Going Dutch

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Thrilling! I'm dying to see you on Sunday. Are you a couple yet?’

  This was a question Dora asked herself quite often recently but she still hadn't worked out the answer. She smiled at her friend's forthrightness. She'd really missed her. 'I don't know, really,' she said honestly.

  ‘You need to find out where you stand, Dora, especially after John.'

  ‘It's not the sort of thing you can ask, is it?'

  ‘Well…' Karen paused, possibly thinking better of telling her more timid friend that of course she could ask. 'Anyway, Mum thinks he's the cat's pyjamas and I'm dying to meet him.'

  ‘He's very fond of Jo.'

  ‘Mum's inviting her other barge friends, Bill and Miranda?'

  ‘Oh yes, they're lovely.'

  ‘And some other people, not sure who. It's great – she and Dad are getting on so well. I wonder if they'll come to their senses and get back together?’

  Part of Dora went cold. Of course, from Karen's point of view, this was great news, but Dora had heard Jo talk about her ex-husband in terms not of anger, but of boredom. Anger could be worked through, boredom would just stay as boredom. Could Jo go back to a husband who bored her? It was a depressing thought. And now she thought about it again she was sure Jo rather liked Marcus – but then that could just have been the onset of the menopause like she'd said. Life was so confusing at times. 'I thought your dad's girlfriend was pregnant.'

  ‘Oh yes, I suppose she is.' Karen paused. 'But these things can be sorted out.’

  Dora didn't speak immediately. She could totally sympathise with Karen's desire for her parents to mend their marriage but she wasn't sure it would be right. 'Maybe,' she said eventually.

  ‘Anyway, Mum and I have had such a good time! She's been in the garden a lot – claiming it back, she said. We've done loads of shopping. I sorted her out with a decent haircut. She's bought all these new bras – an investment, I told her. She's looking amazing – sort of lit up inside. It must be something to do with getting on with Dad, don't you think?'

  ‘Has he moved back in with her?' The thought depressed Dora horribly.

  ‘Oh no, but he's taken time off work because I'm here, and has come round for a few meals, taken us out as a family. Quite like old times.'

  ‘Lovely,' said Dora faintly.

  ‘Anyway, you'll see for yourself on Sunday. I can't wait. And sort it out with Tom.'

  ‘I'll do my best.' Dora laughed.

  As if their conversation had conjured him up, Tom appeared in the doorway. 'Dora, you shouldn't have done the washing-up!'

  ‘I'm just doing the frying pan and things. The rest of it's gone in the dishwasher.'

  ‘You're a very good guest.’

  She made a face. 'I know. But that was Karen on the phone.'

  ‘Oh yes?'

  ‘She was telling me who's coming to the barbecue. Jo and Philip, her husband – ex-husband – have invited various people. Miranda and Bill are coming, so at least we'll know some of them. Karen says her parents are getting on really well, she thinks-'

  ‘What about Marcus?' Tom interrupted her.

  Dora bit her lip. 'What about him?'

  ‘Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm sure he had a thing for Jo. I know you said it's supposed to be women who sense these things, but the way he kept looking at her..

  Dora shook her head, biting her lip. 'Karen obviously thinks there's a chance her parents will get back together.’

  ‘Oh.' He sighed. 'Not much we can do about it, anyway – especially not knowing how Jo feels.'

  ‘No,' Dora agreed, wondering how he felt about her. 'Do you want a cup of coffee or something?'

  ‘Mm. Might as well. Do you want me to make it? I quite fancy real coffee.'

  ‘Then you can definitely make it. I don't know how to work your machine.'

  ‘I'll show you.'

  ‘No need! I'm going into work tomorrow. It'll give me a day to get straight before the weekend. Then it won't be so awful when I go back on Monday. What about you?’

  Tom opened the fridge and took out a jar of coffee beans. 'Not sure.’

  Dora felt a little deflated. She'd been looking forward to going to work with Tom – it was such a couply thing to do. But then, they weren't a couple, she reminded herself.

  ‘Don't look sad. I'll tell you how to get there.’

