Chapter 6
W hen Rosie opened the door of the Forget-Me-Knot , the first thing she did was shriek. It wasn’t a quiet, ladylike exclamation of surprise; it was a loud, echoing, ‘What the fuuuuuudge...?’
Her stomach shrank, tightening into a knot as she stepped down into the boat to see a thin film of water covering the floor.
The new rug she’d purchased in a startling but gorgeous pink hue was drenched and the sink, where the tap had been dripping, was overflowing, with water pouring out of it from the base of the tap.
She rushed forwards, muttering expletives as she went, tripping over the step and falling to her hands and knees. The water seeped into her trainers and shorts as she stumbled forwards.
‘Oh no, oh no, oh no!’
She splashed towards the cupboard under the sink to try and find the stopcock. Surely there must be one. She pushed aside the cleaning products and cloths she’d recently bought, wailing and cursing as she did so.
‘Why me? Why is this happening now?’
Relief flooded her as she saw the shiny tap and reached forward. The water was freezing cold and though the day had been warm, she wasn’t particularly enjoying cooling down this way. She’d much rather have sat on the deck with a cold, crisp glass of wine. She tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t move.
‘Crap!’ She stood up, water dripping down her shins.
There must be something she could turn it with.
She grabbed the tea towel, wrapping it around the tap for extra purchase, but still it didn’t budge.
Throwing open cupboards and drawers, she searched for tools but the only thing she could find was the hammer and screwdriver left by Piet or the previous owners.
She wasn’t entirely sure who. She stood and looked around, her heart hammering in her chest. Would the boat sink if she didn’t stop the water?
‘No!’ she screamed, tears stinging her eyes and frustration closing her throat as she gripped the short hair of her pixie crop.
Everything she’d purchased was being ruined.
She grabbed some towels, trying to soak the water up off the floor, but with more of it spilling over the sink, it did no good.
She had to find a way to turn off the water and began scrambling around trying to find something to help her turn the stopcock.
‘What have you done?’ asked Max, his broad shoulders filling the open doorway, Zoon once more at his feet.
‘Me? Nothing! This wasn’t my fault!’
He dived in, straight to the stopcock, struggling for a moment (which made her feel less like a wimp) then turning it in his strong hands. The water slowed, trickling to a halt a second later. Relief flooded through Rosie even though her trainers were under water and her toes were ice cold.
‘What happened?’ he demanded, his hands on his hips.
‘I– I don’t know. I went to work this morning and when I came back it was like this. I mean, it’s been dripping for a few days, and I did—’ She stopped herself, realising now what a stupid thing it was she’d done and how he was going to be even more annoyed at the situation when he found out.
‘You did what?’
‘Hmm? Nothing.’ She shook her head and reached down into the water, collecting a towel that was about to float towards Zoon.
‘Oh no.’ He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps tensing in his tight T-shirt.
Where had this obsession come from? She’d never even noticed any of her ex-boyfriends’ arms. Did Max wear his tops so tight on purpose?
She didn’t think so. He didn’t seem to be aware of how attractive he was.
His beard was trimmed but not groomed to perfection like some men’s were and she wasn’t sure his hair had even been brushed.
His eyes were pinned on hers, the pale blue s harpening to an icy brightness.
Rosie swallowed, turning her gaze away to the devastation in her home.
‘You said,’ Max began, ‘it’s been dripping for a few days and you. .. what did you do?’
Rosie grew hot. She’d never felt so foolish, but she was going to have to tell the truth, wasn’t she? She kept her voice calm even though humiliation crept over her skin. ‘Look, I didn’t know it was going to end up like this.’
‘Rosie, what did you do?’
The use of her name, the way it rolled out of his mouth, sent a shiver down her spine. ‘I might have... hit it with the hammer.’
Max’s eyes widened and she could see the shock turning to anger, building inside him like a volcano that was preparing to erupt. ‘You did what? Why? Why would you do that?’
‘It’d been dripping for days, and it was driving me crazy.’ It was a stupid reason, even to her own ears. ‘It was all I could hear every time I tried to sleep. I just... got a bit cross in the middle of the night and I...’
‘Hit a tap with a hammer?’ He said the words slowly, trying to comprehend the logic.
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ she replied quietly, averting her gaze again.
