We finally arrive in Devon just after seven am. The journey was long but uneventful for which I’m profoundly grateful. The drama over the last few days would keep East Enders going for the next ten years. Despite my friends’ willingness to alternate, I did most of the driving. At the moment I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again. As I pull into the motorway services just outside Exeter, I wake up the others so we can freshen ourselves up a bit before coming up with some kind of plan as to exactly what we’re going to do with me when we hit the bright lights of Dartmouth. We take turns to use the loo, then hole up in the car with hot coffee and good old McDonalds McMuffins all round. By the time we finish, the inside smells of fuggy dog and hamburger.
Kit offers to let me stay at her place again, but her flat is in the middle of the town. With the Regatta only a week away, Dartmouth is likely to be heaving with tourists, and until the press get bored and move onto the next story, I don’t want to risk her flat being blockaded by hordes of prying journalists and spectators. I need somewhere quiet where I can focus on helping my father get his name cleared, but close enough to my friends so that they can actually get on with their lives while they’re propping me up. I know I’m selfish to expect them to continue with the whole moral support thing, but the truth is, I don’t think I can get through this without them. Weak – who me?
We sit chewing our thumbs. Mabel offers to let me come to hers, but quite frankly she’s got enough with Pickles, and, on the off chance that my father’s released any time soon, she might well be looking after him as well, at least for a while. Of course, if she does, it will no doubt show her whether she’s actually ready to take on the unpredictable oddball that is my dad. In the end, Kit comes up with an idea that everyone seems to think is cracking apart from me. Ben Sheppherd’s yacht. When she first mentions it, I look at her as though she’s lost the plot. ‘It’s hardly a gin palace,’ I say eventually, only to be put back in my box with Freddie’s, ‘Well sweetie, I hate to say this to you, but beggars can’t be choosers.’
‘He’s not sailing in the Regatta this year,’ continues Kit, completely ignoring my less than enthusiastic response to her suggestion. ‘His boat is moored up on a buoy in the middle of the Dart. No one’s likely to spot you there.’
No-one’s likely to spot me ever again,’ I argue as they all nod their heads eagerly. ‘How am I going to get off the bloody thing?’
‘Row,’ say Kit and Freddy in unison. As I stare at them appalled, Freddy callously adds, ‘It will help with your weight sweetie.’
‘You’re such a bitch,’ I grumble as Kit hurriedly takes out her mobile phone. ‘I notice you’ve not offered your flat as a refuge. Some friend you are.’ I know I’m being petulant, but, come on, a boat? And not the sort that’s likely to be moored up in Monte Carlo, or even the Dart Marina.
‘God no, darling,’ he responds with a theatrical shudder, ‘Couldn’t possibly have your smalls hanging up in my bathroom. However, fear not sweet friend, I will row to you daily with supplies so you don’t starve.’ I snort inelegantly. The last time Freddy rowed anywhere was in secondary school when he decided to take up canoeing because someone told him it would improve his arm muscles. As I recall, he lasted two lessons before he capsized and had to be resuscitated by the instructor – an Amazon of a woman with as much hair on her top lip as Dotty. Freddy credits her with his decision to bat for the other side.
Kit waves at us both to shut up as she begins speaking and I sigh, realizing there’s no stopping this runaway train. The only thing I can hope for is that Ben’s changed his mind about sailing. A minute later that last hope is dashed as Kit gives a thumbs up. ‘Ben, you’re an absolute star,’ she enthuses. I’ll call you again as we get into Dartmouth.’
‘I take it that’s a yes,’ I grouch as she finishes the call and she nods her head with a big smile. ‘Yep, it’s all sorted. I told him I’d fill him in when we see him, but of course he’s seen the news. Says he’s happy to help. He’s a good guy Tory, you know that, and he’s not a blabbermouth. He’ll keep it to himself.’
‘Well that’s that then,’ I gripe, unwilling to let my sulk go just yet (even though absolutely no one’s paying any attention), ‘Come on Dotty, we’ll let one of these bossy so called friends drive while we cuddle up and Google ways of combating sea sickness.’ I open the door to get into the back while my supposed BFFs simply choose to ignore my pain and laugh heartlessly.
