by Kate Dunn
Colin tried to rally himself. He smoothed the back of his hand across his cheek, dimly recalling the touch of Tyler’s skin as she kissed him good night. He wondered what it would be like to wake to an innocent day, saunter around the town, drink beer (and Coke) in different cafés, mooch round the market buying fruit, feed the swans, and then bump into her doing one of her paintings in a shady square…
With a sigh, he brushed the thought to one side, allowing his eyes to rest upon his granddaughter. She had her lavender tweed hat on backwards and jam at the corner of her mouth; the early-morning air was vibrant round her.
“Well?”
“There’s a place that’s supposed to be nice a few hours away along the Nivernais. It’s called Saussois. It gets a good write-up in the book.”
“Has it got a cathedral?” she asked suspiciously.
He shook his head. “It’s got some rocks for climbing and there’s supposed to be a nice spot for swimming in.”
“What’s the Nivernais?”
“It’s a little squiggle of a canal.” He unzipped his sleeping bag and swung his legs to the floor. “It goes through some very pretty countryside and there’s lots to see and do.”
She scrutinised him, then velcroed Amandine’s feet around the monkey’s neck, turning her into an intricate little ball. “And will it be just us?”
Colin glanced around the cabin. “There’s not much room for anybody else.”
~~~
He saw Tyler once before they set sail. Not to speak to, she was cleaning the deck with a hose and gave him a watery salute that sent spray everywhere. He waved at her and she waved back, her manner studiedly casual, a reminder that they were immune to each other’s comings and goings, and there was a boat to scrub.
The scarlet prow of Sabrina Fair looked conceited and clean, shining in the sun, but there was no sign of her owner when Colin pulled the starter cord and the Dragonfly went charging off up the Yonne towards the start of the canal. They cruised along past hire boats which seemed to be knitting according to a very complex pattern rather than sailing in a straight line, stopping to wonder at the distant curves of the countryside clad in old gold, embroidered with stooks of wheat and laden vines and the darker thread of boughs and bark and rocks, until they reached Saussois where they idled for two days, just because they could. The Yonne intertwined itself with the Nivernais and Colin spent a whole afternoon fishing beneath the rocky outcrop which broke like a limestone wave high about their heads, while Delphine played with a Scottish girl who had escaped from one of the barges. In the evening he sipped sparkling wine beside the sparkling river.
He was lying in the reedy water the following afternoon, sculling with his hands so that he stayed afloat in the thin green seam which was warmed by the sun, when the cherry-coloured prow of Sabrina Fair came into view. Holy God, she’ll see me naked. He stopped sculling so that his body drifted back to the perpendicular, the freezing sheath of the current closing in. Not quite naked. Mercifully he was wearing his oldest pair of pants, although that felt like cold, very cold comfort. He swam to the end of the pontoon in pursuit of some dignity and when he turned to swim back, Tyler had moored up and was leaning on the guard rail, looking down at him.
“Are there sharks in there?”
“Too cold for sharks. A pike or two, maybe.”
“Mind if I join you?”
He swallowed some river water with a gulp, “Why not–?” He made an extravagant sweep with his arm, as if to suggest the whole of the waterway was hers, but it set him off balance and he had to pedal hard beneath the surface to keep himself afloat. Tyler vanished below decks and when she reappeared she was wearing a turquoise swimming costume which he was very careful not to look at, hoping that she would accord the same discretion to his underpants.
She dived in and struck out for the opposite end of the jetty, her lean limbs scattering droplets in all directions. Shivering, because he’d been in a long time, but couldn’t contemplate getting out in the current circumstances, he executed a cautious kind of crawl up and back until she surfaced a few feet away, laughing and out of breath.
“I wondered if it was something I said?” she began, flicking the water from her eyes, “When you left like that?”
“What? Sorry?” Colin’s neck was at full stretch, with his head tipped back so that the river came right up to his chin.
“When you went? I was a little – you know – I was wondering if I had said something or–? It was kinda sudden, that’s all.”
