by Katie Fforde
Dora laughed and sang, the others joining in, ' "Hit the road, Jack..
‘Now I'm going to get pissed,' she said.
The following Monday, Jo insisted on making Dora sandwiches for her first day at work. 'You don't have to eat them, you can just keep them in your bag, but if you find that everyone has produced snap tins at lunchtime, you'll be embarrassed as well as hungry.'
‘What's a snap tin?'
‘Oh, you know, a sandwich box. Now what would you like? I've got ham, cheese, some salad, or shall I just make something?' she added, sensing that Dora was more concerned with getting there and what she might be asked to do when she did.
‘If you don't like it you can just come home,' insisted Jo, waving her off. 'That's the joy of being able to walk to work.’
*
Dora wasn't the only one feeling excited and nervous. In a different way Jo was starting a new job, too. First of all she cleared the table and all the worktops. She didn't want to run out of places to put things. Then she spread newspaper over the table and put on an apron. She was aware that some of these preparations weren't really necessary for the work, but she wanted to prepare her mind as much as anything.
Then she got out the box of oddments she had undertaken to restore and her bags of materials and equipment.
There was the mirror that had first caught her eye, with the gold carved frame and the injured cherub. It was very badly damaged. Jo didn't really know where to start so decided to admire her materials, first, including the bag of off-cuts.
There was the gilder's pad, knife and tip which were used to lay the loose gold leaf. Water gilding was extremely tricky, but Peter, her mate at the shop, hadpersuaded her it was the way forward and, if she could do it, a valuable skill.
The gilder's tip was like a fat, almost square paintbrush with soft bristles. This was used for catching up the gold leaf, which, Peter had told her, could fly away on a breath and was dreadfully prone to tearing. The pad had a guard round it, to help stop this happening. The knife was just like an ordinary knife with the top sliced off at an angle and she had resented having to buy it. But as all the knives on the barge were Michael's she didn't really have a choice. She wouldn't need much of this today as she had to apply several layers of gesso, which had to have time to dry first, but she couldn't resist looking at everything.
Her favourite piece of equipment was the agate burnisher: a wooden-handled tool with a piece of polished agate on the end. This was what got you your reward, Peter had told her. This little piece of kit would turn your fairy-fragile gold leaf into something resembling sunlight, shining and strong.
‘Right,' she said out loud. 'Let's get the frame cleaned up.' She put on some rubber gloves and got out the wire wool. 'When I've got all the dirt off, I'll start warming my gesso.' Peter had encouraged her to buy ready-made gesso. °You don't want to be messing with rabbit-skin granules,' he had said. 'They smell dreadful.’
Half an hour later she had applied her first coat of thinned down gesso to the mouldings that she had built up with a bit of filler. While she was waiting for it to dry, which might take a couple of hours, the book said, she got out her carving tools and scraps of lime wood.
It took her a while to get used to using the tools again, but eventually she produced a very acceptable little foot. Encouraged by her success, she started modelling the scalloped edge of the frame she had created earlier and added two quite impressive segments. She was nearly convinced that when everything was painted and gilded it would look good enough to sell.
Although the radio had been burbling away to her in the background, she hadn't really taken in anything that had been said. Gently, she tested the gesso for dryness and applied another thin coat. It would be a while – maybe not even today – before she got to the gold-leaf part, when she would stroke the gilder's tip against her arm and use it to catch up the gold leaf. It would fly to it like iron filings to a magnet, Peter had told her.
So as not to get impatient, Jo got out another item, the little dish that had a figure supporting a bowl, the head of which was missing. If she cleaned everything in readiness, she could set up a production line. She sighed happily. If she could get this right she wouldn't have to be a barmaid – something that would be a relief to her ex-husband and her daughter. She took an acorn-sized piece of Fimo and set about modelling a tiny head, humming happily to herself.
Chapter Nine
Dora set off along the towpath, wearing, as instructed, clean but not new jeans. It went against all her ideas of correct clothes for the office, and would have horrified Ms scary-Nails, but Tom had been firm. 'If you turn up in a little suit and high heels everyone will have a fit and you won't get the job,' he had said.
‘That's good. I didn't bring any clothes like that with me.’
Her sandwiches and bottle of water were concealed in her shoulder bag along with a dictionary and bottle of Tipp-Ex. Jo had handed her a Red Cross parcel, having found a paper shop nearby that supplied these things; they had both agreed that while it probably wasn't entirely necessary, and there would be a gleaming new computer waiting for her, One Never Knew. 'It could be a battered old Underwood,' said Jo, and then reflected that battered old Underwoods had gone out even before her days as an office temp.
It was a lovely day, which helped; the sun was sparkling on the water and, further along, through the trees. She was to carry on walking until she reached the outskirts of the town where there was a riverside pub, Tom had told her. She had then to keep to the towpath and walk round the front of this. The boatyard was on the other side of the river.
She was expecting a bridge or something, because she knew the boatyard was on another island. But there wasn't a bridge; there was Tom. He was down at the river's edge, holding on to the painter of a small rowing boat.
‘Hi, you made it all right, then?' he asked, looking up at her.
