by Rosie Blake
As he passed underneath the railway bridge, skirting a puddle that dripped off the wall into a tangy smell of rotting rubbish, he pictured her face as she sat on the floor surrounded by spilt pots and chaos. She had looked at him as if he were a stranger, as if he had just appeared in the boat at that moment, as if they hadn’t spent the day together. He felt terrible as he stood there, realising he’d blown it, something in her expression warding him off asking too much. He had known at the start of the day that she was distracted by something, had seen it as she had turned on the platform, her body disguised by a hundred jumpers. He’d wanted to hug her then, she had looked so adorable in the cold, bright day. He wasn’t even sure if she was single, married, divorced, hadn’t asked anything, had just presumed. Stupid Greg.
He couldn’t shake the kiss, always in the back of his mind as he got back to the flat, half-heartedly made himself dinner, sat unseeing in front of the television, aware of his solitary existence and for the first time in years, missing having someone next door to him. He pictured her curled up under his arm on the sofa, the awkwardness forgotten, the joking and the teasing back, the atmosphere from the boat that day, remembering her walk briskly along the bank calling to him, her head appearing to ask him if he wanted a drink, her laughter, her hand on the tiller, her expression as she steered the boat into the lock, the excitement on her face as the water had risen around her, pushing the boat higher and higher.
Christ, Greg, you’ve blown it, jumped in way too fast, too heavy-handed. He raked a hand through his hair and tried to force himself to look at the screen. He stared at his mobile, knowing she wouldn’t call or text. They hadn’t even swapped numbers. Two weeks ago he had no idea that she even existed and yet now every time he closed his eyes all he could see was her face right in front of him, in that moment before he’d stepped forward and drawn her towards him.
She had twitched all night, throwing off the covers, turning and slapping at the pillow, trying to get comfortable. She would close her eyes and then she would be back there in the kitchen, sitting on the floor staring up at him as if he had done something terribly wrong. She sighed and reached out for Marmite, idly stroking him as he lay curled into himself on the bed. She didn’t think about the kiss, blocked it from her mind the moment it strayed there. His face had started to morph into Liam’s and she could feel herself spinning with the confusion.
Bleary-eyed, stirring coffee, she clattered round the kitchen, the spice rack still needing to be returned to order, the boat clashing with the smell of spices and sugary sweet cinnamon, reminding her of the day before. When Harriet called, she found herself talking around it, not wanting to share the moment, keeping it close to her as she spoke about the classes, what she’d learnt, the boat, Liam’s requests to get Marmite back.
The frustration welled and she let herself take it out on Liam. ‘He called wanting Marmite back. It’s like he wants to kick me when I’m down.’
‘Bastard.’
‘Bastard,’ Eve agreed, biting on her lip as Harriet asked her what else was new. Harriet who never judged her, whose advice she listened to. She didn’t want to hear it though, wasn’t yet ready to share.
She ended the phone call feeling frustrated, the boat suddenly too small to contain her mood, her feet loud in the small space as she wandered from bench to table to kitchen and back, fidgety. Marmite watched her with a bemused look on his face, padding round behind her as if she were inventing a new game.
It had been two days without seeing him now. She didn’t know what she expected but she still felt her insides tighten as she left the boat, walking into the village to the shops. She looked over her shoulder at the check-out, scanned the faces in the street, stared down the road at the dot that she knew was the sign to the vet practice.
She couldn’t seem to shake her irritable mood, crying out when she dropped a jar of strawberry jam, as if something truly terrible had happened (which, frankly, it looked like it had). The weekend dragged by and even the thrill of taking the boat on another journey out, trying to expel the last, couldn’t seem to rally her. She stomped to her pottery class on Monday morning in wellies. The sunshine was long gone, the sky filled with whitish, grey clouds that seemed to hang obstinately over the tops of the fields, dulling the water of the river.
She found her seat in the class and allowed herself to focus solely on the task. She was glazing her bowl, squeezing colours into a palette and dipping the paintbrush into the various pools, taking time over each detail, watching as the picture grew before her.
