by Katie Fforde
Cliff poured the wine. 'So, Tom, you work in a boatyard, Dora told me in her email,' he said as he handed Tom a glass, but with, Dora was relieved to notice, only polite interest.
‘Yes,' said Tom as they all sat down. 'It's like an apprenticeship, really. I studied at Falmouth but it took a while to find somewhere to take me on. I do anything boat-related that I can.'
‘Why don't you study to be a surveyor or something?’
Tom made a face. 'I may do that eventually but I got really fed up with studying and I want to go travelling for a bit before I settle down to a real career.'
‘Quite right,' said Dora, sipping her drink. 'I want to travel too.' The more she thought about it, the more she felt that this was true.
‘Do you? Then why don't you?' said Cliff.
‘I will,' said Dora firmly. 'When I've saved up enough.' Although she would hardly have admitted this to herself, she was quite glad her mother was out of earshot when she said this.
Sukie reappeared with a dish divided into compart ments, each one containing a different sort of nibble. 'Have an olive, Tom,' she said, putting the dish on the table. 'Or a cherry tomato with cheese. Those are stuffed vine-leaves, and those are just green beans tied with a bit of leek. Oh, and I've got some nice crisps, the ones you like, Dora.'
‘Thanks Mum, that's really kind,' said Dora. 'And of course I'll give you a hand with lunch in a minute.'
‘This looks like lunch to me,' said Tom, helping himself to a miniature kebab of chicken, tomato, cheese and pimento.
Cliff laughed. 'These are just a few little snacks before we eat. We're having coronation chicken with salad. Have a napkin, Tom.'
‘You've gone to so much trouble, Mum. You needn't have.'
‘Well, it's not every day your runaway daughter comes home, is it?' Sukie's eyes were bright, and Dora realised that while she might have gone over the top with the hospitality, it was for all the right reasons.
‘I didn't exactly run away from home,' said Dora.
‘Let's not get into that now,' said Cliff. 'Have something else to eat, Tom.'
‘Thank you,' said Tom, speaking with his mouth full. 'So, tell us about your new job,' said Sukie, pulling up a chair near Dora's.
‘Well, it's in a boatyard, in the office. It was a complete muddle when I joined. I'm having such a good time sorting it all out.'
‘But, darling, a boatyard! It doesn't sound quite as good as an estate agent. Do you meet nice people?’
Dora glanced at Tom, who winked at her. 'Oh yes, very nice.'
‘Tell me about this trip you're going on,' said Cliff. 'To Holland, isn't it?'
‘That's right,' said Dora.
‘I don't understand why the boat can't be repaired in England,' said Sukie, sipping her wine. 'Why can't it be taken somewhere a bit nearer?'
‘It doesn't actually need repairing,' said Tom. 'It has to have a survey for its certificate – rather like an MOT, I suppose. And while it's out of the water, it's going to have its hull gritblasted and given an epoxy coating.'
‘Really?' asked Cliff. 'That's a good idea, is it?'
‘Lots of surveyors recommend it nowadays,' said Tom, oblivious to Cliff's rather bewildered look. Once he was on to the subject of boats there was no stopping him. 'Our boatyard wanted to offer the service but because it's in a residential area, they weren't allowed. Noise pollution,' he explained.
Sukie caught Dora's eye. 'Do come and look at this new outfit I've bought. It's for Hannah's wedding.' She turned away, obviously trying to avoid looking reproachful. 'I couldn't bear to wear the outfit I bought for yours.'
‘OK, Mum, let's have a look. But I hope you haven't bought anything that's too old for you. Lots of those Mother-of-the-Bride outfits are terribly ageing… Sorry! I didn't mean that quite like it sounded.’
To her surprise and relief her mother managed a laugh. 'It's being the mother of the bride that's ageing, sweetheart, nothing to do with the clothes.’
Dora pulled her mother to her feet and kissed her. 'Let's go and look.’
Upstairs in her mother's bedroom, Dora put her arms round Sukie. 'Mum, I know I've tried, but I've never really managed to say sorry for all the awful trouble I caused you. I do think I did the right thing not marrying John, but I should have found that out a bit sooner.’
