Chapter 1 #2
‘Hello?’ she said again, her voice uncertain. Was she living next door to some kind of weirdo shut-in?
A man’s deep voice answered. ‘I’m busy. You’ll have to go away.’
‘Oh, okay. Sorry.’ Now that was incredibly rude. Or were the Dutch just a bit more blunt than Brits? She crossed her arms over her chest and made her way back to the Forget-Me-Knot . Well, whoever was in there was going to have to get used to her, weren’t they?
It was time to explore her new home. She propped her case against the wall and stood up some of the overturned flower pots.
The plants were dead. She couldn’t even tell what they’d been once upon a time.
Poor things. Standing, she moved to the other end of the boat (was this the bow or the stern?
she wondered) and opened the door. The keys fitted easily into the locks but as she pushed nothing moved.
She tried again, a little more forcefully this time and the door moved a little, protesting as it went.
The wood had clearly warped over the years and she had to throw her shoulder into it to get it to move.
With another go, and a hefty thwack, it finally budged and the smell of damp and mould with an undertone of uncleaned toilet that met her made her gag.
‘Urgh,’ she cried, covering her nose. She heard a grumble from the boat behind but ignored it.
‘Oh, that is gross.’ Rosie’s cheerfulness began to fade as the thought that she’d made an awful, terrible mistake began to creep in.
But then she took in the layout and decided it had potential, and some of her fears vanished.
In front of her lay her new, compact home.
To her right was a small kitchen area with a tiny hob and even smaller oven.
Opposite it was a Barbie-doll-sized sink covered in limescale and with grimy taps.
Next was the living area: a semicircular seat with a small table on one side, and on the other a built-in bench with a decent-looking seat cushion.
Finally, at the end was the bed: a small double, but that was still plenty of room for her, and as she had no plans to be sharing with anyone while she concentrated on sorting her life out and making something of herself, it would be perfect. The smell would not put her off.
‘No way,’ she said to herself, rolling her shoulders back and removing her hand from her face. ‘All it needs is a good clean and an airing. Don’t be a wimp.’
The sound of something falling behind her made her spin and she saw the net curtain next door twitch again, but couldn’t make out the person behind it.
So they were happy to spy on her but not to actually say hello.
She hoped most Amsterdammers were a lot more friendly than this one.
She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out in case they were still there and stepped inside.
The smell grew even more overwhelming. Rosie hurried around, casting all the windows open, and as the fresh air seeped in, she began to relax.
All the place needed was some TLC and she was more than happy to put in the work.
Rosie walked through the galley (she’d picked that word up while looking through a million houseboat rentals), admiring the light pouring in through the windows.
She perched on the small sofa, watching the birds that had landed on the canal float by.
As if to remind her there was no time to waste, creeping damp began to edge into her shorts.
She felt the cushion and realised it was cold to the touch, even a little damp.
Nearly everything needed cleaning and replacing.
Glancing at her bed, she decided she wasn’t going to even sit on it until she’d changed all the sheets and bought a new duvet and pillows.
While the houseboat wasn’t as nice as she’d been hoping for ( or as nice as it’d looked in the pictures) she was here and the chances of finding anywhere else within her budget were non-existent.
She was going to have to make the most of it and there was only one way to do that: to clean, tidy and polish, and decorate with cushions, throws, rugs and plants until it looked and felt like a home.
After pulling her suitcase inside, she didn’t bother unpacking and instead went in search of a supermarket.
The streets of Amsterdam were at least as beautiful as any other European city Rosie had ever visited.
The sun bounced off the numerous windows of the buildings that towered above her on either side.
But where London buildings seemed to loom over the busy streets, here it was more like a friendly giant leaning over to greet her.
Flower baskets attached to the railings overflowed with bright blooms and ivy, and dense green foliage clung to walls, arched over windows and bounded from the pots and planters lining the pavement.
Bikes were everywhere, as she’d expected, and the sound of people talking and chattering was punctuated now and then by the tinkling of bells as riders asked others to make way.
