Together

by Julie Cohen

  The room of her own was the key, of course.

  She clung on to his hand, a little unsteady on her feet, and giggled. Her name was . . . it was . . .

  ‘Cynthia,’ he said, and he knew he’d got it right, mostly because she didn’t slap him. ‘Don’t fall over. I need you to talk to the guy watching the boats.’

  ‘Talk to him?’ She wrinkled up her nose. It was a common thing with her; she’d have wrinkles one day if she wasn’t careful.

  ‘Flirt with him. You’re good at that.’ He nudged her and she giggled. ‘I only need five minutes and then I’ll meet you—’ he pointed upstream, under the bridge— ‘that way. OK?’

  ‘Kiss me first.’

  He checked to make sure the boy with the punts wasn’t watching and then kissed her swiftly on her lips. They tasted of lipstick and beer. ‘Now go. Turn on the charm, will you?’

  She wiggled her hips in an exaggerated fashion as she went down the bank to the place where the punts were moored. He watched as she approached the boy. He couldn’t hear her from here, but he knew what she was saying: she was asking him for a cigarette, which was exactly the same line he’d used on her earlier this afternoon. It worked, because the boy got a hopeful look on his face and dug into his breast pocket for a pack.

  While he was bent over her, lighting the cigarette with matches that kept going out, Rob slipped behind them and around to the bank. The punts were moored to each other, side by side. He jumped on to the first one lightly enough so that it hardly rocked and swiftly made his way across them like stepping stones until he’d reached the one on the end. He stashed his duffel back in the bottom, threw the line off and pushed away downstream, free. He waited until he was several yards away to get up on the back and use the pole, ducking under the bridge. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Cynthia was still deep in conversation with the boy, who hadn’t noticed a thing.

  He’d never been on this particular type of boat, but he pushed the punt with efficient jabs of the pole, getting into the rhythm immediately: into the water, push away, use the pole to steer the craft like a rudder. The punt was simple, shallow and wide-bottomed. It was sturdily made, which it had to be; although the river was shallow here, the current subtle, the prow and sides of the boat were covered in dents and scrapes from poor handling. It was well enough looked after, though, probably re-varnished earlier this spring.

  Robbie steered it past colleges made of warm red brick and yellow sandstone, windows, under a willow and a mullioned medieval-looking bridge. Everything here was so old. And the buildings . . . he’d never seen anything like it. Seen from the river, they seemed even taller but more like human dwellings, with moss growing on them and windows open to the air.

  When he got to a place where the river opened out a bit, with grass on either side of the bank and buildings rising in the near distance like wedding cakes, he slowed down and lingered until Cynthia appeared. He held out a hand and helped her on to the boat, though she made it rock and wobble as she got in.

  ‘He’s going to be angry when he sees a boat missing!’ she said.

  ‘We’ll have it back before he even notices.’ He launched them away from the bank with a strong push.

  ‘Watch out!’ Another punt, full of what looked like students with their jackets of tweed, lay directly in their path. Robbie knew their type: the idle rich who bought the boats Robbie made and owned the boats Robbie sailed and who paid him to ferry them back and forth in his dinghy and to haul their boats out of the water every winter and sand and repair and varnish and paint. Sometimes they paid him to give them sailing lessons, though Robbie tried to avoid that when he could – unless they had a pretty daughter.

  The man on the back of the other boat held up his punting pole as if he were going to fend Robbie’s boat off. The action made his boat wobble, and the passengers held on to the sides, even though there was little chance of such a wide-bottomed boat capsizing in totally calm waters.

  Robbie put some strength into his steering and they veered safely to the side, missing the other boat by inches.

  ‘Tosser!’ yelled one of the tweed jackets and Robbie laughed. They were soon far ahead, gliding easily along the smooth, green river between smooth, green banks.

  Cynthia had settled back into the boat, facing him so she was riding backward. ‘Do you like my nails?’ She waved her fingers at him. The nails were painted pink.

  ‘Great.’

