by Sarah Jasmon
‘I’m sorry to turn up like this,’ he was saying. He was wearing a fisherman’s jumper, the surface speckled with shining drops of water. It was weird, seeing someone where you didn’t expect them. Like bumping into someone you worked with in the swimming pool. Dave belonged in running shorts, up in the sunshine of Bugsworth Basin.
‘That’s OK.’ He wasn’t a big man, but this was the first time she’d been on the boat with another person. It made the room feel smaller. Charlie sensed that he was looking around, taking note of what was on the walls, the shelves.
‘Look, I’ve come at a bad time,’ he said, taking a step back towards the doors. ‘I hadn’t realized it’d got so late.’
‘No, really.’ Despite the oddness, it didn’t feel wrong that he was there. As she’d felt when he helped her with the boat, he fitted in. ‘It’s just I wasn’t expecting anyone to know where I was.’ And that made it sound like she was on the run.
‘I didn’t,’ he said, with a lop-sided smile. ‘It was complete chance. You see, I’ve been staying with a friend in the town, and they mentioned that the boat was here.’
‘Coincidence,’ Charlie said. Then the flaw in the explanation struck her. ‘But how did they—’
‘Know that I knew you?’ Dave gave another quick smile. ‘They didn’t. It was the boat they knew.’
He explained more as she made tea, talking through the opening between the rooms as she clicked on the gas, chose the mugs. She gave herself the one called bluestocking, pausing for just a moment before selecting secret agent for Dave.
‘I should have told you back at Bugsworth,’ he was saying. ‘But I was still trying to pretend it didn’t matter.’
‘Didn’t matter?’ Charlie held up the milk, waiting for his nod.
‘The boat,’ Dave said. ‘It belonged to my mum, you see.’
‘No way?’ Charlie came back into the room. He took the mug she offered, waiting for her to sit before lowering himself to the sofa. She tried to remember what they’d talked about on the back deck, her up to her armpit in canal water. Nothing about the boat, she didn’t think. ‘That’s odd, actually, because it was my mum who bought the boat. I’ve only been on board for a month.’ She thought of the licence, with her name on it. Charlotte Nilsson. Would she claim it as hers now, if Dave asked the question? She pulled herself back to the moment. ‘Had she had it for a long time?’
‘About ten years. How come you’re here, not her?’ His swift change of direction pushed them away from the question of his mother, and towards hers.
‘It’s kind of complex.’ She paused, wondering how much she really wanted to get into it. On the one hand, here was an opportunity to find out more about Britta and the boat, but she could hardly jump straight in with all the details at once. ‘Look, did you want to stay for something to eat? It’s only going to be cheese on toast or something, but you’d be very welcome to share.’
‘If you’re sure.’ He gave the lop-sided smile again. ‘Thanks, I’d like that.’
‘Where are you heading next, then?’
Dave was leaning against the opening between the living room and the kitchen. Charlie put the last plate into the bowl and turned the tap on. A trickle came out, followed by a burst of air that sprayed the last of the water over her T-shirt. ‘Dammit.’ She turned it off and reached for a towel. ‘I’ll be going to get water, by the looks of it.’ From the front of the boat she could hear the sound of the water pump, straining to get more water out of the tank below the deck. ‘Let’s go through. I need to turn that off. And then let’s have some wine.’
Conversation had drifted over the evening from one area to the next: music, food, politics, schooldays. It didn’t matter where they went, each choice led to a mutually experienced cultural moment. None of it was deep, as if they’d made a shared decision to keep away from that corner, but Charlie couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much. The boat became warm and vibrant, a glowing spot in the darkness.
‘But no speakers? How do you manage without them?’ Dave was sprawled back on the sofa, his arms spread out along its top edge. Charlie had curled into the armchair, her head leaning against the winged side.
‘I haven’t noticed not having any. And I haven’t got anything to play through them anyway.’ He reached over to where her phone was sitting and held it up. It took her a while to work out what he meant. ‘Nope, I haven’t got any downloads, either. Or enough data to stream. Back to basics, remember. Got to make your own entertainment.’
