by Sandy Taylor
This was just the sort of place that I could see Clark and Emma living. I must tell them about it, and I would bring Polly here. She’d love it.
‘He lives on a boat?’ said Carol, looking disappointed. ‘I thought he’d have a studio.’
‘The studio might be somewhere else.’
‘I think that’s it,’ she said, pointing to a very large boat just up ahead.
As we got closer we could see ‘Shenandoah’ written on its side.
There was a small window open and strains of ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ by Bob Dylan were coming from inside.
‘How do we get in?’ asked Carol.
The poor girl looked terrified. I took hold of her hand.
‘It’ll be fine, and I’ll be with you.’
‘Thanks, Dottie.’
Just then a door swung open and a man emerged from inside the boat.
We stared at him with our mouths open.
‘Bloody hell,’ whispered Carol. ‘He’s gorgeous.’
‘He’s an Adonis,’ I whispered back.
‘But he’s not the guy I met in the butcher’s,’ she whispered.
‘Tony Rotchfort.’ The man jumped down onto the towpath and held out his hand. This guy wasn’t handsome – he was quite beautiful. His features were delicate, almost like that of a girl, and yet there was no mistaking that he was all man. He was wearing a white vest and his muscles rippled beneath his tanned skin. His hair was fair and it flopped over his eyes. He kept sweeping it back and my God those eyes – they were the darkest blue I’d ever seen. You could lose yourself in them.
I smiled. ‘We’re looking for Greg Palmer.’
‘Carol?’ he said, looking at me.
Well I was flattered that he thought I was the would-be model. ‘No, I’m Dottie. Carol’s cousin.’
Carol smiled her best smile and said, ‘I’m Carol.’
‘Greg told me you were coming. He’s had to pop out. I have been instructed to look after you. Tea?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Climb aboard then, girls.’
We had to duck down as we entered the cabin. The interior of the boat was stunning. The panelled walls were painted in the palest blue and the ceiling in a soft shade of lemon. It reminded me of the beach huts on Brighton seafront. Everything had a place – bookshelves lined one wall and canvases and frames were stacked against another. There was a table with a bench either side of it. A comfy looking sofa in the same yellow as the ceiling was positioned under the window, and pale blue cushions completed the look. It really was beautiful.
‘Welcome to our little home.’
‘It’s lovely,’ I said.
Carol hadn’t moved since we’d stepped onto the boat. She looked like she was in a state of shock. ‘Are you a model?’ she asked, staring at him.
‘Good God no,’ he said. ‘I’m a poor artist, struggling to put food on the table.’ He was grinning at us. ‘I am an undiscovered talent just waiting to be thrust upon an unsuspecting world.’
‘Do you and Greg both live here?’ I asked.
‘We do. It’s cheaper than a flat, and we like the community of the boat people.’
‘I wouldn’t mind living here,’ said Carol, smiling at him.
‘Boats come up for sale now and then. I’ll keep a lookout for you.’
Tony was talking to Carol as if she was a grown-up, independent woman who might just decide to live on a boat in the middle of London, instead of the naïve little girl from See-saw Lane who lived with her mother. I looked at her face. It was glowing. Maybe she could be the woman that Tony was seeing. I kind of hoped so.
Tony made us tea in the little galley kitchen while Carol and I sat on the yellow sofa. The boat rocked gently beneath us. I could have stayed there forever – it was so peaceful.
Just then someone jumped down onto the boat, making the tea slop into the saucers.
‘The man himself,’ said Tony.
‘Sorry,’ said Greg, ducking as he came into the room. ‘I had to deliver a couple of pictures. Glad to see that Tony’s been looking after you.’
Tony grinned at him. ‘Of course. Greg, this is Carol’s cousin Dottie.’
‘Hi, Dottie. You found us all right then? I thought afterwards that I should have explained that we lived on a boat.’
‘I think they want to move in,’ said Tony.
‘We love it here,’ said Greg, smiling at him.
‘Tea?’ asked Tony.
‘Always. Now first of all thanks for coming all this way. Let me tell you a little about myself,’ he said, sitting on the floor. ‘I’m a freelance photographer, I sell my photos to newspapers and magazines but I also scout for model agencies based here in London.’
‘Where would you be taking the pictures?’ I asked.
Okay, I rent a studio from an elderly couple who run a tobacconist’s shop a few streets away. They are very definite about what sort of photos we photographers take. They’ve given a couple of them their marching orders already. They insist on seeing the girls’ birth certificates before they let them across the threshold. You have got yours, Carol?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, so you see she is in the very safe hands of myself and Mrs Kovak.’
There was something very familiar about Greg. ‘Have you ever sold any photos to Trend?’ I asked.
‘I covered the McCartney–Eastman wedding for them. Why?’
‘I used to work there. I thought I recognised your name.’
‘There you are then,’ said Tony, coming into the room with Greg’s tea. You’re friends already.
‘So you know Peter?’ I said.
‘Nice bloke. He’s kept the wolf from this little boat’s porthole plenty of times.’
I felt happier about leaving Carol, knowing that he knew Peter.
‘I want to visit a friend while I am in London.’
