by Rosie Blake
They walked along the river, Ro-Ro sticking to the path, skirting puddles in her heeled boots, sighing as Daisy stopped to take another photograph.
‘It’s water,’ she said, arms folded. ‘God, what makes people move to the country? Literally NOTHING happens here.’
The village seemed almost comically quaint as Eve saw it through Ro-Ro’s eyes, the row of pastel-coloured cottages leading to the ivy-covered railway bridge, fairy lights in their windows, icicle shapes stuck to the glass. The delicatessen painted cherry-red, a blackboard outside advertisintg artisan bread and freshly baked mince pies nestled next to the shop selling antique furniture, where china dolls in velvet clothing were propped on a rocking chair in the window.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Daisy enthused, her neck craned up taking in the lights draped across the road, the Christmas tree in the square beyond.
‘It’s no Oxford Street.’ Ro-Ro sniffed.
They traipsed back to the boat, past another idling narrow boat and a man in a flat cap and tweed coat huddled on the bench feeding ducks that waddled around his feet. There were still just under two hours before Ro-Ro’s train to Didcot.
Eve’s stomach rumbled. ‘Shall I er… make something?’ Eve said uncertainly, opening a cupboard that she knew to be bare.
Daisy started to speak. ‘There’s no need to—’ But she was soon cut off by the sound of Ro-Ro’s laughter filling the whole boat. ‘Cook, Eve, honey? No, I am not in the mood for a Pot Noodle and Daisy told me you nearly killed them all at a recent dinner party.’
Daisy protested quickly. ‘Wait, I didn’t say that! I… okay, fine, I did sort of say that.’
Eve bristled at the assumption that they both thought they were in mortal danger with her in the kitchen or that a Pot Noodle would be the fare on offer, and then realised, with a sinking heart, that they were both right. She couldn’t remember ever cooking for them all, always relying on Liam, something from the freezer or a takeaway from one of the many restaurants around them in London.
‘Anyway, I’m on the 5:2 diet and it is one of my starvation days.’
Eve wrinkled her nose. ‘That sounds awful.’
‘Awful,’ Ro-Ro admitted, then patted her stomach, which seemed practically concave. ‘But really effective. The wedding is in two weeks,’ she sing-songed.
‘Good point. Well, we can walk back into the village, grab something and drop you at your tr—’
There was a noise then, familiar, sinister. Eve looked nervously over her shoulder. ‘Oh no,’ she whispered, watching as the goose led his friend straight towards them.
‘What?’ Daisy asked, turning round to look in that direction.
Eve pointed a shaky hand towards the geese. ‘They come here all the time. Marmite is scared of them,’ she said, not wanting to admit she was bloomin’ petrified of them too.
‘What? Those geese?’ Ro-Ro said, her grey eyes swivelling until she found them. Then she sucked in all her breath and stood up.
‘Ro-Ro, don’t!’ Eve half-shouted rather dramatically, as if Ro-Ro was preparing herself to run outside and take a bullet for her.
Marmite was whimpering, utterly hopeless, between her legs. Daisy had curled herself into a ball on the bench, as if she expected them to march onto the boat and start snapping at her ankles.
Ro-Ro, however, had moved to the door. The geese were gaining pace, their eyes trained on the small group inside, their beaks moving into slow smiles (Eve imagined). Eve watched as Ro-Ro slid the lock across, pushed open the flapping door and stepped gingerly onto the deck of the boat, an imperious, Chanel-wearing boat captain. The geese wavered.
‘Be gone!’ Ro-Ro boomed in her most authoritative voice. She had been like that at school on the netball court, striding down the sidelines with her long-standing knee injury that had forced her to stop playing for the season, marching past their timid teacher Mrs Harris and directing them as if she were the Manchester United manager. ‘Wing Attack, cover the corner, can’t you see number 6?’ ‘Christ, team, keep an eye on that Centre, she’s all over the place. Defence, stay on them, tight, don’t give them an inch.’ Mrs Harris had been breathing into her asthma inhaler as Ro-Ro had stalked over to take the team talks. Now here she was, as if directing traffic, pointing to the geese and sending them on their way.
