Narrow Escape (10 page)

Chapter Four:
Broken Neighbours, Tensions Brew. Thwarted Ducklings Plan Phase Two.

As our next door neighbour predicted, the hosepipe ban came into effect on the 5th of April. There was, as expected a lot of confusion about what we could and couldn't do with hosepipes. After about two days of discussions and worrying we all just gave up and carried on as usual. There didn't seem to be anything set in stone about filling up water tanks on boats. Without that water we wouldn't be able to drink or wash so we all just figured that we came under the ‘health' section of the ban and were exempt.

It didn't really matter, merely days after the ban came into effect it started to rain and it just didn't seem to want to stop. There were a lot of bad jokes about water shortages as we all sloshed about in the rain.

My poor car was definitely showing signs of leakage. There was at least an inch of water in the front passenger foot well and the children were beginning to moan about trench foot. It was definitely time to get another car as there was no way my current conveyance would pass its MOT.

I had to admit that particular car had been showing its age for nearly six months. Things had fallen off, the car was more rust than paint, and it was beginning to be an embarrassment on the roads. The only problem was that, despite the outside falling apart, the engine was excellent and I was more than a little loath to swap it for one that might well be prettier but might die on me at any time.

The day the MOT ran out, Geoff and I stood in the rain and waved goodbye to it as it bumped its way down the drive on the back of a flatbed truck. I turned to look at the new car. Charlie, who had just arrived home, came to stand beside us.

“What the hell is
that?
” She frowned at the new car as it squatted in a rapidly spreading puddle. “Have you ever considered buying something that isn't laughable?”

I studied the new car. A silver Kia Rio. We'd managed to pick it up for a song because, although its engine was excellent, at some point in its chequered history someone had tried to do a home paintjob on it and had only got as far as rubbing it down and painting it with silver primer. It was definitely spotty. It wouldn't have been so bad if the spots had been an entirely different colour but they were just the wrong shade of silver. It looked as though it was suffering the early stages of automobile leprosy.

“Do we always have to look as though we live on other people's giveaways?” Charlie snorted her distaste and stamped away up the flood defences.

Geoff looked at me. I looked back. She was right, it did look silly but, it was reliable, a good size, and it hadn't cost the earth. Really, looks weren't everything; at least our feet would be dry. I figured that if it kept on raining like this that was something we were really going to come to appreciate.

With my date for being made redundant rapidly approaching, I had spent a lot of time trying to find another job. Because we lived so far out in the sticks I didn't really want to work full-time. It would make Sam's day very long and of course it would mean leaving Mortimer to his own devices for a significant amount of the day which usually resulted in most of my clothes being used to make a ‘nest'.

There was one position that stood out. It was full time, but it was a short-term contract for a huge drugs company. Due to start at the beginning of May, it would finish on the same day as the summer holidays started. Being a contract it was rather well paid which would give me the money to take the summer off with Sam and Charlie. I discussed it with Geoff and it was decided that the benefits far outweighed the drawbacks so I started the tedious application process.

I have to admit that I was more than a little nervous. This was a ‘proper' job in an office and I'd need to find some clothes that actually didn't make me look as though I'd fallen out of the pages of ‘Middle-aged, grunge, stinky diesel woman' magazine. I tried to put it all to the back of my mind, after all, it was unlikely that I'd have the experience they were looking for. I hadn't done anything accounts-worthy for about ten years.

It was still very sad to be leaving the hospital and I was almost continually being stopped by people who said, “Oh, I hear you're being made redundant, that's awful, I'm so sorry.” I'd met far more people than I'd thought was even possible. I was really going to miss them all and it made me quite maudlin. I had to accept that although I had to apply for this job I didn't really want it.

Geoff, happy in his job, had decided that shelves were quite a good idea and was now lining the corridor with bookshelves. He was in his element, happy to be building something and didn't really give me a lot of sympathy.

“Oh do stop moaning, it's done and there's nothing you can do about it.” His voice, coming as it was from under a shelf inside a new cupboard he was building next to the bathroom, sounded hollow and muffled.

I addressed his wavering backside. “I know, it's just sad. Ever since we've been here we've just bumbled along and we'd got that bumbling down to a fine art. Oh well, if this is the biggest change this year, I suppose I can cope.

His response was too muffled to understand except for the swearing;
that
was quite audible. Evidently a piece of his wiring system was playing hard to get. He was trying to pull wires through the new woodwork in an attempt to bring light to the darkness in our grot cupboard. It was taking all his attention.

Feeling unloved and misunderstood, I sighed and wandered off to put the kettle on.

Charlie had been in her new job for about two weeks and was clearly enjoying the freedom. Arriving home with strange books on holistic healing or the powers of crystals she had turned into a sixties hippy and would give me long lectures on the importance of ‘grounding' on your anger chakra or something like that. I did try to keep up, I really did, but as soon as she suggested laying sparkly stones all over me and humming over them I have to admit I made my excuses and did a runner. Sam however, had completely fallen in love with her feet-eating fish. She had treated him to a foot treatment one Saturday. The shop had eight tanks with a small shoal of Garra Rufa fish in each one. The tanks were placed below plush seats and from the slightly worried looks of the women
enjoying
their treatments I decided to decline. Sam, after shucking his shoes and socks, shuffled onto one of the seats. He studied the fish that were currently swimming below his quivering toes.

“Don't think about it,” Charlie instructed. “Just plonk them in.”

Sam swallowed hard and after taking a deep breath pushed his feet into the fish-filled and tepid water. As the little fish fastened themselves to his feet his eyes widened and I could see it was taking all of his self-control to leave them in the water.

“How does it feel?” I watched as the shiny little creatures nibbled away at his toes.

Sam thought for a moment. “Like putting your feet into really bubbly lemonade,” he said. “It's quite nice actually.” He gave a little giggle as one little fish swam between his toes.

