Blue Skies Over Wildflower Lock (The Wildflower Lock)

Chapter 61

Given how desperate Daisy was to get back to her picture, she hoped that once they were happily trundling away, she could leave Yvonne manning the tiller and could carry on working on the portrait, but first they had to get out of their mooring – a task that proved harder than anticipated. By the time she had untied both ropes and stepped back onboard, Daisy was surprised to find the engine still off.

‘What’s happened?’ she said, wondering if the old woman had double-checked her times again to realise she’d made a mistake.

‘We’re out of fuel,’ Yvonne replied.

‘Out of fuel?’ Daisy squinted at the gauge. That didn’t make sense. She’d had half a tank yesterday. More, even.

‘It was going against that blasted tide,’ Yvonne explained. ‘That’s what used it up.’

‘Crap,’ Daisy muttered. ‘What do we do now?’

Yvonne surveyed their surroundings.

‘It looks like quite a few people are milling about. Why don’t you open up and I’ll head down to the marina office, find out where their refuelling points are. We’ll likely have to tow her there, though. There’s not enough fuel to even get her started. And don’t forget you need to let that dog of yours out. He looks like he needs the loo.’

‘He’s not my dog!’ Daisy tried to emphasise, but Yvonne just smiled.

Yvonne had been right about both matters. First, enough people were milling around to make opening the coffee shop for twenty minutes worthwhile – even with no cakes to sell – and second, they had to pull the September Rose to the refuelling point. Daisy took control, leading the boat forwards from the bow rope and keeping the pace slow so that the momentum didn’t cause her to lose control of the situation. Still, once or twice, she relied on Yvonne’s quick thinking to hold the September Rose back from the stern and stop a collision from taking place. Meanwhile, Johnny trotted along beside her, with his tail wagging. Thankfully, the refuelling point was conveniently close and thirty minutes later, they were leaving, although they now faced a backlog of other boats and they were moving so slowly, it almost felt pointless.

‘Are you okay if I go inside while it’s like this?’ Daisy said. ‘I just want to do a bit more work on my drawing.’

‘A drawing? Are you not painting?’

‘Not this one,’ she replied, hoping Yvonne wouldn’t ask any more questions. She really wanted to keep the picture a secret until it was finished. Thankfully, Yvonne took the tiller without a second thought.

‘No problem. I’m sure Johnny will stay out here and keep me company, won’t you?’ she said optimistically, only for Johnny to stand up the moment Daisy stepped through the stern door, after which, he dutifully followed her to his spot underneath the table.

‘Just yell for me when we’re approaching a lock,’ Daisy called, before sitting down and adjusting her seat slightly so she could still see Yvonne out on the stern. Yvonne was in almost the exact position she had been the day before, though the light was very different, and she was wearing her hair down around her shoulders rather than tied back in a messy bun the way she had been, but that wasn’t a problem. The aim of that morning was to get all the shapes and angles correct – chin, nose, neck and shoulders. Constantly lifting her head to reference the real-life subject, Daisy scribbled away, using her rubber as sparingly as she could to get the correct shapes to lift out of the page.

And it was working. Gradually, Daisy could see the image on her paper shifting from just a random woman to her friend, and there was emotion in the eyes, too. It certainly wouldn’t win a place in any famous portrait gallery, but hopefully, it would be a lovely gift at the end of the trip to thank Yvonne for all her help.

Daisy was working on the details of Yvonne’s hair when Yvonne called for her to come outside. Slipping the drawing back under her papers just in case Yvonne came in, Daisy stood up and headed onto the stern, with Johnny hot on her heels.

Having ignored him for the entire time she’d been drawing, Daisy was about to reach down and stroke him when she stopped, frozen by the sight in front of her.

‘That can’t be a lock,’ she said, disbelief and fear causing a lump to stick in her throat.

‘Oh, it is,’ Yvonne replied, a now all too familiar smirk on her lips. ‘Come on, it’s not nearly as bad as it looks. I promise.’

Despite her initial comment, and even with her limited knowledge of canal networks, Daisy could tell she was staring at some sort of lock with paddles and gates and everything else she was used to. But it was the size that stunned her.

Normally, the locks she used fitted one boat neatly inside. Small boats tended to have plenty of room while it was more of a snug fit for a large, wide beam like hers. There were some canals, like those around Oxford, that wide beams weren’t even allowed on because they couldn’t get through. But this lock wasn’t small. This one was humongous. So big that there were already three boats inside and it wasn’t even full. She glanced behind to see another canal boat also waiting for the lock. It was smaller than hers and freshly painted with a logo on the side, which she assumed meant it was a hire boat of some sort.

‘There’s room for them to come in after us,’ Yvonne said, reading Daisy’s mind. ‘But let’s be quick about it. We don’t want to keep people waiting.’