Chapter 41
Grace’s hand shook as she placed it in Chris’s and clambered aboard. Her brain scrambled to catch up with what he’d told her as he unlocked the cabin door.He’d bought this boat?He’d even named her, for feck’s sake.She zeroed in on what he was saying as, shoving the key in his jeans pocket, he turned back to face her.
‘You put the idea to buy her in my head.’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah. Remember the afternoon we walked down to meet the lads at the Old Queen’s Head?’
As if she could forget it. The parsley incident would be forever filed away in her eejit-moments-in-my-life file. Grace nodded.
‘You said you wondered what it would be like to live on one of these. And I couldn’t get this old girl out of my head. She didn’t have a name, by the way, but I thought TheEmerald fit.’
‘It does. I like it. But you’re mad. Do you know that? I mean, do you know anything about boats?’
‘She’s a canal boat, not an America’s Cup yacht. I’ll learn. I’ve got the manual. I had a boatie friend look her over, and she’s solid. She runs well, the engine’s sound and obviously she needs TLC, but, sure, it’s mostly cosmetic stuff.’ His gaze swept lovingly over the boat. ‘The owner wanted rid, and I came in low. We met in the middle, and here we are.’ Chris held his arms out wide.
The world was his oyster, Grace thought, wondering if he could grin any harder. His excitement was contagious, however, and it had managed to sweep away her concerns about the text for the time being.
‘I’m going to live on her and do her up at the same time. Come inside and have a look.’
Grace froze, watching as Chris’s dark-blonde head bent to duck through the door. This wasn’t part of the plan. She was the one who was going to move out of the poky terrace house.
‘Coming?’
His voice drifting out from the cabin forced her to move, and, dipping her head, Grace stepped down after him, unsure what to expect.
The glare from outside meant everything was in shadows, but as her eyes adjusted to the long, narrow space, timber registered. There was lots of timber. And a sink with a small cooker on top of the worktop. A leafy branch lay in the dishrack. Was he planning on doing some sort of leaf arrangement? Grace shook her head, not bothering to ask what that was for in her haste to take in the rest of the cabin.
A potbelly fire with a skinny black flue sat in the centre of the galley-style interior. Across the way was a built-in Formica table like you’d find in an old caravan. The bench seat behind it had tufts of stuffing protruding from the garish seventies fabric. Her eyes hurt, taking in the curtains, which had the same orange-and-brown swirls.
‘There’s a bathroom through there,’ Chris supplied, pointing to a door. ‘She came with everything.’
But Grace’s eyes had alighted on the bed fitting snuggly into the cavity beneath the windows at the far end of the boat. What would it be like to be cuddled in Chris’s arms, being rocked to sleep by the gently undulating waters below?
‘So, what do you think?’ Chris was impatient.
Radishes, radishes, radishes! Grace thought before finally finding her voice. ‘She’s incredible.’
The Grand Canyon-wide grin was back in place. ‘You’re supposed to christen a boat.’
Grace knew that on some vague level, picturing champagne bottles being smashed against hulls. It always seemed a waste of good champers to her.
‘I looked it up. There’s a fair bit to it. Starting with it being bad luck to christen a boat on a Thursday or a Friday.’
Today was Saturday.
‘And I couldn’t stretch to a decent bottle of champers, not having forked out all my savings for her, so we’re on the cider. Hope that’s OK?’
‘You’re christening TheEmerald now? And cider’s fine by me.’
‘Sure am.’
‘But where’s everyone else?’ Grace thought, at the very least, he’d want a few mates here.
‘It’s just us.’ Chris fetched a wine-sized bottle from the tiny refrigerator, humming so loudly he was in danger of bursting into song. ‘Henry Westons British Vintage Cider. I pushed the boat out, excuse the pun.’ Then, opening a cupboard, he retrieved two tumblers. ‘Sorry, they’re a bit dusty.’ And using the hem of his T-shirt, he gave them a quick wipe.
Grace pretended she hadn’t seen him do that as she took in smaller details she hadn’t noticed on her first sweep of the cabin, like the pots and pans on hooks above the sink and the spidery plant in the macramé hanger. She heard the hiss of the bottle being opened and watched as Chris sloshed the fizzy alcoholic drink into two glasses.
‘We should go back on deck for the next part of the ceremony.’ Chris held a glass out to her.
Grace took it.
‘And would you mind taking that branch out with you?’ Chris, glass and bottle in hand, cocked his head toward the dishrack.
‘Is there any point in me asking why?’
‘No. All will be revealed shortly.’
Grace dutifully picked the branch up, and after a tussle in the entrance with the small tree she had hold of, she clambered back out into the daylight, holding her glass aloft, amazed not to have spilled a drop.