We arrive in Dartmouth at the worst possible time. There are so many people, it proves impossible to park anywhere near the boat float. After driving round for ten minutes, we give up and head back to Kit’s rented garage which actually costs her nearly as much as her flat. Sitting in the gloom, we debate what to do next. ‘Look, I’ll just put on some dark glasses and a hat, it’s not like people are out looking for me like they are Noah.’ It hurts so much to say his name, and talking about disguises brings back even more memories. I swallow the lump that suddenly appears in my throat as Kit touches my arm in sympathy, well aware of my wobble.
In the end we agree that Freddy will escort Mabel and Pickles over to Kingswear on the passenger ferry, while Kit and I both don suitable camouflage (after all it’s common knowledge to everyone who lives in Dartmouth that she’s my best friend) and walk down to meet Ben Sheppherd at the boat float. We agree to rendezvous at five in my new temporary floating home, at which time Kit and Freddy will bring supplies. As she leaves, I give Mabel a big hug, surprised at the depth of affection I feel for the elderly matron. ‘I’ll give you a call later to let you know any developments,’ I say before bending down to give Pickles a quick fuss and instructing him to be good for Aunty Mabel. ‘Try not to worry too much about your dad Tory,’ she responds, taking hold of Pickles’ leash and following Freddy out of the garage, ‘He really is a tough old boot.’
I can’t help but smile at her accurate assessment of my father, and I suddenly realize that Mabel is exactly the right person to take my irascible parent in hand – providing he doesn’t end up in a Thai jail…
Ben is waiting for us when we finally arrive at the river and doesn’t waste any time chatting. He gives me enough time to give Kit a quick kiss and a hug goodbye before guiding me quickly to his waiting dinghy - mercifully complete with small motor. I’m beginning to think I should be wearing Dior sunglasses and a silk headscarf – sort of a la Grace Kelly – to take full advantage of my situation. Still, maybe not. No one is taking the slightest notice of my current less than elegant attire. Once I’m seated, he hands Dotty to me and she sits shivering as we head out into the middle of the Dart. It only takes us a couple of minutes to reach our destination and I just have time to register small, before Ben is steadying the dinghy against the ladder and shoving me unceremoniously up onto the deck. Next he passes me my trembling dog and then, after securing the dinghy, quickly shins up the ladder with my small suitcase.
As he shows me around Dartmouth Belle, I can sense how proud he is and, if I’m being honest, it is rather charming in a ‘let’s go sailing for a couple of hours’ kind of way, but by the time he’s explained how to use the composting toilet, some of the appeal has most definitely been lost. You may be wondering how someone who has lived by the river all her life could be so negative about boats. The truth is, I’m not really. I love sailing as long as someone else is doing the pulling and hauling, but, unlike Kit, I’ve never actually spent the night on anything afloat. Obviously this will be something I can brag about to my best friend after all this is over – yey, go me…
After giving me instructions on how to use the small calor gas stove, Ben tells me to make myself comfortable in the tiny saloon and things start to look up as he lifts a cushion and reaches into a miniscule fridge. Small it might be, but it’s big enough to hold a bottle of wine. ‘Thought you might need this,’ he says with a small sympathetic grin, earning my undying gratitude. There are even plastic wine glasses, and as he pours a generous measure of rosé in each, it all suddenly seems a bit more like a fun
adventure. Until he speaks. ‘You going to tell me what’s going on Tory?’ he asks softly, making it clear that it’s my choice. I look over my wine glass at him and wonder how I never noticed that he’s actually quite attractive in a quiet unassuming way. I recall what Kit said about his marriage falling apart. I’m not the only one with a broken heart it seems. I take a large sip of my wine and stroke Dotty who is currently doing her best to be surgically grafted to my lap, then I take a deep breath and tell him everything.