‘Be. Gone,’ she repeated, slower now but with the same tone, adding a pointed finger to indicate where they should go to.
The ridiculous thing was, it worked. The geese stopped twenty feet from the boat, took one look at her long arm, painted talons shooing them away, pivoted and turned back, waddling quickly over the long grass and further along down the path up the river, with one resentful last look before diving through a patch of reeds and gliding away. Ro-Ro nodded, satisfied, and returned to her seat.
‘Er… thanks,’ Eve said, raising a mug at her.
Ro-Ro stepped back into the boat, turning the lock once more, and with a dismissive shrug added, ‘It’s how I stop Hugo trying to have sex with me.’
She didn’t smile afterwards so Eve wasn’t absolutely sure if she was joking. She couldn’t help it, though: catching Daisy’s eye, they both started to laugh, Eve snorting and covering her mouth, which only made Daisy worse.
‘What?’ Ro-Ro said, sitting down. ‘It is… he is a very persistent lover.’
Daisy held her sides and Eve’s eyes started watering as they both tried to stifle their giggles. Ro-Ro was still looking as if she’d missed the point.
Their mood only grew sillier and, by the time they had polished off both bottles of wine from the small fridge on the boat, deposited a slurring Ro-Ro onto her train with air kisses and promises to call before the Big Day, Eve had really cheered up. The boat adventure seemed to have really started here; what she was doing was terribly romantic and exciting. She should be patting herself on the back. She waved at the back of the train as it grew smaller, the tracks twisting and taking it out of sight.
Daisy put a hand on Eve’s shoulder. ‘Sorry, Eve, I tried to stop her coming, but she insisted, and you know what she’s like when she insists.’
‘Fucking terrifying.’
Daisy nodded. ‘Fucking terrifying.’
‘Why are we friends with her again?’
‘Habit,’ Daisy said, her voice low and sad.
‘Oh, she wasn’t that bad,’ Eve said, throwing an arm round Daisy. ‘But I’m glad you’re staying the night. Can you stay more?’ Eve knew she shouldn’t really ask; she was meant to be branching out on her own, getting used to NOT relying on someone else.
‘I’ve got work tomorrow,’ Daisy said ruefully.
‘Working Sundays sucks.’
Daisy sighed. ‘It does.’
Something in the sagging of her shoulders and the weary look made Eve squeeze her closer. ‘Come on.’
They stopped to buy fish and chips, starving now, before weaving back down the high street of Pangbourne, the Christmas lights twinkling over their heads. They moved past the pub, clusters of people drinking steaming mulled wine next to the Christmas tree, under the railway bridge and along the narrow strip of pavement to the common, past the iron bridge, the lights from it shimmering in the water below, back to the boat. Opening up the bag, it seemed the whole space smelt of vinegar. Eve unravelled the chips, the newspaper soggy with oil.
‘Amazing,’ Eve said, dipping one in some ketchup.
Daisy, mouth too full to make a comment, nodded.
They weren’t tired and there were no more sightings of any geese, so when Marmite whined to be taken out, Daisy and she grabbed two of the blankets from the inside of the bench and trailed them outside onto the small platform that stretched out into the water. It was cold, their breath forming clouds in the air, but it was a still, clear night and above them the stars were out and bright in the purpley darkness. They sat together beneath the blankets, glad to be snuggled into them as they gazed onto the black quiet of the river as it quietly moved past them. Marmite wriggled inside the blanket
too and lay, his little body pulsing between them as they sat.
‘Are you glad you did this?’ Daisy asked, her head dipping to rest on Eve’s shoulder.
‘I am,’ Eve said, and realised it was true. ‘I think I needed to do something completely different, learn to be on my own again. Ridiculous, isn’t it? Me, an ardent feminist, completely floored without my man.’
‘It’s not like that,’ Daisy protested, straightening up again. ‘You can cope, you just loved him,’ she said simply.