‘Then off you go,’ said Tony. ‘We will take good care of Carol until you return.’
‘Carol?’
‘You go. I’ll be fine.’
‘Okay.’
I walked back to Paddington station and got the Tube to Islington, then cut across Highbury Fields and ran up the steps of 59 Victoria Terrace. I felt happy to be back, and I couldn’t wait to see Polly. I rang the doorbell and waited. I could hear someone thundering down the stairs and then the door opened and there she was. We fell into each other’s arms screaming. Mrs P poked her head out of her flat door.
‘Hello, Miss Perks.’
‘Hello, Mrs P.’
‘Just visiting?’
‘Yes, I have to go back to Brighton later.’
‘Have a nice visit,’ she said and shut her door.
‘Nosy old cow,’ said Polly.
‘God, I called her Mrs P.’
‘Don’t worry about that.’ She caught hold of my hand and we ran up the stairs.
‘Oh, Dottie, I’ve missed you so much,’ said Polly, pulling me down onto the couch.
‘I’ve missed you too.’
‘A mouse has moved into your room.’
‘A what?’
‘A mouse, a little brown mouse.’
‘Are we talking about an actual mouse here, or a girl that looks like a mouse?’
‘She scuttles.’
‘That sounds more spiderish than mouseish.’
‘No, she’s definitely a mouse. She even squeaks like a mouse and she wears a lot of brown.’
‘Not your new best friend then?’
‘No, she’s bloody not. Oh, Dottie, why did you have to go?’
‘I’m beginning to wonder.’
‘You’re not, are you?’ said Polly, suddenly looking concerned.
‘No, no, of course I’m not,’ I said quickly. ‘Take no notice.’
‘Too late, you’ll have to tell me now.’
‘Just stuff we’ve got to work through.’
‘What about the flat?’
‘It’s lovely.’
‘And Ralph?’
&n
bsp; ‘Also lovely.’
‘So what’s left?’
‘Peggy.’
‘Ah, the child.’
‘The child.’
‘You look as if you need to talk but first tea? Coffee? Flat lemonade? Leftover sherry from last Christmas?’
‘So much choice and so little time. I’m swaying towards the sherry, but I think I’ll plump for coffee.’
‘If I’ve got any. I always used yours, didn’t I?’
‘You did.’
I followed her into the kitchen. She rummaged around in the cupboard. ‘We’ll have to nick the mouse’s coffee. I’ll pay it back.’
‘Never knew mice drank coffee.’
‘Oh they do, gallons of it.’
‘And cheese?’
‘Pounds of the stuff.’
This was what I had missed, this daft, silly banter. It made me feel young again. My God what was I thinking? That I wanted this back?
We took our coffees into the front room, kicked off our shoes and cosied up on the couch.
‘So what is it with Miss Peggy then?’
‘She doesn’t like me.’
‘Of course she likes you, you’re adorable and lovable.’
‘Not according to Peggy I’m not. I’m the evil interloper. I’ve stolen her daddy away from her. I’ve sent Fiona away, and I’ve even managed to get rid of Australia.’
‘Gosh, you’ve been busy.’
‘I don’t know how I can fix it, Polly.’
‘And I had you doing cartwheels along Brighton seafront.’
‘Just goes to show doesn’t it?’
‘So what exactly is wrong?’
‘She refuses to move into the flat and until she does Ralph is miserable, and I feel as if everyone is blaming me.’
‘I don’t suppose they are though.’
‘Maybe not, but that’s how it feels.’
‘I wish I could help.’
‘Just being here and talking to you is helping.’
‘I wish you were staying longer.’
‘So do I, but I’ve got to get Carol back.’
‘Maybe I could come and stay with you one weekend.’
‘Of course you can.’ Just the thought of Polly in Brighton made me happy.
‘Would Ralph mind?’
‘He’s hardly ever there. He spends most of his time at his mum’s.’
Polly and I whiled away the afternoon chatting and drinking coffee. I told her about Aunty Brenda thinking the photographer was a boy scout, and she thought it was hilarious. At one point during the afternoon I saw the mouse scuttle past.
‘See, I told you, she scuttles.’
‘I’ve missed this.’
‘Me too.’
Leaving Polly was hard. I had been more relaxed in those couple of hours than I had been for weeks.
‘Write and tell me when you can visit. I’d love to show you the flat and take you round Brighton.’
‘I will.’
We hugged on the doorstep and I waved to her until she was out of sight. I walked across the field towards the station then got the Tube back to Paddington.
The sky was clouding over as I walked along the towpath; it looked as if it was about to pour with rain. As I neared the ‘Shenandoah’ I could hear music and laughter coming from inside. I tapped on the window. Tony came out and helped me onto the boat.
Carol looked happy. She was sitting on the lemon couch with her feet curled under her. I sat next to her. ‘Take Five’ was playing in the background. Greg turned the music down.
I smiled at Carol. ‘So did you have a good time?’
‘I had an amazing time.’
‘The girl did good,’ said Greg. ‘I was right, she’s a natural.’
‘So what happens now?’ I asked.