“Oh, that. No. No, no. No.” He dunked himself under for some respite. “Not at all,” he added, when he had sucked some air back into his lungs. “It’s just that Delphine – well, she runs to a very tight schedule…”
By pulsing with her fist just below the surface, Tyler was sending jets of water up into the air, “That’s fine, that’s cool. I just thought I ought to… check. In case.”
For a moment both of them watched the little fountains shooting upwards and falling back. He was conscious of the mortuary colour of his arms as they worked to keep him buoyant. “Did you finish your paintings?”
“I did a couple. One or two. The thing about cathedrals,” she looked at him and then looked away, as bashful as a woman on nodding terms with middle age can be, “Is that when you’ve seen one, you’ve kinda seen them all. I didn’t mean that,” she said straightaway, contradicting herself. “But I’m a bit cathedralled out, just now…”
“Tell that to Delphine…” The second toe on his right foot locked itself under the first and without any warning his calf muscle started to tie itself into a variety of nautical knots – a bowline, a double hitch – then something very tight indeed.
“Where is she?”
“Ahhieee,” he gasped, “I’ve got cramp!”
“Where?”
“She’s out cycling – with a Scottish family.”
“No – where’s your cramp?”
He was thrashing about in the water, doing the swimming equivalent of standing on one leg while he tried to massage some life back into the other.
“Don’t panic – it’s really important not to panic,” Tyler swam towards him.
“I’m not! I’m not panicking!” He couldn’t keep hold of his foot and ducked down, trying to retrieve it and before he knew it she had him first by the neck and then by the chin, adjusting her sensible grip, and he found himself being towed from behind, the weave of her turquoise costume brushing against his back – think about the cramp, just think about the cramp – as she propelled the two of them towards the boats.
“It’s because you’ve gotten so cold,” she observed, handing him a towel as he sat in his smalls, dripping onto the deck of Sabrina Fair. He wondered how long it would take both of them to excise the memory of him scaling the ladder up the side of the peniche, with Tyler’s slippery assistance, if indeed either of them ever could.
“I trained as a life guard. A long time ago. When I was a student – holiday job. It’s like riding a bike – something you don’t forget.”
“Hmmm.” He was busy kneading his calf with one hand, while clutching the towel around himself with the other.
“Would you like a cup of tea? To warm you up?”
Her question was tremulous; the tone of it made him turn his head. She had rubbed her hair dry and the towel was looped around her shoulders; she buried her face in it as he glanced at her, occupying herself with wiping her neck and then her shoulders. He could see that her turquoise swimming costume was paler in places where the water had dried. Her figure was made up of stringent curves, shaped by her outdoor life: it was unremarkably beautiful. He found himself wanting to place his hand on her slight, childless belly and let it lie there, just let it lie, with that listening attentiveness that touch can have.
With a sharp intake of breath, he gulped, “Tea? Tea! Yes, that would be lovely. Only I ought to put something on, get changed – dry clothes,” he added as an explanation. “That would be lovely. Or something
cold, if that would be easier?”
“Tea’s easy enough,” she answered and then apparently as an afterthought, just as she was heading for the cabin, she ventured, “I was thinking of walking up the Rochers later on, when it’s cooler. I thought I might take my watercolours. I wondered if you…?
Colin wrapped the towel more tightly round him. “Rochers?”
She nodded towards the fold and swell of limestone high above their heads.
“Ah, the Rochers – yes, well; that would be – lovely – too. Yes.” Then looking more closely at the rough escarpment, he asked uncertainly, “Walking?”
“There are footpaths, for oldies like us.”
He was so beguiled by that us, so thrown, that he said in a rush, “You’re not old,” then stopped dead in his tracks. “Not like me…” He was saved from his floundering by the scorching sound of rubber on gravel as his granddaughter skidded to a halt beside the Dragonfly, a lantern-jawed child with determined red hair following hard on her wheels.
“Delphine…!” He raised his arm to wave, revealing the unedifying spectre of his underpants as he did so.
Breathless with the details of her day, the child turned at the sound of his voice. She took in the peniche, Tyler’s turquoise swimming costume and Colin’s state of déshabillé.
