Chapter 32
The next day, they had one simple aim – to get as far as possible. With very few scenic places they could stop en route, it should have been fairly straightforward, although they still needed to consider the practicalities of the tide. While they could, theoretically, travel while the tide was going in the opposite direction, according to Yvonne, there was very little point. Progress would be slow and it would be an inefficient use of both time and fuel. Daisy wasn’t sure how true that was and – given how long Yvonne had slept the night before – she wondered if it was just a ruse for Yvonne to get a lie-in after missing her morning nap the day before. However, when Daisy’s body clock woke her up at five-thirty in the morning, she was surprised to hear Yvonne already talking away.
‘No, not Harry, please. You’ve got it wrong. It’s not him. It can’t be.’
Daisy hesitated. Was Yvonne on the phone? It certainly sounded that way. Yet she hadn’t even seen Yvonne with a phone. And Harry? The only Harry Daisy had heard Yvonne mention was her husband. And there was something about her tone that didn’t sound quite right.
Hoping she wasn’t invading her privacy too greatly, Daisy pushed open the cabin door to see Yvonne there on her bed, twisting and turning, repeating her late husband’s name over and over again.
‘Not Harry. You have to have it wrong. It can’t be Harry.’
Daisy’s pulse shot upwards. Yvonne was clearly having a nightmare, and the last thing Daisy wanted was to leave her friend in such a situation. But were you meant to wake people up if they were having a nightmare? She knew you were meant to let sleepwalkers be, but was it the same if someone was having a bad dream? She didn’t know, but going in and waking Yvonne up, when she was clearly going through something personal, didn’t feel right. And so, Daisy turned around, closed the cabin door and put on the coffee machine, hoping it would be loud enough to do the job for her.
While waking up and hearing her boatman having a nightmare was a less-than-ideal start to the morning, there was, thankfully, one unexpectedly pleasant surprise. After fixing her drink, Daisy headed out onto the stern and scanned the horizon. A flood of relief washed through her. The dog was gone.
As grateful as Daisy was that she didn’t have to deal with a stray collie, when they cast off from the riverbank an hour later, she couldn’t help but feel a little sad that she hadn’t got to say goodbye, or found out where he had come from.
‘It’s for the best,’ Yvonne said as if she could read Daisy’s thoughts. When Yvonne had appeared from the cabin, not long after Daisy made a coffee, she seemed perfectly chirpy, as if she had no recollection of the nightmare at all. And when Daisy had asked her how well she’d slept, Yvonne had replied with a simple ‘like a baby’,confirming in Daisy’s mind that bringing up the nightmare would definitely not be the right thing to do. Now they were on the way, and Yvonne seemed completely fine.
‘Dogs are a big commitment,’ she continued. ‘And you don’t know anything about him. Now, why don’t you take the tiller while I make breakfast? There’s not much that can go wrong as long as you don’t go too close to the bank.’
It wasn’t the most comforting pep talk, but Daisy took good notice and made sure she was a fair distance away from the riverbank as Yvonne left her to go make breakfast.
A slight pang of sadness struck her. On the ridiculous chance that the dog was following her again, she really wanted to be close enough to spot him. Even with all the distance between her and the land, she found herself repeatedly looking across to see if there were signs of her furry, four-legged friend.
‘Have you got that throttle up full?’ Yvonne asked as she came back onto the stern carrying two plates of scrambled eggs and toast. She handed one to Daisy, who glanced at the lever on the side of the boat before taking it.
‘Yes, the throttle’s on full.’
‘Huh,’ she said. The comment caused a fluttering of nerves to ignite in Daisy. She waited for a further explanation, but instead of elaborating, Yvonne promptly started tucking into her food.
‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’ Daisy asked, realising she wouldn’t get any more without pressing. ‘Should I turn the throttle down?’
She reached over to the lever, only for Yvonne to shake her head.
‘No, no, leave it where it is. We’re just going a little slower than I’d have expected, that’s all. It must have been further past high tide than I thought when we left.’
Once again, Daisy didn’t know how to reply. It didn’t sound like a particularly good thing, given that they’d been aiming to leave just before high tide each day, but Yvonne didn’t sound unduly concerned.
‘It’s only a couple hours until we stop anyway,’ she said.
The town Yvonne had mentioned stopping at was a little further away than she’d thought, and it was closer to four hours later when the jetty came into view. Along with a solid mooring, there were dozens and dozens of people and a sigh of relief passed Daisy’s lips; hopefully, she would be able to do plenty of afternoon business with the coffee shop and make up for the last couple of days. Hopefully, she would be able to shift a few of the chocolate shortbreads and lemon muffins she had left too. She just needed to get opened up first.
Between them, Daisy and Yvonne had found a rhythm for mooring, which involved Yvonne steering the boat into the space while Daisy grabbed the ropes and stepped off to tie the boat up. Given how well it had worked previously, Daisy saw no reason to change the method and they didn’t even bother talking as they fell into the routine, which, for the first part, worked perfectly well.
With the back rope tied, Daisy moved to fetch the front rope from the boat, only to find herself rooted to the spot. The stern of the September Rose was a pleasant little area that she and Theo often sat out on for an evening drink, but since Yvonne had taken her cabin this trip, Daisy hadn’t been on it at all. Yet, as she passed a fleeting glance inside of it, her stomach lurched. A pair of dark-brown eyes were staring up at her from the front of the boat. The September Rose had its first stowaway.