Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
My section of the Oxford Canal wasn’t the busiest, but it was a rare day when I didn’t see another boat puttering past. I checked up and down the waterway and was relieved to see that it was still clear.
I hoped the rainy conditions might have encouraged most people to tie up and put a brew on; it would be sod’s law for another vessel to come into view as I was trying to steer the Jericho Wine Barge into its mooring.
I was confident I could do it, but every boat has its own quirks, and I would normally prefer not to be handling them for the first time to carry out one of the trickiest manoeuvres you could perform on a canal.
‘Should I keep watch or something?’ asked Jack, once again dropping in some nautical vocabulary in another lame bid to convince me of his boating credentials.
To be honest, he’d be of more use going into the galley and putting the kettle on, but if it would get him out my hair, then I could play along.
‘How far are we from the bank right now?’ I asked first.
He squinted towards the shore. ‘I’d say approximately two and a half metres away. Give or take a few centimetres.’
I nodded, surprised by his accuracy.
‘Not too bad. Okay, let’s get ready to moor up. Why don’t you head to the well deck, so you can jump ashore with the line?’
Maybe he’d fall in the water while he was at it. That would wipe the smug expression from his face, which had grown bigger when I acknowledged his correct distance calling.
‘Absolutely. On it,’ he said, not moving anywhere.
‘The well deck is at the front of the boat,’ I said, doing my best to keep the irritation out my voice, which frankly was a courtesy that he didn’t deserve.
‘Right. I’m not completely up on my canal boat terminology yet.’ He sounded unapologetic about it.
‘So I see. I have a couple of books for sale on that topic which you might wish to purchase and then take pains to study. However, I will add the caveat that you’ll learn the most by actually being out on the water with someone who knows what they’re doing.
And no, I’m not offering. Much as I love books, there is only so much theory you can absorb before it becomes necessary to engage in the practical.
You wouldn’t want to get a lift in a car from someone who’d only read about how to drive, would you? ’
‘I figured boating on a canal would be easier than driving a car. Otherwise, why would they hire these things out to holidaymakers?’
‘Hmm, that theory doesn’t seem to be working out very well for you, does it?’ I pointed out. ‘And don’t get me started on the holiday hires.’
‘Something else you’ve got a strong opinion about?’
‘Well, some of them are okay, but many of them seem to think that the best steering method is bouncing from one bank of the canal to the other, a habit which you seem to be in danger of developing. And what exactly is wrong with having an opinion?’ I asked.
‘Nothing at all,’ he acknowledged. ‘I’ve got plenty of my own, although I’m perhaps not quite as vocal about sharing them as you are.’
‘I hadn’t noticed you holding back at all. Now if you’ve quite finished with the idle chit-chat, will you please head to the front of the boat and get ready to moor up?’
‘Aye aye, cap’n,’ he responded.
I frowned at him.
‘Is that not what you’re meant to say on a boat?’ he asked with affected innocence.
‘A “Yes, Molly” will do just fine. There’s no need to take the mickey.’
‘I was—’ he started.
‘I’m not interested. Enough talking.’ I gestured at the shore. ‘This boat isn’t going to moor itself, you know. We’ve been faffing about in the middle of the waterway for quite long enough. Off you go.’
He nodded, thankfully swallowing back whatever smartarse comment he had intended to make and hurried down into the cabin. After a lengthy pause, I heard his voice echo down from the other end of the boat.
‘I’m in position.’
‘Praise be, we’re all saved,’ I muttered under my breath.
I checked our surroundings and assessed my options. A burst of reverse to get us parallel to the mooring, then a slight manoeuvre starboard would do the trick I reckoned. The engine let out a pleased purr as I put the boat into a low gear and gently steered us into position.
‘One and a half metres. No, actually, I think it’s less than that now,’ came a muffled yell from the well deck.
I ignored Jack’s attempt to help and leaned as far as I could to starboard to check for myself. He might have got the distance correct earlier, but that could easily have been a fluke.
‘Smoothly done,’ I said to myself as I brought the Jericho Wine Barge perfectly alongside, and put the engine back into neutral. Then I hopped over the side with the stern line and tied the rear of the boat up myself, before jogging to the bow as Jack showed no sign of doing anything to help.
‘It would be good if you jumped across sometime today,’ I said to him as he hesitated on board, staring at the miniscule space between the boat and the shore. Surely he couldn’t be scared of jumping that? There were bigger gaps between the pavement slabs in the centre of town.
‘The longer you leave it, the further the distance will get,’ I pointed out. ‘The wind is blowing the boat off the bank. The stern might be secured, but if you wait too long, the bow will end up in the middle of the water.’
He still hesitated, apparently trying to work out how to avoid the rather large puddle on the bank.
‘Now would be a good time to go for it. Or you could throw the rope across to me,’ I said.
For a man who exuded such an air of self-confidence most of the time, he looked remarkably unsure of himself.
I was rather enjoying the spectacle. ‘It’s that one there,’ I added helpfully before he made another rookie error like throwing the decorative coil from the roof which had probably been put there by the seller to hide some damage.
Jack considered his options, then scooped the rope up and threw it towards me like he was chucking a rugby ball at the touch line. I ducked before it whacked me in the face.
‘Oops. I went a bit hard then.’
