by Rosie Blake
He wavered. Greg, mate, go, she is just being polite. But then he thought back to his flat, not wanting to be there in the empty space. Seeing her face start to return, a suggestion of a smile, her green eyes brighter as she waited for him to respond.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’
He saw her pause before it but couldn’t walk away now. There was an energy about her that made him want to stick around. He didn’t want to be anywhere else. He nodded and watched her walk into the boat, Marmite flying out to greet him as she opened the door. You can’t hide for ever, Greg. He hushed the voice and picked up a stick to throw.
She was glad that Marmite was providing entertainment as she left Greg tussling with him and a stick. She cleared the table in the small porch area of the boat and put the mince pies in the middle, heading inside to make them tea to go with them. It gave her time to try to push the phone call to the back of her mind, smiling through the porthole at Marmite, who was eagerly standing at Greg’s feet, tail wagging, as he prepared to chase another stick.
Greg looked completely at home with him, bending to rub at his head as he removed the stick. As he walked over to the boat, face relaxed, his dark-brown hair swept up from running around, she couldn’t help smile at him, as if she had known him for years. He had the kind of face that made you feel calm, as if he were permanently ready to be amused. You felt like making an effort, trying to rouse the smile.
The kettle whistled and she busied herself with mugs, tea bags, a jug of milk, a pot of sugar, carrying it out to the porch on a tray. She sat down on the lip of the boat that acted as a bench on one side of the table, calling over to Greg, ‘Tea’s ready.’
He turned, his cheeks flushed. ‘Coming. Marmite. Heel,’ he called and Eve giggled as Marmite lay down on the grass.
‘Heel, boy, heel,’ Greg repeated.
Marmite started licking his paw.
Greg walked over to her, one hand in his hair as she looked at him. ‘Great job.’
He stepped into the boat, shrugging and reaching for his mug. ‘Animal’s a liability.’
Eve stood up. ‘Marmite, here, boy.’
Marmite jumped up and bounded over in an instant as Greg mumbled something into his tea.
‘What’s that?’ Eve grinned, lifting Marmite up onto the deck of the boat and ruffling his fur affectionately. ‘Good boy, who’s a good boy.’
She joined him back at the table, picking up a mince pie and exclaiming as she took a bite. ‘Sho goooood,’ she said through crumbs.
‘You’re such a lady,’ he laughed as she brushed pastry off her lips.
Wrapping her hands around her mug she looked out across the water, the reflections of the clouds still on its surface: every shape mirrored perfectly, the weeping willows bent over themselves, the trailing leaves obscuring the bank. Another narrow boat approached, causing gentle ripples to nudge the side of the boat.
‘It is beautiful here,’ she said, breathing out.
‘I run here all the time but I never get bored of looking at it,’ Greg said simply, his eyes crinkling as they met hers. ‘Cheers,’ he said, raising his mug.
The other boat passed and a man in a white flat cap, one hand on the tiller, waved as they cruised by.
‘Have you taken it out yet?’ Greg asked, biting into a mince pie, crumbs falling onto his brown jumper, staying there like tiny yellow dots.
‘What?’
‘The boat,’ he said, indicating with his hand.
‘Oh.’ Eve made a face, not sure whether she should admit to not knowing how to start it. She’d lived on it for over a week and she had started to think she would never take it out.
‘You are going to take it out?’ he checked in a slow voice.
‘Of course I am,’ Eve said, nodding her head quickly. ‘Just you know…’
‘Waiting for the perfect conditions?’ Greg smiled, the sun glinting on his teeth, the icy blue sky a brilliant backdrop.
‘Yes, that and, oh… I don’t know how, okay,’ Eve admitted, biting her lower lip. ‘There’s no manual or anything. And you probably need a boating licence or something which I don’t have.’
‘You don’t,’ Greg said, his voice animated. ‘We took one out on a stag do. It’s pretty straightforward actually. Shall we?’ he asked, leaning forward.
She had to smile at his reaction; he couldn’t disguise his eagerness. She took a breath out slowly. ‘Where to?’
‘We could do one lock, maybe take it up to Goring, that’s a great bit of river. Not too far.’
