Chapter 5

Geoff moved his clothes and most of his other effects up to Helen’s flat – that was, as they say, a ‘no-brainer’ – and they began to explore what their relationship was going to be. Helen still went to the health club. She still visited the Barge Tearooms to see Glad, but quite often she was joined by her new fiancé. They made visits to town, mainly for food (to cook, that is), but also the library and to one or other of the town cafés. But mostly, their time was spent on Reminder. When appropriate, they spread the sails. That was good for the sails, and also taught Helen the process involved as she began to learn the names of the ropes; yes, Geoff did inform her that they were not called or referred to as ‘ropes’.

The owner visited from time to time and was introduced. Helen found that she was, potentially, a member of the crew. “The term is ‘Third Hand’,” Phil told her. “These vessels need two crew. A supernumerary, for training, is therefore, the third hand. Unpaid, until you know enough to be rated ‘mate’. You can expect tips from the punters, though.”

Geoff insisted on buying her a ring. Helen protested, but gave in eventually. Together, they chose a pretty, discreet one with a sapphire. It was a very different matter from the ‘rock’ that had adorned her finger when she married for the first time, but she felt that was a perfect expression of their relationship.

Quite early on, they received a visit from Dulcie, who found them spreading the mainsail to air. “Helen! I’ve been trying to find you. You called and wanted to talk to me?”

Helen blushed comprehensively. “Oh ... I’m sorry, Dulcie! I ... um ... had a chat. With Emmanuel. He helped me, um, resolve, um, my issues.”

Dulcie’s face lit up. “Say no more! That’s wonderful! So...”

Helen held up her hand, displaying the ring. “I’m hoping...” she glanced at Geoff, who smiled and nodded, “that you’ll be willing to marry us.”

Dulcie’s eyes danced. “Certainly! But I’ll need you both for counselling, you know.” Then she turned serious. “What about your parents?” That was addressed to both of them.

“We need to visit mine,” Geoff said. “That might be difficult...”

“I haven’t spoken to mine in years,” Helen said. “I suppose...”

“Both of you need to resolve those difficulties,” Dulcie said briskly. “I was going to ask if either of you would be interested in helping with the church Christmas lunch.”

“I think my parents will expect us in Doncaster,” Geoff said. “They – or at least Mum – would have expected me, and when they know about Helen, well...”

“Fair enough. Do you have a date yet?”

Helen and Geoff looked at each other. “Some time in the New Year?” Helen was asking Geoff.

“Works for me.”

They were together, and very soon that became an accepted configuration; by most of their acquaintances, at least. There were some hostile glances, actually from younger women, but they either did not notice, or ignored them.

Helen soon realised that Geoff’s appreciation of her body – which he expressed both in words and actions – exceeded ‘appreciation’ considerably, and, indeed, approached ‘worship’. That alone gave her self-esteem a boost, and the almost universal acceptance really helped, too.

A couple of weeks before Christmas – he dared not leave it any later – Geoff bit the bullet he’d been avoiding for weeks.

“Hello, Mum.”

“Geoff! When are you coming for Christmas?”

“Tuesday before. Mum, I’m engaged...”

The consequent squawk was incomprehensible. “Who is she? You haven’t mentioned anyone...”

“Because it took me weeks to persuade her to marry me. For ages, I didn’t think she would agree.”

“Well, you’re an adult. Will you send us a photo? Oh, and is it one room or two?”

“One, Mum, if that’s okay with you.”

An audible sigh. “Fine. Photo!”

Geoff sorted through several snaps he’d taken when Helen wasn’t taking notice. One, ready for church, elegant, even chic. Another, muffled up for the cold, but without her hat, standing by Brythnoth, her hair blowing in the wind, roses in her cheeks. And one in denim, at the cross-trees, securing the topsail after spreading it to air.

“She’s a beauty, Geoff – and not afraid of work, or the outdoors, it looks like. But older than you, surely. Mid thirties?”

“Older, yes. Mature. Steady. Honest. And, yes, beautiful, though she doesn’t seem to believe it.”

“Well, looking forward to meeting her. What about her folks?”

“Estranged. Hasn’t spoken to them for years.”