It’s actually five thirty before Ben gets a call from Kit to tell him she and Freddy are at the boat float, and as he goes off to collect them, I lean back and close my eyes. I’m finding it difficult to think straight – I suppose being awake for over twenty four hours can do that to you. I know I need to talk to my father. He obviously still thinks we’re in Scotland and I’m wondering if he’s using the lack of a signal at Bloodstone Tower to avoid calling me. The problem is I don’t actually have any idea where he is. I rub my head in weary frustration. I haven’t got Hugo or Jason’s mobile numbers either, what a numpty. Still, maybe Jimmy’s heard something. I resolve to call him the minute I can gather the strength to get my phone out of my pocket…
I wake to the sound of voices and slamming of cupboards. ‘Ah, sleeping beauty awakes,’ definitely comes from Freddy. I blink and look down at Dotty who is still sitting snuggled up on my lap. It’s not like her to miss the opportunity of a frenzied barking session to say hello. Maybe she’s knackered too – although recalling her almost constant snoring on the journey down, I find that hard to believe. I stroke her head softly thinking it’s more likely she’s too scared to get off my knee. I hope she manages to shake off her fear soon, or getting her to do her business is likely to prove a bit of a challenge.
‘Are you hungry?’ Kit this time. I look up realizing I’m famished. ‘What have you brought?’ I lean forward to have a look but stay seated. The tiny galley is crowded with one and positively rammed with two. Add to that the fact that Freddy is struggling to uncork something alcoholic, and at any moment could well be giving Kit an impromptu lobotomy, I wisely decide to stay put. ‘I’ve got a large French stick,’ she says waving it at me as though I might just miss the three foot long loaf, ‘And to go with it, cheese, ham, pâté and olives. There wasn’t a massive amount of choice for a Monday afternoon, M&S had practically been cleaned out by ravenous tourists.’
‘Mmm, that sounds lovely.’ My voice must have sounded pretty eager so Kit throws me piece of baguette, which I endeavour to snatch out of the air before Dotty manages to get there first. The little dog is now sitting up looking much more alert. There’s nothing like food to bring her round. I tear apart the wonderfully fresh bread with my teeth without sparing a bit for Dotty who’s now looking at me as though I’m a cross between Cruella Deville and Lucrezia Borgia.
‘Where’s Ben?’ I ask, finally noting there are only three of us. ‘Said he had things to do,’ Kit responds, popping an olive into her mouth. ‘I think he was really giving us some privacy. Nice guy. Said he’d swing by later to pick us up.’ I nod my head, my mouth busy making short work of the crust.
‘Have you spoken to your parents Kit?’ I ask after finally managing to swallow. I’m very aware that I’ve been so consumed with my own problems over the last few days that I’ve given hardly any thought to what Kit must be going through at the thought of losing her beloved gallery. Seeing I’ve finished, she throws another piece of bread at me before answering – I’m beginning to feel like a performing seal. ‘They’ve left a couple of messages. They’re intending to come back to Dartmouth in late September to put it on the market. Apparently what it fetches will keep them in cruises for the next ten years.’ I really don’t know what to say. I hardly know Kit’s parents. She was left in the care of her aunt Florence once she reached puberty, while they went abroad. The gallery is the last of their property sold to fund an obsession with travelling. ‘They say it’s time for me to get a real job, that they can’t support me in my little hobby any longer.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I burst out. ‘They can’t really believe that. You’ve put your heart and soul into that gallery.’ Freddy hands me a glass of fizz. ‘The problem is darling that property fetches so much in Dartmouth now, and Kit’s parents are obviously running out of the readies.’
‘Let’s not talk about it anymore,’ Kit responds as I open my mouth to speak again. ‘Everything happens for a reason. Maybe I’m ready for another challenge. And, anyway, we’ve got more pressing problems than my employment situation. Shall we eat up top?’ She hands the food tray to Freddy before making her way resolutely up the stairs to the deck, clearly wanting to put an end to the conversation. I sigh, knowing of old that when Kit doesn’t want to talk, she simply won’t. Leaning back down, she reaches for the tray held up in Freddy’s hands with instructions for him to bring the wine. And that is pretty much that.
We sit in the little cockpit with our tray of goodies resting on a lifebuoy. The early evening weather is sunny and humid, the sort that promises an awesome thunderstorm later. As I take another sip of my sparkling wine, I look out over the river, still bustling with yachts and boats of all sizes, and hear the sound of muted laughter drifting over the water. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so isolated from the rest of the world and I ruthlessly shove down the thought of being here with Noah – just the two of us. God, I miss him so much. I wonder where he is now, and unable to help myself, I twist round to look towards the mouth of the Dart. To my relief, his house is hidden from view.
