How to Stuff Up Christmas

by Rosie Blake

  6.34 p.m. She had been on the boat for less than two hours. She had unpacked and changed into dry clothes. The day had darkened and the portholes showed nothing but black, rain dripping like tears down them, an insistent drumming overhead as if tiny pieces of metal were cascading from the sky. She had washed her hands in the teeny square of bathroom. She had made herself a cup of tea, the tink of the spoon in the sink startling her. She bit her lip, rubbed at her palm, crossed and uncrossed her legs. Maybe she would have another cup of tea.

  6.38 p.m. She got up to fiddle with the small television stuck on the wall. It remained stubbornly blank and she gave up quite quickly, selecting a dog-eared copy of 200 Unusual Orchids and curling up on the bench to flick through its pages.

  6.46 p.m. She tapped her teeth with her fingers, yawned, stretched. This wasn’t quite how she had envisaged her first night – alone on a hard bench reading a book on botany and counting the hairs on her forearm. (She’d got to thirty-six – did she need to start waxing her forearms? Was that a thing?)

  6.52 p.m. Dinner!

  She’d make dinner. Normally she couldn’t face making dinner after a long day and especially on an upset stomach, but it would definitely eat up some time. She only knew about three recipes but inspiration would strike, she was sure of it; she just needed the time and inclination. She hopped off the bench, leaving a bookmark in the page of the Lady Slipper Orchid in case she lost her place and missed something really unusual in the orchid world.

  6.57 p.m. Oh dear. Ingredients were sparse. Pasta, rice, a can of anchovies, a digestive biscuit packet, half-eaten and tied up with a rubber band, a pot of half-full Dolmio. Her heart sank as she filled up the kettle. This was it, Eve. Pasta for one. She stared again at the black outside. The rain persisted and she couldn’t face a trip out. Anyway, she wouldn’t know which way to go to find a shop and she was pretty sure nothing would be open at this time.

  7.02 p.m.

  What had she wanted from her first night? There would have been no rain. And there might have been more people. She thought perhaps she would have been welcomed on board by some bandana-wearing Johnny Depp type with a mysterious tattoo that would be about water spirits or such-like. He would lead her to his boat next door to introduce her to his river-going friends, they’d fire up a barbeque on deck, bundle up into layers, sit out on deck looking up at a clear expanse spattered with stars, point out the Plough to her. They’d tell her boat stories, about life on board. Maybe they’d toast marshmallows, the crispy outer layer, the melt-in-the-mouth middle, sickly sweet, soft and delicious.

  Bloody pasta. Bloody rain. Bloody lack of bandana-wearing men.

  7.32 p.m. Her first meal on board! It was okay. No prizes for best meal of the year but edible enough. She’d kept a couple of mouthfuls down and her stomach seemed to have stopped protesting.

  7.37pm. Was that a bird? Her eyes darted to the porthole. Black nothing, drops of water clinging to the surface. Had she locked the boat behind her? It didn’t seem enormously secure. Did people break into boats like they broke into houses? Was it a bird?

  7.42 p.m. She needed to do something about Marmite. He was yapping and racing up and down. Was it a bird? Did he sense movement out there? He wasn’t exactly a trained guard dog but dogs could sense danger.

  7.46 p.m. He needed to pee. Eve had lifted Marmite up over the boat and he had darted across the common, towards houses, the comfort of windows glowing orange, in the distance.

  ‘Come on, Marmite, come on, there’s a good boy.’

  Marmite twined around her legs. The rain had stopped and scampering amongst the wet long grass, he obviously assumed it was playtime. She let him race out over the grass, looking left and right for another human being. Nothing. The blank snake of river sat behind her, the boat gently rocking as she climbed back on board, Marmite squirming damp and disgusting in her arms.

  7.58 p.m.

  She would give Marmite a shower in the small bathtub. The water trickled out and she sat on the floor resting her head on the cool of the bathtub as Marmite wagged his tail and yapped in circles behind her, growling at the water emerging from the tap. Eve held out a hand to place it on his head. His fur was still damp and the whole boat seemed to smell now of wet Marmite.

  ‘In you go.’ Marmite was not an enormous fan of baths and this one was no different. She was soon entirely drenched in water, droplets spattered up the walls, the thin towel to step on now a limp rag smeared in muddy water. Marmite barked, a huge sound in the empty space, again and again. She wrestled him into her towel, rubbing him all over so his curls dried in soft clumps and she could carry him through to the little living room.

  8.24 p.m.

  She could go to sleep. Or read more about orchids. She could… she’d call Daisy! It had been five hours and she should ring to tell her she had arrived safely.

  ‘I’ve arrived safely,’ she announced when Daisy answered.

  ‘You’re in Pangbourne.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Less than an hour from London.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well… good.’

  ‘Whatcha doing?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  Eve thought she heard a voice in the background.

  ‘Is someone with you?’

  There was a pause before Daisy answered, ‘Just the television.’

  ‘Oh. Well, how’s the stomach?’

  ‘Better now.’

  ‘Okay, well, sorry I nearly killed us all,’ Eve said.

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘Well, I just wanted to check in.’