  Dora thought she pretty much knew how to get there, but she smiled and nodded.

  *

  In fact, he did go with her to the boatyard but he disappeared almost immediately. From time to time other people came in to ask her if she knew where he was but she could only shrug and shake her head. He did phone her at lunchtime, though.

  ‘I've had a call from Marcus!'

  ‘Oh?'

  ‘Yes. He was just checking my availability for bringing The Three Sisters back.'

  ‘When is it coming back? Will he need me too?' she asked. 'He won't need you, particularly, but you could certainly come. But that's not why I'm ringing.'

  'No?'

  ‘I happened to mention the barbecue.'

  ‘Oh?'

  ‘Yes. I think I put my foot in it. I don't think he's invited. He didn't know anything about it and when I said Jo's husband was going to be there – well, he certainly didn't sound pleased.'

  ‘It's just a barbecue.’

  She heard Tom sigh. 'I did sort of indicate what you said about Karen, thinking her parents were getting back together.'

  ‘How on earth did you fit that into a conversation about availability?'

  ‘He was on the alert the moment I said "Jo and her husband".'

  ‘Oh.'

  ‘I think he might try and come. It'll be nice to see him if he does. He wants Jo's address, anyway. Can you give it to me?’

  Only for a moment did Dora ask herself if this was the right thing to do then she told Tom. After all, Jo probably wouldn't mind if Marcus did turn up and she was used to mass catering. And anyway, Philip knew Marcus too from the old days. Marcus was probably bad on the phone and Tom had misread the situation. After all, he was in Holland. It would be a long way to travel for a burnt lamb chop.

  ‘Cool,' said Tom. And then, 'Will you be all right going home on your own? I've still got quite a lot of things to do.'

  ‘I can't think what, unless you're thinking of actually doing some work. People have been asking for you all morning.'

  ‘Just stuff, OK? But you will be all right?'

  ‘I'll be fine.'

  ‘I just don't want you to-'

  ‘Tom! You've made me do loads of horrible, scary, smelly' – she added, thinking of the festival – 'things. I think I can go a couple of stops on the train by myself. I've got a key.'

  ‘Sweet. I'll see you later, then.’

  When he was in no danger of hearing her, Dora indulged in a long sigh.

  *

  Tom arrived home that evening just as Dora and his father were pouring a glass of wine.

  ‘It is Friday,' said Brian.

  ‘But we had a glass of wine yesterday,' said Dora. 'That was Thursday. Quite different.’

  Dora laughed and then Tom bounced into the kitchen. 'Hey, you crazy kids, what are you up to?'

  ‘Glass of wine, Tom?' asked his father.

  ‘Cool!’

  *

  Tom bounced into breakfast with similar brio the following morning. He handed Dora an envelope. 'Hope you didn't have plans for today.'

  ‘No-'

  ‘Well, you have now. It's your final dare. Dad, can I borrow the car?'

  ‘I said yes yesterday. Nothing's changed.'

  ‘Great! I'll be off then,' he said, dashing off, a piece of half-eaten toast still in his hand.

  ‘He's a good boy, really,' said Brian solemnly.

  Dora laughed and sighed at the same time and then opened the envelope. Inside was a train ticket and a list of instructions. Take the 9.45 train, then come out of the station and turn left, past the pub, down the little lane until you come to a jetty.
There's a boat tied up there with your first clue. This is a treasure hunt! Dora looked at her watch. It was already ten past nine and it took ten minutes to get to the station. She couldn't ask for a lift because Tom had already taken the car.

  ‘I do think he might have given me a lift to the station,' she said, getting up, gathering her plate and mug as she did so.

  ‘Have a nice day, Dora,' said Brian, who, she now realised, must be in on the plot.

  ‘I'll try. As long as I catch the train.'

  ‘You've got plenty of time,' Brian said, returning to his newspaper.

  She shook her head. 'I must get my things and I'm one of those people who have to be at the station really early. Bye!’

  She ran upstairs, threw all that she thought she might need into the shoulder bag she took to work and then left.