The smell of coffee from the cafés filled her nostrils and was so strong she could almost taste it.
She paused at a window, marvelling at the array of cream-filled pastries lining the display.
Her stomach rumbled, and as the owner smiled and waved a greeting as they placed even more goodies into the window, Rosie’s feet took her inside before she could stop herself.
‘Hallo,’ she said, pausing at the counter.
‘Hallo,’ the woman replied. She said something in Dutch and the panic must have shown on Rosie’s face as the woman immediately laughed and reverted to English. ‘I said you look hungry.’
‘I am. Actually I’m ravenous.’
‘What would you like?’
She wasn’t at all sure, but her stomach gurgled again as if asking her to make up her mind quickly. She placed her hand over it, hoping the woman hadn’t heard. ‘What would you recommend?’
‘Hmm.’ After assessing all the baked goods in the window, she turned back to Rosie. ‘This is your first time in Amsterdam?’
‘Yes, but it’s my home now. I’ve moved here. In fact, I’ve only just arrived.’
The woman’s eyes widened, impressed. ‘In that case, I’d recommend a local delicacy, a tompouce . They’re filled with cream and very, very delicious. Perfect to celebrate your first day in your new city.’ She pointed to a row of pink-iced oblong pastries filled with cream.
‘They look delicious.’
The woman placed one in a box and Rosie paid.
‘You might want to eat that in here,’ the woman said. ‘They’re quite messy.’
‘Oh, thank you, but I really need to get going. I’ve got a lot of cleaning to do on the houseboat I’ve rented and I better get started.
I think it’s going to take me a few days to get everything spick and span.
’ Rosie realised that was far more information than needed and cursed herself for being a chronic over-sharer.
She smiled and left. A little further down the street, Rosie took the pastry from the small box, eager to eat.
It was hard to handle with so much cream in the centre, but she couldn’t go back; she’d feel foolish.
She picked it up and bit down on the corner.
The two slices of pastry sunk together and a large dollop of cream escaped from the side and rolled down her chin, directly onto her T-shirt.
She tried scooping it off but all that was left was a smear of pink icing she hadn’t realised was stuck to her finger.
‘Damn it!’
Well this was hopeless, but extremely delicious so it was worth it.
She licked her finger and scraped off as much as she could from her T-shirt, not letting it go to waste.
As she looked up, a man walked past her.
He had long, strawberry-blond hair that curled slightly and ended on his shoulders, and a neatly trimmed beard.
He scowled at her and embarrassment heated her cheeks.
When their eyes met, he dropped his away and Rosie decided to admit defeat and find a park bench.
She flopped down and with her back to the road, unceremoniously stuffed the rest of the tompouce into her mouth, enjoying every single delectable bite.
Belly full and her spirits restored, it was time to buy some cleaning products and get started on making the Forget-Me-Knot habitable.
After locating a shop, she managed to find all of the cleaning supplies she needed and something for dinner, including a bottle of wine for later, and paid at the till.
She’d opted for one manned by a person rather than a self-service, too afraid of not understanding what it was saying.
Before long, she was back at the Forget-Me-Knot , ready to get to work.
Later that evening, by the time she’d finished scrubbing, airing, plumping cushions and washing everything in sight while her favourite playlist rang through the tinny speakers on her phone and she sang to her heart’s content, the houseboat smelled like lavender, the seats were covered in an assortment of dry, fluffy cushions and the bed was an inviting space she couldn’t wait to crawl into.
Her body ached from the manual work, her lower back tight and her shoulders stiff, but there was still one more thing to do before the day ended. She called her dad.
‘Hey, Rosie-Roo,’ he said, his usual chipper voice filling the boat as she’d put him on speaker.
She could hear him pottering around in his kitchen and glanced at the new bright green clock she’d bought and hung in place of a rather dingy landscape the size of a postcard. She hadn’t realised it was so late.
‘Hey, Dad, how was your day?’