  ‘I got lipstick the same colour but you can’t really tell unless you hold them together.’ She put her fingers on her lips, pouting as if she were kissing them, and waited for him to appreciate her.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Robbie.

  ‘It’s the same one was in Vogue last week.’

  ‘Nice.’

  She lowered her hand and looked around. ‘This is quite boring, though, isn’t it? Just sitting in a boat.’

  ‘It’s good practice for when I go to Venice.’ And he liked it: the green, almost ripe, scent of the water, the stately pace of the punt, the liquid dip of the pole and the ripple the drops made when he lifted it out of the water. It had a nice rhythm to it.

  ‘This doesn’t even go fast,’ Cynthia said.

  ‘Oh, I can make it go faster.’ He put more arms into it, pushed harder, enjoying the burn in his muscles.

  Cynthia yawned. She trailed her fingers in the water, then evidently remembered her manicure and took them out again, wiping them on her dress.

  They passed under another willow that caressed Robbie’s face with soft narrow leaves. He was just going to suggest they stopped the punt somewhere secluded for a little while so he could possibly show her something that wasn’t so boring, when he heard a female yelp of alarm.

  Ahead of them, a punter had got her pole stuck in the mud and she’d held on while the boat went on without her. She clung to the pole in the centre of the river, her feet dabbling in the water.

  The shriek hadn’t come from her; it was a young girl in the boat she’d left, kneeling in the bottom with her arms outstretched towards her suspended pilot. ‘Emily!’ she cried, drifting in slow motion with momentum and the current.

  Robbie didn’t stop to think. ‘Try to catch the boat with the girl,’ he said to Cynthia, laying the pole down in the punt and immediately jumping off the back and into the river.

  The water wasn’t cold, nor was it deep; he’d guess three and a half feet at the most, but it was quicker to swim. He reached the stranded girl on the pole in seconds and stood up, laughing, his arms outstretched and dripping. ‘Jump,’ he said, and she looked at him.

  It was the girl from the station. The one with the blue eyes.

  She stared at him as if she was trying to figure out if he were a figure of her imagination.

  ‘Jump,’ he told her again, ‘or you’ll get wet.’

  She let go of the pole and slid into his arms. She was light; the fabric of her blouse was soft in his hand. Her body was warm and slender.

  ‘It’s you,’ she said.

  ‘It’s you.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Rescuing you.’ He began wading towards the bank. The bottom of the river was very muddy; it crawled into his shoes and made walking difficult. He couldn’t have cared less.

  ‘The pole got stuck,’ she said.

  ‘I’m glad it did.’ Her eyes were deeper blue than he’d thought, or maybe it was the sunshine that made them seem so. The same colour the ocean had been the first time he’d ever seen it, aged sixteen, and never having been anywhere but Ohio in his life: a few shades darker than the bluest of cloudless skies. She had fair skin, freckles on her nose, a white parting, straight, light brown hair tucked behind one ear and escaping the other.

  ‘Put your arm around my neck,’ he told her, and she did. It brought her face closer to his. She smelled of daffodils and sunshine. He could feel her he
art beating against his chest.

  He reached the bank far too soon and set her down gently on the grass. She scrambled to her feet as he climbed up beside her.

  ‘You’re sopping wet.’

  ‘But you’re almost dry, so it’s worth it.’ He stared at her again. She had a waist like a willow branch. She wore a white blouse, tucked into a blue skirt. And those eyes, like every freedom he’d ever tasted. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Emily.’

  ‘I’m Robert.’ He held out his hand to her, a silly formality, but he wanted to touch her again. Touch her bare skin.

  She put her hand in his and he curved his fingers round it.

  The world didn’t stop. Not exactly. He still felt his soaked clothes clinging to his body, still felt the sunshine on his shoulders and the top of his head; he still breathed and dripped water on to the grass but all of that had become more, somehow. Bigger and brighter. Louder and wetter and warmer. And the feeling of her little hand in his, like it belonged there.