Leaving him to it, I went to have a look around the shop: cabinets full of crystals, books, and jewellery lined the walls. Stands of incense flanked the entrance to the treatment room and huge paintings of Buddha smiled benevolently down on those beneath.

Sam's giggles grew louder and although he tried to stifle them the tickled laughter kept breaking through the gentle sounds of whale song that were drifting through speakers set high in the ceiling.

A tall woman dressed in white poked her head out from the treatments room with a frown.

Sam ignored her and, gripping the cushion on the chair he was sitting on with both hands, howled with laughter. He rocked backward and forward in an effort to force himself to keep his feet in the water.

Thinking he was a paying customer, the woman shook her head and pulled back into the treatment room.

Sam's laughter was obviously infectious. The woman with her feet in the tank next to Sam's also started laughing, then the woman across the room. The sound of people giggling was really quite loud.

The curtain was pulled back with some force and the woman in white stepped into the room. Her lips had thinned and two small red patches marked her cheekbones.

“I'm trying to meditate,” she hissed at Charlie.

Charlie shrugged. “Laughter is the best medicine.”

The tall woman gritted her teeth and glared at my irreverent daughter. “I'm going for a coffee,” she said. “I'll be back when the hootenanny has ceased.” Turning on her heel she stamped toward the door.

“Sorry.” I waited until the door had swung back with a jangling of distressed wind-chimes before I apologised to Charlie. I didn't want to get her in trouble.

“Ah, don't worry about it.” Charlie shrugged and carried on measuring out fish food. “She always acts as though she's got a big stick up her ar–”

“Mum?” Sam lifted his dripping feet out of the water and studied them. “The fish have stopped eating me, does that mean it's all finished?”

I glanced at Charlie who nodded. “Get your socks and trainers back on.” I really wanted to be out of there before the healer came back.

Sam shrugged and began to put his socks on. “That was really good, Mum, can we do it again next week?” He thought about it for a moment and then asked. “What would happen if I just dangled my feet in the river outside the boat?”

Charlie gave him her sweetest smile. “That pike that lives under the boat would remove your toes.”

Sam swallowed hard, he'd seen those teeth only once. Last year they'd fleetingly formed a ring around a tiny duckling before snapping shut and dragging it to its watery death. He looked down at the fish swimming slowly around their tank. “Thanks for that mental image, Charlie,” he said. “I've sort of gone off the idea now. I think I'll find some other way to keep my feet healthy.”

Health was obviously on all our minds and Amelia was concerned about hers. As the baby grew she was finding it more and more difficult to dash about and, with her exams coming up and her energy levels dropping, I was definitely getting a lot of moaning phone calls.

One fateful day, around the middle of April, she called to tell me that she was in hospital.

I panicked.

“It's fine, It's fine!” she soothed me down the phone as I bombarded her with every question I could think of. “He just isn't moving too much and they want to put me on some machine that goes ‘ping' for a while just to make sure he's doing what he should.”

“Do you want me to come over?” I started listing things in my head that I'd need to take.

“Don't be daft, it's a two-hundred-mile journey. I'll be out of here before you even make it halfway.” She laughed which turned into a bit of a cough. “I'll be fine.” She heaved a heavy sigh down the phone. “I've got to go, Chris is here, I'll call you when I get home.”

With that, she was gone.

I spent the rest of the day completely failing to do anything useful. With all the traumas about my job I'd forgotten how imminent the baby's arrival was.

Two days later she called me.

“Are you all right?” That was the first question I screamed at her as I answered the phone.

“Er … Yeah?” Amelia sounded puzzled and then her voice changed. “Oh damn, I was going to call you when I got out of the hospital, wasn't I?” She groaned. “Sorry, Mum, I completely forgot.”

“I've sort of had this low-level panic going on for two days,” I said. “I've been trying to call you but it just goes through to your answerphone so I assumed that you were still in the hospital.” I huffed at her for a bit. “I was just about to call Chris's mum and see if she knew what was going on.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” Amelia sounded genuinely regretful. There was silence for a moment and then she changed the subject. “So what are you up to?”

“I'm standing in a leaky boat, staring out at the rain and wondering if my daughter and grandson are OK.” I wasn't going to let her off that easily.

There was silence on the end of the phone.

“Shall I call you back some other time?” Amelia sounded on the verge of tears.

I caved in immediately. “No, no. Now is good and I'm not mad at you. I was just worried.”

“Chris knew what was going on,” she said as if this was some sort of defence against my being forgotten.

I didn't want to upset her so I backed off a little, changed the subject and things were fine again.

It was only later that I realised that now, more than ever before, I was no longer her first port of call when the storm winds rose. Her husband was now her anchor and with a baby on the way that state of affairs would cement them into something really strong.

It's a hard thing to finally let go.

Geoff, for once, had managed to get home early and as usual was using any time that he had to work on the boat. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when I was handed a paintbrush and invited to help with the varnishing of the new desk. As we were slapping on the sticky substance, I noticed that a dark stain had crept across the ceiling.

“What is that?” I gave it a bit of poke, much to Geoff's annoyance.

“Condensation,” he said as he gently slapped my hand away. “This boat is a terrible condensation trap and cooking with gas doesn't help: that just adds to the humidity.”

“Does that mean it can't be stopped?” Condensation had been our biggest problem since the day we'd bought this boat. The windows always ran with water and, with the lack of heating in the bathroom, every time someone had a shower, the steam would condense on the ceiling and then a gentle rain would fall on us from above. The only way we were going to stop it would be to strip back to an empty shell, completely re-insulate the whole boat, fit new windows, and find an alternative fuel for our cooker. As we didn't have that sort of money to spare, the chance of this happening any time soon was minimal.