‘I’m not sure how to do the locks and things – do you know?’ Eve asked, starting to catch his enthusiasm, remembering the metal windlass that was sitting unused at the front.
‘I do,’ Greg said, uncrossing his legs. ‘Well, actually, someone just opens it up for you at Goring, but I still do.’
‘Okay then.’ Eve laughed, feeling like she was in safe hands, a bubble of excitement at the prospect of doing something new.
‘Let’s go boating,’ Greg said, standing and hitting his head on the lower-ceilinged porch. Eve grimaced for him. ‘Are you okay?’
Greg rubbed at his head, eyes blurring with unshed tears. ‘Ow. Not funny,’ he said, turning as Marmite started to bark. Eve hid a smile behind a mince pie. ‘I can totally see you laughing,’ Greg said, still rubbing his head.
‘I’m sorry,’ Eve mumbled.
In the end it didn’t take them long to work out how to turn it on, the engine churning into gear, the water frothing beneath them as the blades turned. They untied the ropes on the side and threw them onto the deck. It was harder to manoeuvre it out onto the river, the steering a little wobbly at first, but they took it slowly, moving through the water at a snail’s pace as they both took turns on the tiller. You had to stick to the right side of the river, but seeing as most traffic was going at around 3 m.p.h. you had plenty of time to get into position.
It was incredible feeling the breeze lifting her hair, the cold biting at her ears and nose as they moved down the river. She soon warmed up as she moved along the deck of the boat, the sun high above them. Marmite, delighted at the journey, was racing up one side of the deck, yapping at them both, yapping at passing birds, eyes bright, tail wagging. Eve stood looking out over the length of the boat, marvelling at kites dipping out of sight, walkers ambling along as they passed, the river opening up before them as they rounded corners to be faced with the wide expanse of glittering water. She felt her palms dampen as they approached the lock at Goring, hoping it really would be as easy as Greg promised. Hopping out to talk to the lock-keeper she sat on the hunk of wood as he opened the enormous gates to the lock, laughing as she peered down at Greg’s face as the water drained out, the stone sides streaked with algae, rusty chains looped along the walls. Taking the steps down to the bank on the other side, she walked along by the side of the boat, ready to hop back on.
‘Let’s moor up,’ Greg said, choosing a spot by a dense patch of reeds and steering it slowly to the side. They secured the boat with ropes so it wouldn’t disappear on them and high-fived each other as they switched the engine off.
‘Great work, Skipper.’
‘Thanks, Cap’n,’ he replied, dipping his head and making her laugh.
She had forgotten about the phone call from Liam, forgotten about the last few months. Her chest felt lighter as she moved around the boat, patting Marmite on the head as she forked food into his bowl and waited for the kettle to boil.
The sun had disappeared behind a haze of cloud and the whole sky looked like a layer of gauze had covered it. They sat on the top of the boat draped in blankets, drank coffee and played backgammon on a wooden board, the dice rattling on the surface, Greg’s shout as he threw a good roll causing a flock of birds to disappear en masse from a nearby tree. Eve knew they needed to get back but she wished the afternoon could stretch on forever, smiling to herself as she watched him move the counters around, his grey-blue eyes glinting as he looked a
t her.
‘We need to get back,’ she said, her voice filled with regret as she saw the sun quivering over the treeline. They didn’t have long until it was dark and she didn’t trust their boating skills without light.
Greg, deciding that they should talk in pirate all the way back to Pangbourne, was refusing to recognise any sentences that didn’t end in an ‘Arrrrrrrr’.
‘Ready?’ Eve called from the engine.
‘Ready who, Cap’n?’
Eve pretended to sigh and roll her eyes. ‘Ready, Skipper.’
Greg nodded, satisfied, setting back off towards the lock and hopping out on the bank himself to talk to the lock-keeper.
Eve stayed by the tiller, watching the water bubble and rush in beneath her, lifting the boat inch by inch, the smell damp, the sun blocked from her position inside the lock. She was pleased to pick up Greg on the other side of the lock as she steered it carefully through the lock gates, calling a goodbye to the lock-keeper. She left him at the tiller and headed along the deck, the sun setting ahead of them, the sky full of pink and purple strips, wisps of cloud.