‘I did, I do, I suppose, gah, it’s grim,’ Eve admitted, putting a hand on Marmite’s head and feeling his tongue licking her in sympathy.
‘Well, you wouldn’t have done this if you were still together,’ said Daisy, obviously trying to remind Eve of the silver lining.
‘Liam wouldn’t like it here at all. Do you remember he had a thing about water? I think he nearly drowned as a child or something,’ Eve said, clutching the blanket to her.
‘His mum saved him,’ Daisy added, stopping abruptly then, as if her remembering details from Liam’s life made her somehow disloyal to Eve.
‘Oh yes,’ Eve said softly, recalling the story then. Eve missed his mum, his softly spoken mum who made enormous casseroles and was a member of about eighteen local committees. That was the awful thing about breaking up with someone. You didn’t just lose them you lost the whole network that you’d fallen for, the mum you were able to chat with over a cup of tea, the dad that teased you like you were his own daughter, siblings who gossiped with you, told you funny stories about their brother, brought you immediately up to speed.
‘God.’ Eve put her head in her hands, feeling the familiar tears sting her eyes. ‘I’m pathetic, Dais’.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Daisy said, rubbing her back. ‘You’re going to be okay, you’re brilliant,’ she said, one arm round her shoulder.
Eve sniffed. ‘I am kind of brilliant,’ she said, a ghost of a smile on her face.
‘Ace.’
‘And pretty,’ Eve added, now with a full beam. Then she stopped suddenly, the question she had asked for months still on the tip of her tongue.
‘Do you think he still sees her? I can’t stop wondering who she was, he wouldn’t say…’
‘Who was who?’ Daisy asked, a frown in her voice.
‘The girl, in the photograph, the, you know,’ Eve said, not wanting to be reminded of that image but picturing it anyway. It was like being haunted by a really well-tended pubis.
‘He told me it didn’t matter who she was, but there was something about it. Dais’?’
Daisy didn’t answer, just sat there, turned a fraction towards Eve, opening her mouth as if she were about to hazard a guess. Then the moment passed, her eyes slid from Eve’s and she said in a too-bright voice, ‘It wouldn’t matter, I’m sure. Gosh, it must be late, shall we go to bed?’
Eve agreed, standing up and clutching her blanket to her. It was too dark to see Daisy’s expression but Eve felt something niggling at her. She didn’t know why. Daisy had never kept anything from her before, so why should she start now? They traipsed back to the boat, trailing their blankets, Marmite sleepily following behind them, before they fell asleep in the swaying boat, the stars still bright through the portholes in an inky sky.
He had always run along the river and he needed to keep fit for the last match before Christmas. They were middle of the league now, but they’d played some of the stronger sides so things were looking hopeful. He hadn’t always run along the common. There was a shortcut that led to the recreation ground and park behind that he normally took, but it would be nice to run along the water’s edge, the iron bridge was always worth a look since it had been repainted.
He was kidding no one as he neared her boat. He could feel his palms, damp already from the run, his heart racing. Would she think it was weird? He supposed she would; she had probably come here to get some peace and quiet and he was now pounding down the common towards her again. The portholes were dark and there seemed to be no signs of life. Still, it heartened him that she was still there. There was something comforting about the thought that she was still in the village.
He turned to go back along the road past the doctor’s surgery, feeling his legs burn with the exercise, his muscles aching with effort. As he mounted the pavement and made his way under the railway bridge and into the village, he heard an excited barking in the distance. This wasn’t unusual, as the local vet he tended to bump into his clients and their pets all the time. It was only at a second glance that he realised the barking was coming from a certain Morkie and on the end of the leash was a grinning Eve, who held up one hand in a wave, nearly choking Marmite in the process.
He stopped in front of her, aware of his red cheeks, his sweat-soaked T-shirt, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. It suddenly seemed very warm for December.
‘You look very sporty,’ she said with a laugh. She seemed more relaxed in this setting, wearing a woollen dress and knee boots, her face flushed from the cold.
‘And you’re not wearing pyjamas,’ he replied.