  ‘Wow,’ he said, and she took a step closer to him, just one, enough so he could smell her hair.

  ‘Robert!’

  ‘Emily!’

  Oh. Yeah.

  They turned at the same time, hands still joined, to look at the river. The young girl in Emily’s boat was holding on to the punt that Robbie had abandoned, which had obviously been carried by momentum. Cynthia sat in the back, her arms folded against her chest, the punt pole lying on the bottom of the boat, untouched.

  ‘Useless,’ muttered Robbie, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. ‘Who is that? Your sister?’

  ‘Help!’ cried Polly. ‘We’re going to drift into the sea!’

  ‘My melodramatic little sister Polly,’ confirmed Emily. She hadn’t removed her hand from his. ‘Who’s that in your boat?’

  ‘My date.’

  ‘Oh.’ She tried to withdraw her hand, then, but Robbie kept it.

  ‘What are you doing later tonight?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’m entertaining my little sister. And you’ve got a date.’ She managed to pull her hand away from his.

  ‘I don’t have to have a date.’

  She screwed up her eyes. ‘Really? You did this very nice thing by rescuing me and now you have to ruin it by being an utter bounder?’

  ‘Bounder?’ he repeated, amused. ‘Do you really say that?’

  ‘Robert! I’m waiting!’

  ‘I’ll go and fetch them.’ Emily stepped towards the bank, but Robbie caught her by the wrist.

  ‘And get all wet? That would mean I’d rescued you for nothing.’ He called, ‘Cynthia, tie the boats together with that line. And you’ve got a pole there. Try pushing yourself towards the bank with it.’

  Cynthia continued frowning, her arms folded, making no move towards the pole, as the boats continued to drift slowly downstream. They were quite a distance away from Robbie and Emily now.

  ‘I’ll do it!’ yelled Polly. She grabbed the line trailing from the bow of her punt and scrambled up and over the side of her boat into Cynthia’s. She tied the two bowlines together and then reached for the pole.

  ‘Your little sister is something,’ Robbie told Emily. ‘Does that run in the family?’

  Polly nearly whacked Cynthia in the face with the pole, getting it into the river.

  ‘She’s never been punting before,’ said Emily.

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Only as a passenger.’

  ‘I’m not sure she’s going to manage,’ said Robbie. He couldn’t seem to make himself let go of Emily’s wrist. He thought about slipping his arm around her waist and wondered if she’d slap him, considering he’d admitted he had a date currently drifting away from them down the river. On balance, he thought it was worth the risk.

  She didn’t slap him.

  Polly pushed, grunting, and the boat wavered very slightly towards the bank. ‘How was that?’ she yelled. ‘Should I do it again?’

  ‘I’d better go after them.’ Reluctantly, he released Emily’s waist and jumped back into the water.

  It only took a few minutes for him to reach them. Polly was pulling the pole up to have another try. She narrowly missed his head as he stood up next to the punt.

  ‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘Don’t kill me, please.’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ said Polly. ‘Thank you for rescuing us.’

  ‘No problem.’ Cynthia was staring daggers at him, but he smiled at her and began pulling the linked punts towards the bank.

  ‘It’s very romantic,’ said Polly. ‘My name is Paulina Greaves, what’s yours?’

  ‘Robert Brandon the Second.’

  ‘Are you American?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Wow.’

  Having the punts tied side by side was a little awkward and the boat full of snooty students glided past them, taunting, but Robbie managed to get his boats to the bank without too much trouble. Once there, Polly hopped out immediately and Cynthia stayed in the boat, on her high horse. Standing waist-deep in the water, Robbie lashed the boats together more efficiently and then climbed out on to the bank to moor them to a pole sunk in the bank for this purpose.

  Emily had walked the short distance along the bank to meet them and her sister was chattering a mile a minute to her.

  ‘Did you see how I jumped from our boat to the other one? I think I could have steered it to the bank if Robert hadn’t come back. Did you notice he’s American? That girl he’s with is snotty, though, isn’t she?’

  ‘Polly,’ Emily said, warningly.

