Narrow Escape (5 page)

He sighed and slumped onto the sofa. “Do you remember the last work surface I put in?” He asked.

“Well, yes.” I glanced at the new black stone surface. “It was only a couple of weeks ago, even I'm not that forgetful yet.”

“No, you twit.” Geoff rolled his eyes. “Not that one, the opposite one.”

I glanced at the sink still sunk within the green and cream tiled surface. “Well it's there.” I shrugged, “what's the problem?”

“If you think back you'd remember how much trouble that caused me,” he said.

I thought back and, yes, he was right. He'd had to recut the surface three times because he seemed to have a completely blind spot about where to cut the hole for the basin.

“I seem to have a complete blind spot about holes in work surfaces.” Geoff shook his head and shrugged. “I can do far more difficult calculations than this. Every time, I just get worried and it all goes wrong. If I mess this up we can't replace that length of slate without spending a vast amount of money. I'm just really terrified that I'm going to screw it up.”

“OK.” I wandered off, grabbed the keys to the storage unit and without another word went out.

It took me about an hour to find all the bits and pieces I needed. Staggering back into the boat I dumped them all in front of Geoff. There was a roll of lining paper for walls, a can of contact artwork glue, charcoal lengths, and a craft knife.

Geoff studied the pile for a moment then looked up at me with raised eyebrows. “Very nice, dear,” he said.

I ignored him. “We're going to make templates,” I said. “You make one, I'll make one, and then we'll lay one on top of the other and check that they are completely the same. If they are, we'll take one and lay it on the stone.” I picked up the aerosol can of contact glue and waved it at him. “We'll stick the damn thing to the stone so that it absolutely can't move and just to make matters even more sensible we'll draw around it with this.” I picked up a white chinagraph pencil. “I knew keeping all this art stuff from college would come in handy.”

Geoff grinned up at me. “And if it goes wrong again, I won't feel bad because we're both to blame.”

I nodded. “Or between us we'll get it very right.” I raised a fist into the air and said in a flat voice. “Yay! Go team us.”

Three hours later and we had another piece of slate cut out and laying on the frozen grass. We both stood and stared at the white circle that was drawn in the middle. In all honesty, I stood and looked at it while Geoff spasmed and flinched. He'd been doing the cutting and was, once again, twitching like a globophobic at a child's birthday party.

“How exactly are you going to get that piece out?” I asked.

“I'm going to drill lots and lots of holes all the way around the pattern.” Geoff alternated between making fists and shaking his trembling hands in the air. “Then I
should
be able to put a jigsaw down one of the holes and just do a quick dot to dot all the way around.”

“Hmm …” I stared down at the piece of stone. “Would you like a cup of tea first?”

Geoff shook his head. “Nope, there's no point putting this off, let's just get on with it shall we?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Why don't you use one of the angle grinders?”

Geoff shrugged. “They're really not very good at doing curves,” he said. “And, apart from that, I only have one left, the other one blew up.”

“Oh.” I really hoped it was ours that had died and not the one we'd borrowed from our neighbour.

Within an hour we were carefully carrying the stone through the front doors. Leaning the piece of stone against the side of the boat, Geoff wandered over and stared at the sink. “Now, I'll have that cup of tea,” he said.

As the light faded he finally managed to remove the sink and all its plumbing from the old unit top. We stood, balancing the stone work surface between us.

“Well, let's see if it fits.” Geoff had that little crinkle of skin between his eyebrows that always appears when he's worried.

I laughed. “It's too late to worry about it.” I hefted my end of the stone up and, twisting, forced him to follow me until the stone was horizontal. We laid it carefully down on the top of the unit, let it go and stepped back to study it.

“Oh damn it all,” Geoff moaned.

“What? WHAT?” I stared down at the surface, the hole appeared to be exactly where it should be. I couldn't see what was upsetting him.

“We've increased the depth of the surface by nearly two inches.” Geoff stuck his head through the hole and peered at where the taps needed to be placed.

“So?”