‘You’re really good at that,’ Raj said, his teeth a neat line of white as he looked at her.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, blushing as Minnie then came over, eyes wide as she exclaimed at the small collection Eve was adding to. ‘They’re gorgeous, they’re just getting better and better.’
Eve had also made a plate, realising as she made more, painted more, that she was going to give them to her family for Christmas. She was making a bowl and plate set for her dad, the same river scene. She was going to dress her dad’s goose in mismatched clothing, squinting as she carefully painted in a lilac scarf and plum trousers. She felt a flush of pride as she continued, for the first time in days starting to relax again, revel in the peace of the class, the gentle strain of something classical wafting through the door from the living room, the put-put of the wheels as they turned, the quiet chatter of her classmates.
‘That’s really good,’ Danny said, laughing as he peered over her shoulder.
He settled at his wheel, slapping water over the bowl that he was making, pushing down into the middle of the clay as it rotated.
Eve had looked up when he spoke, something about his voice making her stare at him. She found herself watching him work. He looked up, noticing her watching him. ‘You, er, you all right there, Eve?’
‘Fine, yes, just… resting.’ There was something about him that made her want to share, to turn towards him and let it all spill out: the reason she had come here, the satisfaction she was getting from the lessons. But she simply nodded, embarrassed to be caught looking at him.
‘Are you sure, you look a bit hot,’ he said, frowning, pushing his blond hair away with the back of his hand. Clay was smeared over his palms and wrists.
‘I’m really fine, just worrying about this glaze. It’s hard to tell how it will come out, isn’t it?’
‘Well, by the looks of things it will come out pretty well.’ He indicated her first two pots with his head, sitting on the shelf above them, proudly displayed. ‘You are really good, you know.’ The tone of his voice comforted her and she found herself feeling buoyed up once more.
It was a great class and Eve felt the soothing power of focusing on something else a powerful remedy to the fuss and hum of her head. She was shrugging on her coat, putting a hat on her head as Danny wound a scarf around his neck.
‘You should come out one night before you run back to London. My brother and I often go to the Crosskeys, do you know it?’
Eve nodded. ‘I know where it is. I haven’t been there yet.’
‘Well you should, nice place.’
She wondered whether he was asking her on a date and froze at the thought. It really was the last thing she needed.
‘My ex cheated on me,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m not really, well, he hurt me and…’
Danny was trying not to laugh at her, his cheeks puffed out like a hamster.
‘What?’ Eve lost her train of thought completely.
‘I wasn’t asking you on a date, Eve.’ He laughed, holding up both hands in surrender. ‘Just thought you could meet my friends, my brother. I think they’d like you.’
‘Oh, oh well, that is…’ Eve could feel her limbs itch with embarrassment, her palms grow sweaty. ‘That’s really kind, I’m sorry, I…’
‘Not to worry, Eve, no pressure,’ Danny said, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.
‘I won’t… worry that is, oh God, I’m an embarrassment.’
‘He is.’ Eve nodded miserably.
‘Well I’ll let you know next time, maybe?’ His smile was simple and easy and Eve found herself returning it. ‘That would be good.’
‘See you tomorrow, Eve. Bye, Minnie. Bye, Raj.’ He waved and was gone through the living room and out the front door.
Eve couldn’t help but bring her hands to both cheeks, cringing as she thought back to the conversation. She jumped as Aisha appeared beside her. ‘Are you heading into the village?’ she asked. Her small diamond nose stud winked as she spoke.
Eve nodded and Aisha joined her, light on her feet as if she was a child.
They started walking past the apple tree stripped of any fruit, the garden waiting for spring, and pushed through the gate and out on the path next to the river. Patches of water appeared through the treeline, the flap of a bird disturbed by the noise they were making, as they stepped over the mud frozen in its churned-up state.
‘Are you excited, gearing up to everything?’ Eve asked, determined not to blight her wedding happiness.