“Oh.”
“We’ve been swimming, and I got cramp and Tyler had to rescue me. Thank you, Tyler.” He rose and made a flustered bow, edging towards the gang plank as he did so. “Have you said thank you to Sara’s mum and dad?”
Delphine wasn’t listening. She was staring at Tyler, uneasily. If Amandine had been there, she would have held her to her neck and stroked her paw across her cheek.
“Shall I come and call for you?” asked Tyler as Colin retreated. “Later?”
Delphine was motionless.
“To climb the rocks?”
“What rocks? What climbing?” she demanded as soon as he reached dry land.
“Oh,” Colin sounded vague, “We thought we might, you know, when it’s not so hot, have a go at climbing the… possibly…”
“Amandine is very good at climbing rocks.”
“Maybe later…” He shouted back at Tyler, remembering not to wave.
“And mountains. Very good,” said Delphine firmly.
“Excellent,” he smiled down at her, half perceiving her possessiveness and feeling weirdly touched by it. “We must take her with us. But first you must go and thank Sara’s mum and dad and give them back the bike.” In a bid to reassure her, he looped his arm around her shoulders as they walked along.
“Colin!” the child averted her eyes, “It is not possible. You’re in your–” she couldn’t bring herself to say the word in English, “Calecon!”
~~~
Even in the cool of the evening, the going was tough. The baked earth of the footpath was crazed and cracked, wiry grasses sprung from crevices where you would think no seed could possibly take hold and close to, the limestone lost its sunlit sheen and looked more like cement, porous and grey.
Occasionally, Delphine lagged behind, “Is it far? I’m thirsty. I’m tired,” but most of the time she remained on task, glued to her grandfather’s side, a diminutive but tenacious chaperone. When Tyler turned to point out a sly red kite feigning indolence on the highest thermals, she was on the case straight away, “What?” standing between them with her hands on her hips, “Where? I can’t see. Oh, that,” but at moments when she straggled behind, scuffing her sandals through the dust, her body seemingly twice its normal weight, too heavy to transport any further, he glimpsed a lost expression on her face, a distance infinitely greater than the one which separated them on the rocky slope.
“Come on,” he called encouragingly. Once, he went back down and grabbed her hand and towed her up behind him. On an easy stretch he walked up backwards with Delphine standing on his feet, while Tyler looked on, laughing. At last, she flopped down on some abrasive grass and hung her head.
“It is not possible. I can go no more,” she stated, with the kind of melodrama to which he was becoming accustomed: Delphine’s comedy always had sadness at its heart. He was about to head back down to fetch her, when Tyler went bounding past him,
“I’ll give you a piggy back – no, seriously,” she went on, to quell any protest, “Last one to the top is a custard!” and off they went, scrambling up to the summit, the child’s shrieks pitched somewhere between anxiety and delight as she was jolted and nearly dropped, accidentally on purpose.
“What did I tell you? Isn’t it worth it?” panted Tyler.
In the distance he could see the arm of the canal wall reaching into the Yonne; the sinuous arches of a bridge; one or two cottages with their whitewashed faces turned to catch the dying light; all of it mere detail in the great, green tangle of river and trees. The sun was swimming lazily – sculling – at the rim of the horizon, sending splashes of colour up into the gentian sky.
“Amandine is very good at painting,” said Delphine stoutly as Tyler unpacked her box of paints and fixed a sheet of thick cream paper onto her clipboard.
“Is she, now?”
“Yes, very.” For a moment, Delphine took her eye off the ball, as Colin produced a bottle of sparkling wine, two mugs and a can of Coke from his rucksack, but as soon she had secured her drink, she was back in post, standing at Tyler’s shoulder, breathing heavily.
“What about you? Are you good at painting?”
Delphine didn’t answer. With her face creased up in concentration, she read the writing on the side of the can, mouthing the words under her breath, “What’s sodium, Colin?”
From the top of the rocks, the Dragonfly looked no bigger than his thumbnail; with the slightest inclination of his hand he could obliterate it entirely.
