by Katie Fforde
‘Right. So who owns The Three Sisters?'
‘Well, Jo – that's who I'm staying with – rents it, so I don't know. Jo's over there.'
‘She looks nice.'
‘She is.' She paused. 'So why are you here?'
‘I work in a boatyard but I'm always trying to pick up work as a deckhand. I spend a lot of time around boats but not enough time at sea.'
‘Fair enough.'
‘Can I get you a drink? I think there's going to be wine with dinner, but as there's no sign of any food, you might need something before then.’
Dora considered. She had been thirsty when Jo had bought her a drink and had asked for a Henry. Now she felt something stronger than orange juice and soda might be a good idea. 'A glass of red wine would be great.’
Tom looped his leg out from behind the chair in an athletic way. 'House red?'
‘Fine.’
Jo caught her attention while he was gone and leant low across the table. 'Are you all right? I mean, he seems quite cute from over here, but if you're not happy, I could swap.’
Hoping fervently that this stage whisper was not as audible as it seemed, Dora said, 'I'm fine. He's fun. No probs.'
‘That's OK then.' Jo settled back in her seat and then leant forward again. 'Did I warn you? There's going to be a quiz.'
‘Oh. That's all right. I won't know anything. I'll just sit and watch.’
Jo smiled. 'I only know questions about gardening and cooking and I bet there won't be any.’
They both sat back down and Dora rearranged her knives and forks again.
‘So, you'll be looking for a job, then?' asked Tom, when he had returned with the drinks.
‘Yes, I suppose so. I mean, I will be on Monday. I did think I'd leave myself the weekend to settle in.’
He ignored her gentle sarcasm. 'What do you do?’
This was a question Dora hated. 'Office work. Nothing very exciting.'
‘What sort of place did you work in before?'
‘An estate agent's. It was fun.' Tom was probably too young to have had a bad estate agent experience, but Dora was so bored with people telling her how dreadful they were as a breed, she used defensive tactics automatically.
‘Was it very high-tech?'
‘Moderately. I don't know really. I'd worked there since I left college.'
‘Didn't you go to uni?’
Dora shook her head. 'No. I did a secretarial course. What about you?' So far, all the questions had been one way and Tom hadn't had to justify his existence at all.
‘I went to college too. Falmouth. I'm a boat-builder. Apprentice, really. I do other odd jobs to make extra money.'
‘That sounds interesting.'
‘Does it, if you're not really interested in boats?’
‘Who says I'm not interested in boats?'
‘You're just on one for a cheap place to stay.' He grinned. 'Do you live on a boat?'
‘Yes, actually. But not a barge.'
‘Oh, do you have to, in your job?'
‘No, but as you say, it's cheap. The yard where me and my mates do a lot of work lets us have a mooring if we don't mind moving about when they've got work on. I'm not there at the moment. No room. I'm near here for the time being. It's handy, being able to move your home.'
‘I suppose.'
‘Does that sound very strange to you?'
‘Yes. I mean, I come from a small village, where every one lives in houses.'
‘This is like a village too, only people live on boats or barges. I've just moved villages for a while.’
As Dora was fleeing from the cosiness of village life she didn't want to talk about them all night. She changed the subject. 'What's the difference between boats and barges, technically?’
Tom took a sip from his pint. 'They say a barge can carry a boat, but a boat couldn't carry a barge. It's quite an involved question, really, and I don't suppose you're all that interested.' He glanced at her and smiled. He did have a rather nice smile, boyish and charming at the same time.
Dora felt she could have feigned interest for a little while, but not for long. However, if they talked about boats and barges it would mean he wouldn't ask probing questions. She fell silent as she considered.
‘Look,' he said, possibly getting tired of waiting for an answer. 'People are standing up. Food is arriving. Things are kicking off.’
Jo watched Dora from across the table. She seemed happy. The gorgeous young man at her side was apparently keeping her amused and her him likewise. She was such a pretty girl, it would have seemed a shame for her to have married someone she'd known for ever. Jo had got married young herself, and now it felt like a waste of her looks and gaiety to have thrown it away on the firstman to ask her. After all, you couldn't sow your wild oats after you were married, not in her book.
