by Katie Fforde
Jo got up, laughing. 'That'll suit me fine, then. The CD player's over there.’
The heavy rock music did get Jo into the mood for cleaning. She'd meant to do it all before Dora came, of course, but after she'd done the bathroom and Dora's bedroom, there'd been no time for the saloon and kitchen.
Dora had purloined the Hoover and was putting her back into the floor. Jo was trying to clear the table, a much less satisfying task as it required decisions. Jo hated making decisions. Unaware that she was doing it, she put her hand in her pocket and found a piece of ribbon. It had come off a bale of tea towels she had bought for Dora's benefit. She squared off a pile of papers and magazines and tied the ribbon round it. Then she put it next to the bowl of fruit. She considered. Not quite an artistic statement, but it did make it look as if the papers needed to be there.
Living on her own had allowed her to become even more untidy than she had been before. When she was married, to a tidy man, she'd been forced to clean and tidy at boringly regular intervals. Now she was free of that she'd let things slide rather. She filled the dishwasher with her usual lightning speed. The rock music made her want to dance and she did wiggle about a bit as she wiped the surfaces in the kitchen, but really letting rip might have made Dora worry that she was now living with a lunatic. Worse, she might report back to Karen that her mother had finally lost it.
She wiped a cloth wrung out in a bleach solution round the portholes, where condensation, and then black mould, tended to gather. It wasn't her barge, she only rented it, but it was her home. When Michael, an old university friend of Philip's, had offered it as a place she might go to, she'd been thrilled.
Philip had been totally against the idea. 'You could never live on a boat!' he had said. 'It's a ridiculous idea! Why not rent a flat or a house somewhere instead?’
Any idea that living on a barge might not be a good idea had evaporated at his words. Living in a cut-down, lesser version of what she was used to would be humiliating. Finding a completely different solution seemed a much better idea. 'Because I want to live on a barge,' she'd said firmly, 'and there's nothing you can do to stop me!’
There had been a side to Philip that was quite controlling, and the realisation that he'd forfeited his right to tell his wife what he felt was best for her had caused him to fall silent for a moment. 'Well, don't come running to me if it all goes wrong!' he had said eventually.
‘Philip, you have left me for a younger woman. If I need anything from you at any time, I will ask for it!' She had taken a breath. 'For nearly thirty years I looked after you and Karen, I gave up my career, I kept up the house and garden, I did my bit for the community and I entertained your boring business friends for dinner. You owe me!'
‘You are a wonderful cook,' he'd said, trying to placate the woman who had become much stronger than she had been during their marriage.
‘I know! But I'm no longer your wonderful cook!’
‘Oh, Jo, I do feel bad! You know I do-'
‘Well, how do you think I feel! I'll tell you: discarded. Like a bit of old carpet that did sterling service for years and then is dragged off to the local tip! That's how I feel. And if I want to live on a barge, I will.’
Michael had been very pleased to think his barge might have a tenant. She had met him and he had shown her round.
‘I'm going to be out of the country for at least a year, and boats don't like being left with no one to look after them. You'll be doing me a favour.'
‘It was very kind of you to think of me,' Jo had said. 'Well, I wouldn't have thought of you if Philip hadn't emailed me and told me what had happened.'
‘He did that? How odd! I didn't think you saw each other often enough for that.'
‘Oh, we haven't met for years, but we've got each other's email addresses, and he sent one to everyone in his "old friends" file in his address book.'
‘He didn't!’
Michael had nodded. 'I don't think he's proud of it, Jo. He just felt he had to tell everyone.’
Jo had sighed, trying not to feel betrayed all over again. 'Oh well, it's worked out to my advantage. It's a beautiful barge, and I'm going to love living here.' Especially when she discovered she'd still be able to email Karen and use her mobile, from certain parts of the barge anyway.
‘It's a good community,' Michael had said. 'People from all walks of life live here. Some most of the time, some just for weekends, but they're a good bunch. They'll rally round if necessary.’