‘What are you doing here?' said Dora, not all that pleased to see him. 'I am supposed to be meeting the boatyard people and having my trial day, aren't I?'
‘Oh yes. I'm here to take you to work.' He indicated the boat that bobbed against the slipway. It seemed a long way down and very muddy.
‘I really don't want to go by boat, Tom. I'll get covered in mud.'
‘Don't worry about that, we're all covered in mud. And as for not wanting to, well, I'm afraid there's no choice. At high tide, anyway. For a couple of hours either side of low tide you can walk.' He smiled encouragingly.
Dora looked at the boat, at Tom and then at the boatyard. For what she could see, it seemed to consist of a lot of old barges and boats, a building that looked like a barn with the side missing, and a sign that could have done with a touch-up. She had heard that it had a terrific reputation -not for presentation, obviously. She opened her mouth to make her apologies.
Tom interrupted her. 'Don't be a wuss.’
He was looking at her challengingly and she remem bered she didn't have to stay if she found she hated it. 'OK, then.'
‘It's not called a slipway for nothing, is it?' she said as she slithered her way down to the water's edge.
‘Now you know why I told you to wear jeans,' said Tom. 'I hope they're not too tight. Get in.'
‘It's too late to tell me my bum looks big in these,' she said. Very gingerly she stepped into the little boat and sat down hurriedly as it tipped under her.
Tom pulled at the rope until a mud-covered weight appeared. He heaved this into the boat and picked up what seemed to be the only oar. He didn't sit down.
‘How are you going to row with only one oar?' she asked a little nervously.
‘Like this.’
Tom dipped the oar in the water, first on one side of the boat, then the other. In no time they were across.
‘How will I get over if you're not here?' asked Dora, getting to her feet and taking Tom's hand so he could steady her as she got off.
‘If there isn't a boat, you'll have to bellow and someone will get you, but there u
sually is one. You'll get used to it.’
Convinced that she wouldn't, Dora said nothing. In spite of being careful, there was a fair bit of mud on her jeans, but she'd just have to trust Tom that it wouldn't matter.
She followed Tom up the slipway and along to a ladder. They went up this and followed a series of planks that ran along the side of the barn that Dora now realised was a temporary workshop rigged up over a barge. From under the tarpaulin covering could be heard the sounds of banging and sawing, whistling and Radio 2.
‘Sorry about the radio,' said Tom. 'The oldies like that easy-listening stuff and the rants.’
Someone stuck his head through a gap in the canvas. 'Not so much of the oldies, young Tom. Oh, is this our new girl in the office? Does it mean we'll get proper pay slips at last? Great!' The man had thick blond hair like teased rope and a gap in his teeth revealed by his broad smile. 'Will she be in charge of brewing up?'
‘No,' said Tom. 'Come on, Dora, no need to take any notice of the riff-raff.’
Dora smiled at the riff-raff and continued to follow Tom along the planks to where there was a small wooden building. 'Fred?' he called. 'I've brought Dora.’
A small man with grey hair and a worried expression appeared at the door. 'Morning, Dora, welcome to Paper Hell. I'm Fred. Tom, put the kettle on.’
Dora followed Fred into the shed. It consisted of two desks, several filing cabinets and a couple of office chairs. The walls were papered with charts, notes, drawings, notices, calendars and blueprints. Both desks bore tottering piles of files, catalogues, magazines and unopened letters. Fred's description of it being Paper Hell seemed an understatement.
‘Sit down,' he said, removing a pile of ring binders from a chair so that she could. 'How do you like your tea? Or would you prefer coffee?'
‘Either,' said Dora to an enquiring Tom. 'Milk no sugar in whichever.'
‘Well, Dora,' said Fred, when Tom had disappeared into what looked like a lean-to. 'I hope you like a challenge.’
Dora found that she did and returned Fred's smile. 'Have you got a computer?' she asked.
‘Over there. State of the art. None of us knows how to use it.’
Dora pushed up her sleeves, actually and meta phorically. 'Where should I sit and what would you like me to do first?'
‘That's up to you, love, but there's some post that should be opened, I suppose.'
‘Can I have a free hand? I won't throw anything away unless I'm absolutely sure, but I will sort stuff into piles.’
Fred's relief spread over his face, erasing several years of worry as it did so. 'You do exactly what you like!’
*
Jo had known that she wouldn't be able to apply the gold leaf for a few days, until the coats of gesso were really dry, and was grateful. She was nervous of ruining such an expensive product. She cleared away her materials, stroking the cold, smooth end of her agate burnisher tenderly against her cheek for a moment before putting it in its box. Was she enjoying herself so much just because she liked the tools involved? It probably was part of it. She wiped the table, reminded of the times she'd wiped the table after Dora and Karen had made Valentine's cards, plaster models or later, jewellery. She was obviously still a little girl at heart.
