’ I flash her a smile huge enough to reinforce how super-happy I am to be here, but mostly to keep her off my case. Then I sidle into a seat, grab a spare pin cushion and make myself look extremely busy rearranging the pins. Then Aunty Jo comes and shows me how to draw around a template, and cut out squares for patchwork. But, even though I’m not joining in the chatter, I’m finding it hard to keep on task. It’s like calligraphy revisited – Aunty Jo is beaming from behind a huge heap of perfectly cut hexagons, and I’m still struggling to cut out my first square and kicking myself for scoring a total fail. I’m just wondering if swapping to a different pair of scissors might help when there’s a cough beside me.
I’m racing to get my excuses together for Loella. ‘Actually, I’m just checking out …’ When I pull my eyes into focus, what I’m actually checking out are some super-hard denim-clad thighs so I take a moment to get over the shock – and take in any details Bella might be asking about later. Then I flash upwards to a familiar stubbled jaw, and a mouth that’s not quite twisted into a grin. ‘Barney? W-what the h-hell are you doing here?’
He gives a shrug. ‘I popped in to drop some tools off for Beth, but if you can spare a minute, I could do with a hand outside.’
Going with Barney, or staying here. Two choices, both of them equally awful in their own way. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘C’mon Edie, I promise it won’t take long.’ That direct gaze is so dark it’s playing havoc with my insides.
Aunty Jo has somehow torn herself away from her discussion about stitch length. ‘Run along now, Edie. I’m sure Loella won’t mind.’
My wide eyes are pleading with Loella to insist I stay, but she just smiles. ‘If Barney needs you that’s good with me.’
‘Fine.’ It’s not at all. On balance, now it’s happening, I’d rather sew an entire quilt than go with Barney. If this is my punishment, I’m really regretting not trying harder with the cutting. By the time I’ve pushed back my chair he’s away. By the time I catch up with him he’s holding the door open and, as the chilly afternoon air hits my face, he’s thrusting an oilskin jacket into my hands.
‘Here, have my coat, we’re off to the harbour, not that I want to rush you, but you might need to hurry up if we’re going to make it back for the end of the class.’
‘But …’ What the hell happened to that minute this wasn’t going to take? It’s not like I can argue when I’m running to keep up. I’m getting glimpses of the bay in the gaps between the buildings as we cut down through a narrow cobbled alleyway, watching the long lines of the waves rolling in over the shine of the wet sand, seeing figures bending against the breeze, hearing the rush of water in the distance as the waves break on the beach. And for once the iron grey of the sea has lifted a shade and the water surface is silver, hammered like the dapple of fish scales. Then we come out onto the quayside, edged with its neat rows of cottages with pink and blue front doors, and the piles of lobster pots and rope coils, and the blue and red and black boats lined up along the jetties, their masts sharp against the sky.
By the time we leap down the wooden steps onto a very wobbly pontoon my chest feels like it’s going to burst from the exertion. ‘What are we h-here for?’
‘She’s rigged and ready, so I’d have thought that was obvious.’ He dips down into the low open boat we’re standing next to and hands me a padded waistcoat and pulls one on himself too. ‘That’s your buoyancy aid, slip it on over the waterproof and we’re good to go.’
‘Go WHERE?’ As if I’d know one end of a boat from another, let alone know the nuances and implications. If we’re talking water I have no objection to paddling, but if the water’s any deeper than my ankles I’m not a happy bunny. When I was with Marcus, whenever his family dabbled with boats on holiday, which was a lot, I always did a silent hooray, made my excuses and went off to read on the beach instead.
‘No need to panic – we’ll be out and back again in no time. I’ve done some repairs to the rudder in return for a favour. I’m just testing it holds before we deliver it back.’
‘Marvellous.’ I wedge my jaw shut to stop my teeth chattering. I know from work, it’s crucial to set clear boundaries at the outset. ‘And h-h-how do I fit in? If you think I’m going to swim to shore for help when the damn thing breaks into pieces, you can bloody think again.’