Sukie patted Dora's arm. 'It's OK, after I got over the upset, I understood that it was better just before the wedding than just after. John's got a very nice new girl friend now. We met her when we went there for drinks.'
‘That's nice.' Dora wandered over to the dressing table and started picking up bottles, reading the labels and sniffing them. Although she was pleased for John, she couldn't help feeling it was rather pathetic of him not to stay single for a while and just find a replacement for her immediately.
‘So you and Tom..
‘No. I've said. He's a lovely friend but there's nothing else between us.'
‘You don't think anything could – develop?’
Dora sighed. 'John obviously doesn't feel the same about this as I do, but I think it's a bit soon to start rushing into a new relationship. Now, let's see this outfit.’
Sukie moved across the room and opened the wardrobe. 'You're absolutely right. Men are so pathetic about being alone, aren't they? Even quite nice men, who really loved their wives, seem to find new ones really quickly if they're widowed. Jo's still on her own, isn't she?'
‘Apart from me, she is. Now, what have you bought yourself? Oh! Fab! I bet that was expensive,' said Dora as her mother laid a confection of peach and pale grey swirls on silk chiffon, palazzo pants and a long coat tenderly on the bed. 'Much nicer than what you bought to wear at my wedding!'
‘Perhaps I'll save it for when you do decide to get married.' They exchanged glances in the mirrored wardrobe door.
Dora decided to risk teasing her mother. 'I wouldn't bother. You're bound to have put on weight by then. And you wouldn't want people thinking you were mutton dressed up as lamb.'
‘Cheeky! But you do like the outfit? I thought I'd wear the same hat as I got for yours. It was so expensive.’
‘Put it on. Let's see the whole effect.'
‘I feel it's important to look good, for my pride's sake,' said Sukie, twiddling with her hair under the hat.
‘But, Mummy' – Dora reverted to what she had called her mother as a child without noticing – 'no one thinks it's anything to do with you. They're all blaming me.'
‘I know, but it's not very nice having everyone think your daughter's a flibbertigibbet who can't make up her mind.’
Dora swallowed. She hadn't really thought about this aspect of it. 'Well, anyway, that's a really super get-up. All your friends will envy you and the best man will run off with you.’
Her mother laughed and took the hat off. 'I must say I think it's awful what's happened to Jo. That girl must be half her age!'
‘I don't think quite half.'
‘And is it true she's pregnant?’
Dora considered. There was no point in pretending ignorance. 'Yes, but don't spread it about. Jo's quite upset, although she's not showing it.'
‘Too late for discretion. The whole village knows.'
‘Oh dear. I can see why Jo left – and me. It would be awful to stay here and know that everyone is talking about you.'
‘Well, dear, one does have to be aware that the reason we've managed to keep our village shop when so many have gone is because of the gossip.'
‘Hm. I can't decide if that's a good or a bad thing. I never picked up any useful gossip when I lived here.'
‘Oh, they wouldn't talk about you to your face, darling. Now, let's go and see if your father and Tom have stopped talking about boats. I can only take so much of that sort of chat.’
As she followed her mother downstairs, Dora reflected that she was quite interested in boats, now that she lived on one, worked in a boatyard and was planning a voyage. Just as well, really.
*
Jo ha
d borrowed Tilly's state-of-the-art food processor and had Radio 4 on loudly. Her eyes had stopped streaming since she'd created a pile of chopped onion the size of a large melon, one of celery nearly as big, and now she was decimating several pounds of carrots. Minced beef was browning in a frying pan and she was enjoying herself.
She switched off the machine and consulted her list. 'Now,' she muttered, 'If I make a basic mince and tomato thing I can add beans and turn it into chilli, but I won't bother using a dish for that, only those plastic containers-’
She screamed.
‘Sorry,' said Marcus, coming into the galley. 'I did knock but you obviously didn't hear me.’
Appalled to think she'd been caught talking to herself, Jo ran her hands through her hair and somehow managed to get onion juice into her eye at the same time. 'Oh God, now ['11 have to run my eye under a cold tap.' She managed a very feeble smile and rushed for the bathroom. 'Keep an eye on the mince!' she called before slamming the door shut behind her.