‘How faaaaaarrrrrrrr?’ Eve hollered from the other end of the boat.
‘Not too farrrrrrrrrr, me hearty,’ he tacked on, the weather turning his cheeks pink beneath the stubble.
Eve nodded and disappeared inside, emerging moments later through the door at the back of the boat. ‘Would you like a beer?’ she asked Greg, craning her neck up to him, his hand clamped to the tiller. He deliberately turned to the side and stared out at the water. She sighed. ‘Would you like a beer, me hearty?’
‘Is it from a barrrrrrrrrr?’
‘I’m getting you a beer,’ she called, giggling and moving back through to the kitchen to fetch one, hearing his belly laugh following her there.
They clinked and stood on the deck as they moved under the iron bridge and back into the spot where the boat was moored, scattering ducks in their path. Greg had grown quieter in the last few minutes and for a moment she had the desire to ask him if anything was wrong. The sight of the village seemed to sap his energy and his blue eyes were troubled again. Eve frowned, wondering whether she was just imagining things. Liam had always hated it when she had probed, teasing her that she read something into every look and every sentence. She clamped her mouth shut, convinced she was just over-thinking things.
As they drew alongside the bank, he leapt out to bang the large iron nails into the grass, securing it to the side by lashing it with ropes. He was breathless by the time he had finished, only looking up once as a goose honked from the far side of the common and he raised a fist in a comedy gesture. This wasn’t enough to lift Eve, who suddenly felt really sad the day was over. The clouds were thicker now, a blanket of white overhead, and the temperature had dropped again as the sun sank behind the trees.
‘Do you want to stay for dinner?’ she found herself blurting.
‘Actually,’ Greg said, banging in the last nail and looking up at her, his eyes crinkling, ‘that would be great.’
She felt instantly lighter, blushing and hiding the fact with an ‘I better see what we have in the boat yaaaaaaaarrrrrr’.
‘Hmm, that doesn’t really work.’ He hopped back on the deck and followed her inside.
They stood in the kitchen staring at the cupboard of ingredients. She turned to admit she didn’t have the first clue what to make.
She wasn’t sure how it happened, but the kitchen suddenly felt a lot smaller and she was aware of his body in front of her. He was close. When did he get so close? Their eyes met in this wordless moment and the next moment he had leant down towards her and they were kissing, clashing at first and then melting into this amazing, prolonged kiss. She felt her whole body react, leaning into him, his hands were on her face, the sharp sting of the cold outside a shock. Then the warmth of their skin as they melted together, as she moved her body into his.
She and Liam had never in four years kissed like that. She hadn’t had a second thought, the whole day had seemed magical and the kiss felt absolutely right. As she’d tiptoed to meet him, feeling the warmth of his chest, she found herself letting go, legs weak as the kiss went on and on. She felt her body being nudged backwards, her hands reaching for his hair, her bottom pushing papers to the floor. Then she felt her back against the wall of the boat, the spice rack behind her, pots falling to the floor around them, showering their feet with spots of spice and dried herbs. Envelopes, a tea towel, nothing made her pull away.
They finally did, both breathing heavily, laughing, looking down at the mess they had made. Cinnamon and parsley streaked across the floor.
Eve touched her mouth, almost shocked by the strength of the kiss, still able to feel it.
Greg’s hair was sticking up, his chest rising and falling. ‘Shit,’ he said, looking down too and stepping in some stray dried basil. ‘I’ve got cumin on my shoes.’
Eve laughed again, her breathing shallow. She felt herself burn with the shock of it all, the silence now as they stared at each other. She wanted to kiss him again but now suddenly, sobered up and standing surrounded by scattered papers and spice, she felt embarrassed at the way she had let go. Somehow, instead of laughing again or making light of things, she found herself over-reacting to the scene, staring at the spices as if he had thrown them on the floor in a rage.
‘I’ll clean it up,’ Greg said, perhaps noticing the change in atmosphere, perhaps not.