‘Oh well, in that case.’ He turned slightly to grab at the guitar, still resting against the sofa where Charlie had left it earlier in the day. Really just that day? Realizing that her vision was slightly hazy, she watched as he settled it in place across his knees, testing the strings.
‘Nice.’ He glanced up with a smile before focusing on making tiny adjustments to the tuning pegs, pinging the strings gently as he wound them to the right place.
She vaguely expected him to play something from the classic rock songbook, Springsteen, perhaps, or even Bon Jovi, Van Halen. The imagined soundtrack of all of the beach parties she’d missed in her life. Instead, after an initial pause, he took her completely by surprise. It was a delicate melody, transporting her to another time, though she couldn’t place the period. Dave curved over the instrument with intense concentration, his fingers moving with complete control. Single clear notes sang out over the rippling, complex bassline. Charlie let herself sink back into her chair, the long day and the wine together making her head feel as if it was about to float away. The music built, layer upon layer, filling the room with tension as delicate as the skin of a bubble. It felt as if every cell of her body was being filled, every nerve soothed. And still his fingers kept going – long, sensitive fingers with wide tips and square nails. Their movement was hypnotic, compelling. Just as it almost became too much to bear, he ended with a triumphant run. His hand remained lifted in its finishing position whilst the final sounds hovered in the air.
‘That was incredible,’ she said at last. ‘Really … I’m just—’ She couldn’t find the words to say what she wanted. ‘You must play professionally, right?’
‘I wish!’ He gave a laugh as he swung the guitar back into its hiding place. ‘Once upon a time, maybe, but that ship has gone, I reckon. The odd open mic is about all these days. It’s a nice guitar, by the way.’
‘My mum left it here,’ Charlie explained. She swished the remainder of her wine around, watching the way it coated the glass. And suddenly she was telling him about it all. How no one had known about the boat until after her death. How Libby Rae had let drop hints of a different woman from the one Charlie had known, with new goals, new priorities. ‘I wonder how long she’d been wanting to do all this.’ Charlie waved a hand to take in the whole interior of the boat. ‘The guitar, the books. It’s all a bit strange. And she was exploring where she came from, I think, getting back to some connection with her roots.’
‘And it was a completely secret life?’ Dave’s face was alive with interest.
‘Apparently. Nobody knew anything.’
‘That’s pretty cool. And she left it all to you?’
‘In a way.’ For a second, the glamour dimmed. ‘My sister’s moving to a new house and our father’s going to live with them. It made sense for me to take the boat for a bit. There’s no timescale, as such. I’ll have to make the most of it while I can.’ But the boat was hers, not a joint possession, after all. And what would the legal position be if she chose not to take on Nilsson as her name? She shook the thoughts away. ‘Enough about me. What made your mum decide to sell? I’d really love to talk to her about it, actually. Find out what my mum said.’
The pause stretched out, Dave staring down at where his hands were folded on his knees. What had she said? Finally, he spoke. ‘Sorry, it still catches me, you know? I mean, of course you know, it must be the same for you.’ He lifted his hands, rubbing them along his chin and cheeks so that Charlie heard the
rasp of stubble. ‘She died at the end of last year. It was my dad who sold the boat. And I’ve not been in contact with him much since then, sorry.’
‘Oh, don’t apologize, please. It’s me that’s sorry.’ From somewhere in the town, a clock began to strike. Charlie waited to count the chimes, but there was just the one, its vibration dying as she listened for the next.
‘Wow, didn’t realize how late it’d got.’ Dave made a move to stand, stretching across to reach for his bag. ‘I’d better let you get to bed. And get my mate out of his to answer the door. And I was going to offer to wash up.’
Charlie moved in response, levering herself out of the chair. ‘Don’t worry, there’s no water anyway. I’ll do it tomorrow when I go to fill up.’ She yawned suddenly. ‘Sorry, long day.’
He yawned as well, covering his mouth with one hand and at the same time giving the impression of a rueful smile. ‘Apology accepted and reciprocated.’ He yawned again, and they both began to laugh. A spatter of heavy rain sounded on the side of the boat. It made up Charlie’s mind for her.
‘Look, why don’t you stay? There’s a spare bed at the back, and a sleeping bag. You can’t go out in this.’