  ‘That’s nice, what are you doing on your first night?’ Daisy still sounded distracted, as if she wasn’t really listening.

  ‘I’m just chilling, reading about orchids and stuff.’

  ‘Er… really?’

  ‘There’s one in the actual shape of a naked man,’ Eve said, glancing at the book again.

  ‘No, there isn’t,’ Daisy said, now appearing to focus.

  ‘Seriously, Google it.’

  She heard her rustling around, imagined her tapping on her iPad.

  ‘Oh my God, you’re right.’

  Eve started laughing. ‘I know.’

  ‘That is one weird plant.’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘Well, I’d better go, Eve, I have work tomorrow. Good luck with your class.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Eve clicked her phone off, frowning briefly, having that same feeling that Daisy was holding something back. She re-dialled.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Eve asked, quickly, urgently.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Daisy said. ‘Well, you have food-poisoned me but otherwise I am fine.’

  ‘Okay, you’re sure?’ Eve asked.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Okay, Eve, so are you planning to do the “you hang up, no you hang up” thing because I don’t think I can take that tonight.’

  ‘No, I won’t. Okay, I am really going now,’ Eve said, feeling better as she heard Daisy’s light laugh. ‘So I’m going on three. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘THREE.’ Eve hung up, laughing out loud and making Marmite lift his head in a question.

  8.42 a.m. – one hour and eighteen minutes till the pottery class.

  The boat was muggy, the windows steamed up, the mirror in the bathroom covered in condensation too so that she had to rub a hand across its surface to see herself. She padded around the kitchen in bare feet, wrapped in a dressing gown. Sunlight poured through the portholes, slicing the air, dust dancing in the room.

  Marmite weaved around her ankles, sniffing at the sideboard, looking up at her with his chocolate eyes. Eve laughed as he scuttled over to the door, then back to her, tail high, moving excitedly left to right. He barked up at her, his message clear. If he could, he would have taken the lead down from the wall, placed it around his own neck and handed her the other end. If he could, he would have undone the door and disappeared o
utside.

  ‘I’m coming, crazy dog.’

  Marmite barked a single response, impatient to be released from the hothouse, the kettle bubbling as she stepped across to the counter and poured the water into a mug.

  Opening the door, she walked up the steps, grabbed a deckchair propped in the little landing area, unzipped the plastic flap and ducked under it onto the decking. Marmite joined her and she gingerly dropped him down across the thin sliver of water onto the bank, then returned for her tea before joining him. Her feet were encased in plimsolls and she could feel the dewy grass seeping through the canvas after seconds. She unfolded the deckchair and lowered herself into it, wrapping the dressing gown tighter around her and resting the mug at her feet, enjoying this unseasonably warm day. Marmite was off, chasing a swan in the distance before grinding to a halt and scarpering back to the boat the moment the swan turned on him.

  The common looked glorious with the early morning mist, the grass steaming with the rain from the day before, the river silver behind her, the water moving quickly, carrying sticks and bobbing ducks along for the ride. Thistles and patches of nettles draped themselves along the bank over the water, the trees bare, lined up along the other side like sentries. The sky was opaque, streaks of hazy lilac running across the tops of the fields in the distance. The tea slipped down her throat, her ankles getting cold until she lifted them up, curling into the deckchair. She felt a momentary sense of absolute calm. This was it; this was the type of moment she had thought about as she had planned this trip. And later she would be attending her first pottery class. She glowed at the thought.

  Finishing her tea, she stood, bounding over to Marmite, her dressing gown opening, her pyjamas exposed to pick up a stick and throw it for him. Marmite responded as he always did, sinking low to the ground, his breath held for the exciting moment when she would release the stick into the air and he would chase it, trotting back, nose in the air to return it proudly. Her hair was coming loose and she was racing across the common laughing. She felt free of all her worries, watching the stick twirl and plummet as if she was releasing all her pent-up anger.

  Returning to the boat, breathless and rosy-cheeked, she fetched her phone. She had just over forty minutes before her pottery lesson; she smiled at the thought. She would have to leave pretty quickly to find the house, which was nestled behind the trees somewhere on the other side of the river. First, though, she would send a selfie to Daisy; she would take it on the deck, as captain of her ship.

  Perhaps if she hadn’t been rushing it wouldn’t have happened. Or if she hadn’t been leaning quite so far over the water trying to get the best shot. Or if she hadn’t jumped when Marmite had started barking. She’d felt herself go before she started to fall, head first over the side, tumbling past the small line of rope that marked the edge of the boat, down into the river that was so cold she felt she had plunged straight into molten ice, her ears stinging, her mouth flapping open as she emerged gasping from the water, hair sticking to her forehead, her phone still in her grip. She kicked herself to the side, the dressing gown weighted down, the cord floating on the surface as if it were a tail. She threw her phone out and Marmite, deciding it was the next stick, gaily leapt on it, thinking this was all a game as he went to hand it back to her.

  ‘Stupid dog, no.’

  She struggled up onto the bank, shivering and filthy, and then shouted expletives as Marmite took off with the phone in his grip.

