Chapter 9
Maybe borrowing the council’s knackered old rowing boat wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had. It was always tied up at the wharf, available for anyone to use in case of emergency (usually involving stranded sheep or drunken shenanigans). It was mainly used by birdwatchers these days, but if the layer of weeds growing inside it was anything to go by, it hadn’t been taken out for a while.
Milly let out a low stream of swear words as the boat scooted around in the muddy water, arcing in a stubborn circle as it refused to obey her commands.
‘Forwards, you stupid thing,’ she growled. ‘Preferably in a straight line!’
Okay, so maybe her plan had a few flaws. She’d never been particularly good at rowing, but as far as she knew, there wasn’t another way to get to Murray’s trawler. Why he couldn’t live on dry land like everyone else was beyond her. What was wrong with a nice, normal house anyway?
‘Will… you… just... behave?!’ she grunted, yanking on the oars and then almost dropping one as the boat wobbled precariously.
Milly really needed to get this situation under control before it ended in disaster. After all, she’d been brought up in Crumbleton, so it wasn’t as though she’d never been out on a boat before. She’d paddled around the marshes plenty of times as a kid. It had just been… a while!
‘Okay, okay, that’s more like it!’ she cheered as she found a slightly deeper channel of water, and the boat began to glide forward. Now all she had to do was stay calm until she got there.
Calm. Right. Because that was easy to achieve when she was about to turn up at Murray’s home – uninvited - after a bouquet she’d created had landed him in hospital. Oh, and not to forget - the pair of them didn’t actually know each other. In fact, there was a good chance he might not even recognise her.
‘Breathe!’ Milly hissed at herself.
Maybe it was time to search for a few positives in this hair-brained plan of hers – just to give herself something to cling to as she rowed.
Positive number one – according to Caroline, Murray was out of hospital. Unfortunately, this titbit had come at a high price. Milly’s clumsy attempts at extracting information had been no match for Caroline’s finely tuned Spidey-senses. In the end, she’d been forced to own up to her long-held crush… and the kiss that had started the whole thing before Caroline would agree to help her.
Still, it had worked a treat. After going all soppy for a few seconds, her friend had called the ward and pretended to be Murray’s sister, before reporting straight back to Milly. By the sound of things, he should already be home.
Positive number two – she was being proactive! After eighteen months of wishing and dreaming and sighing and hoping that something might happen with Murray, Milly was finally on her way to talk to him. Sure… it was so that she could apologise for playing a part in a possible concussion… but it was a starting point, right?
Milly had left Jo in charge of the shop, with detailed instructions on how to lock up if she wasn’t back in time. She’d then dashed in and out of the shops on her way down the hill, filling a bag with basic groceries – including cake. Cake always made things better!
Positive number three? At least there wasn’t anyone around to witness what a prat she was making out of herself in this stupid boat!
Blowing out an exhausted breath, Milly pulled on the oars again. This was much harder than she remembered. She had hoped it would all come back to her – like riding a bike or something… but at this rate, she’d arrive at Murray’s place in a hot, sweaty state of disrepair.
Ifshe could find his place!
This was another thing she hadn’t thought through properly. Even though she had a rough idea where the trawler was, the marshes were always changing… and they were vast! Plus, everything looked very different from her perch at water level. It was a lot harder to see where she was going with all the stupid bloody rushes and tufts of grass blocking the view.
It was fine. Of course she’d find it!
Milly wasn’t in any kind of rush. She’d already called Wilfred back to confirm that Hercules was going to be fine and dandy after his elicit snack at the wedding, and she’d left Jo in charge of the shop.
‘ARGH!’ Milly squealed as a startled heron took flight from a clump of reeds right next to her. She jumped so badly that the entire boat rocked like a bucking bronco.
‘Calm! Breathe!’ she muttered again, sounding like a very shrill stuck record.
It was just a heron. Nothing to worry about!
No… if she really wanted something to worry about, it was being lost out here on the marshes all night. What if she couldn’t find the trawler? What if she did find it, and Murray wasn’t there? He could be out counting frogs, or something equally as bizarre for all she knew. He was the Marsh Ranger, after all. He could be anywhere.
But then… considering he’d just been released from hospital, surely he’d be taking it easy?
Well… there wasn’t any point going around in circles inside her own head, was there? Not when she was having enough trouble stopping the boat from doing just that.
Milly frowned around her, trying to see through the thick reeds and rushes, desperate for a glimpse of some kind of landmark that might help her get her bearings again.
‘Admit it, you’re lost!’ she huffed.
What on earth had she been thinking, coming out here on a mission to apologise for something that wasn’t even her fault to start with? It was probably the worst excuse in the history of excuses for turning up at someone’s home unannounced. If anyone was to blame for Murray’s accident – it was Elizabeth. She’d been the one to choose such a ridiculously big bunch of flowers to start with.