‘Definitely no swimming – I can sail her on my own – but it’s better with two people because there’s more weight.’ He’s already jumped down into the boat and he’s pulling on ropes.
‘So you’ve brought me along as ballast?’ Of all the insults, that has to be the biggest yet.
‘Not entirely, it was more a spur-of-the-moment thing. You looked like you were really struggling back there.’ He looks like he’s agonising. ‘I wanted to save you from a crap afternoon.’ His hand grasps mine and in one pull I’m in and sliding onto a tiny plank seat, clinging onto the boat side behind me as it lurches, trying to look like I do this every day. As the oilskin’s Velcro prickles my chin there’s no time to wish that Dayglo orange was more my colour because I’m too busy watching the dark shiny water going up and down as the boat rises on the swell, and holding onto my stomach which feels like it’s a washing machine working a full load. If I said I’d rather make a quilt, revise that upwards. I can’t count how many quilts I’d have sewn to avoid this. More importantly, if this is being saved, I hate to think what being dropped in it would be like.
Meanwhile Barney’s leaping around like bloody Superman doing a million things at once; undoing ropes, pushing us off from the side, hauling up the sail.
‘Boom!’
The yell makes me jump so much I almost end up in the harbour. But I’m catching on here, I’d hate to come across as clueless, so I join in too but make sure mine’s louder. ‘Boom! Back at you!’
From Barney’s bemused stare you’d think he was the beginner here. ‘Sorry, that means “Mind your head!” – that’s the boom there.’ He’s pointing at this long pole at the bottom of the sail. ‘Boom! is what we shout when it’s about to swing across the boat, so watch out.’
‘Shucks!’ I duck and narrowly miss getting my skull caved in as it skims past my ear and silently thank Christmas it didn’t bump my head. Then, as Barney squats down at the back, some kind of stick in one hand, still pulling on a rope in the other, there’s this awful creaking, but we start to move away from the jetty and out across the harbour.
‘Okay on the side there?’
‘Great.’ My fake I’m-totally-fine-thanks smile would be way more convincing if my lippy hadn’t all just blown out to sea. Even though I look like Mr Blobby I attempt a nonchalant lounging position, but when I lunge slowly backwards there’s nothing to lean on. I’m sure I had many clips in my messy up-do, but it feels like the wind wrenched them all away and tossed them into the water, so I push my scarf into my pocket so I don’t lose that too. ‘Are you sure it’s okay going out in this gale?’
He pulls down the corners of his mouth and does a little wiggle on the stick. ‘Probably only a force two.’
Which means absolutely zilch, but I’m pretty proud of the way I exclaim about it anyway. ‘A TWO! Jeez, well, that explains why it’s so rough and windy.’
‘It’s like a millpond, Edie. I wouldn’t have brought you out if it wasn’t.’ He’s frowning at me. ‘Maybe you’d like to let go of the side and hang onto the sheet instead? Get a feel for the wind?’
‘Great, you’ve brought a sheet – I’ll wrap myself up in it if it gets any colder.’
He purses his lips. ‘The sheet is
this rope here, you could pull it and hold the sail in place?’
‘Hell no. Thanks all the same.’
If I didn’t know better I’d think he was trying to hold back his smile. ‘So maybe you can tell me how come you’re less in love with sewing than the rest of them?’
‘I got off to a bad start at school.’ To be honest it’s a relief to have something to take my mind off the heaving of the ship. ‘The first ever lesson, the textiles teacher caught me holding a pin in my mouth.’ That was practically the only useful thing my mum had ever taught me about needlework. ‘Apparently teenagers giving sudden whoops and ending up in A&E with pins jammed in their throats is a massive Health and Safety issue.’ I know that I’m blurting and over-sharing, but I can’t stop. My only excuse, I must be a nervous sailor. ‘To be honest I’d have thought sewing through your finger with a machine was way worse. That’s what Bianca Hill from the other group in our year did. But, whatever, the teacher had a hissy fit and things went downhill fast from there.’ A lot like things have in St Aidan, come to think of it.