Dave paused as more rain rattled down. ‘Well, if you’re sure. I don’t want to—’
‘No, honestly.’ Charlie made a move towards the kitchen. ‘Let me show you where everything is. And you can give me a hand with the next lot of locks tomorrow, if you like. I’ve got a lot coming up, and I’ve heard that’s hard work.’
‘Deal.’ He held out a hand, giving a little bow of acknowledgement as she took it. His skin was pleasantly warm, the long fingers curving around hers. She pulled back with a laugh. No point in complicating things, though he gave no indication that it was anything more than a friendly gesture. Still, the sense of his touch lingered after they’d gone to their separate rooms. She could tell where he was on the boat by the movement of the hull. There was a slight sense of instability as he moved around in the bathroom, a more definite rock as he went through to the back bedroom and climbed onto the bed.
SEVENTEEN
Charlie slept deeply, whether as a result of the late night and the wine or the reassurance of having someone else aboard, she wasn’t quite sure. She didn’t know if it was the boat moving that woke her, or the noise of Dave in the bathroom. She’d drawn the dividing curtain in front of her bed the night before and, as she lay there wondering what time it was, she heard the bathroom door on her side open. The curtain fabric bellied in very slightly as a shadow made its way past. A minute later, there came the pop of the gas being lit. So very domestic.
They negotiated the water point with ease, the extra pair of hands making for far less guesswork, and were on their way by mid-morning. The rain-washed sky was clear and pale overhead, and everything glistened in the aftermath of the night’s downpour.
‘Which way are we going at the junction?’ Dave asked, as they pulled away. A hand came out of the neighbouring boat’s window, waving them on their way, and Charlie waved back, though she wasn’t sure either of the boaters would be able to see her.
‘Junction? What junction’s that, then?’ She looked over to Dave from her place at the tiller. The excitement of moving was back again, the thrill of what was to come, even if she didn’t know where that would be.
He grinned across at her, his face relaxed. Moving must be having the same effect on him as it was on her. ‘In about an hour, we’ll be reaching the end of the Macc. You can turn left for a tunnel leading south, or right to go up a whole bunch of locks to the north.’
‘Maybe I should flip a coin?’
‘A tried and tested approach. Boat coming, might want to go right a bit.’ He waited for her to manoeuvre across, then picked up the conversation. ‘Were you planning on a short trip, or something a bit longer?’
‘I don’t know really.’ Charlie shifted the rudder arm so that Skíðblaðnir’s bow edged closer to the bank. The oncoming boat was coming down the centre of the cut, and it didn’t look as if the steersman was planning to move. It didn’t matter. This part of the canal was wide and straight, and the breeze was both gentle and blowing from behind them. The whole steering thing felt easy. ‘I want to go down to Sneasham at some point, to follow up on the woman in the photo.’
‘Margareta?’
‘Well remembered!’
‘I was listening.’ He gave a little bow. ‘That would be down to the left, then.’
‘But then I was thinking about—’ She cut the sentence short. She was as far across as she could get, but the line of the oncoming boat was still too close. ‘Have these lot even noticed we’re here? Can you give them a blast on the horn?’
Dave obliged with the klaxon sound. A head popped out from the other boat, wearing a peaked captain’s hat, and whoever was steering made a sudden turn, too much of a turn. Charlie winced as she heard the crumple of branches on the far side. It didn’t seem to bother the other boaters, though. They waved as Skíðblaðnir edged by, a gang of cheerful young men, all holding cans of beer.
‘Idiots,’ Dave commented, with a tolerant shake of his head. ‘They send ’em out on those hire boats with no instructions at all. It’s a wonder they don’t capsize.’
‘The state they were in, they’d probably not even notice.’ Charlie felt Skíðblaðnir settle as the disturbance made by the other boat died away.
‘Anyway, you were saying …’ He waited for her to say something, but she’d forgotten where they’d got to. ‘About somewhere other than Sneasham first?’
He was silent after she told him about Bella, about the visit to Max’s house and the meeting with Zoe.
‘And have you answered his email yet?’
