Chapter 6

We got our showers in the morning, which was probably a ‘Good Thing’, before having breakfast. It was Easter Sunday - it was hard to believe so much had changed since Thursday night. The wind was now south-easterly. We’d be going nowhere under sail that day, even if we’d wanted to.

A couple of barges had left on the rising tide, others had been gone since Friday, but as it was a holiday, people were setting up on the quay; someone demonstrating and selling decorative knot-work, various displays of the organisations that ran classic boats, some just for profit (actually, there’s little or no profit in old boats, they cost too much to maintain, but the people who do it, do so more for the sake of the boats than for money) some charitable ones, mainly adventure/sail training for youngsters. Later, there would probably be Morris dancing, or perhaps shanty or folk singing. It would be fun.

We walked slowly along the prom, hand in hand. Did I mention feeling like a teenager? I couldn’t remember ever feeling like that before, at any age, and certainly not when I was courting Brenda, my ex-wife. Normally I would have been watching the small boats out from the sailing club, despite the early hour; noting the skill (or lack of it) of the helms. Somehow, my attention was focussed on the warm hand in mine, the lithe, wonderful woman walking with me. We passed the galleon, the enormous wooden climbing and play structure in the playground; several small children clambering about it already.

Reaching Earl Brithnoth, brandishing his sword at the long-defeated Danes, we looked down river; a sailing barge, all sail set, was rounding the point by Heybridge; that was one keen skipper! He did have a good breeze to do it. I half wished I could get back to the quay to watch him – or perhaps her, there are one or two female barge-masters – come alongside. But only half, because I had other things on my mind than seamanship. She drew abreast of us, and I led Wendy to the bench seat behind Brithnoth. We sat and she snuggled into the crook of my arm.

“Gwen ... sweetheart ... where do we go from here?” I tipped her chin up with one finger, looking her in the eyes. She opened her mouth, and I could see a twinkle in her eyes; I didn’t want a joke right then and I touched her lips with my finger to stop her speaking.

“I love you, you know. I don’t think I’ve said it out loud before...”

“You’ve been saying it with almost every movement, every touch.”

“Maybe, but I want to say it, so there’s no doubt; I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Her face lit up with a brilliant smile, but all she said was, “good.” She reached up and lay the palm of her hand against my cheek for a few seconds, then we just sat.

A young couple walked past, pushing a small child in a buggy, a small dog – a spaniel – trotting at their heels.

“Harry ... how would you feel about ... having children?”

I thought for a moment. “I hadn’t though that far ahead,” I answered honestly, “I’m still getting used to the idea of being with you! But ... I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” was all she said, again.

We sat and watched, well, sort of watched – most of my attention was on the woman my arm was enfolding – a couple in a Lark dinghy, who were either not very good, or maybe playing the fool. The inevitable happened and the boat dumped them in the water. The tide had turned and they, and the boat, were drifting down river. They must just not have been very good, because they made two attempts to right the dinghy and both times it just rolled right over the other way. I was beginning to wonder if they needed help when a safety boat appeared from the club slipway and went to them. I sighed in relief, echoed by Wendy.

“Caffeine,” I said.

“Do you mean coffee?”

“You haven’t tasted what they call coffee from the kiosks,” I said. “We could go back to Curlew, of course, but I’m sort of proud to be here with you.”

She laughed and stood; when I stood too, she slipped her arm around my waist. I found when I placed my arm round her shoulder, that I could reach under her arm and stroke the side of her breast through her jumper. She wriggled, giggled slightly, then pulled away and pulled the sweater over her head.

“Getting a little warm, don’t you think?” She tied the sweater around her waist, knotting the arms in front of her. “Caffeine,” she said, pulling my arm round her shoulders again, and making sure my hand was reaching the side of her breast again. It was fairly obvious she had no bra under the t-shirt she was wearing. Her arm was around my waist again, and when we saw an older woman walking an elderly Labrador towards us, I tried to move my hand back, only to find my wrist clamped against her side by her arm. She steered me so the woman had to pass us on that side, too.

The woman caught my eye as we passed, and winked ... I blushed. I really thought I was too old to blush. Wendy looked up at me and grinned.

“Get used to it,” she said.

You can’t walk quickly, holding someone like that, not comfortably, anyway, so it was nearly mid-day when we approached the refreshment kiosks.

“Do you know,” Wendy said, “I could murder a burger and chips.”

“I’d hope it was already dead,” I commented, but I’m happy to indulge the woman I love.”

“You!” She poked me hard in the ribs.

I confess ... I like junk food. Not all the time, but certainly from time to time, and sitting at a picnic table with Wendy, in the spring sunshine was very pleasant. The coffee ... lets be polite ... was indifferent, but it was hot and wet. The burger and the chips were very good, actually. I met the woman with the Labrador as I was on my way to the toilet.

“It’s lovely to see two young people so much in love,” she smiled.

“I can no longer lay claim to being young,” I said. The Labrador sniffed at, and licked my fingers; I scratched behind his ears.

“You’re young to me, young man! And I hope you won’t deny you’re in love with your lady?”

“No, that I won’t. She is lovely and lovable.”

“There you are. Take hold of what you’ve got, hang on, don’t lose it; don’t let it die.” She looked sad for a moment, but then smiled. “Bless you – both of you.”

By the time we’d got back to the quay, some Morris dancers were setting up, so we hung around to watch along with quite a good crowd of tourists. They were pretty good; I don’t know all the technicalities, but you could tell by the rhythmic clash of the sticks and the patterns they made. When they’d finished, we had a look round a display on board one of the barges, about barges and their significance and history; we held hands, and took our time. By the time we emerged, a group was singing sea songs.

The afternoon was like that – we were together, and I was deeply content.

In the evening, we had a fairly early supper in the Queen’s Head and ate and drank, as the saying goes, ‘not wisely, but well’ and hence a little unsteady on our feet. We made it safely on board and crawled, tired, happy and amorous into bed. Wendy backed up to me so were spooned together, my right arm under her head. She took my right hand and placed it against her left breast, reached back, took my other hand and pressed it against her right breast and hummed in her throat. I was drowsy, but felt her nipples hardening under my palms and couldn’t resist gently squeezing and caressing the orbs under my hands ... which, not surprisingly, produced ‘the physiological manifestation of male arousal’. Okay, I got hard.