Zoon took this opportunity to hop down into the galley, padding in the water and sniffing at her furniture, clearly not bothered by the cold creeping up his body. He started lapping at it.
‘Zoon, don’t do that!’ she said, picking him up and putting him back on the top step, in the dry.
‘You could have asked me. I have tools. I live on a houseboat. I could have helped you.’ She was more than a little surprised by his offer, especially given the last thing he’d said to her was a warning to stop singing so loudly.
She glanced at him, and this time, he was the one to avoid her gaze as he surveyed the damage.
‘If you’re going to live on a houseboat, you should have tools too. ’
‘Well Piet didn’t leave me any and I haven’t had a chance to buy some because I’ve been trying to build a new life myself and start a business and get to know this new city I’m living in.’
Their eyes locked, and neither looked away.
As usual, he looked grumpy and annoyed, even a little angry.
She refused to cry in front of him, or to be beaten, and she lifted her chin.
The water was off and there was no point in standing here feeling sorry for herself.
She had to clean this entire place– no one else was going to do it for her– and if she didn’t start bailing out the water soon, who knows how much more damage would be done.
‘I need to sort this out and call a plumber.’
‘Don’t do that,’ Max said as she moved to grab her phone.
‘It will cost a lot of money, and I can probably fix it for you. I’ll fetch my tools and have a look first. You start to clear up.
Soak up the water with towels if you can.
I’ll bring some over. It’s clean water so if we get things dry soon, they shouldn’t smell.
Clear some space on the deck. It’s so hot, the sun will dry most of it and you can even put some things on the street. No one will mind.’
‘You sound like you’ve done this before,’ she said with a small smile which, surprisingly, he returned.
‘You’re not a true houseboat owner until you’ve dealt with some kind of flood.’
‘Is that right? So I’m now officially in the houseboat-owning club?’ He nodded. ‘Cool. I’ve never been in a club before, unless you count the Brownies, but I got kicked out because I refused to take down the tent I’d made.’
‘Why did you refuse?’
‘Because I’d decorated it and filled it with pillows. I was going to live there when I got older.’
A slight laugh escaped Max’s lips, or it could have been a huff of frustration. She wasn’t entirely sure. After a second, he said, ‘I’ll get my tools,’ and left, leaving Rosie wondering where the kind side of her grumpy neighbour had come from and worrying at how insanely attractive it made him.
‘Well, Zoon,’ she said, seeing the dog’s tail wag at the use of his name. ‘What are we going to do, hey?’ He barked in response and then grumbled at a duck passing by the window. Max’s advice made sense, and she cleared some space on the deck, removing the damp rug and laying it in the sunshine.
Max reappeared, placing a large toolbox down at his feet.
‘Did you wring it out?’ He nodded towards the rug.
She shook her head. He picked it up and began coiling it.
‘Here, take the other end.’ They moved so it was over the side of the boat and he twisted it.
The water ran out in increasing volume and then, when he had it as tight as he could, he squeezed it so fiercely, his shoulders and arms bulged with the effort.
Rosie forced herself away, back inside to find towels and a bucket or saucepan to collect some of the water, worried she’d start drooling if she stared any longer at his plain, dark green T-shirt, watching the muscles of his chest work with the effort.
Max followed her and began working in the cupboard as she bailed out water and eventually started mopping up the remaining mess with all the towels she owned.
He began tutting, offering little conversation except with himself, in Dutch.
She could tell he wasn’t saying complimentary things about her, and the atmosphere grew uncomfortable.
As usual, Rosie felt the need to fill it.
‘So,’ she began, as she stood in the doorway after wringing out another towel. ‘What type of things do you paint?’
‘Can you hand me the wrench?’
She glanced at the toolbox, picked up what looked to be the most wrench-like thing and handed it to him.
He looked at the metal object and then her face. ‘They’re pliers.’
‘Oh. Is this the wrench?’ She picked up another thing from the toolbox and waved it at him.
Max sighed. ‘Never mind. I’ll get it.’ He grabbed it, glancing at her and then wriggling back under the sink.
‘So... painting? What do you do? Portraits? Landscapes? Abstracty-type stuff?’
‘If you’re going to live on a houseboat, you need to learn about basic maintenance. This stopcock turns the water off. I’ve oiled it so it should be easier to move next time.’