Inside the bathroom she ran the cold tap and started splashing her face before she had a chance to look at how red and puffy her eyes were. How could he creep up on her Like that? It was an outrage! Then she remembered that the water supply was not inexhaustible and turned off the tap. She dried her face on the hand towel and took stock before finding some moisturiser that was probably Dora's.
The trouble was, she suspected she had conjured Marcus up just by thinking about him as she peeled and chopped and fried. She had meant to think about the new set of challenges that were waiting for her at Miranda's shop, but Marcus had just drifted into her head, through Radio 4 and her thoughts about cooking. She had begun by wondering what he liked to eat when he was on a passage and it had gone on from there. He intrigued her, and she had to admit he really was very attractive, but he did seem to have a rather dark side. She just hoped it stayed away whilst they were on their trip. Now here he was in her galley, stirring the mince. Or at least she hoped he was.
She applied Dora's make-up as artlessly as she could. It wouldn't do to let him see that she had applied full slap just because he had appeared. She had had a good reason for running to the bathroom but she couldn't emerge too thoroughly painted.
‘Sorry about that,' she said. 'I'm dreadfully sensitive to onions and have been fighting them all day. Would you like a cup of tea?’
Just at that moment, Jo had no idea of the time. Was tea an appropriate suggestion? A glance at the ship's clock fixed to the bulkhead assured her that it was. 'I've made a cake.' Quite why she added this rider, she didn't know. She'd made it for Dora and Tom when they came home, in case the visit had not gone well.
‘I didn't come for tea and cake,' said Marcus. 'But if you're offering it, I won't say no.’
Jo put the kettle on, less flustered now she had a task to do. 'So why did you come?'
‘I brought a life-raft. It's on deck. You would have heard me getting it aboard if you hadn't had the radio on so loudly.'
‘I had to have it on loudly or I wouldn't have heard the play over the sound of the mixer.'
‘Is it yours?' He regarded the machine, which was about the size of a small fridge, with misgiving.
‘Don't worry, it's only borrowed. It's fantastic, but I agree there isn't really room for it.'
‘I didn't say that.'
‘No. Your thoughts are very loud.’
He laughed. 'You look as if you're planning to feed an army.'
‘I am. I know I'm going to be seasick, so I don't want to have to do more cooking when we're under way than I absolutely have to. I'm going to fill the freezer and the fridge. You'll all be able to come down and just popsomething into the microwave.' She paused. 'Don't worry, you can tell Carole I'm keeping the salt and fat down. Oh, I'd better drain that mince, now.’
Wondering why people always stood in front of the sink when there were acres of other space for them to stand in, she edged him out of the way.
‘What did Miranda think of those bits and pieces you repaired for her?’
Jo nearly spilt the mince into the sink. 'How on earth do you know about that?'
‘Bill rang me about something and mentioned you'd called in at the shop. He didn't tell me if the pieces were all right.’
The boat world bush telegraph was even more active than her village one had been, she thought wryly, slightly taken aback by his interest. 'They were more than all right, actually,' she said. 'Miranda wanted to give me a whole lot more stuff to tackle only I made her keep it until we're home again and I've got a bit more space.' She frowned slightly, blotting at the mince with a bit of kitchen towel.
‘Well, that's good, isn't it?'
‘Of course.'
‘But you look worried.’
She looked up at him in surprise. 'Well, I am a bit.’
‘Why?'
‘Why the interest? I can't have looked all that worried.' She found his questioning unnerving. Why did he care? 'I was just asking,' he said more gently.
Unaware until that moment that she didn't want to talk about her fledgling new career in case it all came to nothing she got a grip on herself. 'I'm sorry. I think the onions are making me irritable. Why don't you go and sit down and I'll make you a cup of tea.'
‘So what are you cooking for us?'
‘Lasagne, chilli, moussaka, though I should have used lamb mince for that really.' She smiled at him. 'I'm thinking of writing a cookery book: A Million Ways with Mince.'
