Six Mile High Club chapter 4
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AmyChapter 5 free porn video
We decided there was nothing to keep us in Maldon after that. We could leave any time after about midday. The progress of the anticyclone meant south or south-easterly winds, so I reluctantly fired up the 'iron sail' as Jenni picturesquely called it; half the time heading down river we'd be heading straight into the wind. We hoisted the sails anyway, but they didn't do us much good until we got to Osea Island.
As we motored past the prom, Amy said;
"I keep meaning to ask... what did you say the name of that guy was?" - pointing at the imposing statue at the end of the prom - "After all, he witnessed your proposal!"
"Oh, that's Earl Brithnoth," I said. "Earl as in nobility. A local hero. He died leading a Saxon army in repelling a Danish invasion in 991. There's an epic poem about it, but it's written in Old English, or Saxon, or some such. His bones are in Ely Cathedral, but less his head, because the Danes cut it off."
"Too much information!" she laughed, "but perhaps he makes a good witness, even without his head!" She ducked under my arm so she could press against me and put an arm around my waist. Passing Heybridge in Collier's Reach we got some use out of the sails, but had to depend on the motor again as we passed Hilly Pool Point.
Serenity is a great sea-boat, steady and easy to sail, but my wife and I got her for long ocean passages, not manoeuvring in shallow East Coast rivers. She's got a long keel, which is great for keeping a course at sea. If she'd had a fin keel, she'd have been much snappier to manoeuvre, and we could probably have managed to beat down to Osea. I took the lazy way. Apart from anything else, it was nice cuddling Amy, but a little over an hour from leaving Maldon, we passed the buoy called 'The Doctor' and were able to stop the engine.
"How much sailing do you fancy?" I asked. "In a couple of hours, we could be moored at West Mersea, or we could carry on and anchor in Pyefleet Creek, visit Brightlingsea, or carry on up the Colne. That would mean waiting for the tide, though. If we carried on back up the coast, we could pop in to Hamford Water, which is the setting for one of the Swallows and Amazons books, or carry on and sail up to Mistley on the Stour. We'd get there about ten tonight, all being well. We could anchor lower down the Stour if we get tired, or if we get held up."
"If we went to Mistley, we could see Jenni again, couldn't we? I'd like that."
"She won't be there until Sunday afternoon," I pointed out, "but yes."
"Why don't we spend the night in Hamford Water?" she asked, "Then explore the Stour on Saturday?"
"Sounds good to me. You hungry yet? I'm sure it's past lunch time."
"Umm ... yes, I think I am. Shall I rustle something up?"
"I was thinking you might take the helm while I make some sandwiches," I suggested
She beamed. "I'd love to!"
We had West Mersea abeam about 15.30, and once we were out of the Blackwater, we had a broad reach up the Wallet to the Medusa buoy, gybing then to approach Harwich Haven. The entrance to Hamford Water is (supposedly) marked by a buoy called 'Pye End'. The Pye End buoy is infamous, as it is difficult to see even under good conditions. We were lucky to find it by 2100 as, had it been much later, the gathering gloom would have made finding it impossible. As it was, the southerly wind meant motoring in; we dropped anchor a little before 2200 between Skippers Island and Horsey Island, shut the motor down and went about a harbour stow in the quiet; the peace disturbed only by the occasional calls of waders and Brent Geese.
We sat and drank cocoa, nibbling shortbread biscuits, together in the cockpit under the stars. As I sat there, my arm around Amy, I realised that I was deeply happy. That may be a strange thing to say; why wouldn't I be happy? But that's not what I mean. Usually, one only realises you are happy when that is no longer the case! Think about it. When was the last time you thought to yourself, 'gosh, I'm really happy'? (or words to that effect)?
They say everyone dreams when they sleep, it's just that we don't remember them. Certainly, I rarely wake remembering anything I dreamed about; but that night I dreamed of Lucy. We were standing in that bright place that I remembered from before, and facing one another. Lucy was smiling at me. I made to move toward her, but she held up her hand to stop me, still smiling.
"You made the right choice," she said. "Don't worry about the future, just do your best each day ... and make her as happy as you made me."
"Lucy..."
She shook her head, still smiling. "You are happy, aren't you?" She cocked her head — it was so familiar a mannerism ... it was saying 'think about this, and you'll know I'm right'. "She loves you, and she will make you very happy. That is your ... destiny ... for now. Fare well ... until we meet again."
"Lucy..." But she turned and walked away.
When I woke, Amy was shaking me, and saying my name; she was propped up on one elbow, looking down at me.
"You were calling out in your sleep. Are you okay?"
I pulled her down to me and held her in my arms; feeling the solid reality of her, her warmth, her love.
"I dreamed of Lucy," I explained.
"I heard you say her name," she said. "Do you regret asking me to marry you?"
"No, absolutely not! It's just unsettling, though. She ... was saying, she said, 'fare well, until we meet again'. Amy, as we were sitting in the cockpit last night, I realised I was happy, for the first time since Lucy got ill. That's thanks to you. And Lucy seems to approve!"
"Wow! Seems weird, though, to get a vote of approval from a dead person!"
I smiled. "Not dead, just somewhere else, out of reach for the present."
A curlew's rippling call echoed across the water, and a skein of Brent geese honked their way overhead, on their way to ravage a field of grain; we just lay there. I revelled in the joy of our love, in the feel of her in my arms.
We spent the morning quietly, on board. We finished Swallows and Amazons, and began 'Secret Water', though it was out of chronological order, and ate lunch a little early, watching the water rising. At 1400, I hoisted sail. I started the motor and talked Amy through keeping Serenity 'on station', while I weighed anchor (doing my best to get the mud off as I got the chain on board) 'flaking' the chain on the foredeck so it would run out cleanly when it was time to anchor again.
With a light south-westerly wind, we were able to dispense with the motor; Amy took us out, as I supervised the pilotage — basically just checking off the buoys as we passed them. A couple of hours found us dropping anchor again, this time on the 'Shelf' (shallow water on the south side of the estuary, out of the fairway) — Amy wanted to watch the big ships negotiating the Haven, to unload at Felixstowe Container Terminal, Harwich, or continuing up river to Ipswich. So we sat there and talked, or read, and watched the comings and goings. The tide turned about 1930 and Serenity swung round until she was facing down river towards the open sea. We ate our tea in the cockpit, and went to bed early.
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