She and Philip had been part of a social set that used to do things together – trips to pubs, the cinema, parties. Then they had got married and real life began.
Michael, the owner of the barge, had been part of that early group. He too had got married relatively young, and Jo had thought they had lost touch with him. But apparently Philip had not and knew that he had been widowed and was now living with a very glamorous woman in the South of France.
Jo didn't resent Michael for living with a younger woman. In theory, she didn't resent anyone for following his or her heart, she just resented Philip for doing it, when he was married to her.
Once, many, many years ago, she had fallen in love with another man. She hadn't felt that intrinsically Philip's happiness was more important than hers, but there was Karen to think of, her parents, the in-laws, and a whole slew of other people who would have been desperately upset if she'd run off with someone else. So she hadn't done anything about it.
She had gone on thinking about the man for years, but, eventually, he had faded from her memory and now she couldn't even conjure up what he looked like.
So when Philip had allowed himself to get involved with the Floosie (who was probably a perfectly nice girl, who just had a taste for older men), the betrayal had been doubly hurtful, because she hadn't betrayed him when she had so much wanted to.
Now, she turned her attention to the woman who was talking to her. One of the things she had noticed since moving on to a barge was that having something major in common already was a great aid to conversation.
‘You must come and see ours,' the woman – Miranda, Jo thought – was saying. 'We've done a lot to it.'
‘The Three Sisters is quite basic,' said Jo apologetically, although she had redecorated the boatman's cabin for her own sake, and the bathroom in Dora's honour, 'but as it's not mine, there's not a lot I can do about it.'
‘Will you go cruising with her?' Miranda asked, tucking into her food.
‘Oh no, I couldn't do that. I'd be far too nervous, not to mention seasick.'
‘I get a little nervous when we first set off, then I get into it. Lots of us women feel the same. We don't live on ours, of course, but we spend as much time as possible on it.'
‘Like a weekend cottage?’
Miranda nodded. 'Only now Bill's retired, we spend weeks on it too, when I can get away.'
‘So, what do you do?' said Jo, more interested than this run-of-the-mill question sounded.
‘I'm part-owner of a little antique shop. I don't have to actually be there often, as people who have things for sale take turns, but I buy stuff for it. Lillian – that's my partner – says it's no good us just providing a venue for other dealers. We have to sell for ourselves.'
‘That sounds fun.'
‘Oh, it is. I love it. We don't make much money, but it keeps me out of trouble.' Miranda paused. 'And what do you do? Or are you retired too?’
Jo hadn't anticipated this question. Unlike Dora, who had prepared an answer, she was put on the spot. 'I don't think I'm retired, I think I'm between careers.'
‘Are you? What bliss! Much as I love what I do, how wonderful to have a chance to start again
. Don't you think?’
Miranda's enthusiasm was startling and Jo had to think for a moment before answering. 'Yes, I suppose it is.' Miranda made a gesture. 'Sorry, you probably don't feel like that at all, but I always want to apply for every job I ever see. And I know they're not going to take me on as a stable girl at my age, even if I did know anything about horses.'
‘Have some more wine,' said Jo. She was enjoying herself.
*
'So, what do you do for fun?' Tom asked Dora when they returned to their table, their plates piled high.
‘Um – what do you mean?' Dora knew perfectly well what Tom meant but she needed time to think something up. She and John had exercised his mother's dogs and gone to the supermarket for fun. She didn't think that Tom would be impressed.
‘You know, hobbies, stuff like that. Did you have a gap year?'
‘No. You?'
‘No. I'm going travelling when I've saved enough money.'
‘I was going to do that too. When I got the job in the estate agent's, I thought it was just for the summer but somehow I just stayed.' John hadn't wanted to go travelling, and she'd loved him, so she'd stayed at home to be with him. Now she'd have to think of a reason for staying that didn't involve John.
‘Oh? Why? Was it so fascinating?'
‘Strangely, yes. I love houses.'