Aisha smiled slowly. ‘So excited. And also terrified.’
Eve laughed. ‘I imagine that’s pretty standard. I think it is very sweet, that the two of you are making things for your guests. I imagine they’ll love it.’
‘Oh good, that’s what I keep saying to Mark.’ She seemed pleased with this, practically skipping along the path.
‘So where are you headed?’ Eve asked as they walked across the iron bridge, looking down at two canoeists passing underneath them. The river was a muted sludge of brown and greens today, barely any light reflecting off its surface. She thought of the contrast, each day on the river different, the water always shifting, reflecting the sky above.
‘I’m going to work. I’m doing the late shift,’ she explained.
‘Where’s that then?’
‘The estate agent on the corner. Do you know it?’
‘Oh,’ Eve said with a little start. ‘Do you work with Martin then?’
Aisha paused briefly before a wary, ‘Yes, is he, um, is he a friend of yours?’
Eve couldn’t help herself, the sentence exploded out of her. ‘God no, he’s appalling. I just rent the boat from you and have been dealing with him.’
This announcement had clearly flustered Aisha. ‘Actually,’ she said, composing herself, ‘Martin’s leaving at the end of the year.’ She looked over her shoulder when she said it as if worried she was being watched. Eve turned round. ‘He um… he hasn’t been a great success.’
Eve giggled at the understatement and Aisha looked at her sideways, a helpless smile on her face. ‘Well,’ she coughed, pulling herself together, ‘I better get going but it was lovely to talk to you, Eve.’
‘You too,’ Eve said, feeling the glow of sensing that she had made a new friend.
She watched Aisha leave, winding her way into the village, imagining her in the office desperately trying to make polite chit-chat with Martin as he spent time searching on the internet for another falcon for his collection, or whatever he did for fun. What a pairing.
She ambled to the boat, gratified to hear Marmite’s excited bark as she approached, hauled him out as she opened the door, then watched him race around the common. In the distance she could see two angry geese waddling her way and she called Marmite back into the boat as their honking neared. Don’t be scared, Eve, they’re only geese.
‘Marmite! Come on, Marmite! MARMITE.’
As she sat in the boat later that day, the woodburning stove crackling, one eye on her book, a novel she’d bought in the village that week – there were only so many unusual orchids she could take – the earlier peace was forgotten. Marmite was asleep on her lap, but even his steady breathing couldn’t stop her getting restless. Her phone sat by her side but she had already called Daisy. She hadn’t answered, but then to be fair, she had a job and so Eve had just left an absurd message part-song, part-chanting, to make her smile.
She stared out at the common and the few people dotted about. One man was sitting on a bench with a newspaper; a woman walked past holding two toddlers by both hands, bending down to their eye level as she spoke to them. She hadn’t seen him in days. She had started to expect him, making sure she had bought biscuits and things for his sudden appearances, feeling excited if she spotted someone running in the distance. The Tupperware container he had brought the mince pies in was washed and sitting on the draining board ready to be returned. She stared at it as she walked past it, the box reminding her of that day.
Her eyes roved the boat and she felt that old sense of impatience. She hadn’t felt fidgety like this since she had first arrived, used now to the pace of the boat and the sounds of the river, the movement of the boat, the leaves that floated past on the current. She gently lifted Marmite away from her and he opened one sleepy accusatory eye as she stood up.
Reaching for a recipe book, she moved across to the kitchen counter. Trawling its pages, not exactly sure what she was looking for, she stopped at a picture. She scanned the list of ingredients, remembering Greg telling her not to over-complicate things. It seemed straightforward enough and she realised as she trailed a finger down the list that she had the ingredients she needed.
Feeling a flicker of excitement, she set to work, reaching for the plastic scales and starting to tip flour and sugar into heaped piles. Searching for an egg from the fridge, she laughed as Marmite appeared in the gap.
‘Typical,’ she smiled, switching on the oven and rootling for one of the treats he loved at the same time.