As it was still only three, she decided she had plenty of time to check her emails when she'd stored everything away. She wanted to email her daughter Karen, to tell her how Dora was getting on. Karen would be impressed to hear that Dora was having a trial at a new job and completely amazed that she'd been talked into performing karaoke. Jo was amazed herself. It wasn't something she could ever have done, however drunk. She made a cup of coffee while the computer warmed up, and then clicked her way through to her Inbox and was surprised and a little unnerved to see one from Michael. He hadn't been in touch since just after she'd moved on board. Was he saying that he needed to come back immediately? *
Dear Jo, Hope all is well with The Three Sisters and you. Can you look in the boat file and tell me when she's next due a Boat Safety Examination? The file's in the case in the desk. The insurance is always due about the same time. I'll phone in a few days if you haven't read this message by then. You did say you went on-line most days. Best, Michael.
*
Well, she wasn't going to be made homeless immedi ately, which was good. Jo found the case and in it the file.
The Boat Safety Certificate was due to be renewed in a couple of weeks. This was a bit unnerving because it might involve her in doing something boaty – something she really didn't want to do. She shuffled through the papers until she found the insurance certificate. That was due soon too. She took both bits of paper to her laptop and started replying to Michael's email. Then she looked at the date of the Boat Safety Certificate again. She was out by a year. The Three Sisters hadn't had a valid certificate for eleven months. Feeling slightly sick, she checked the insurance. That at least was still valid, although only had a few weeks to run.
*
Dear Michael… She told him of her discoveries.
To her relief, she had her reply almost immediately.
*
Dear Jo, What a bloody nuisance! I can't believe I didn't check before. You'll have to dry dock her and have a survey to get the insurance renewed. It's best if she can go where she went last time. She needs some work done to her too. I'll arrange it. I'll be back with more details shortly. Stay on-line. Best, Michael
*
Jo went to make another cup of coffee to replace the one she had let go cold. She tidied the galley whilst she was waiting for the kettle to boil. All the joy she had felt modelling the little cherub's foot had been replaced by anxiety. Where would she and Dora live? And it might be very difficult for Dora, if she had just found a job she could get to love. A ting from her laptop warned her there was another message – from Michael.
*
All sorted. She's booked into the dry dock and they can do the work. Very lucky to get a slot as it is a bit urgent. Just as well the insurance is still valid. Best, Michael It's all right for Michael, thought Jo. He doesn't have to actually do anything about any of this. He can just stay in his luxury villa with his trophy mistress and direct operations. She pressed Reply again.
*
You know I'm really grateful to you for lending me The Three Sisters but I'm a bit worried about having to deal with this. I did tell you I wasn't boaty! I don't suppose you could put it off for a few months, could you? Or even a few weeks, just so as I can find somewhere to stay. Jo
*
Jo was not normally so relaxed about things like insurance, but, she reckoned, no one would know if The Three Sisters was insured or not, except her and Michael. It would be a different matter if she was going to go anywhere, but just sitting on the mooring shouldn't alert anyone to their uninsured presence, surely? She pressed Send and hoped Michael would listen to her pleas. After all, he'd surely want to supervise things when he was in the country? He wouldn't want his middle-aged female lodger in charge.
She chopped some onions as a displacement activity. Her laptop pinged again.
*
So sorry, failure of communication! No need for you to worry about any of this. I'll sort it.
*
Jo was mortified by her relief. She knew her daughter would have taken on the challenge of getting a barge into dry dock with enthusiasm. Karen had acquired some courageous genes that had skipped a generation and passed her mother by, unless they came from her father, of course.
Reluctant to admit that Karen's father had had anything to do with her daughter, she decided to capitalise on her displacement activity and chop carrots and celery too. She'd make a nice lasagne for supper. Dora would need something familiar and easy to eat after her first day at a new job.
*
Dora came home exhausted, muddy, but happy. 'I've had a brilliant time!' she said. 'They're all so sweet at the boatyard.'
‘So you're going to stay?' asked Jo, infected with Dora's enthusiasm.
‘Definitely. It's great! They haven't had anyone working there for ages so there's masses to do. I'll have to devise a system for them. They have got a computer but they only use it for typing letters on. I'm going to get them into order. I love that sort of challenge,' she added, sighing blissfully. 'Tough, but not actually life-threatening.'
‘Goodness.'
‘Well, you know how it is: when things have been absolutely dreadful, anything I do is going to seem brilliant. It's a win-win situation. Like you said it was when you were temping. I am so tired though!’
Jo handed her a mug of tea and a rock cake she had made in case she couldn't repair decorative objects and needed to open that teashop.
‘So, how was your day?' Dora mumbled through half a cake.
‘Well, I started on the picture frame, the one with the broken cherub and the broken moulding? I really got into it. I just hope I'm good enough to make the things sellable.'
‘Oh, let me see,' Dora said.
‘They're drying under cover – I'll show you later.’
‘And? What else happened today?’
Determinedly, Jo put the smile back on her face. 'Michaelemailed asking me to check the insurance and the Boat Safety Certificate.'
‘Were they OK?' Dora had spent time checking similar things all day and felt she had a professional interest.
‘The insurance was. The Boat Safety's about a year out of date. But I don't think it will matter. After all, we're not going anywhere, are we?’
Dora shook her head. 'These cakes are lush.' Jo sounded relaxed but Dora sensed some disquiet about living somewhere without all the relevant documents.
‘I think it will be all right,' Jo went on, almost to herself. 'What time do you think you might be hungry again?’