‘This is true! Although give me an hour. Do you want to come back with me – there’s a Christmas market on all afternoon.’
She pointed a gloved hand behind him.
He tried to look surprised, as if he hadn’t just jogged past it.
He did want to walk with her but he thought of the plans he’d made that afternoon; he needed to shower first.
‘How about I meet you in a bit? I need a shower first, I’m pretty gross.’
He could call, move the plans; she would be used to it, he often had to race off for work anyway.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I can drop Marmite back on the boat. I’m not sure he can be trusted at a Christmas market.’
Marmite whined as if he could understand.
‘Brilliant, I won’t be long.’
‘Lovely.’ She really was extraordinary-looking with her greenish eyes with flecks of yellow set off by dark-brown hair that seemed to glint in the sunshine. She had a Biro mark on the side of her face, which made him feel better.
‘I’ll see you in a few minutes then,’ he said, smiling, hoping she wouldn’t watch him jog off. Danny always said he ran like a twat – although Danny told him he looked like a twat most of the time.
He appeared quicker than she’d imagined, his hair ruffled by the wind, the ends still wet.
‘That was fast,’ she said.
‘I live on the high street,’ he told her. ‘Here.’ He handed her a pack of chocolate digestives. ‘One up from your last lot,’ he said, placing them on the counter.
‘Thanks,’ she said, feeling as if there was suddenly no room on the boat with him in it. She squeezed past him, her back curved into the wall to put the kettle down.
‘Coffee before we go?’
‘Sure.’
He had taken a moment to reply and he had that faraway expression again. It was like there were two Gregs, the one she had bumped into earlier and this more guarded guy. She sneaked a glance at him as she waited for the kettle to boil. He was looking at one of the pictures, reading the inscription underneath the dried flower. His mouth curved downward and when he met her gaze she had the sudden urge to reach a hand over to him; he looked impossibly sad.
‘Are you interested in plants and things?’ she said instead, indicating the picture.
‘Oh no, I don’t have a clue. It was just… well, it reminded me of something.’
She glanced at the sprig of lavender behind the square of glass, something in his voice telling her not to probe any further.
‘So do you run a lot?’ she asked, wondering why she suddenly felt the need to fill the silence. She always had this desire to fill a gap; Liam had told her it was infuriating. Why couldn’t she be still?
‘I just run to keep fit. I play hockey.’
‘Very impressive,’ she said, handing him a coffee. ‘I was rubbish at hockey at school, more of a rounders player because that w
as basically an excuse to sunbathe.’
He had sat on the bench again, making room for another person, but Marmite had taken that as a green light and had jumped up first, his head resting on Greg’s knee as he scratched behind his ears.
‘He really has taken a shine,’ Eve said, lifting the folded chair from the wall and finding the cushion for it.
‘I’m a vet,’ Greg said. ‘He probably knows to keep me sweet.’
‘A vet? Really?’ Eve said, surprised perhaps and remembering then the logo on his sweatshirt when they met.
‘What did you imagine?’
She paused for a moment, playfully putting one finger to her lips. ‘Hmm, I suppose I thought… woodsman or carpenter.’ Eve, are you flirting? The thought made her stop short.
‘I don’t have the beard for it.’
‘So do you see lots of dogs then?’
‘Lots.’ Greg nodded, his hand around the coffee mug making it look miniscule.
‘What is your best dog-related story?’ Eve asked, again wondering at the playful tone in her voice.
Greg tipped his head to one side before answering slowly, ‘There was one man who brought his puppy in for his first vaccinations. I thought it was odd because he brought it in a cat basket, must have been small. He said he’d bought it the night before in the pub.’
Eve enjoyed watching him tell the story, his slow smile spreading across his face, one hand resting on the table.
‘He opened it up to show me and pulled out a black and tan guinea pig. I said, “I’m sorry, we don’t vaccinate guinea pigs”, and he just put it back in the basket, no reply, and left.’
‘What, he really didn’t know?’
Greg shrugged. ‘I was never sure. Didn’t see him again.’
‘Odd,’ Eve said, draining her coffee.