Jo had started to say that it wouldn't be necessary, but then realised there was a lot to learn about boat life and she probably would need to call on people for help from time to time, so didn't.
Three weeks later, she'd moved on to the barge. Philip had brought her things, guilt making him extremely helpful. After a few teething problems, when she had needed help to make the pump-out function, she had taken to it like the proverbial duck to water.
‘As long as I don't have to go anywhere,' she had said to Michael on the phone when he'd rung up to check that she'd settled in. 'I'll be absolutely fine!’
And now she had Dora. If Dora's situation hadn't been desperate, she would have suspected her daughter Karen of planting Dora. While she hadn't really been lonely, she was programmed to look after people. Having a broken hearted surrogate daughter was just what she needed.
Soon, she'd have to think about earning a living. Philip had given her quite a large amount of money and she looked on this as a redundancy payment. She'd had no qualms about accepting it. Eventually, when they got divorced, she'd probably be entitled to at least some of the value of the house, but until then, she wanted to keep as much of her lump sum intact as she could. And although having Dora would give her life more focus, she needed something else to do. Since she'd arrived on the barge she'd spent her spare time redoing the paintwork in the original boatman's cabin, which was her bedroom. This was a painstaking activity she mostly did when there was something good on the radio. It involved much sanding down and filling and she had only got to the painting stage quite recently. She looked on it as payback for being given somewhere to live at quite a low rent. But eventually, she knew, she'd have to get a job.
The trouble was, at fifty, she was virtually unemploy able. She hadn't been tempted to go to university and had done a secretarial course instead. Then she'd had office jobs. But those skills were no use to her now. Even if she went on a computer course, no one would take her on without recent office experience and her most recent office experience, if you discounted all the voluntary work she had done over the years, had been working for a manage ment consultancy in London over twenty-five years ago. She had had to beg for an electric typewriter.
She'd had a computer for several years now, and had used it to write minutes, create notices and, more latterly, to shop over the Internet. But she couldn't do spreadsheets, or use accountancy packages, or any of the things a modern office would require.
‘And even if I could,' she had said to Karen, 'no one would take me on at my age.’
Her daughter had tutted but acknowledged the truth of this.
So she'd have to create her own job and work for herself, but for now she had Dora to look after. And they both had a rally to take part in.
‘I'm shattered,' she called to Dora, who was scrubbing the grout round the kitchen tiles with a toothbrush. 'Are you hungry yet?'
‘Mm. Definitely. Do you want me to go for the fish and chips?'
‘We'll go together and I'll show you where the shops are. You deserve a reward. I truly am grateful for your help, especially on your first night here.’
As they passed the shower block Jo suddenly stopped. 'Oh, Dora, I'm so sorry, I've got a letter for you. Seeing where we pick up our post reminded me.' She burrowed about in her handbag and gave the envelope to Dora.
‘That's Dad's handwriting,' she said.
‘You don't have to open it now,' said Jo after a moment, when she saw the look on Dora's face. 'You can do it another time. Let's go.
I can almost smell the vinegar.’
They ate most of their supper on the way home. 'After all, we don't want to make more clearing up,' said Dora, who was, Jo realised, a girl after her own heart.
Chapter Two
‘I should warn you, I doubt if there'll be anyone remotely interesting to you,' said Jo to Dora as they made their way along the pontoon. They had watched the boat-handling competition that afternoon and were now on their way to the dinner. It was a warm evening; lights from the barges twinkled on the water. 'There are some young people who live on a barge at the end but they're away this weekend. I expect it'll all be old duffers. Possibly in blazers and white trousers. Cravats, even.’
Dora laughed. 'I don't mind. I'm definitely not looking for a boyfriend.'
‘I know that but it would be nice if there was someone under fifty for you to talk to. I don't want you to be bored out of your skull. Karen would have gone on for hours if I'd dragged her to anything she didn't enjoy.'
