Red ndash Part VII ndash A Quick Trip
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In the morning, she didn't come downstairs until she heard me descending the stairs. She watched me carefully as I put things on the table and explained where various things were kept.
"Next time I shop," I said, "you'll have to tell me what you like for breakfast."
She snorted. "Food..." she said.
I just raised an eyebrow at her, and went on with my breakfast — my usual cereal, toast and orange juice. She settled for cereal and a cup of tea.
"Got any plans for the day?"
She shrugged. "I'm going to give my landlady notice. The deposit should cover the outstanding rent and give me a little over. Then I need to register my change of address with the benefits agency and the job centre. There's my application for a further education grant and so on, and I want to look into 'A' level courses."
"What subjects were you thinking of?"
"English definitely, Maths probably, probably Biology, perhaps English Lit."
"Good luck!"
"Yes..." she said thoughtfully. "And I need to get some washing in the machine..."
Over the next few weeks we settled into a pattern. She was usually in the kitchen before me, setting the table. She washed up in the evenings (at least anything I hadn't done earlier). Several times a week we'd go for a walk. I couldn't help but notice she was slimming down ... though I thought she'd never be thin, she was turning into an attractive young woman. Others thought so, too; she began going out on dates from time to time; however she rarely went out with the same boy twice, and was always home before midnight ... not that I set a curfew. Then, one evening, she cooked pasta and produced a decent bottle of chianti to go with it. After the meal, as we sat in the living room, she said;
"Barry, tell me about Lucy, please?"
So I told her ... about growing up with Lucy as the girl-next-door; playing together in the fifties, and dating as the fifties became the sixties. She giggled as I told her how totally uncoordinated I was on the dance-floor, whether it was jiving, disco or ballroom. I talked about listening to Radio Caroline (anchored just outside the twelve-mile-limit, off Felixstowe, and broadcasting pop music) How the government tried to stop people listening by broadcasting a jamming signal, but eventually had to give in and licence commercial radio. About the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones, Sandie Shaw of the bare feet, and Dusty Springfield.
I talked about loving Lucy's auburn hair and green eyes, her sense of humour, her total, unlimited loyalty to her friends, and our love for each other. About marrying, and struggling to buy our first home ... and our inability to have children. About the way our love for nature in general, and in particular for the sea, grew; how we learned to sail, and how we had planned to sail round the world, seeing everything we'd read about or seen on T/V.
And I talked about her illness, and giving up the dream; and our last tour of our favourite places in Britain. When at the last, I broke down and wept, she knelt in front of me, and held my hands; and her cheeks were wet too.
I realised, as I came back to the present, that it was almost midnight.
"It's way past my bedtime," I managed to smile.
"Thank you for telling me," she whispered, stood, and kissed my cheek. She stood there, holding my hands, for a long time, frowning slightly; then shook her head, squeezed my hands, and went out of the room.
Next day, at breakfast...
"Barry, I've never done any sailing. Will you teach me?"
I couldn't answer immediately; there was too much going on in my head and chest. My heart felt as if it was being squeezed and twisted; my head was full of darkness, my eyes prickled.
"Barry, are you all right?" she sounded panicked; she stood and walked round to me, putting her arm round my shoulders and kneeling up next to me. "Barry ... please..."
"I..." I stopped to clear my throat. "I haven't been in, or even near, a boat since before Lucy died."
"I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to upset you!"
"It's alright, my dear. It was a bit of a shock. Perhaps it's time, after all. Let me see what I can arrange..."
When I thought about it, it seemed to me to be best to try her in a dinghy first, and not in tidal waters. I arranged to borrow a car and booked a boat at Alton Water. They were phasing out Wayfarers in favour of some more modern dinghies, but I was grateful they had one available. I knew I was rusty in technique and probably slow as well; I didn't want to have to learn new tricks as well as teach them.
It was a couple of days later we set out with a picnic for the Alton Water watersports centre. The boat was as you might expect; tired, worn and sad. It was to be hoped that when the centre finally disposed of it in favour of a new Stratus or something like, that the new owner would give it the care and attention it had lacked to date. I was grateful to find it had an aft mainsheet (the rope controlling the set of the mainsail ran through a block, or pulley, at the stern of the boat, rather than in the middle, which is now the fashion) which was how I learned.
The most basic technique in dinghy sailing is tacking, turning through the wind so it's on the other side of the boat. It sounds easy, said like that, but it involves learning a quite complex series off movements. Just like driving a car, when you have to co-ordinate throttle, clutch, brakes and steering, it soon becomes second nature. Not only that, it forms the basis for every other 'evolution' or activity in the boat. By the end of a couple of hours, she was tacking smoothly enough and we'd moved on to gybing, which is similar but trickier. It was then time for lunch. I considered we'd done enough for the day; in fact she'd done very well indeed. I told her so and her excitement was palpable.
When we got home, Amanda said;
"I'll cook supper; why don't you go listen to some music and relax. Have a glass of whisky maybe?"
That sounded like a fine idea. I headed for the Famous Grouse before browsing my music collection. I'm eclectic in my tastes, but mostly I prefer classical. I eventually settled on Bruch's violin concerto; I sat and sipped my whisky and let the music flow over and round me.
"Wow! What is that?"
Her hands were on my shoulders as she spoke in my ear.
"It's one of the famous pieces of classical music — Bruch's violin concerto."
"I've never really taken much notice of that sort of music, but that was really passionate. I felt as though the violin was weeping. Could I hear it again, later?"
"Sure. How's supper coming along?"
"Oh, it's coming. I just had to come and ask about that."
After our meal, which was very good, I put the CD back in the machine and sat back on the sofa. As the music started, Amanda came and sat next to me; taking my arm and draping it round her shoulder, she snuggled up to me. I found it disturbing, to say the least. I mean, I'm old enough to be her grandfather let alone her father, and here I'm very aware of the warmth of her body, the pressure of her breast against me and her hand on my knee ... not to mention the feel of her in the crook of my arm. But we stayed like that as we listened to the Bruch...
At the end, (it takes about twenty to twenty-five minutes) she looked up at me and, very seriously, said, "Barry, this has been an absolutely awesome day. I can't remember ever feeling as happy as I am right now."
I didn't say anything, just tightened my arm around her for a few seconds.
"When can we go sailing again?"
"That depends. Do you want more time in dinghies like today, or do you want to go for bigger stuff?"
She thought for a minute; "I think," she said slowly, "I'd like to do both, if that's possible. I guess the dinghy sailing is good experience for bigger boats anyway, isn't it?"
Elissa
- 20.10.2021
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