‘Nope.’ Charlie hadn’t realized how much talking about it would upset her. She stopped speaking to concentrate again on where she was going. There was a bridge ahead, and she was aware of Dave’s attention as she steadied up to go through the stone arch. She knew she had plenty of space on either side, but it was still far too easy to get it wrong and end up scraping along the edge. For once everything went as it should and they got through like a slow, elegant pea through a shooter.
‘So,’ Dave said, as if their conversation had never been interrupted. ‘Why is it you want to go there in person? What’s your plan?’
‘I don’t know. I might not even contact him. But I’ve just had it in my mind that the canal goes right through the town, and Bella’s there …’ Her voice trailed off. It sounded pretty stupid, said out loud like that. She gave the rudder a vicious jerk, then had to correct herself before they went into the bank. She’d pushed it too far, though, and Skíðblaðnir began to weave, every attempt to bring her back in line taking her further off track. ‘Just let me concentrate a minute, OK?’
Finally, she had it all under control again, and just in time. They were coming up to a line of moored boats on the offside, and another boat was coming into view from the other direction. If she’d been a minute later, she’d have been bouncing off everyone. Dave seemed to pick up on how she was feeling. He moved until he was just off the deck, standing on the narrow gunnel that ran down Skíðblaðnir’s length. With one hand holding lightly on to the railing, he stood close to the boat’s side, ready to fend off from any bumps if they went too close to the moorings.
‘You’ve got to love boat names,’ he commented after a while. ‘They’re heavy on the puns along here.’
The boat they were passing was brand new, painted in a mirror-smooth coat of bright green paint. The name stretched along the whole of the mid-section, proclaiming WearyTired! in foot-high red letters. Next to them was a painting of a pair of rag dolls, leaning in to each other. ‘Do you remember them? Rosie and Jim?’
‘You can’t forget them on the canal.’ He wrinkled his forehead in thought, then started to hum. ‘How did it go again? I can’t believe I’ve forgotten it.’
‘No, please!’ Charlie flapped a hand. ‘Please. You start it off, it’ll be in your
head for days. I’m telling you. I’ve been there! Every time I see their smug little faces squashed in a porthole!’ It wasn’t as if it was that funny, but she could feel laughter bubbling. ‘Watch out, they’re everywhere!’ She pointed at the next boat, this one a little older, a little shabbier. And with a doll in each of the two front portholes, spreadeagled as if trying to escape. One a boy with floppy red woollen hair, the other a girl with long black hair tied up in a red bow. ‘They’re going to get you!’
It was when the painful gulps of hysteria died down that he said it. He was back on the deck, squatting by the door, and he looked up with a serious expression.
‘You should go and take your dog back.’
‘What?’ Charlie couldn’t work out at first what he was talking about. She took a moment to untangle herself from childhood TV memories. ‘Bella? What do you mean?’
‘You should go and get her.’ He pushed himself to his feet, taking the step across to stand next to her. ‘If what you’re saying is right, this new girl, this—’
‘Zoe,’ Charlie supplied. She’d shared the fact of the younger woman being at the house, but not how it had made her feel. Old, ugly, surplus. It didn’t matter how many times she reminded herself that she had been the one to go, Max’s replacement of her still felt – well, like a betrayal. She wondered how his family felt about it. Relieved, perhaps, that he was finally with someone who could give Max what he wanted.
‘Zoe, right. Well, she leaves your dog in the garden, yes?’ He waited for her to agree. ‘So we go round and find her there. That proves both your point, and that your ex is either lying or deluded in saying she doesn’t get left there. Which gives you ample justification for taking the dog back. And once you have the dog, most of his bargaining position would disappear, see? It’s a win-win.’
He was right. Or was he? Charlie focused on where the boat was going, yet without really seeing what was in front of her. One thing rang out in her head, loud and clear. The one point he was spot-on about. If they went and found Bella shut out in the garden, she would take her. She thought about the email, about Max using Bella as a bargaining chip. Let’s see what you do about that, mate. She was brought back to the present with a jerk. What was that noise? She eased off the throttle so that the engine quietened enough for her to listen more carefully. Nothing. She waited for a few seconds, then pushed it back into gear. And it came again.