‘He’s in Ireland,’ responds Kit quietly to my wistful look. ‘That’s where he said he was going anyway. I think they’re going to be filming there.’ I turn back to look at my two friends, both regarding me sympathetically. But there really is nothing else to say. Instead, I reach down to help myself to some bread and pâté, giving some to Dotty who finally appears to have gotten over her fear of boats, or at least put it aside in favour of her stomach.
‘I think the best thing to do for starters is to call Jimmy,’ I say with false optimism. ‘He could well have more information about dad’s whereabouts.’ Then, determined to focus on something, anything to stop me thinking about what I’ve lost, I fish around for my mobile phone and bring up Jimmy’s number. He answers on the second ring, leading me to think he’s been waiting for my call. ‘Tory?’ His voice is filled with relief. ‘Have you heard from dad?’ I say without preamble.
‘I spoke to him this morning,’ Jimmy answers, equally happy not to waste time in small talk. ‘Told me to give you the message that you’re not to worry, everything’s being sorted out. He’s positive all the charges will be dropped. You’re to give him a couple of days, then he’ll call you.’
‘Here we go again, don’t worry Tory, stop fussing Tory, trust me Tory.’ My voice is loud as I feel the frustrated anger begin to swamp me. ‘When for fuck’s sake is somebody going to tell me the truth?’ There’s a shocked silence on the other end of the line. I don’t swear often, and definitely not to Jimmy who’s been like a second father to me my whole life. ‘I’m sorry Jimmy,’ I mumble eventually, my anger deflating like a popped balloon, ‘I know you’re protecting my father, but for pities sake, the whole thing is beginning to wear bloody thin.’
‘I know,’ is his quiet answer, then, after a short pause, ‘Where are you? How are things with Noah?’
‘Noah and I aren’t together anymore. I’m okay, you don’t have to worry about me. If you speak to dad, tell him that he’d better damn well call me soon, or I’m coming to London myself to get some bloody answers.’ Then I determinedly cut the call and shove my phone back into my pocket before saying brightly, ‘Come on Freddy, you’re slacking, my glass has been empty for all of five minutes.’
By the time Ben comes to pick Kit and Freddy up just after nine, we are all more than a little squiffy. As they leave, I throw my arms around Kit declaring that she’s the best friend in the whole wide world. I want so badly to ask her to sta
y, but even in my slightly inebriated state, I know that she can’t babysit me twenty four seven. She needs some alone time to sort out her own life. And Freddy? Truth is, I’d probably end up shoving him overboard.
Instead, I stand on the deck and wave, watching them go, until their dots climb out of the dinghy at the boat float and finally disappear up the gang plank, swallowed up in the dusk. Then, I pick Dotty up and take her to do her business at the forward end of the yacht, which is where Ben says he’s trained his dog to do it, and no doubt inspired by the leftover doggy smells, she obligingly squats down. After praising her effusively, I swill the deck as instructed and, taking her back down into the cabin, snuggle her little warm body to me, murmuring, ‘We’ll make a sailor of you yet Dotspot.’ Then I close the hatch, shutting out the world, take off my jeans and we both snuggle up under the slightly damp and salty duvet already made up in the tiny forward cabin.
Chapter Thirteen
Forty years ago…
‘What the bloody hell do you mean, it’s got your real name on it? Who the bollocking hell are you anyway?’
‘I can’t tell you.’ Doris’ voice came out in little more than a whisper. His face was white and strained, a stark contrast to the leftover streaks of blood now drying on his chin. Nervously he twisted the ends of the remaining tissues in his hand. ‘It’s much better if you don’t know, trust me.’ He sighed as the two lieutenants remained silent, identical sceptical expressions on their faces, then continued frustratedly, ‘It doesn’t really matter who I am, the thing is, someone at that brothel might recognize the name and if they do, then we’re all done for.’ Charles snorted in derision before saying sarcastically, ‘You can’t be that bloody famous sunshine. If we don’t know who you are, I’m damn sure a Thai prostitute isn’t going to cotton on. I don’t think any of ‘em spoke English anyway.’
Sweet Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 2) Page 11