‘I probably would have done before, but now I just want to chat about the weather to people old enough to be my grandparents. Will you know many of the old duffers?’
Jo chuckled. 'I don't think I actually know anyone of that description. I'll know the locals, but there are lots of visiting boats, and people who haven't got barges but want them. They're doing research. Tilly, from Appalachia -that's the boat with the wooden decks and the tubs of flowers near ours – she's going to be there. She's great fun. You'll like her. Her engine is painted pink.'
‘Wow!'
‘Then there's the couple from Blackberry. They're lovely. Quite elderly, and they're not here all the time, but so kind. Doug sorted me out when I had to get gas for the first time.’
‘I'm never going to remember everyone's names.'
‘Don't worry about it. I won't introduce you all that much anyway, because I'm hopeless at remembering names too. I'll just say that you're Dora.'
‘And what else?' Dora stopped and grabbed Jo's arm, suddenly aware that she needed to have some sort of cover story.
Startled by her urgency, Jo turned to her. 'What do you mean?'
‘Well, you'll have to say why I'm here, won't you?’
Jo shook her head as she realised what Dora was talking about. 'Not at all. I'll just say you want to try living near London for a while and are staying with me because it's cheap.'
‘Well, that's true. It's been free, so far.’
Jo waved her hands in a dismissive gesture. 'You only arrived yesterday, and when you've got a job you can pay me rent. Now, do you think I look all right?’
Dora thought it would have been better if Jo had asked this when they were still on the barge and she could have made any necessary alterations, but for some reason she hadn't. Thus there was no point in suggesting powder, or pointing out that her trousers had paint on them. 'You look fine.'
‘You don't think this top is a bit bright?' Jo pulled at it. Dora considered and lied. 'Um. Not really.'
‘That means you do.' Jo let out a frustrated sigh. 'I deliberately left all my tasteful clothes behind. I wanted a new start.' They set off walking again.
‘Right.'
‘And I didn't want to be invisible.'
‘Why on earth should you be invisible?' Dora asked in surprise.
‘Women of my age are, you know. It's a well-known phenomenon.’
Dora cleared her throat. 'Well, you won't be, not in that top.’
Jo put a hand to her neckline, which was quite low. 'It's too revealing and too sparkly, isn't it?'
‘Not really. I mean, it's quite sparkly, but they're very discreet sequins and bugle beads.'
‘What about the revealing bit?'
‘It's perfectly respectable. Even my mother would wear something that low.’
Jo laughed in relief. 'Karen wouldn't be seen dead with me in a top like this.'
‘I will.' Dora tried to be reassuring.
Now the path was wider and they could walk side by side, Jo took Dora's arm in a friendly fashion. 'When Philip left me I bought a lot of very bright clothes, so people wouldn't just look past me. Not purple, of course.'
‘Why not purple?' Dora was mystified.
‘Because of the poem about growing old and wearing purple.'
‘I see,' said Dora, not seeing, but deciding it was easier to humour Jo – she was so different from her mother.
‘I don't want another relationship, heaven forbid, but I don't want people not to notice if I come into a room. That would be just too lowering.'
‘I'm sure they don't. I mean, I'm sure they do notice.’
Jo laughed. 'Wearing this top, they're bound to.’
Although she didn't say so to Dora, Jo's fear of becoming invisible was partly fear of the menopause. This Sword of Damocles had already descended on many of her friends, some of them younger than her. It couldn't be long now,she knew, and she was not looking forward to it. She didn't want to become non-sexual and feared that fate was inevitable – particularly now she was single.
She and Philip had had sex much less frequently over the last couple of years. She had missed it to begin with, but later had felt that sitting in bed together with their books was companionable and, if not a substitute for physical contact, a pleasant thing in itself.
Now she realised it was because Philip no longer fancied her and had another, younger body on offer, and not because he was getting older that he had stopped reaching for her, telling her she was a pretty girl. The Floosie was in her late twenties. She wouldn't be happy to read a book instead of making love. If there was more to Philip's reluctance to have sex than Jo's shortcomings, he would have to get his act together.