‘Good. How’s Amsterdam?’
She leaned back against the cushions, her stomach muscles protesting at the cleaning she’d done, but she couldn’t stop the smile spreading over her face. ‘It’s wonderful, Dad. It’s just the most beautiful city and the food is incredible.’
He laughed. ‘I should’ve known you’d go straight for the food. Your mum was the same.’ There was a second’s silence, and then he quickly recovered. ‘She would have been so proud of you. Me and Melody are too.’
‘Really? I know she’s still not quite used to the idea of me doing this.’
Though her sister had been somewhat supportive, a part of her had been held back, too anxious Rosie was making a mistake.
‘She just worries about you, that’s all. But what’s the worst that can happen? You can always come home– you know that.’
‘I know, Dad, and I appreciate it. But I want to make this a success. This place—’ She looked around, admiring the difference a few hours of effort had taken.
‘It’s already feeling like home, you know?
There’s just something about this city and I haven’t even explored half of it– a quarter of it– yet! ’
‘It’s good to hear you sounding so excited. So what’s the plan for the rest of the evening?’
‘I don’t know really. I might take a walk. I definitely need a shower after all the cleaning I’ve done. I might just snuggle up with a good book. I’ve got a big day tomorrow.’
‘Is that the Bloom-thingy?’
‘The Bloemenmarkt ? It sure is. I’m excited. I can’t wait to start making displays and bouquets. I love seeing the look on someone’s face when you hand them flowers. It’s such a special gift.’
‘You sound just like your mum. You know she loved talking about flowers and plants and how they helped people.’ She could hear the smile in his voice.
‘What are you doing tonight?’
‘I don’t know. I might play guitar and watch TV.’
‘You should join a band,’ she declared, the idea coming so clearly, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before.
She knew he was sometimes lonely and refused to admit it to either of his daughters.
He needed to do something that took him out into the wide world and she couldn’t deny she felt guilty leaving him behind.
‘I don’t know about that, sweetheart. Maybe I’m a bit old for that sort of thing.’
‘Rubbish. You should do it. It’d be good for you.’
‘We’ll see, we’ll see.’ A faint beep sounded down the line and she knew the timer on his oven was going off. ‘I better get my dinner. Night night, sweetheart. Sleep tight.’
‘You too, Dad. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
They hung up, and she let her phone sit on the small table, the screen turning black.
For the first time she felt intimidated by the silence that surrounded her.
She’d lived on her own for years but never in a new country, and suddenly the city seemed enormous and too big for her.
Would she make friends? Would she need to find something to do outside of work, so she met people?
For the first time, as tiredness overtook excitement, she understood her sister’s concerns.
This was a huge change. Something most people never did.
She’d sorted out a residence and work visa, found somewhere to live, and tomorrow she’d sort out a stall at the flower market, or a job somewhere, but it was only now that the emotional impact of moving to a new country began to hit.
To distract herself from sinking into fear and gloom, she peered around her new home.
Speaking out loud (after deciding it wasn’t a problem; it was perfectly normal) she said to herself, ‘I’m going to put a bookshelf there—’ She pointed to a cosy corner.
It was tight so she might have to make it herself, but she quite fancied a little reading nook.
‘And I’m going to have a whole shelf of pot plants there.
’ This time, she nodded at a shelf that had previously been covered in nothing but dust. A smile lifted her cheeks and excitement began to fill her body once more.
Tiredness always led to negativity, in her opinion.
She’d feel back to normal after an easy dinner and a good night’s sleep. She wouldn’t let it win.
‘Eeeeee!’ she cried, kicking her legs in the air as a surge of pride took over.
Through the window she saw the curtain twitch once more as though angrily flung back into place.
Whoever her grumpy neighbour was they better get used to her talking to herself because they were going to have to get used to a lot worse.
She’d spent the day singing along to Beyoncé but she hadn’t even started her Eighties ballads playlist yet.
Grumpy neighbour was in for a real treat when that one began.