‘I do the rounds of the model agencies and try to drum up some interest, but I’m quietly optimistic. Carol photographs well. Some girls have got the height, but the camera doesn’t love them.’ Greg smiled. ‘The camera loves you, Carol.’
Carol blushed, which I thought was sweet. ‘It was great,’ she said.
I smiled at her. I was glad that she’d had such a nice time. ‘So you’d like to do it again then?’
‘I’d love to do it again.’
‘And I’m sure you will,’ said Greg.
Carol grinned at him. ‘Really?’
‘Like I said, the camera loves you.’
I wished we could have stayed longer. It felt so calm and peaceful sitting there with Dave Brubeck playing in the background and the boat moving gently beneath us. I could have quite happily curled up and fallen asleep.
Reluctantly I stood up. ‘I’m afraid we have to catch a train,’ I said.
Both men kissed our cheeks, and we waved goodbye to them as we walked back along the towpath.
A soft rain had started to come down and a mist was settling over the canal. It had an eerie feel about it. It reminded me of the TV series Dixon of Dock Green that Mary and I used to watch on a Saturday night when we were kids. In almost every episode London seemed to be shrouded in mist.
We got the Tube over to Victoria and settled down in the carriage as the train took us home to Brighton.
‘I think I’m in love,’ said Carol dreamily.
‘With Greg?’
‘No, Tony.’
‘Oh.’
‘What do you mean oh?’
‘I’m pretty sure he’s taken.’
‘Taken with who?’
‘Greg.’
Carol laughed. ‘Greg?’
‘I think they’re a couple. In fact I’m sure they are.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘What a bloody waste.’
‘Shouldn’t think Greg would agree with you.’
‘Lucky git,’ said Carol, grinning at me.
I was beginning to warm to the girl. She’d been good company. Maybe we could be friends after all.
‘Thanks for today, Dottie.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
‘I did, I really did.’
Carol stared out of the window; she seemed lost in thought. Then she turned to me and said, ‘Do you really think that I could be a model?’
‘Well Greg seems to think you can.’
‘I hope so, because I think it’s time to leave See-saw Lane.’
‘Let’s just see what your mum has to say about that first,’ I said, grinning at her.
‘Oh, don’t,’ she said, giggling.
As the train picked up speed I looked out of the window. The face staring back at me was not the face of someone wanting to go home.
34
I had been working at Tom Brown’s for two weeks now, and I loved it. I hadn’t found the next Daphne du Maurier yet, but every manuscript that I picked up filled me with excitement. This could be the one, the diamond in the rough, the undiscovered talent that Tom was looking for.
‘It won’t last,’ said Millie, smiling across from her desk.
‘What won’t?’
‘Hope. I was like you in the beginning, but just wait till you’ve ploughed through the amount of garbage that I have. I told Tom that if he didn’t get someone to help me I was leaving.’
‘Really?’
‘Well that’s what I told him, but he didn’t believe me. He knows I love it here. Something must have gone in though, because he took you on.’
‘This job is a godsend. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t got it.’
‘You were in the right place at the right time, girl, and I’m afraid you have to stay forever. It’s in the contract.’
I loved working with Millie. We got on so well. She was single and living at home with her parents.
‘The perfect man just hasn’t arrived yet, and I will settle for no less than perfect,’ she said one morning.
‘And what’s perfect?’
‘Kind, caring, handsome, oh, and of course loaded.’
‘You don’t want much
do you?’
‘I’ve kissed too many frogs, Dottie. I’m looking for my prince.’
‘Even princes have their frog days.’
‘So says the voice of experience. How many frogs have you kissed then?’
‘Not that many as it happens.’
‘At least you’re married. I’m still living at home.’
‘Who told you that I was married?’
‘Well aren’t you?’
‘No, we live together.’
‘Blimey, does Tom know?’
‘Do you think he’d mind?’
‘I don’t know. No, I’m sure he wouldn’t, he’s pretty open-minded. Don’t your parents mind?’
‘My sister took the moral high ground, but then I wouldn’t have expected anything less. We will get married, but we can’t afford it just yet.’
‘Well I think you’re very brave. My parents would disown me. Nothing short of a personal appearance from the Pope himself will satisfy them.’
‘Catholic?’
‘Through and through, like a stick of Brighton rock.’
‘Well I haven’t got that to worry about.’
‘You’re the first person I’ve ever met who’s living in sin,’ said Millie, grinning at me.
I started giggling.
‘What?’
‘Well, it sounds like a place, doesn’t it? Oh yes I’m living in Sin. It’s a lovely little village just outside Lewis.’
Millie started laughing.
Tom came into the room. ‘What’s the joke?’ he asked, smiling.
‘We were just talking about living in sin,’ said Millie.
‘You should be so lucky,’ he said, putting a manuscript on my desk.
‘Is Tom married?’ I asked after he’d gone back into his office.
‘No, the only thing he’s married to is the job. Why, do you fancy him?’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Well, he’s not a bad-looking bloke.’
‘Do you fancy him then?’
‘No, he’s not my type.’
‘And what’s your type, Miss Millie?’
‘Dark and moody,’ she said, grinning.