Chapter 11
The narrowboats were rather quaint, but Bill led her towards one of the smaller vessels. Unlike the barge which had seating for at least sixty people, this one would just be him, Fiona and the skipper. Bill had considered the barge, but with the inside being enclosed, (although there were windows running the full length on both sides) he wanted Fiona to have more of a view.
The boat he had chosen certainly had that, he thought, as he settled her into a seat at the prow and sat next to her with Patch in between them.
It was only when the skipper was handed a coolbox and had given him a nod, that Bill realised how intimate this trip was going to be, and he wondered whether he had done the right thing in hiring a private charter. It was considerably more romantic than being in a barge along with loads of other people, which wasn’t his intention at all. Bill didn’t do romance. He hadn’t done romance since…
He gave himself a mental shake. Best not to think about that.
Fretting that Fiona might think this was more than a couple of friends enjoying a day out, he lied gruffly, ‘I tried to get us on the barge, but it was fully booked.’
Fiona replied, ‘I’m glad. This is so much nicer. I wouldn’t want to be packed in like a sardine. And we get to sit at the front.’ Her face was alight with pleasure, and he was so pleased he’d thought of it this morning.
‘Next time we’ll go to the seaside,’ he said.
‘More boats?’ she guessed.
‘Or just a stroll along the front with an ice cream.’ Boats weren’t everyone’s cup of tea. Fiona may be happy being on a canal’s slow still waters, but a choppy sea ride was an altogether different prospect.
Just being at the beach with the smell of the sea in his nostrils, the sound of the waves and the gulls, and the taste of salt on his lips, would be enough. He didn’t need to feel the rise and fall of the ocean under his feet.
‘And fish and chips,’ he added.
‘Ooh, yes! There’s nothing nicer than fish and chips at the seaside.’
‘Except for coffee and cake on the canal?’ he teased.
‘Except for that,’ she agreed as the boat chugged away from its mooring, gliding under the first of what Bill assumed would be several bridges. It was a beautiful stone arch and he wondered how old it was. Last century, certainly.
Once they had cleared the canal basin and were on the canal proper, it felt like they were in a different world. Gone was the lively bustle of the cafe with its outdoor seating, and in its place were leafy trees bordering the one bank, and open fields on the other. Walkers strolled along the towpath, stepping aside for the occasional cyclist, and now and again another boat passed them going in the opposite direction.
Suddenly Fiona gasped and gripped his arm as a tunnel appeared up ahead. As tunnels went, it wasn’t a particularly long one and Bill could see through to the other end. However, it was narrow, with room for only one vessel at a time, and on the right-hand side was a raised walkway with a steel railing to prevent pedestrians from toppling into the water.
‘I don’t think I would like to walk through that!’ she exclaimed.
Their skipper said, ‘It’s not so bad. Only takes a few minutes.’ His voice bounced off the walls of the tunnel as he steered the boat through it, and Bill could hear the faint rumble of traffic from the road overhead. They were soon out the other side and into the sunshine once more.
Going through a lock was fascinating, and although he had navigated a ship through the IJmuiden marine lock, which served the Port of Amsterdam and was the largest sea lock in the world, this little lock seemed more real somehow. Barges and other canal craft had used this lock for over two hundred years, and Bill felt strangely humbled to think that in another two hundred years a couple just like him and Fiona could be sitting in a little boat and doing the exact same thing.
No sooner were they out of the lock with its steep sides, than the boat was high in the air as it travelled across the Brynich Aqueduct, a length of the canal that traversed the River Usk. The canal narrowed considerably at this point, and it almost felt like they were floating, with the chasm and the rushing river beneath. Bill wasn’t too bothered, but he sensed Fiona’s relief when the boat exited the aqueduct and there was firm ground on both sides once more.
After steering the boat towards the bank, the skipper cut the engine and jumped out. He was holding a rope which he tied around a mooring point. Then he hopped back on board, opened the coolbox and produced a bottle.