‘Once again, a little bit of care and attention, please. I’d prefer not to end up as injured as my boat is.
Also, before you chuck a rope, you should always double check to make sure the other end is properly secured.
You could throw it like an Olympic champion, and it’d be wasted effort if the whole thing ends up on the land. ’
‘All I heard is that I threw it like an Olympic champion,’ called back Jack with a grin, which he’d no doubt been flattered into believing was charmingly cheeky. I rolled my eyes.
‘Of course you did.’
I deftly tied the boat up, wondering if he’d bother taking note of how to do a perfect bowline knot. He’d do well to, if he was serious about making a success of his hobby venture.
There was a thundering of paws as Hilda leapt off the Oxford Bookship and came running towards us, grinning with delight that I’d finally reappeared after what probably felt to her like a lengthy absence.
‘Hey, don’t worry, girlie, I was only gone for a short time, I’d never abandon you,’ I said.
She gave me an affectionate wag of the tail before she brushed past me and jumped onto Jack’s boat to greet him as well.
I was glad the boat was properly secured as her enthusiastic leap set it rocking vigorously.
‘Hello there, my horsey friend,’ said Jack, patting her haunches. She shamelessly leaned against him inviting further attention, the treacherous beast.
I swallowed my retort, unable to help feeling somewhat jealous at my pet’s transferral of affection. Instead, I whistled for her, but while her ears pricked up, she decided she’d prefer a belly rub and slumped down onto the deck to make Jack give her one. Somewhat to my surprise, he did.
While Hilda was occupied with flirting with the enemy, I returned to my own boat and precariously leaned over the side that had been struck to get a better look at the damage.
The hull of my beautiful boat now sported a wide gash through the dark paintwork.
It looked like it was superficial, thankfully, but even just repainting would be a big job.
I peered into the canal’s depths but couldn’t spot the bookshop sign which had gone overboard.
Despite singing the praises of the canal’s cleanliness to Jack, I drew the line at snorkelling in it on a rescue mission.
I would have to make do with the sign’s twin on the towpath until I found the time to replace it.
Someone cleared their throat from behind me, nearly startling me into falling into the canal.
‘It’s probably too rainy to be hanging over the side like that,’ said Jack, his hand resting casually on Hilda’s head in a far too proprietorial way for my liking. ‘It wouldn’t take much for you to lose your grip.’
I got the impression the double meaning to his words was deliberate.
‘When I want your input, I’ll ask for it,’ I snapped.
I was cold, wet and extremely tired of dealing with this man.
I’d been in a perfectly good mood before he turned up and started smashing his canal boat around.
Now the joy at the modest profit I’d made last night had long vanished, with the fear that the money might have to go on repairs, rather than being put towards my mooring fees fund.
‘What’s the verdict?’ he asked, still not taking the hint and leaving me alone.
‘The paintwork will need completely redoing for starters.’
He nodded. ‘No problem. I can fund that. It was my mistake after all.’
I thought how nice it must be to be able to make such promises without having to worry about the financial implications. And could I afford to take him at his word?
‘While I appreciate your offer to wave a magic wand and sort it all out, it’s not really about the money. Redoing the paintwork will involve leaving my mooring, sailing to the boatyard and taking the Bookship out of the water, probably for a few weeks. It’s simply not practical at the moment.’
Jack frowned. I suspected he wasn’t used to having people talk back to him.
‘How about this for an alternative? I was going to get someone in to help with the fit out for the Wine Barge. I can send them in your direction. They could at least paint the area above the waterline so it doesn’t look quite so bad. See, Hilda thinks it’s a good idea.’
That tipped me over the edge.
‘That’s not what Hilda thinks at all. She’s a dog with her own thoughts, a dog, mind, not a horse, and she doesn’t need someone like you projecting their misguided ideas on to her.
As for what I’d like, it’s for you to leave the pair of us alone, and for things to return to the nice peace and quiet we enjoyed before you, the hullabaloo who delegates everything to other people, turned up. ’
‘Quaint vocabulary there. That’s the second time you’ve called me a hullabaloo, you know,’ he pointed out.
‘Says the man who uses phrases like “hoi polloi”,’ I snapped back, daring him to patronise me still further by praising me for using it correctly.
Instead, he focused on picking apart another of my accusations. ‘I don’t delegate everything. I’m perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet,’ he asserted.
‘Sounds a bit too much like you’re trying to convince yourself there.’
‘I…’ Then he sighed. ‘Look, I’m sorry that we’ve got off on the wrong foot, but we’re going to be neighbours. We might as well try to get along and be friends.’ He attempted a different tack.
‘In my experience, if you have to try, it’s not an actual friendship. Now, if you don’t mind, I have stuff to be getting on with. Some of us have to work for a living, you know.’
He gave Hilda one final scratch of the head. ‘That’s me told. You know where to find me if you change your mind.’
‘There is little chance of that. “My good opinion once lost, is lost forever”,’ I quoted self-righteously.
‘Very well, I’ll leave you to it.’
I held on to Hilda’s collar as Jack left, ignoring her whimper of disappointment that I wasn’t letting her go with him.
‘I don’t know what’s got into you. You’re normally such a good judge of character,’ I said to her.
She gave an eloquent huff at being prevented from following our new neighbour, and slumped down onto her bed, leaving me to my rage.