Milly had to face facts. The only reason she was paddling around, lost in the middle of Crumbleton marshes right now was the fact that she’d finally had enough of waiting.
She wanted to meet Murray.
She wanted to see with her own eyes that he still had all his teeth - and really was going to be okay.
Then… she wanted to grab him and kiss his face off. After that, maybe she’d ask him on a date.
‘Or maybe you could just turn around and go home,’ she whispered, her oars going still as the stupidity of her weird little mission clonked her over the head. Pausing for a beat or two, she let the boat drift idly as a curious sparrow peered at her from a nearby rush.
‘What do you think I should do?’ she said.
The sparrow cocked its head one way, and then the other - not taking his eyes off her. He looked like he was thinking hard.
‘Don’t rush,’ she laughed, ‘take your time!’
The sparrow let out two short peeps, bobbed its tiny body, and then flew off in a scurry of silky feathers.
‘Yeah – that’s what I think too,’ said Milly. ‘It’s too late to bow out now!’
She grabbed the oars again and started to row with a newfound determination. It worked a treat for about thirty seconds.
A strange, sludgy, sliding sound came from the bottom of the boat.
‘What noooooow?’ Milly whined, even though it was pretty obvious what now. The water was getting too shallow for the boat. She could feel it dragging along the mud beneath her. That wasn’t good. If she didn’t watch out, she was going to get stranded… then what would she do?!
‘Okay – it’s fine,’ she muttered, as the boat came to a dead stop. ‘Don’t panic, I’ll just…’
She tried rowing backwards, then forwards… and then…
‘Gah!’ She was officially stuck.
After a couple of seconds of pure, silent horror, Milly clambered carefully to her feet. Placing one oar into the bottom of the boat, she carried the other one to the back, intent on using it as a punt. What could be more romantic than turning up, gondola-style?
Milly thrust the end of the oar into the deep mud and pushed. The boat didn’t budge – but helpfully, the oar sank by about a foot.
‘Not the plan!’ she sighed, yanking on it to no avail. Great – now the oar was stuck too.
It took several hard tugs before the mud relinquished the paddle with a gruesome, slurping sound. Not one to give up easily, Milly chose a new spot before thrusting the oar back down into the ooze and shoving hard. This time the boat did move forward by a couple of feet… but the oar didn’t come with her.
Wobbling precariously, Milly had to let go – it was either that or end up plunging backwards off the boat.
‘Now what!’ she gasped, staring at the oar standing straight up out of the mud like a totem pole - just out of her reach. As she watched, it started to keel over in slow-motion, before plopping backwards into the muddy water.
‘Great,’ she said. The word came out on a bubble of hysterical laughter, and she raised her hands to her head, winding her fingers into her hair as she stared around.
Now what was she going to do?!
As if by magic, the outline of the trawler materialised a little way ahead of her. She was almost there! So close… and yet so far.
The boat was stuck, she’d lost an oar, and she didn’t even have Murray’s phone number so that she could call him and beg for a rescue. Not that she would even if she could. The poor guy had a head injury, for goodness sake!
‘Right… right… only one thing for it!’ she muttered.
There was no alternative. She was going to have to roll up her jeans, take off her shoes and socks, and wade the last few hundred yards. It wasn’t ideal… but then neither was knocking the object of your affection out cold with a bunch of flowers.
Getting over the edge of the boat without the whole thing capsizing turned out to be a lot harder than Milly had been expecting. For an excruciating moment, she found herself folded over the edge, clinging on for dear life with her elbows while holding on tight to her shoes, socks and shopping bag as her toes dipped into the ooze.
‘Eew!’ she squealed.
The bottom was even less solid than she’d been expecting… but at least the water wasn’t too cold.
Straightening up, Milly had to lift one foot high before plunging it back down into the mud to take a step. This was going to take a while… but at least she knew which direction she was heading in – even if she couldn’t see the trawler now that she was out of the boat. She might be close, but the reeds surrounding her made an impenetrable curtain.
The next few steps weren’t too bad. She was making progress even if she looked a bit like a boozed-up tightrope walker - with her hands held high, making sure her shopping bag didn’t take a dip.
Then things got seriously squidgy. Two more steps found Milly sinking up to her knees. It quickly became clear that she hadn’t rolled her jeans up anywhere near far enough, and the smelly, muddy water started to soak into the denim, creeping up her thighs with remarkable speed.
Milly went to take another step forward, wrinkling her nose – only to realise that she was stuck fast. Actually – scratch that… she wasn’t just stuck, she was sinking.
Oops!
Wriggling around, trying to get one leg unstuck, she wobbled precariously. Okay, that wasn’t good – she could do without faceplanting right into the mess.
‘Murray Eddington, it’s lucky you’re cute!’ she grumbled. ‘Now what am I going to do?!’