‘Not really?’
Jo raised an eyebrow. 'No, but I could have done. When we were first married, Philip and I didn't have much money. I managed to do very elegant dinner parties that were either vegetarian, or used mince. Just as well we hadn't heard of BSE in those days.’
He smiled reminiscently. 'There were still plenty of mad cows about.'
‘Nowadays it's politically incorrect to refer to women as cows,' she said sternly.
‘Whatever else you may or may not expect of me, you can't expect me to be politically correct.’
This made her laugh a little. 'That much I do believe.’
‘Will you have tea with me? Or am I too politically incorrect?’
She swallowed, trying to make sense of her feelings. In one way she had to admit she found Marcus very attractive and he was being very nice to her, interested in her goings-on etc. But she couldn't help remembering that he was used to getting his own way, was a bit arrogant and had a much younger girlfriend. What's more, she just couldn't trust men at the moment. If Philip could leave her after nearly thirty years of marriage, a man like Marcus couldn't possibly be interested in her as a woman. So what was he up to?
‘Marcus, we may not know each other very well, and it may have been a very long time since we first knew each other, but your lack of PC-ness comes as no surprise. I will have a cup of tea, though. Do you want some cake?'
‘Mm. Yes please.’
So was she giving him cake because he was a man shewanted to impress or because she saw him as a boy she wanted to indulge? She'd had too many shocks lately, she decided, it had addled her brain – even her thoughts were gibberish.
Jo made two mugs of tea and then found the cake, which was hiding under a recipe she'd printed off the Internet. She brought the tea and then went back for the cake. Could she ask him outright why he hadn't just dumped the life-raft?
‘So, was there any other reason for coming round? Apart from the life-raft, I mean.’
He seemed to find her directness amusing and was equally direct. 'I came – with the life-raft – to see how you were getting on and to bum a cup of tea off you. I also thought you might have cake.’
She found his directness funny too, and she laughed. 'But, Marcus, it means we have to make polite conversation while you drink the tea and eat the cake.’
He raised his eyebrows in mock horror. 'I never thought of that.'
‘Don't worry. I'm good at thinking of uncontroversial topics of conversation. Tell me about Ed,' she said, dragging a subject from so
me previously unplumbed depth.
That surprised him. 'Ed? What about him?’
She made a throwaway gesture. 'Well, you know, I'm going boating with him. I ought to know what he's like.' Marcus apparently sensed that while Jo was being glib about her social skills, underneath it all she was unsettled and uncomfortable. 'Joanna, what's wrong?'
‘Nothing's wrong. I'm fine!'
‘No you're not. You seem anxious again. I wonder why?'
Jo took a breath. She thought she knew why but there
weren't enough wild horses in the universe to drag the information from her. She was annoyed with her brain and her body being so out of sync. Her brain didn't trust men, especially men like Marcus, so her body should jolly well do the decent thing and reject them too.
‘So – what does Ed like to eat?' Jo didn't want him to start counselling her again.
Marcus shook his head slightly, apparently giving up his attempts to get Jo to unburden. 'He'll eat anything, sleep anywhere, and takes his turn at the washing-up. He's very house-trained. I've known him a long time.'
‘He sounds like good news for lots of reasons. We'll definitely have him on the trip.’
Marcus smiled. 'He's also got years of ship-handling experience; he can steer. What about Tom, since we're interrogating each other on our choice of shipmate?'
‘You know about Tom, and as you've already told him he can come, you can't change your mind now.’
He studied her for a few seconds before answering. 'You fight for those you're fond of, don't you?'
‘Of course! Don't you?'
‘I'm not often fond of people. It's hard to tell.’
Suddenly her tension disappeared. She patted him firmly on the wrist. 'Oh, have some more cake, you miserable old misanthrope.’
He laughed and lifted his hand as if to cover Jo's, but just before Jo could panic, they heard Tom and Dora arrive. Marcus replaced his hand on the table and they both listened to the clattering down the stairs.
‘Hey, Jo! What's that enormous suitcase doing on deck? Oh, hello, Marcus,' added Dora.