Chapter 12

Rob;

Our way forward was, at least, clearer. Living with Jessica, while Clara studied and I did my thing. But that wasn’t everything we had to sort out ... I had to sort out. I talked to Clara, of course, and decided that I’d retain my flat in Sheffield, but let it through an agency.

This required a run back to Sheffield... sans Clara. I really didn’t want to be apart from her, even for a few days; she’d excavated a Clara-shaped and sized hole in my heart ... but needs must. I borrowed the Norton again. I could get used to the power of that thing.

I discussed furnished versus unfurnished with the letting agency. Turned out that at least, some of my furniture was not up to standard, which settled that. I packed up my personal stuff for delivery to Felixstowe – it wasn’t much, just books, CDs, DVDs, that sort of thing. My desk-top computer, scanner and printer. The rest? House clearance, keys left with the agency the morning I headed back south.

I couldn’t go straight there. First a stop at my parents’. Explanations, overnight stay so I had the whole day to travel. Oh, and explain the Norton, as well. Dad was impressed, Mum, less so. But on that machine I went back almost the way I came. The A617, Chesterfield to Newark via Mansfield, but once at Newark, the A1 to Huntingdon, then the A14 all the way to Felixstowe. Much quicker than Oscar.

Lightbulb moment – would Clara like to learn to ride and use Oscar? If so, it would make a lot of sense. If not, well, she could drive. I stopped for lunch near Stowmarket, and rolled up to the house in Felixstowe Ferry a little after two in the afternoon. The car wasn’t there, and neither were Clara or Jessica. I dumped my stuff and took the bike back to Charlie.

Of course, I couldn’t just dump the bike on him and leave. It was necessary to sit and chat over a cup of tea – tea that was much stronger than I usually drink it, and with milk, which I don’t usually have. But the coating on my tongue and mouth from the milk and tannin was worth putting up with for the conversation. He caught me up on some of the history; I was amazed. That bike was used by Dave Yeomans to pursue a couple of guys who’d abducted Jenni. I hadn’t heard the tale – I suppose it’s not something she’d trot out in casual conversation. I did know little about her history, a very little. Remarkable woman. Excellent barge skipper.

“I been thinkin’,” he told me as we were about to part. “As I said before, th’ ol’ Norton is more than I care to manage these days. My Donna, well, she always liked bikes, but never got into ridin’ them, and she’s livin’ in Scotland these days. Seems to me you’ll make a good custodian for the ol’ girl.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I spoke to Jessica while you were away. She’s in agreement. She’ll have a shed put up for it, if you’re interested. You’ll need the spares and somewhere to keep them.”

“Wow.”

I was all for buying a shed and some flagstones and putting it up, but Jessica was having none of that. A proper concrete base – raft – then a professional company brought a twelve by eight foot shed and erected it in a day, fastening it down thoroughly to resist the coastal winds. A small bench and some shelves, and we were all set; there was room for Oscar and the Norton. Speaking of Oscar, in the fortnight leading up to our wedding we visited a motorcycle training centre just off Garrison Lane in Felixstowe, and got Clara all set up for her CBT.

We also took Jessica into Ipswich to be fitted for a twenty-four hour ECG and an MRI scan. The scan apparently showed nothing significant, but the ECG revealed an intermittent arrhythmia which could explain her blacking out. We didn’t know that for a few days, of course. Jessica claimed that she had had a warning before she collapsed, but didn’t know what it was, and had moments when she felt ‘faint’, though it passed quickly, most of the time. Even so, the cardiologist insisted that she was not safe to drive. That really settled things. Between us and the rest of the crew, she’d have no problems finding a driver.

The wedding? Well. Saint Nicholas at the Ferry is small. I’m not sure what it’s built of – I always call it a ‘tin shed’, but I think that’s wrong. Anyway. Marty Peters agreed to be my Best Man. Jenni stood as Matron of Honour, and Alison as bridesmaid. (I actually caught part of a conversation between Alison and Jessica; “Mum, I’m still a maid. You and Dad brought me up right.”) What else? Music from Chrissie Carmichael, who played and sang. Jenni and Alison sang, too.

Clara? What can I say? Beautiful simplicity? Simple beauty? Jenni told me, much later, “She insisted, ‘no make-up, no fancy hair-do. Just me.’ And that dress was perfect for her.”

A little coronet of white flowers in her hair, a posy of something colourful and sweet-smelling in her hand. No veil, and that dress. So simple, following her curves. No lace, no embroidery, nothing like that, just ... Clara.

I was consulted about our honeymoon. As it happened, it fell in what I still call the Whit week holiday. I don’t know what strings were pulled, because SB Reminder would normally be booked up for that week, but it was a ‘family’ outing. The Skipper was Tom Carmichael (who protested that Jenni should be in charge, but she said she was along as Mate) But with us were my parents, Jessica (we weren’t going to leave her on her own), Pippa Henderson, still single, along to keep an eye on Davey and split Mate duties with Jenni. Chrissie Carmichael was aboard, too, with her offspring, Amy, Deejay, and Jennie.

Alison was along, and brought a guitar and a recorder. I didn’t know she played either. She played and sang shanties with Chrissie, or in place of when Chrissie’s offspring required attention. That wasn’t often; Deejay and Amy seemed very responsible for their age and looked after their younger sister as far as they could.

We left Maldon at twenty-three hundred on Sunday. Reminder had completed a weekend cruise that morning, and needed provisioning. We arrived on board at seventeen hundred. We were self-catering, and our supper was a salad, with a selection of fish, meat, cheese and quiche.

I was allowed to help with the management of the barge as long as Clara wanted to work alongside me. Jenni and Ally both ‘had words’ with Clara to ensure she claimed any attention she wanted from me. She told me, giggling.

“They’re absolutely right, Clara, love. If you want to help work the ship, that’s fine. If you want to sit and cuddle and watch the world go by, that’s just as fine.”

“It’s interesting. And I’m with you, whatever we’re doing.”

Clara;

I’m married. I’m Clara Artemis Bellamy, nee Stone. Yes, my middle name is Artemis. It would have been interesting to see Rob’s reaction if he hadn’t known before the wedding. As it was, I understand there were a few raised eyebrows when the Vicar asked, ‘Do you, Clara Artemis, take Robert Stanley... ‘ As it is, I saw his expression when I told the Vicar. Mind you, I’m not sure ‘Stanley’ is much better. But I’m married. We’re married. Actually, technically (should that be semantically?) we’d been married nearly two months when we formalised things. I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about that, though I do understand those who want to wait until the legalities are in place. But marriage could not have been further from my mind when I left Cambridge. Of course, I was pretty deep into self-pity anyway. I know I refused to ... what’s the word? accommodate? old Jeremy in return for the lift to London, but I’m not sure how I raised the strength of will to do so. It would have been so easy, in some ways, to just give in. I don’t know how I did it.

But Rob picked me up. And – not immediately, but gradually over several weeks – I came to see that he was someone I could trust and honour. Intelligent. Honest. Compassionate. He’s quite good looking, if I try to be objective, which I am not, but that’s almost irrelevant. He cared for me and I ... well, I suppose I began to see him as a father substitute. That didn’t last long. Thinking about it, I resisted Jeremy and his precedents partly because I had no sexual drive at all (at the time) and the morality I derived from my parents did the rest. What I’m trying to say is between Rob’s behaviour and sleeping in his bed for the comfort ... I got horny.