‘Okay, we’re going to swing the sail around and change direction in a minute, so hang on tight and duck … one two three, BOOM!’
‘Jeez, what the HECK … BOOM! To you too!’ There’s so much splashing and heaving and groaning it feels like we have to end up upside down, pitched into the water. I’m digging my fingers in so hard to the boat side I get splinters under my fingernails, but at the end of it somehow we’re still afloat, even if we’re at a crazy angle.
‘Okay, now come and sit the other side of the boat, and this time try to lean back as far as you can to get your weight out over the water.’ As he watches me make my way across, inching forwards on all fours through the puddles, I no longer give any fucks. The will to look stylish disappeared somewhere in the harbour car park, and I left my last shred of pride back on the jetty. I get there eventually, but he can forget leaning out.
‘So much chopping and changing. It’s hardly relaxing is it?’
He’s rubbing his fist over his mouth. ‘So, how far downhill did your sewing go?’
‘By the time we got to making dresses for GCSE, mine was the size of one of those things that you put your bed quilt inside.’
‘What, a duvet cover?’
‘That’s the one. Then I put the zip in upside down, and somehow stitched the front to the back so, even though it was the size of a house, it was still impossible to climb into.’ It’s all true, and at least it’s a better excuse for why I was completely failing to cut out Loella’s patchwork pieces. I’d rather not explain that my fingers won’t do what I want them to at the moment.
‘I can see why you’re traumatised.’ He’s spluttering into his fist. ‘Okay, we’re turning again, ready, and BOOM!’
‘Surely not? BOOM!’ But we are, and the whole damned heaving and splashing thing starts again and, before I know it, I’m on my hands and knees, crawling back across the boat again. Once I get back onto my plank seat with both hands safely clamped on the boat sides, I squint at him. ‘And people do this why?’
He shrugs. ‘Because it’s fun.’
That word again. ‘Not in my book it’s not.’
‘I’ve had more laughs in the last half hour than I have for a long time.’ He’s tilting his head at me and being ridiculous, because he hasn’t even broken into a grin. ‘I’m not sure you know quite how funny you are, Edie Browne.’
I give that the eye roll it deserves. Funny was how I was before, what he’s finding amusing now are my blunders.
With his deck shoes and tousled hair, and the shadows under his cheekbones set against the flashes of the dark water, he could have been parachuted in from a Diesel advert.
He coughs. ‘I know we’re only going slowly, but listen to the swish of the water as the boat passes across it, feel the rush of the breeze. I mean, look back at the harbour and the shore.’
I only screw my head around because I know if I don’t he’ll go on about it. Looking back from out here in the bay, I’m getting the familiar postcard view of the town with the higgledy rows of cottages rising above the cluster of masts in the harbour, and the seafront railings that stretch around the bay.
‘So, doesn’t it give you a wonderful sense that you’re escaping?’
I nod at the stack of stone and stucco fronts, their pastel colours fading to monochrome in the greyness. ‘The calm swishing gets wrecked every time we almost get pitched into the effing sea.’ Aunty Jo’s cottage is nudging the skyline, and I’m trying not to notice how wildly it’s swaying up and down as the boat rocks. ‘My escape to solitude ends firmly at the beach, any further is too much like Desert Island Discs.’
There’s a choking noise from behind the sail. ‘You’ve picked the wrong place if you’re looking for peace.’
Someone else said that, but I’m not picking him up on it. I give him my serious stare. ‘And how can anyone relax when it sounds like the damn boat is about to split in two at any second?’
Somehow he looks totally at one with the thunder-grey clouds billowing behind him. ‘The creaking is the beauty of a timber hull. With a whole world of ocean stretched out beyond us, there’s such a wonderful feeling of freedom, that’s all.’