‘And I love boats.’
She laughed. 'It's a good thing we're not planning to get together then!' She stopped abruptly, aware that she'd brought up the very subject she most hoped to avoid. Tom seemed quite calm about it, however. 'Oh, I don't know. I was planning to ask you out for a drink, actually.’
‘Were you?'
‘I'll let you know if I intend to go through with it,' he said gravely.
‘Give me plenty of warning, so I can think up an excuse if I don't want to.' She was suddenly more relaxed. She hadn't sworn off men for ever, she just didn't want a commitment. Tom didn't look like he would want to settle down with a mortgage, a Labrador and a semi, like John did. He was going travelling. That made him safe. She also liked his curly hair. John had floppy hair. Her mother thought he looked like Hugh Grant, and he did in a way. He wore the same sort of clothes. Tom was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a subversive message on it.
‘Here, let me top you up,' said Tom with a lopsided grin.
‘OK,' said Dora.
*
'Which is the longest river in the British Isles, including Ireland?' asked the quizmaster later that evening.
To Dora's relief, the couple next to them had teamed up with her and Tom, so Tom wouldn't be answering the questions all on his own.
‘The Thames,' said the male half of the couple con fidently. He was called Derek.
‘No! The Severn, surely!' said Sheila, his wife.
The argument about which of the two it was went on between them and Tom until Dora felt compelled to speak up. 'He said including Ireland. In which case, it's the Shannon.'
‘Are you sure?' Three astonished faces regarded her. She nodded. 'Oh yes. I don't know much, but what I know, I know.'
‘But surely-' began Derek.
‘Write it down,' said Tom. 'We haven't time to argue any more. Here's the next question.’
Dora's contribution was valued. Because of John's fond ness for quizzes, she'd watched a lot of them on television. It gave her an eclectic, if not frightfully useful, range of information. It was acknowledged that it was thanks to her that their team won.
‘That was brilliant!' said Tom, kissing her hard on the cheek.
‘Yes!' said the others, kissing her too. 'Now go up and choose a prize for us. Something to drink, if possible.' Dora came back with a bottle of rum.
Derek and Sheila were so pleased to have won. 'The people on Cinderella always win the quiz. Look at them now, pig sick! Now, let's go back to Avocet and make rum punches.'
‘Good idea,' said Tom. 'Have you got any limes?'
‘I'm afraid I can't come,' said Dora. 'I'm with Jo. The woman over there in the red top?'
‘Oh yes,' said Derek. 'Very attractive. Well, invite her, too.’
His wife shot him a discerning look. 'She looks as if she's tied up with her team. They came third, I think.'
‘I'd better go and join her,' said Dora.
Tom leapt out of his seat to follow her. 'Don't rush off! Come and have one rum punch, and then I'll see you home. I'd like to talk to you a bit more.'
‘Look, really, I'm not looking for any sort of relationship just now.’
Tom grinned. 'Nor am I! I want to know if you'd like to work for a boatyard.’
Feeling stupid for rushing in with that statement, Dora hoped he wouldn't notice her heightened colour. 'What?'
‘Don't look so horrified, I only meant in the office. But it's local, and you might enjoy it.’
Pleased that he hadn't connected her blush with her use of the 'R' word, she went on more happily, 'Surely you can't offer me a job?'
‘No, but I can get you to apply for it. Now, let's tell Jo you're coming home separately.'
‘Dora was brilliant in the quiz,' said Tom as they joined Jo's group. 'I'm Tom, by the way.' He shook Jo's hand in much the same way he'd shaken Dora's. 'We're going to Avocet to drink our prize. I'll bring her home safely. Has she got a curfew?’
At first, Jo didn't understand quite what he meant, and then found the notion hilarious. 'No she hasn't! She's an adult, she can do what she wants. Just don't let her fall in on the way back. Where is Avocet? Is it in the marina, or outside?'
‘Outside,' said Tom, 'with the other visiting boats.'
‘You'll need a fob, then,' said Jo. 'Here's the spare, I meant to give it to you earlier,' she added as she reached into her bra.