‘No, don’t,’ she said, pressing herself away from him, stepping back. She needed space from him, in her head, thoughts now jostling one in front of another.
‘I’ll… God.’ He raked his hand through his hair.
‘I’ll sort this,’ she said, her voice high and loud. She squeezed past him to the sink, not wanting to touch him again, running the cold tap and feeling the relief as the water gushed out, seizing a cloth.
He had walked into the living room as she bent to scrub at the debris, feeling foolish as she mopped at the floor. Say something, Eve, make it right again. It wasn’t such a surprise. Was it? Why was she behaving like this person? She found herself unable to look up, circling the floor furiously.
‘That was quite…’
‘Look, Greg.’ She stopped circling, sitting with her legs stuck out in front of her, suddenly overwhelmed by it all, the reasons she had come here, the phone call from Liam, the mess of the last few months, that afternoon, the kiss. He had stopped, his mouth slowly shutting as he looked at her. He still had spices on the top of his trainers and it seemed to act as a prompt. She didn’t need confusion and complications.
‘I think maybe it would be best if we just…’ She didn’t know what she wanted to say. Just what? Her cheeks still burnt from where he had held them, the memory of his stubble as his skin pressed against hers. What the hell did she want? Standing looking down at her acting like this, he looked remarkably composed, all trace of the tension disappearing as he rubbed at his chin.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, straightening his jumper. ‘I don’t know where that came from.’
Oh God, you’ve done this, Eve. Don’t guilt-trip the man, you kissed him back.
‘Look, I…’
‘I’ll go. I didn’t mean to, you know, jump on you. I just, well…’
She was nodding miserably from the floor. He would go. Of course he was going. She would go if he was behaving like this. And yet she couldn’t shake it.
‘Right, so…’ He looked about him, patting his pockets as if he could find a Time-Turner and send them back ten minutes.
‘Thanks,’ she said from the floor. Neither of them seemed able to form a coherent sentence but she didn’t have the energy to try. He had been the only other person she’d kissed in four years. He hadn’t kissed like Liam. It somehow felt final then, stupid really, as she had made him leave immediately, but now it really felt like that part of her life was over. She hadn’t expected it, she hadn’t wanted it. Or had she? She watched him get his coat, shrugging it on, seeming on the verg
e of saying more. She struggled to her feet, holding the cloth up against her like a shield guarding her from him.
‘I’m sorry, I just, the thing is that I came here to get away from things and, well, I wasn’t planning on…’ She wanted to try to put her thoughts into words, try to make sense of them.
‘You really don’t need to explain, and thank you for the trip out, it was brilliant.’
‘Of course,’ she said, her voice a whisper. Half of her wanting to reach out and stop him from leaving, fix this strange new atmosphere. Half of her wanting never to see him again. Why hadn’t she been able to laugh things off? How had they gone from that moment to this? She felt an overwhelming urge to cry, blinking slowly as she watched him let himself out, heard him step from the deck. Marmite barked after him almost like he was chastising her for letting him leave like that. What had she done?
She turned to the kitchen counter, absently picking up a mince pie. She bit into it, the pastry soft and buttery, the mincemeat rich and smooth. It was delicious. It would always remind her of that kiss.
He stumbled out of the boat, tripping in the dark, the common all shadows now, filled with rustling, insects, night-time sounds. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the portholes yellow, a shape crossing one of them. What was she thinking?
Pulling his coat tighter around him, he walked away still feeling shell-shocked by the kiss, the urgency he’d felt, the way she’d responded. It had been this blissful day and he’d just totally stuffed it up by lumbering in and leching all over her. No wonder she reacted like she did. God, Greg, what an idiot.
He wasn’t even sure how it happened, where it had come from. They had been staring at the measly offerings of the kitchen cupboard and then suddenly they’d been staring at each other and the whole boat felt like it was charged with this extraordinary energy and everything had just taken over. He pictured Samantha, his ex-girlfriend, caramel skin, smaller than Eve. He had never felt the same electric charge run through him, the need to hold her, wanting to stay there. It had felt completely right and then, as if someone had dialled the lights up and switched the noise back on, it had gone into freefall.