‘It isn’t wine,’ Bill hastened to inform Fiona, in case she might think he was wooing her. ‘It’s sparkling juice. It was either that, or a can of pop. The boat doesn’t have the facility to make hot drinks.’
‘This one is apple and white grape,’ the skipper said, ‘or we have passion fruit and mango.’ He held a second bottle aloft, the glass beaded with condensation.
They both opted for the apple and white grape, Bill because it seemed the most like a white wine. Whilst they sipped their drinks and nibbled on a selection of bite-sized cakes, (Bill had brought a bowl, water and some dog treats for Patch) they gazed at the view. Right now, their boat was the only one in sight, and apart from a jogger running along the towpath, they had this little stretch of the canal all to themselves.
‘It’s so tranquil,’ Fiona sighed. She looked the happiest Bill had ever seen her. ‘I can’t believe you planned all this. It’s so lovely of you.’
‘I thought we could both do with a treat after our hard work over the past couple of weeks. You, especially.’
‘And it’s not over yet,’ she reminded him, selecting a morsel of cake and popping it into her mouth. ‘I’ve got so much baking to do.’
‘I suppose this,’ he gestured to the almost empty plate, ‘must be like a busman’s holiday to you.’
Fiona giggled. ‘In the same way that being on a boat on a canal is a busman’s holiday for you? ’
‘You’ve got me there,’ he laughed. ‘Do you need any help with the baking? Or sandwich making? I can butter bread with the best of them, and I still need to learn how to use the coffee machine.’
‘That would be wonderful, thank you. I must admit to feeling a little overwhelmed.’
‘You’ll be fine.’
She straightened her shoulders. ‘I know I will, but it’s going to take me a while to get into the swing of things again.’
‘Molly is sorting out volunteers to help man the cafe, isn’t she?’
‘Apparently so, but I’m not sure how reliable volunteers will be. At least if someone is being paid, there’s more of a commitment. I just wish the cafe could support more than one paid position.’
‘Maybe it will in time.’
‘I hope so.’
‘In the meantime, you can count on me – if Patch is welcome, of course.’
‘I’m sure he will be. Plenty of eateries have resident dogs. As long as he stays away from the food prep area, it should be fine.’
They finished off the remainder of their sparkling juice as the boat glided serenely back to its mooring in Brecon, Bill musing on what a lovely time he’d had. He should definitely do this kind of thing more often. Although nothing had prevented him from going on day trips like this by himself, it wasn’t the same doing it on his own, which was why he rarely bothered. It was far nicer when you have someone to enjoy it with, he thought. It was just a shame that he and Fiona hadn’t become friends sooner – look at how much fun he’d missed out on. Fiona too, he suspected.
Neither of them spoke much on the drive back, but the lack of conversation didn’t feel awkward. If truth be told, it felt perfectly natural, and it was rather peaceful to be with someone who didn’t feel the need to fill every second with chatter.
Pulling up outside Fiona’s front door, Bill did the gentlemanly thing and switched off the engine, getting out of the car before she had managed to gather up her bag and cardigan. But on opening the passenger door, he noticed her eyes widen and she seemed flustered.
Stuttering, she said, ‘I… er, oh, didn’t expect you would, um, want to come in.’
Bill was confused. Whatever had given her that idea? ‘I wasn’t planning on it,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to water my garden. Thanks for the offer, though.’
She sagged a little and her face cleared. ‘I see! Oh, my, I thought… Oh, dear, never mind.’
‘Do you want me to come in?’ By now Bill was thoroughly perplexed. He was happy to pop in for a cuppa if she wanted him to, but he couldn’t stay for long. He had his tea to cook and his veggie patch to see to.
‘If you like.’
Bill had only intended to drop her off, but she didn’t appear to want the day to end. Or – a thought struck him – perhaps she felt obliged to invite him in out of politeness. Was this what friends did these days? Was this an accepted practice that had passed him by? He sometimes wondered whether he had spent too long at sea: maybe this confirmed it?
Fiona was looking at him expectantly, and he realised she was waiting for an answer.