Pulling his head out of the hole Geoff grabbed the mixer tap and brandished the end toward me, it had a long screw thread, about two inches of it. “It's now too deep for this to fit.” Staring at the wall for a moment, he stood and ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, one of those little habits that always helped his thinking process. Eventually he turned to me and grinned. The little crinkle between his brows disappeared. “I can fix that,” he said. Dropping the tap unit into the empty cupboard below the newly cut slate he headed for the door.

“Hey!”

He stopped and looked back at me with a quizzical expression.

“We got the hole in the right place though.” I gave him a big grin.

Geoff gave me an obviously fake confused look. “I never doubted it for a moment.” He shrugged at me. “Why, were you worried about it?”

“Get out.” I threw a cushion at him as he ducked out of the door and into the darkness.

Chapter Two:
February's Sleet And Ice. Peace And Quiet Would Be Nice.

Saturday, the 4th of February and I found myself staring out of the window with a vaguely melancholy air. Of the twelve, February has always been my least favourite month. March isn't much better for weather, but at least it has the occasional promise of spring. February has nothing to recommend it at all. Rain and wind sweep across the flat Cambridgeshire landscape. With no hills to break up the view the vast grey skies seem to go on for ever. Staggering around in the ankle deep mud with the frigid wind whipping the tip of my nose and my ears into luminous red pain I couldn't find anything to enjoy at all. Even the wildlife wasn't bothering to venture out from whatever bolthole each animal had found for itself. The days, although short, seemed completely endless.

On this particularly unexciting February morning, Sam was playing some convoluted game on the computer, Charlie was still asleep, and Geoff was trying to find the enthusiasm to go and pump out the bilges. As the kettle boiled my mobile chirped. I picked it up and grinned. Maybe my oldest, Amelia, would have some interesting news.

I didn't hear from Amelia as much as I really would like but, as she always reminds me, she is an old married woman, I have to accept that she has her own life now.

The luxurious wedding had taken place the previous July and had been terrifying, irritating, and positively gorgeous in equal measures. It had been a classical wedding with a marquee in the garden of Amelia's new parents-in-law. I was terribly grateful to Doreen, Chris's mother, for taking on a lot of the trauma. She was wonderfully organised and there was no doubt that without her input and skills the whole thing would have been a very different affair.

I have to admit at being torn between being horrified at the overall cost and slightly jealous that we just didn't have the funds to put more toward the opulent affair.

On the day, Amelia had gracefully stepped down the aisle toward the man who would shortly become her husband. I surreptitiously checked Chris's face for the telltale signs of possible flight risk but there were none. His whole face was just alight with happiness. Charlie, unusually decked out in a deep purple satin dress, stilettos and flowers, looked both uncomfortable and elegant. It's a real shame she shuns this sort of outfit – it suits her so well.

Helen, my paramedic friend, is a keen amateur photographer and had been drafted in to do the wedding pictures. She'd proved to be not only a great photographer but, when an elderly relative collapsed at the dinner, she and her paramedic husband, Dave, were able to get her sorted out and keep her comfortable until the ambulance arrived to take her away. They were certainly the heroes of the day.

Seven months later and the newlyweds seemed happier than ever.

“Hey, Mum.” Amelia sounded a little upset, maybe I'd got it completely wrong, I hoped I hadn't.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing, why would you think there's something wrong?” she asked.

“Just a little intuition: one, you're phoning me on a Saturday morning, two, you have your voice pitched just a little higher than usual, you sound slightly breathless and you're snapping at me,” I said.

“Oh.” There was silence for a couple of moments then she sighed. “Don't freak out, I'm pregnant.”

Six entirely separate thoughts crashed through my mind at the same time. In no particular order they were: you're only twenty-four, you're too young, you can't afford it, aww a baby, you haven't finished your degree, but you're still
my
baby.

There was another thought however, that, growing in ferocity, it repeated and repeated, getting louder and louder until it drowned out all the others: I'M GOING TO BE A GRANDMA …. NOOOOOOOOO!

“Mum?” Amelia's voice broke the shocked cycle of panic that was threatening to reduce me to a puddle. “Say something. Oh damn, I knew you wouldn't be happy.”

“NO! No.” I took a deep breath. “I'm fine, it was just a bit of a shock and I had to get my thoughts in order before I said anything.” I picked up the thought that was threatening to make me cry and firmly squashed it. “Are
you
happy about it?”