  Racing after him, calling his name and most of the swear words, her skin entirely covered in goosebumps and already turning blue, it was moments before she realised he had stopped and was staring at something behind her. Turning in slow motion, hair plastered to her face, dressing gown and pyjamas soaked with brown river water, she took in the sight of a man dressed in wellies, beige cords and a duffel coat, grinning unashamedly as he took in the state of her.

  ‘An early morning dip?’

  Marmite hadn’t given up and she felt a momentary sense of smug as he stood before the man, dropping her phone to bark noisily up at him. The man was laughing now, hands held up in surrender.

  ‘Your dog doesn’t like me.’

  Eve had wrapped her dressing gown around her, aware her whole body was arctic, and wiped at the hair on her forehead.

  ‘I was…’ She trailed away, knowing there was no good answer for why she had been floundering in the river.

  ‘You look frozen,’ the man said, stepping towards her until Marmite started growling and he stepped back again. ‘Can I help?’

  He wasn’t laughing at her any more and she was bloomin’ freezing, although the heat in her cheeks was fast warming her face up. She knew she looked absurd and she was painfully aware she had to get ready for her class. Her teeth had started to clash together from cold. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud and she rubbed at her arms, her skin numb with the shock from the water.

  ‘Have you got any rice?’ the man asked and Eve frowned at the conversational tangent.

  ‘Your phone, you see…’ He pointed to it, the blank screen facing up. ‘It can fix it.’

  She should have said no. She should have told him she was fine, but she felt so pathetically sorry for herself all of a sudden and he did seem to know about rice, so she found herself nodding.

  Then, aware of her soaked clothes and the fact they were probably see-through by now, she walked as quickly as she could back towards the boat, aware of him trailing after her. Why had she invited him back to help? She just wanted to hide in a hole and forget the last five minutes had ever happened. She did need her phone, though, and he had a pleasant face, a small cleft in his chin, blue-grey eyes and thick dark-brown hair. He was also wearing a duffel coat like Paddington’s and, frankly, no one could look threatening in a duffel coat.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on and you er…’ It was his turn to fade away as he waved a hand over her standing in the living room dripping water onto the woven rug.

  It made her feel a teensy bit easier about it that he seemed reasonably at a loss too.

  ‘Thanks, won’t be long.’

  She squeezed past him in the galley kitchen, not able to meet his eye as he pressed the kettle on. She disappeared into her bedroom, feeling soggy and disgusting, listening to him opening up cupboard doors as she peeled away her dressing gown and pyjamas and removed her soaked pants, heaping them all into a pile on the laminate floor, water already leaking out of them as she dived into a fresh towel, desperate for a shower but far too aware of the very thin wall between the kitchen and the bathroom.

  When she returned, much warmer in a thick jumper, he was sitting on the bench looking at the orchid book, two mugs of tea in front of him and even a plate with two digestive biscuits on it. It was with a sort of slow-mo horror that she realised she had bookmarked the page with the naked man orchid. Do not turn to that page, she pleaded in her brain.

  ‘A very unusual orchid,’ she said, looking over his shoulder, relieved to see he was looking at the one in the shape of a duck.

  ‘I didn’t know how you took your tea but I added milk out of habit. I can start again.’

  He seemed enormous in this tiny space, his long legs folded under the thin Formica table that could be folded up and hooked onto the wall. He had taken off his coat and was wearing a navy-blue sweater with a logo she hadn’t seen before. Before she could ask, she noticed Marmite happily curled up at his feet. He shrugged as she saw her stare. ‘He’s come round.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, perching herself on the stool on the other side of the living room, aware that she didn’t have long and this man seemed to have made himself well at home, while she had to find out where she was headed for her class, and she wanted to shower before she went there. All these thoughts were swirling around her mind and it was a moment before she realised he was talking to her.

  ‘… Your boat?’ he asked, looking around him and taking a sip of his tea.

  ‘No, I’m renting it for a few weeks.’ She slapped the back of
her neck, feeling something crawling there. Didn’t people catch diseases from the river? Hadn’t that been a problem for David Walliams?

  ‘Can you get diseases from the river?’ she found herself asking into the space.

  The man sipped his tea again. ‘Unlikely to. Unless you are planning to make a habit of it.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘No, I didn’t think so. Unusual swimming get-up.’

  ‘I wasn’t…’

  He put up a hand. ‘No need to explain. I often see interesting things on my walks, although so far you have been this week’s highlight.’

  ‘This week’s?’

  ‘Last week I saw two swans mating. Noisy.’

  ‘Oh.’

  It was only then that she noticed he had poured rice into a bowl and her phone was sitting in it on the counter behind him.

  ‘Does that really work?’ she said, getting up to peer at it.

  ‘Apparently so. You’ll have to see. Right…’ He scooted up off the bench and took a last sip of his drink. ‘I think I’d better go. You seem drier and I have made real headway with your dog, so best to leave on a high.’

  ‘Marmite.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘His name… it’s Marmite.’

  ‘Oh, very good. Well.’ He bent down and stroked Marmite between the ears. ‘I’ll be off.’ He looked back at her as he stood up. ‘I hope your phone does come back to life and I hope you don’t contract anything horrible from the river.’

  He had picked up his coat and was now through the door, ducking through the flap to the outside.