‘Probably more a feeling of totally bricking it.’
His teeth are closing on his lip. ‘Don’t worry, we’re on our way back in now. We’re going to drop the boat around the other side of the harbour. It’s your first time out, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it more next time.’
‘I seriously doubt it.’ It’s not like there will be another, I won’t fall for this twice. A thought flashes into my head. ‘You don’t make poor Cam do this, do you?’
He’s shaking his head. ‘For now Cam doesn’t do boats. Mostly I come out in the afternoons, which is why I thought you might be up for the occasional blast around?’
‘Not being rude—’
‘But you’re going to be anyway?’
‘I’d rather have my teeth pulled.’ All things considered. The heaving. My soaking feet and my soggy bum. The BOOMS! And that’s before we get to the company, and feeling seasick. ‘To express how much I enjoy that, you should know I once had a tooth out when I was eleven and I had to go all the way to Bristol to a special centre for nervous patients and be knocked out with Valium.’
He throws me a ‘what the eff?’ look then turns to the pontoon that’s racing towards us. ‘Well, that went well.’
As he stands up and unzips his life jacket I ignore the view up his sweatshirt. We’re bumping up against some other jetty now and he’s winding down the sail and bundling it into the bottom of the boat. And, just before he launches into his Superman routine again, he bends down and picks up this giant-size spanner. ‘Here, hang onto this for a second while I tie up.’
My arms sag under the weight, and there’s a lurch as he springs off the edge of the boat. I watch as he thuds onto the jetty and secures the boat with one deft twist of the rope.
He’s holding out his hand. ‘Okay, Edie, let’s get you back on dry land.’
I shuffle as far as I can on my bum, then, as I stagger to my feet, the huge spanner slides through my fingers and plummets downwards. There’s a second when I almost catch it somewhere around my knees, but it’s like a slippery fish sliding down the Dayglo fabric. A moment later it plunges through the narrow gap between the boat side and the jetty’s edge, and on into the soupy depths of the harbour.
‘Crap!’ My stomach is plunging faster than the spanner. And SHIT, ARSE and BOLLOCKS for not being able to rely on my grip any more.
‘Last time you were throwing knives at me, now it’s a wrench?’
I could kick seven bells out of the jetty side, but I’d rather jump into the harbour than have him know the truth. I grind my teeth, push my growl deep inside me. ‘I’m SO sorry.’
‘Don’t worry, these oversized tools make bids for freedom all the time. This is nothing – last week someone dropped a twelve grand outboard engine out in th
e bay. We’re in a fishing port, we’ll send in the deep-sea divers.’
‘Really?’ That sounds major.
‘Only joking – of course we won’t, we’ll hook it out at low tide.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Not that I want to rush you, but the class is almost over.’
As I clamber back onto the landing stage, I know I’m never going to live this down. As for where the time went, it definitely didn’t fly because I was enjoying myself.
And that was my afternoon at Patchwork.
10
Day 142: Friday, 23rd March
The day room at Periwinkle Cottage
Epic Achievement: Making a start.
‘Remind me why we have to do this now?’ Aunty Jo is tapping the toe of her least favourite rose gold pumps on the dust sheet we’ve thrown down on the flowery carpet.
This last week I’ve worked out the easiest way to deal with Aunty Jo is to ambush her. It’s our first day in ages without social events, so me leaping out of bed this morning, pulling on my boyfriend jeans and my weekend Hush C’est si bon sweatshirt, then starting to rip the wallpaper off the walls in the day room straight after breakfast is my way of leapfrogging any resistance.
It’s fine to roll out the reasons now it’s too late for her to stop me. ‘A decorator could take ages to come, and that’s when we find one, so I made a start.’ As boss of the job, I’ve decided – without consultation – it’s best to begin with the room where we spend most time, then work backwards through the house.
She’s still not convinced. ‘But I’ve never decorated before, not personally.’