‘She's great!' said Tom as he escorted Dora down the stairs. 'And you've only lived with her for one day?'
‘I knew her when I was growing up though,' said Dora. 'But you're right. She's great.’
*
After drinking their prize on Avocet, Tom had wanted her to go back to the boat where he lived to carry on drinking, but Dora had been very firm about saying no. Much as she had (surprisingly) enjoyed herself this evening, it was quite late, and lovely as Jo undoubtedly was, she might not appreciate Dora having the hangover from hell the next day, especially when the cleaning process would be continued. Jo was very anxious about the boat parade.
Anyway, Dora couldn't cook with a hangover, and she had promised to make chocolate brownies to infuse the barge with a nice smell, and to bribe the visitors with. Jo had bought lots of beers and wine.
‘I know it's silly,' she had said, 'but I can't have people crossing my threshold without offering them something to eat or drink. Hospitality is my besetting sin.' She had paused for a moment. 'Well, one of them.'
‘What are the others?' Dora had asked.
‘Buying clothes from catalogues and not sending them back if they don't fit.'
‘What did you do instead?'
‘I gave them to the charity shop. But that was when I was a kept woman. I'm going to be far more practical now.' So, being practical also, Dora said goodnight to Tom.
Chapter Three
‘Do you want a cup of tea and some toast?' Jo spoke quietly but urgently through a crack in the door to Dora's cabin. 'It's nearly ten o'clock. The boat parade starts at eleven.’
Dora opened a reluctant, then a guilt-stricken eye. 'Oh my God, I'm so sorry.'
‘So, tea and toast?'
‘No, no. I'll get up. I'll have a shower and I'll go back on cleaning duty.'
‘We're pretty tidy now. As tidy as we're ever going to be, anyway. I'll have tea ready for when you're out of the shower.' Jo closed the door quietly behind her and wondered if Dora was likely to go back to sleep. It was with some relief that she heard her go to the bathroom a few moments later.
Jo had enjoyed her evening very much and yet she hadn't slept well. It was partly having Dora, she knew. Although she had protested so firmly that her lodger
was an adult, she hadn't really settled until she'd heard Dora come in. And then there was Miranda who'd made her laugh so much and who'd wanted a job as a stable girl. She'd been so envious of Jo having a chance to start a new career and had given Jo a lot to think about. Up until then, she'd thought of herself as the injured party, battling valiantly to make a new life for herself. Now she had more or less done that, a new career was what she needed and wanted, she realised.
She'd lain awake much of the night thinking of what she could do. Being a stable girl was not an option for her, either. But she did have skills. She was quite a good gardener, although probably didn't fancy doing it all year round. She could cook up a storm if required and used to produce the most wonderfully creative birthday cakes: sculptures from butter icing, a very particular art. Remembering her ingenuity made her smile, but then she allowed herself a moment of bitterness for the number of dinners she'd cooked for her ex-husband's boring clients. That led her thoughts to the issue of whether he was an ex-husband if they weren't actually divorced yet. Yes, definitely, she decided. He was no longer her husband, he was the husband of the Floosie, even if they weren't married.
She could always cook in a pub or something. That might be fun. She could be a barmaid and wear the sparkly red top that had gone down so well with her fellow guests. Then she remembered that barmaids needed to be younger too. And maybe, if she was stuck in the kitchen all the time, she wouldn't enjoy working in a pub. Or a café? A nice, genteel café where they served teacakes and scones? Her mind had drifted back to her childhood. The Lavender Tearooms. They'd served wonderful things: jewel biscuits, jap cakes, macaroons, German biscuits, Dundee cake, Battenberg cakes, all sorts and all made on the premises. Yes, that idea definitely appealed. She wasn't sure that such establishments still existed, except possibly in Richmond, famous for its Maids of Honour confections and several miles away, but it was a good start.
Eventually she'd gone to sleep thinking about her garden, and wondering which of the roses were out. Would the Floosie learn to love her Paul's Himalayan Musk rambling up the copper beech, with pale pink and tiny blooms, as much as she had?
