Chapter 6

Once more I wriggled out of bed leaving Suki bundled in her cocoon, still asleep. Of course, that wasn’t surprising, seeing as it was before five am and still night outside. The full kettle which had been on the stove all night wasn’t actually boiling and wouldn’t until I stirred up the fire a lot. I knew it would take perhaps half an hour to come to the boil as the stove heated up, so I started things off and used about half the warm water in the tank on the flue to wash. I topped it off, knowing it would heat up enough to use quite quickly. By the time I was dressed the stove was roaring and I began to make porridge.

Suki stirred and crawled out, blinking. “What time is it?”

I glanced at the chronometer over the table. “Five forty,” I said.

“But that’s the middle of the night...” She yawned.”Why so early? You want to get rid of me?”

“Of course not! But I want you out of the reach of your pimp, and we’ve got about seven or eight hours journey ahead of us.”

“But you said four hours!”

“Yes, but that’s just travelling time. It’s not really cold, but we’ll need to stop every hour at least to thaw out. You’ll see. Anyway. Porridge for breakfast. Can you eat bacon and eggs as well?”

“Eat? This early? I’m not sure I can manage even porridge...”

“That’s okay. We can eat something at our first stop. But you’d better have some porridge at least.”

I suppose Suki’s ‘profession’ didn’t lend to getting up early, and probably not to eating breakfast, either, but she managed to do justice to a bowl of my porridge, with brown sugar and UHT milk. I had to push her to bundle up warmly until she looked like the old Michelin Man – she had no concept of how cold one can get riding a motorbike in winter. I closed the draught on the stove; it would keep warm for hours, but would go out long before I’d get home, of course, and we locked up and went to get Brian out of his kennel.

She’d never been on a bike before, but willingly tucked in behind and wrapped both arms round me as I piloted the bike up the High Street in the pre-dawn gloom. I’m always cautious, riding in the winter. If the weather is clear, there’s probably ice to consider. If it isn’t, the roads are damp and greasy, or wet, and in any of those cases it’s wise to take corners carefully. I dare say modern bikes, with their wide tyres of sophisticated materials, might require less consideration, but we weren’t riding one of those. It’s about thirty miles to Birchanger services, at the junction of the A120 with the M11, and it took about an hour. I pulled up in front of the building and Suki dismounted stiffly. We walked together inside and ordered cooked breakfasts, coffee, and stripped off several layers of clothes.

We’d been there almost half an hour. Breakfast had been consumed and most of the coffee. “I see what you mean,” Suki commented. “You do get really cold. But it’s fun, apart from the cold, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” I agreed. “We’ll stop again at Cambridge – that’ll be less than an hour. So will Peterborough. Grantham will be about an hour after that. The last stretch will be longer, I’m afraid.”

The big problem with coffee is needing to pee, so frequent stops were sensible, quite apart from the cold. I won’t give up my coffee breaks! And, as I say, we needed to warm up anyway.

We rolled up in front of Emily and Frank Firth’s house just after three in the afternoon, having left Maldon just before seven. Frank appeared and waved to me to ride Brian into the large double garage; the garage door rolling up as I coerced stiff limbs to perform the necessary manoeuvre. We’d barely begun to dismount as the door was shutting behind us. There was just a little ‘Smart’ two-seat city car occupying the space. Plenty of room!

Emily Firth appeared and immediately bundled Suki inside the house as I settled Brian and tiredly stripped off gauntlets, and my helmet.

“Not really motorcycling weather.”

I chuckled. “Any weather is motorcycling weather when that’s the only transport you’ve got. It could be worse. It could be raining, snowing, hailing or foggy. I wouldn’t have set out if there was a real chance of snow or ice.”

“Can I interest you in a drop of whisky?”

“You certainly can!”

“This way, then. You can leave your oversuit and outer layers in the cloakroom. Scotch, Irish or bourbon?”

“Um ... Scotch would be good – but the good stuff is wasted on me.”

“Famous Grouse, then.”

I stripped off oversuit, fleece and pullover, and followed Frank into the lounge. He went to a sideboard and took out a bottle, nearly full, of amber liquid, and two tumblers. Shortly after, he handed me one of the glasses with a couple of fingers of Scotch in the bottom. I sniffed, and sipped; I welcomed a slight burning in my mouth and the first warming of my middle.

“This is nice,” I commented.

“It’s a good blend,” Frank said. “Do you need a little water with that?”

I thought about it. “Maybe,” I admitted.

“Tell me you don’t want ice...” he smiled. I raised an eyebrow. “The whole point of whisky, to my mind, is the taste. If you chill it with ice it’s a nonsense. You might as well drink cheap vodka. Or moonshine.”

I nodded. “I see what you mean. I don’t have any refrigerator in my boat, so I either have a drink no cooler than the water in the bilge, or a hot drink. I suppose I’m used to room-temperature drinks.”

“Yes – Dulcie said you live in a boat. Would you like to tell me about that?” Telling my story took perhaps half an hour, with encouraging insertions from Frank, until I got to my involvement with Open House and Suki. “So ... you seem to have gone a long way out of your way for the young lady...”

I shrugged. “She asked for help. She’s in a bad spot, and I was free to help. Admittedly, I might not have ridden Brian a hundred and eighty miles, at this time of year, for pleasure, but I don’t mind visiting Sheffield.”

“Brian?”

I grinned. “My bike is ... not fast. When I got used to him, I remembered that children’s programme...”

His eyes sparkled. “The Magic Roundabout!”

“Indeed.”

“I’m old enough to remember that the first time round, in black and white. Brian was the snail?”

“Yes. Anyway, it seems to fit somehow.”

“Okay. Now before the ladies reappear, how long were you thinking of staying? No pressure – you’re welcome as long as you like.”

“I told Suki that, if it was okay with you, I’d stay a day or two. There’s nothing pressing back in Maldon. I need to be at work on the second – Wednesday next. I’d prefer not to travel New Year’s eve...”

“Well, if you stay, you might like to come with us to church. We’re hoping Suki will come as we think it’ll help her...”

“And you think she might demur if I don’t come?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, there’s nothing spoiling at home, though I’ll need to check that the cat is okay. I think Tranquillity might be the only yacht with a cat flap into the cabin. Gillian and Karen were going to make sure she was fed, but if I’m going to be away more than a couple of days I’d better check with them.” I was worried about Bastet. I’d miss her if she decided to take off.

I was sitting with my whisky on the sofa when Emily eventually reappeared with Suki.

“There you are. There will be stew shortly, when I can get on and deal with it.” She left the room and Suki looked at me, appeal in her brown eyes. I patted the sofa beside me and she beamed, taking the place with alacrity.

“Would you like a drink, my dear?” Frank queried her. “There is wine, beer, whisky and of course various fruit juices, if you prefer.”

“A sweet wine would be nice, if you have some, but otherwise fruit juice, please.”