“YES!” her voice changed completely, “Well, I am now that I've stopped being sick.”

“So when is it due?”

“He, it's a him.” She laughed. “I'm four months pregnant and I've had my first scan, the nurses wouldn't commit to telling me if it's a boy or a girl but I'm fairly sure it's a boy. He's due in June.”

Arrrgh! That's only four months away. I was going to be a grandma in just four short months. I took another deep breath and forced a laugh. “That's great, really great! We get to buy the pram. I call dibs.”

We chatted happily about baby stuff for another fifteen minutes or so and then she rang off, relaxed and cheerful.

Geoff handed me a cup of tea as I carefully placed my phone on the work surface. “Are you all right, Grandma?” He gave me a cheeky grin.

“I don't know why you're laughing.” I took a big gulp of tea. “
You
get to be
Grandpa
.”

Geoff blinked. “Oh yeah, I suppose I do. Well, how about that?” He wandered off with a smile.

The next morning I stared at myself in the mirror. Despite knowing full well that I was indulging in every tedious cliché that I could, I checked very carefully that I hadn't been visited by the ‘granny fairies' overnight. No, I still didn't have a perm and my hair wasn't blue. I didn't feel the need to wear a pastel cardy, or learn to knit, and I already wore sensible shoes so that really wasn't going to be an issue. Being told that you are going to be a grandma does some very strange things to your psyche. You can fool yourself into believing that you are still young and daft until ‘that' word starts getting tossed around. Suddenly you worry about falling and breaking a hip. You worry that you are forgetting things more than usual and there is a vague acknowledgement that all the wrinkles that have appeared over the last five years have inevitably been leading up to ‘this' particular moment.

Luckily, two days later, I had Charlie to pull me out of my decline.

“Hey Mum!” She leapt through the doors of the boat and after throwing her helmet and leathers onto the sofa came rushing over and gave me a hug.

I hugged her in return and then stepped away. “What have you done?”

She gave me a big and obviously fake smile. “Nothing! Why do you always think the worst of me?”

“I don't think the worst of you … I know you.” I bent down and gave her a hard stare. “Now, tell me … what … have … you … done?”

“Oh, all right.” She flung herself onto the sofa, landing on poor Mortimer who rolled over and tried to suck her ears. “Now don't freak out …”

Well this was a déjà vu moment. “Oh God, you're not pregnant are you?”

She laughed. “I really don't think that's likely, do you?” She ran her hand over the shorn sides of her head. The dreadlocks had recently come off after she'd found a spring from a biro and a dead spider matted in them and she had completely freaked out about it all. She now sported a short and wide blonde Mohican with dark sides. Like everything it looked good on her even if it was a little extreme. Being an art student pretty much meant she could get away with any style she wanted to.

“Drugs?”

“No!” She looked slightly horrified.

“Alcoholic? Armed robbery? GBH? Running away with the circus? Joining the Army? Murder?”

“No … Mum, for goodness sake let me finish.” She got up to put the kettle on. Obviously the family habits do go down through the generations. “Actually … running away with the circus sounds quite like fun.” She gave me a big smile.

I shut my mouth with a snap and perched on the edge of the sofa. I gave her an expectant look and made sure I said nothing at all.

She wandered up and down the boat for a couple of minutes while the kettle boiled and then made coffee. She handed a steaming mug to me. “Just watch that,” she said. “It's hot and if you jump up and down you'll burn yourself.”

Ah, so that's why we give people hot drinks; they act as a safety feature.

“How about you just stop prevaricating and tell me what you need to tell me.” I took a sip of my drink.

“I'veleftcollegeandgotajob.” She shut her mouth with a snap and winced, obviously waiting for the hammer to fall.

“What?” I put the coffee down. “I didn't get that at all, you've done what with college?”

“I've quit.” She stared at the toes of her big boots.

Silence fell. I really couldn't trust myself to say anything supportive so I forced my lips together and just waited until my brain stopped shrieking.

Charlie, surprised by the silence, looked up. “I sort of expected some sort of melt-down.”