‘Sit,’ she said, watching in delight as he obediently followed her order. ‘Good boy,’ she cooed, feeding him the treat and feeling another swell of pride as he returned to a spot in front of the stove.
Half an hour later and the whole boat smelt of golden syrup and sponge. She hopped up every two minutes to check on it through the glass screen of the oven and squeaked as she pulled out the loaf tin. It had risen; it was gorgeous. Biting her lip, she grabbed a tea towel and gently cut around the shape with a knife. This was the moment, she thought, as she turned it over and tapped the bottom. She felt weight in the tea towel and carefully flipped it back over onto a waiting plate. It had survived in one piece, the gingerbread soft in the middle and perfectly browned on top.
She sliced it and loaded all the pieces into the Tupperware container. As she covered the layers in pieces of kitchen roll, she grinned over at Marmite who had appeared again, thinking that whatever was in the container was his.
‘Aren’t I clever?’ she said, untying her hair and rushing through to fetch her coat, pausing at the bathroom mirror to put on some pale lipstick, circling her eyes with brown shadow in smudged lines. She cleaned her teeth quickly, re-applying lipstick and looking at herself in the mirror. She briefly recalled her words to Danny earlier but blocked out the thought with a huff. She wasn’t over her ex; this was just an innocent trip into the village. Stop staring at me, smirking face in the mirror. She poked a tongue out at herself. The smell as she walked back into the kitchen made her grin. She had done it all on her own, the scent of hot sponge coming off it in hot waves, the root ginger lingering in the boat as she went to lock up.
Putting Marmite on a lead and heading out over the common, she wondered whether he would mind her simply appearing at his workplace. She looked at Marmite and felt a stab of guilt for using him in this way.
Walking under the railway bridge, a train rattled above them. Eve, already jumpy, yelped as they moved through the tunnel. There were more decorations up today, every shop on the high street now making some effort. The baker had put a Santa and a sledge on the tiled roof of his shop; the delicatessen had sprayed snow into the edges of its windows; the café had a miniature Christmas tree outside, next to a blackboard offering a free mince pie with every coffee. Eve moved down the row of houses towards the vet practice, enj
oying the small glimpses inside the front rooms of houses on the high street, smiling at the pinecones in bowls on tables, the fairy lights draped across mantlepieces, presents already wrapped and placed under trees.
The bell rang out as she arrived in the practice, a poster of an enormous St Bernard announcing half-price vaccinations for new clients. She was fairly certain Marmite had been vaccinated recently, remembered Liam moaning about taking a morning off work to do it.
Eve approached the desk, pursing her lips as the receptionist, a middle-aged lady on the phone, her chest wobbling as she spoke, finished her call.
She looked up at Eve, smiling with startlingly pink lips, ‘Can I help you?’
‘I was wondering if you had a free appointment?’ Eve asked in a quiet voice, aware of the other people waiting in a line on the plastic chairs behind her.
Before she could continue, a familiar voice was heard, a door opened and Greg stepped through, his face flushed, his hair sticking up, a stethoscope hanging round his neck.
‘Karen, can you pop through a moment and help… Eve.’ He stopped short.
‘Oh!’ Eve giggled, feeling absurd as she did so. What are you, twelve years old? Stop giggling at him, woman.
She straightened. ‘I needed an appointment,’ she said quickly. Because that is why you come to a busy vet’s practice during the day.
Greg stepped forward, a look of concern on his face, bending down to take a look at Marmite. ‘Has anything happened?’ He was checking him over and she felt her stomach lurch. He seemed to be really worried.
‘Oh… he, it was his…’ Agh, she had not thought this through, oh God. And now, looking at him, she was reminded again of the kiss. His face was like one big pair of giant lips as he looked up at her.
‘He was whining about something maybe in his… foot, leg, near his, on his…’ Wow, Eve, seriously, pick one.
‘Which leg?’ Greg asked. Eve’s eyes darted to one of the women on the plastic chairs, who seemed to be checking her watch as she witnessed this impromptu consultation.