  She walked to the station wondering what on earth Tom had in store for her. Perhaps this was what he was up to yesterday, when he wasn't at work. She smiled. She'd miss their bets. Now they were about to end, how would their friendship ever develop further?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  While Dora was waiting for the train, as, inevitably, she had to, she wondered if she was wearing the right clothes. She had put on a light summer skirt and a vest top as it looked like being a lovely day. She had thrown a cardigan into her bag but with Tom, wellington boots might have been a better choice. As she didn't actually have her wellingtons at Tom's house, she forgave herself for not having brought them.

  With his instructions in her hand, Dora made her way to the jetty. There, as he had said, was a little boat she recognised as one of the ones used for getting to and from the boatyard. There was a note stuck in the rope attaching the boat to the quay. She pulled it out.

  Get in the boat and row a while, until you reach the little isle.

  The little isle must be the one opposite her. She hadn't ever been there but she knew people did tie their boats up there. Like the island where Tom moored his boat, it was probably a nature reserve.

  Dora overcame her dislike of trespassing, got in the boat and manoeuvred her way across the water. She would quibble with Tom about the use of the word 'row' when she saw him.

  The next clue was curling out of the neck of a bottle sticking in the mud.

  Go to the left and climb the tree (she squeaked at the thought of climbing trees in her short tight skirt), and look inside what there you see.

  Hm, she thought, not great poetry, but she was enjoying herself. She walked along the path to the left and turned a corner. There was a willow lying on the ground, fallen, but supported by the branches at the end. She wouldn't actually have to climb it, but she would have to teeter along the sloping trunk to the crown. She slipped off her sandals and edged her way up the trunk. Sticking out of the branches was a bouquet of flowers. There were some garage-forecourt carnations but also lots of wild grasses and cranesbill. They were very pretty, Dora thought. Tucked in the middle was another clue.

  Down the tree and along the bank, you will find a water tank.

  Tom! thought Dora, your couplets are getting worse and as for making me climb a tree… But she tucked the flowers into her bag when she scrambled back down and set off in what she thought was the right direction. The island was tiny, and yet it seemed to provide lots of opportunities for getting lost. At last she spotted a rusty water tank half submerged in the grass, and as she could also see another clue she knew she was in the right place.

  Go left, go right and through the wood and you'll find something that makes you feel good! (I hope) he had added in brackets.

  ‘Well, it's not your rhymes that are making me feel good,' said Dora aloud, suspecting that Tom was some where, spying on her.

  She was aware of feelings of both excitement and anticipation stirring in her. She was trying to feel irritated with Tom for his dreadful rhymes and the general silliness of it all, but she was finding it difficult.

  She didn't bother with the left and right bit. She could see the wood in front of her, and as she drew near she heard music. She came upon a clearing, and there was a scene reminiscent of an Impressionist painting. Tom was there, with his back to her. He was placing the stylus on an old 78 record that circled sedately on a wind-up gramo phone and then an old Billie Holiday number, poignant and sensual, floated on the summer air.

  A tartan rug and several big cushions were spread temptingly about. A wicker picnic hamper was open already. Just at that moment, the sun, which had been partly obscured by cloud, decided to come out, shining through the trees and covering everything with dappled light. Beyond the trees Dora could see water sparkling in the distance. The smell of ferns reached her nose, possibly because she had trodden on some of them. She hovered on the threshold for a few seconds, waiting for Tom to see her. Now that she was closer, she realised that he seemed really nervous. And now he'd set the music playing he began to pace about. She coughed gently, and he looked up.

  ‘Hi!' he said, obviously relieved to see her but not really smiling. 'You got here all right, then?’

  Picking up on his anxiety made her feel awkward. 'Yes. It was a lovely idea, doing a treasure hunt. A bit early for lunch, isn't it?' She was aware that things weren't the same between them and it was a struggle to behave in the same chummy way.

  ‘Not all that early. I wasn't sure how long it would take you to get here.’

  She smiled. 'The clues were quite easy.'

  ‘Well, sit down. I've got to do some digging.'

  ‘Digging?’