“Salt,” he replied.
“Bleugh!”
“I’ll bet you are,” observed Tyler, marking out the line of the horizon with a watery brush. She glanced at Delphine who was only inches from her, “Good at painting.”
The child rested her chin on her chest, defensively. She muttered something, took a swig of Coke and smacked her lips. On a whim, she marched to the edge of the slope and sat down as if the urge to go bottoming over the grass was too great to resist, then she froze, remembering her duties and hurried back, patrolling all the way around to Tyler’s other shoulder, where she could keep an eye on Colin too.
“Shall I show you how to do the trees?”
Delphine shrugged.
Tyler mixed some green paint with water until it was as thin as rain, with only a ribbon of colour left in it, then soaked it up with a small sponge. “Look, you just blot it on the page like that, there, and like that – see?” She held out the sponge.
Delphine viewed it as if it were ticking and would shortly explode.
“Go on, have a go.”
With a preposterous sigh, she took the sponge and splodged it into the middle of the paper.
“That’s right, and again…”
Splodge, splodge, splodge. She peered at the effect and then with a little more care, dabbed another tree in, and then another.
“Why don’t we mix a different shade of green? If you look down there, you can see trees that are almost black, some apple-coloured ones, some that look as if they are tipped with silver… what do you think?”
Delphine crouched down. She plastered the inside of the lid of the paint box with emerald and sloshed some water on.
Dab, dab, dab.
“I’m really liking that! Let’s put some of the trunks in – we have sepia or sienna or what’s this – Van Dyke brown. You choose.”
Colin sensed that he had better keep his distance. Sitting with the bristly grass pricking through his shorts, he drank his wine, tuning in to the quiet exhalations of the day. He listened while they debated whether the river should be blue or not, a subject on which his granddaughter had violent opinions,
“But water is blue. The sea’s blue, isn’t it? It’s a fact.
”
“Well, I was just wondering, if we had a little bit of grey, a little bit of green, it’s lots of colours, isn’t it?”
“It’s blue.”
“OK, I’ll go with blue, but I’m going to put a little bit of green in it as well, just there, like that.”
The first hint of darkness rose from the land like smoke. With a shiver, he hugged his knees. Delphine had no strong views about whether bridges should be buff coloured or cream; she was impatient to paint the Dragonfly.
“I sleep on the left side, so you won’t be able to see my porthole, but I will paint Colin’s, and the kitchen locker, and the bathroom locker, and the everything locker, and the flagpole, and the engine…”
“And shall I paint Sabrina Fair moored next to her?”
“If you want.”
The moon glinted like an old coin. A moth went drifting by. Discreetly, Colin rubbed some citronella into his shins, for the air was sibilant with insects.
When it was too dark to tell rose madder from Venetian red and the wine was all but drunk, they packed up their things. Delphine went spinning round and round in circles trying to make the picture dry and as he followed her, his arm brushed Tyler’s bare shoulder. Their heads turned and for a moment they searched each other’s faces in the twilight, until at length Colin, for whom such delight was unimaginable, looked away.
~~~
They formed an eccentric convoy, Sabrina Fair and the Dragonfly, locking their way up through filmy golden fields and hillsides coiled around with vines that were heavy with fruit. Helped for some of the time by two itinerant lock keepers, young students made indolent by the last days of summer, they bobbed up through locks selling honey, locks selling pottery and locks with unlabelled bottles of premier cru cellared in the boots of boiling cars.
Delphine seemed to like the mystery each one presented. It was impossible to tell from the bottom whether they would be rising up out of the shady slime to find a stall of produce, or a vegetable garden, or a donkey hungry for apples, or an ancient privy toppling over. She flicked their ropes over bollards and lassoed them off again; she helped the students wind the paddles to release the water and then open the lock gates; she cajoled him into buying gooseberry jam and when they couldn’t fit anything else into the kitchen locker, she set to work on Tyler who, with a flighty smile, claimed to have more cupboard space than a woman travelling alone could ever need.