“I am melting down.” I forced the words between clenched teeth. “Just very, very quietly. How about you give me the whole story?”

She nodded. “I just got so fed up with the stupid rules and things I had to do. I'm fed up with having no money, I can't afford to run my bike, I can't afford to go out, the amount of homework means if I get a part-time job I don't have enough time to put into making the art really good.” She sat down next to me. “I went to the college and sorted myself out an apprenticeship.” She grinned. “I still get qualifications and I get some money and I really like what I'm going to be doing.”

“And what exactly
are
you going to be doing?” I imagined that maybe an engineering apprenticeship or an apprenticeship at the hospital would probably be worthwhile, I could live with that.

“I'm going to be working at a crystal shop that specialises in holistic treatments and I'm going to be looking after their feet-eating fish!” She gave me a huge smile. “It's going to be great fun and I'm going to get a retail qualification which I can use anywhere. I really don't think I'm cut out for further education.”

Feet-eating fish??? I wondered if she'd like to think again about joining the circus.

“Right.” I took a long look at her. I could see a lot of downsides to this but, of all my children, Charlie was the one that was going to have to learn things the hard way. She wouldn't be told, she wouldn't learn from others' mistakes, she was going to carve her own way through life, swim against the tide, and she would, with sheer determination, bludgeon a life for herself despite being told she was probably going about it all wrong. If nothing else, I had to give her credit for sorting it all out for herself, at least she didn't just quit and then look to me for support.

“Well, I can't say I think it's the right thing to do,” I said. I held up my hand as Charlie's face fell into her usual mutinous expression. “But I think you've done well to sort it all out for yourself and if it's what you want  …” I shrugged.

“YES!” Charlie jumped up and after giving me a rather damaging hug headed out of the door toward her own boat. “Thanks, Mum.” She gave me another hug.

“Hey, don't be so rough, us grandmas are fragile, you know.” I laughed.

Charlie stood up and regarded me for a long moment. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

“Do what?”

“If you start thinking of yourself as a poor old fragile grandma, you will become one … Self-fulfilling prophesy and all that.” She gathered her helmet and leathers together. “You're no older than you were before Amelia called you,” she said. “But I bet you feel a lot older now don't you?” She headed toward the door, then turned and looked at me. “You would do better to just think of yourself as young and fit, which you are.” Opening the door, she climbed out and was away.

I stared at the closed door for a moment then shut my mouth with a snap. She was right, and with that sort of insight maybe, just maybe, she was heading in the right direction after all.

 “Don't forget to budget for the new mooring fees.” Geoff was wading his way through a pile of paperwork.

I couldn't help but pull a face at him. “Don't wanna.” I muttered into my coffee.

“Well, that's an adult response.” Geoff looked up from his bits and pieces.

“I don't wanna give you an adult response.” I hesitated for a moment. “In fact what I want to do is stick my tongue out and waggle it every time I see the new owner.”

Geoff snorted. “I'm sure that would go down extremely well.”

The marina had been ‘given away' to a member of the previous owner's family as a present. Or at least that was the rumour that had been moving around the boaters. All we knew for sure was that, once again, we were ‘under new ownership'. It wasn't going well.

Since they'd taken over in December, I'd only had the ‘pleasure' of meeting the new owners once and had been sadly unimpressed. I'd said to Geoff at the time, ‘If that woman that has ever been on a boat it would have been large and white. There would have been Martinis (dirty of course) and the captain would have had the name of the boat etched onto the brim of his fake sailor's cap'. With each passing missive that was issued by the poor put-upon administrator in the marina office, my statement was being proved more and more correct.

Tall, dark, slim, a look that said ‘I understand the rules of lacrosse' and with an accent that could have only been privately purchased, Mrs Owner had managed to irritate nearly everyone she had talked to.

She and her husband had their ‘big plans' for the place. That much she was more than willing to tell us and everyone else. Anyone that came away from talking to her and her ‘agreeable' husband (he seemed to agree with everything she said) came away with a slight twitch, it became known as the administration glare.

The fees rose, complaints were made to the boaters about how scruffy things were, and warnings that come spring ‘something would be done'. She seemed to be going out of her way to make our lives as difficult as possible.