‘I can’t stop long,’ he warned. ‘I’ve got Patch to think about. He’ll need to stretch his paws.’ That was a euphemism for Patch needing a wee.
‘He can have a run around my garden.’
Patch was thrilled. He leapt out, his tail wagging, a happy smile on his face as Fiona unlocked her front door. Without the slightest regard for manners, the terrier pushed past her legs and shot off down the hall.
‘He can smell my beef hotpot,’ Fiona said, turning to Bill with a smile.
He gave a rueful grin in return. ‘That dog’s got no manners.’
Bill followed Fiona into the kitchen and saw Patch sitting in front of the kitchen cupboard, on top of which sat a slow cooker. He was staring up at it intently, one paw raised.
‘I think he’s saying please,’ Fiona said.
‘He can say please as much as he likes, the cheeky little blighter. I’ve got some leftover chicken that needs using up,’ Bill said. ‘He can have some of that.’
‘He’s welcome to have some hotpot, and so are you. It should be cooked by now. I put it on this morning, just after you phoned. I didn’t know how long we’d be out, and I thought it would be nice to come home to a meal that was already cooked.’
It sure would be, Bill thought, sniffing the air appreciatively and wishing he had thought of that. Mind you, he didn’t own a slow cooker, so it was a moot point.
He said, ‘I was going to have chicken. I’ll add it to a jar of curry and do myself some oven chips.’ It didn’t sound nearly as appealing now that he’d caught a sniff of beef hotpot.
‘Leftover chicken?’
He nodded.
‘Sit yourself down,’ Fiona instructed. ‘You’re having tea with me. It’s the least I can do after such a lovely day out.’
‘What about my veggies? They need watering.’
‘Will they mind if you’re an hour late?’
‘I doubt it.’ He felt a smile creep across his face.
‘Well, then. Say no more.’
Bill didn’t. Leftover chicken couldn’t compete with the mouthwatering aroma filling the kitchen. So he stayed for tea and thoroughly enjoyed every morsel.
It was as he was helping Fiona clear the table after they’d eaten, that she said, ‘Do you think we’ll ever do something together that doesn’t involve food?’
Bill had no idea where his next thought came from, or why he’d thought it in the first place, but out of the blue he imagined the two of them cuddling up on the sofa, with not as much as a Custard Cream or a Bourbon biscuit in sight.
Blinking it away, he said, ‘The cinema?’
‘Popcorn. You’ve got to have popcorn at the cinema.’
‘A nice long walk?’
‘Tea and cake at the end of it. It’s the law.’
‘Shopping?’
She giggled. ‘Coffee and cake, because you need a break halfway through.’
‘A visit to a museum,’ he began, then halted. ‘Don’t tell me, there will be a cafe on site.’
‘Of course!’
‘A stroll around the park?’
‘There’ll be a cafe in it soon. You do see my point though, don’t you? Everything involves food at some point.’
‘Which bodes well for the cafe,’ he pointed out.
‘I suppose it does.’
‘And I suppose I’d better get off home.’ He called Patch to him.
The dog was sprawled in the living room, availing himself of the comfort of the rug in front of the mantelpiece, but he leapt to his feet at the sound of his name and trotted into the hall.
‘Thank you so much for a lovely, lovely day,’ Fiona said, seeing him to the door. ‘I’ve had a wonderful time.’
‘Thank you for accompanying me,’ Bill replied.
Fiona’s face had been wreathed in smiles, but her expression became more solemn. ‘Would you have still gone if I hadn’t come with you?’
‘Probably not.’
‘I thought as much. You can call on me anytime, Bill. I hope you know that. And not just for days out.’
He nodded slowly but couldn’t think of anything to say in response.
So, for a second time, he kissed her cheek.
The brief contact made his lips tingle, and a shaft of longing went through him. She looked surprised. Bill was surprised, as well. He had never been one for displays of affection. Not since…
Bill stiffened. He didn’t want to think about his ex-fiancée, not after such a lovely day. And certainly not when he was in Fiona’s presence.
It didn’t seem right somehow, but he couldn’t think why.