  ‘Do you want to get out?’ Robbie asked, holding out his hand to Cynthia, who merely glared. Shrugging, he went to Emily.

  ‘You were doing a fine job, Paulina,’ he told her. ‘You would have got the hang of it eventually. I can show you some tricks, if you want.’

  ‘Yes! That would be—’

  ‘No,’ said Emily. ‘Robert isn’t free to spend time with us. He’s got a prior commitment.’

  ‘But Em—’

  ‘His date is waiting for him. Isn’t that right, Robbie?’

  There was a loud ‘harumph’ from the punt.

  ‘At least let me get your pole for you,’ Robbie said. He jumped in the river a third time and the boat full of toffs jeered. He cheerfully treated them to a rude hand signal before swimming to the stranded pole and retrieving it.

  By the time he’d returned, Cynthia had disappeared.

  ‘She stormed off,’ Polly told him.

  ‘Oh.’ Robbie heaved the pole into Emily and Polly’s boat. ‘Well then, that solves one problem, doesn’t it? I’ve officially got no plans.’

  He grinned at Emily, who tightened her lips and looked down at the grass.

  ‘Paulina,’ he said, not taking his gaze from Emily, the way her hair slipped out from behind her ear to fall around her face, ‘you can practise your pole placement right here on the bank, if you want to. Practise twisting it when you pull it up. That way it won’t get stuck and you won’t get stranded, like your sister did.’

  ‘Good idea!’ said Polly and she bounced away to the punt.

  ‘Her name is Polly, really,’ Emily said to the grass. ‘It’s not Paulina.’

  ‘Paulina suits her.’ Robbie stepped closer. ‘Meet me tonight, Emily.’

  ‘I’ve got plans with Polly.’

  ‘Can I tag along?’

  ‘No. You can’t.’

  She shook her head and a strand of hair fell into her eyes. He tucked it behind her ear for her. Her hair was like silk.

  She swallowed. ‘You’re supposed to be with another woman.’

  ‘But right now, you and me. We saw each other at the station, and I wanted to talk to you, but you were running in the other direction. I thought you were getting on a train. If I’d known you weren’t
I would have stuck around.’

  ‘I was meeting my sister.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before.’ He made to touch the side of her face, the softness of her cheek, but she inhaled sharply again and stepped back.

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘You’ve been incredibly rude.’

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘OK, I’ll go after her and apologise. You’re right – I’ve behaved badly. But I couldn’t resist. You were just . . . hanging there. Like an apple on a tree.’ He laughed, and he saw her mouth curve slightly into an answering smile.

  ‘Go and apologise,’ she told him.

  ‘I’m already gone.’ He took a step backwards, another, watching her face. ‘But only if you promise you’ll meet me. If not tonight, then tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘It’s a great idea. It’s a wonderful idea. Meet me at – when are you free?’

  ‘My sister’s train goes at four,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘Meet me at five. Right here, in this very spot. Five o’clock.’

  ‘I might not make it.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting anyway.’

  He walked backwards for as long as he could, so he didn’t have to stop looking at her. Then his shoulder hit a tree and he rubbed it ruefully and turned around.

  He found Cynthia not far down the path, sitting on a low wall smoking a cigarette. Although she made a show of not looking at him, it was obvious that she’d waited on purpose.

  He sat beside her. ‘Sorry. That was rude. I shouldn’t have let you drift down the river on your own.’

  ‘Anything could have happened. I could have tipped over.’

  ‘Well, no, that couldn’t have happened. You were perfectly safe, and anyway, the river was only a few feet deep.’

  ‘That other girl’s dress was worth saving.’

  There wasn’t much he could say to that, that wouldn’t also be rude, so he didn’t say anything. Water ran from his clothes and dripped on to the path under his feet. He wanted a cigarette, and the ones in his pocket were ruined, but he didn’t quite feel able to ask her for one.

  She stubbed out her own cigarette on the wall. ‘Well, you can make up for it by buying me a drink.’