Chris was heading toward the boat’s bow, and she slipped around the side of the boat after him. He’d put the bottle and his glass down, and she was in time to see him dig a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
‘Straight off the internet, this.’ He shook it at her before smoothing it out.
‘Er, Chris, what do I do with the branch? I feel like I’m playing the part of a tree in Birnam Wood – you know, from Macbeth?’
Chris laughed. ‘Hold on to it for a little longer. Bear with me, OK?’
Grace nodded – not that he could probably see her behind the foliage. She parted the leaves and, peeking through, saw him hold the paper out before him, squinting against the afternoon rays. ‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
Chris cleared his throat. ‘An Irish blessing. May your anchor be tight, your cork be loose, your rum be spiced and your compass be true. To TheEmerald!’
‘To TheEmerald.’
Chris reached around the tree and clinked Grace’s glass. ‘Cheers!’ They grinned and glugged their cider. Then, wiping his mouth, Chris said, ‘You can lay the branch down now.’
Thank goodness. It was getting heavy. Grace set it down on the boards by her feet then straightened, taking another decent swig of her cider and swallowing the fizz down before asking, ‘What’s next?’
‘I’m supposed to smash the bottle on the bow, but I don’t think the neighbours would approve.’
‘You could just tap the bottle, like.’
Chris did so.
‘The Emerald’s officially christened!’ Grace announced.
‘Not quite. There’s still her maiden voyage under new ownership.’
‘You’re not taking her out, are you?’
‘I am. Sure, we’ll be grand, Grace. Have a little faith.’
What was the worst that could happen? Grace mulled this over. A nasty case of duck itch rash if he were to crash and she went overboard into the canal. ‘I have complete faith in your canal boating abilities.’ She didn’t.
‘Er, before we set sail, Grace, there was something I wanted to mention.’ Chris raked his hair with his fingers and shifted from trainer to trainer before clearing his throat. ‘I, er, I got your text.’
Grace was glad she’d already swallowed the cider. Otherwise, she’d have spat it back out.
‘And, I’m sorry I didn’t reply, but it took me by surprise, and I didn’t know what to text back. Then, once your message sank in, I knew what I wanted to say to you needed to be said face to face.’
Her first instinct was to do a Cinderella flit, but she knew that would only make things worse. A top-up would have to do, she decided, holding her glass out mutely.
Chris glugged cider into her glass, she mechanically trotted out the lines she’d rehearsed with Hannah. ‘You don’t need to say anything else, Chris. The message wasn’t meant for you. It was meant for Ava, and I’ve since realised my feelings got muddied, what with the emotions behind organising the festival.’ She swigged down her cider, feeling a little woozy given she didn’t usually knock back alcoholic beverages in the middle of the afternoon.
‘Grace.’ Chris took a step toward her, and Grace automatically took a step back, her foot connecting with something solid. ‘Remember that day I fell off my bike? You stopped and helped me hobble to Dr Fairlie’s surgery.’
She gave a slight nod, looking everywhere but into those deep-blue eyes.
‘I think I fell in love with you that day, only I didn’t realise it.’
Grace’s head snapped up. ‘I’m not surprised, given we were twelve years old.’
‘I’m a slow learner. What can I say? It only dawned when I read your message that I felt the same about you. And then it was like everything suddenly made sense, and how I feel about you came into focus.’ He hesitated then took another step toward her so their bodies almost touched. ‘I love you, Princess Grace.’
‘You do?’
‘Yep.’
Grace was aware of the sun’s warmth on her back as she gazed up at Chris. There was no uncertainty in his eyes as they connected and held hers. Time seemed to stand still as the birdsong, distant voices and faraway thrum of traffic disappeared, leaving just the two of them.
Chris reached out and smoothed her hair before his warm hands cupped her face. His touch made every nerve ending in her body tingle with anticipation, and her breath hitched, waiting for him to close the distance between them. When he did, the brush of his lips against hers was so gentle, she’d have thought it was a figment of her imagination if not for the lingering warmth that remained.
Her hands snaked around the back of his neck, fingers entwining as she pulled him closer to her. The second kiss was lingering, full of promise as it deepened, and when they broke apart, they leaned toward one another, foreheads touching.
‘I only just found you and you’re moving out,’ Grace whispered.
‘Move in here with me.’
‘What?’
‘Move in here.’
Could she?
‘We already technically live together.’
‘That’s true.’
‘We can do The Emerald up together.’
‘We could. So is the part where we sail off into the sunset?’
‘Too cheesy?’
‘No. It’s absolutely perfect.’