  `Mm.' He picked up a spade that was stuck in the ground, went to where the trees were closest together' and started sending clods of soil into the air. Eventually he pulled out a bottle of champagne. He brought it over.

  ‘My dad's always going on about old-fashioned picnics where you bury the champagne three days before so it's cold. I only buried it this morning, but it was cold when it went in, so it should be all right.’

  Dora sat on the rug, feeling a little shy. Tom produced a couple of stainless steel mugs from the hamper. 'I got these in India, when I went with school. They sold them by weight.'

  ‘What do you mean?'

  ‘Well, I picked them out, and to find out the price they weighed them.'

  ‘Cool. You are lucky, going to India with school.'

  ‘You could go to India, if you wanted. Now, hold the mugs, I'm going to open this.'

  ‘But what are we celebrating?'

  ‘You achieving all your dares, of course. You're now officially a Brave Person.' He smiled at her but his eyes were serious. The champagne flowed into the mugs and he handed her one. 'Here's to you,' he said.

  ‘And to you.' They touched their mugs together and both sipped. Tom's gaze was intense. 'You were going to give me a prize,' she said lightly, setting down her mug, thinking that this was the prize, this lovely picnic.

  ‘I have got a prize for you, but you have to have it after lunch. Hang on, I'll put on another record.'

  ‘How on earth did you get all this stuff here? And I love the gramophone! It's the perfect touch.'

  ‘A ghetto-blaster wouldn't have quite created the atmosphere I'm after.'

  ‘Which is?’

  Tom adjusted the way he was sitting. 'Romantic,' he said, without looking at her.

  Dora's next mouthful of champagne was gulped rather than sipped.

  ‘Let's have something to eat,' he said when he'd wound up the gramophone again and put on another record. He burrowed in the hamper and brought out a foil-wrapped packet. 'Smoked-salmon sarnies. I made them last night.'

  ‘How did you get all this stuff here on a boat?' She took a sandwich although she wasn't really hungry.

  ‘I cheated. There's a rickety old bridge over there.' He waved towards the trees. 'We can go back in the car.’

  ‘I quite liked arriving by boat.'

  ‘I hoped you would.’

  She smiled shyly at him. 'These are really nice. I didn't think I wanted anything really, but now I've started eatin
g..

  ‘Have some crisps. And I've got hot sausage rolls.’

  ‘How did you manage that?’

  He produced an old fashioned wide-mouthed thermos flask with a cork for a stopper. 'Try one.’

  It was sinfully delicious. 'Golly, I didn't think they made sausage rolls like this these days.'

  ‘I got them in a deli – I think they make them themselves but they've got this really flaky pastry. Have another.’

  Dora was about to wipe her greasy hands on her thigh when Tom produced a linen napkin. 'I found them in the airing cupboard. Mum never uses them because she says they're a pain to iron.'

  ‘They are lovely, though.' Dora thought that she had better make sure they were laundered before Tom's mother came home.

  ‘Have some more champagne.' He profferred the bottle. 'I haven't finished this yet.'

  ‘Then hurry up. We've got little éclairs for pudding.’

  ‘You didn't make them?'

  ‘No. But I want to give you your present.’

  ‘Why the hurry?'

  ‘I'm worried that you won't like it.'

  ‘But, Tom, I'm loving all this. The present doesn't matter all that much.'

  ‘Yes it does, but don't worry, it's only small.’

  Dora relaxed a little. She drank some more champagne and then ate another sausage roll. 'OK, pudding time, if you're ready. You don't seem to have eaten much.'

  ‘Oh, I'm all right.' He dived into the hamper again and came out with yet another plastic box. 'Eclairs.'

  ‘These are truly yummy,' Dora said after she'd eaten two of the little-finger-sized morsels. 'They're as nice as the ones I had at that hotel.'

  ‘Good. Now, finish your mouthful. It's time for your present.’

  Dora wiped her fingers again and sat up straighter. She had picked up on Tom's nervousness. Supposing the present was awful, revealing some unsuspected bad taste in Tom, who she liked so, so much? It was a fairly flat package, which meant it wasn't a ghastly ornament that Dora would have to have on display somewhere.