Now, she regretted her scarlet top. Should the meno pause choose to arrive during the dinner with a proverbial hot flush, she'd look like a chilli pepper. And whatever Dora said about her mother, she was not convinced it didn't show too much cleavage.
Dora was wondering if she would be asked questions likely to set her off crying again. She decided that Jo was right, all she need say was that she was looking for a change of scene and might get a job in London proper. She'd try and give the impression that she was an ambitious single girl, looking for adventure. Considering how lacking in adventure her life had been up to now, maybe she should look for adventure for real. Although it had felt quite brave before she arrived, going to live with her best friend's mother probably didn't count.
Their arrival at the pub put a stop to their separate thoughts, and they made their way to the top room, which had been set aside for the dinner. They had been there earlier, arranging tables and decorating them, but they hadn't had anything to do with the seating plan and so had no idea where they would be sitting.
They were among the first arrivals. Lots of people were in large groups and Dora, and she thought possibly Jo too, felt rather shy. But someone soon recognised Jo and drew them both into their group. Jo introduced Dora and no one said, 'Who's the little runaway, then?' or anything like that. Logically, Dora realised, this was a highly unlikely scenario, but the previous week at home had been so full of people who felt free to comment on her lack of 'ideas of decent behaviour', as they called it, she was programmed to expect such remarks.
People started looking for their names, and Dora frantically hoped she would be next to, or very near, Jo. But she wasn't. The kind soul who had arranged where every one was to sit had put her over the other side of their table. There was a young man already sitting down, staring into his pint as if settling in for a boring evening.
Dora read her name from a little way away and hesitated before going to sit next to him. He had curly hair and slanting eyes. He looked up as she approached, saw her and smiled. He had a wicked twinkle. Whoever had done the seating plan must have thought she was doing Dora a favour, but she wasn't grateful. She didn't feel remotely sociable, and while she would have managed to make small talk with a kindly ex-naval officer or his wife, she didn't want this admittedly attractive young man who might flir
t with her out of habit.
She looked across at Jo, thinking perhaps she could make some excuse to go and join her, but Jo was sitting next to a pleasant-looking pair of about her own age. She seemed set for a convivial evening.
‘Hi, I'm Torn,' said the young man, taking her hand andshaking it, although she hadn't offered it. He looked directly at her as he said hello. The slanting eyes were dark brown.
‘Dora,' she replied, sitting down beside him.
‘Unusual. I haven't met a Dora before.'
‘It's in Dickens, David Copperfield, although she was a bit of a wimp.'
‘Are you a bit of a wimp?' he asked.
Surprised, Dora laughed. 'Yes, since you ask.'
‘Well, you don't look too bad on it. I always think of wimp rhyming with limp, which is like damp. You don't seem damp.'
‘If I fell in, I would be.’
Tom laughed. 'So would anyone. Do you live on a barge, then? Or are you just a visitor?'
‘Urn – I live on a barge.'
‘You don't sound too sure.'
‘I only moved on yesterday but I'm here for a while.’
‘Which barge?'
‘The Three Sisters.'
‘Oh. The Klipper.'
‘What?'
‘It's a Klipper. It's a sort of barge. You haven't been here long, have you?'
‘No. I said.' Dora fiddled with her cutlery, embarrassed by her lack of knowledge.
‘So, are you interested in barges?’
She regarded him. 'I don't know! I've hardly had a chance to find out what a barge is!'
‘It's a bloody great boat,' said Tom solemnly.
Now Dora laughed. 'I did pick up that much.'
‘So, if you're not a barge fanatic, why are you here?’
‘I'm staying with my best friend's mother. I fancied living nearer London and she offered me a room. It's quite cheap.' It would be quite cheap, she knew that, and was satisfied by how all this came out. It didn't sound like she was running away at all.