“Pity. Sad, that. Ah, well...”

“We’ll see you Tuesday evening, then. We’ll eat on the way.”

“You bringing her on that bike?”

“No, she’s got a car.”

“Oh...” thoughtful silence. “See you soon.”

They shared the driving and Geoff was actually at the wheel when they entered Doncaster.

“We’re on the right side of the city,” he said with a wry smile. “The one-way system is dreadful and the signage is appalling, so that’s a good thing.”

He pulled in to the drive of an undistinguished thirties semi and switched off. “Welcome to Doncaster,” he smiled.

Helen smiled back, nervously.

He took a deep breath. “Don’t worry; they don’t bite,” and got out.

Helen followed, slowly. Geoff didn’t ring the bell, just used his own key and ushered her in. “Dad’ll be pottering in his shed. I expect Mum’ll be in the kitchen.” He took Helen’s coat and hung it up, then his own. “Come on.”

Geoff’s mother was rolling out dough for scones, and looked round as the kitchen door opened.

“Hello, Mum.”

“Hello, dear. This must be Helen? Come in! Sit down. I can’t greet you properly until I get these in the oven. Geoff, dear, go and find your father. He’s in the shed. Go on, go on. I’m not going to assault your fiancée.”

Helen sat at the kitchen table. Her nervousness had not diminished at all. Geoff’s mother was shorter than her, and plumper, her hair showing significant grey among fading brown. She continued her work, using a cutter to cut the scone dough, and placing the results carefully on a baking tray. At length, she slipped it into her oven, went to the sink, and washed her hands, before filling the kettle and switching it on.

She sat at the table and regarded Helen with a neutral expression. “Tea, coffee? My name’s Betty, by the way.”

“Either. I usually have tea after lunchtime, but I don’t mind.”

“So. I’ve been on at my son for several years to find a young woman and settle down.”

“I’m afraid I’m not that young.”

“No? Geoff was a little evasive about that.”

“I’m forty-five.”

There was a long pause, during which the kettle boiled and Betty Billings got up to make tea and put the pot, a strainer, milk and two mugs on the table. “I see. You don’t look a day over thirty-five, if that.”

“I worked hard to keep my figure,” she hesitated, wondering if the other woman would take that as a criticism. “My husband ... ex-husband ... didn’t seem to care anyway. But when you’ve got plenty of time, plenty of money, you can afford the best trainers, the best beauticians. It didn’t stop him looking elsewhere.”

“I see.”

“Geoff tried to make me feel good. I tried to not fall in love with him, but he persisted. I kept saying I was too old, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“No. He’s always been stubborn. And you’re a very attractive woman.” She poured tea, raised a querying eyebrow while raising the milk-jug, added milk at Helen’s nod, and passed her the mug. She poured her own, sipped, and sighed. “I suppose there’s no chance of children?” There was no accusation in her voice, just a tinge of sadness.

“I always wanted children,” Helen said, “but twenty years ... more ... of unprotected sex with my husband and none came. I suppose that could be a part of why he strayed, but he never said anything. I expect Geoff and I will adopt.”

“What about money? Geoff’s job wouldn’t support a wife.”

“I ... have money. From the divorce settlement. Geoff can continue what he loves. I may join him ... learn to sail.”

“Really? You want to do that?”

“I was sporty at school. Had to change, you know. Conform, to fit the role. Now, I can please myself.”

“Helen ... do you love him? My son?”

“Yes, I do.” She didn’t have to think about that. “I tried not to, honestly. Then I tried to hide it.”

“Marry my son, Helen.”

Helen sighed, smiled, and replied with dignity, “Thank you. I’ll try to make him happy.”

“Do you have a date in mind?”

“In the New Year. We hadn’t really talked about it – it’s still new. It’ll be at St. Mary’s in Maldon. The Rector there is lovely.”

Betty nodded.

In the shed, Geoff leaned back against the door, watching his father smoothly planing a piece of timber with an ancient wooden jack plane. “It would be easier with a metal plane.”

His father paused and looked round. “I know. But I like to keep the old skills alive. Besides, this plane belonged to your grandfather, and he bought it second-hand when he married Gran. I keep it sharp, and there’s an art to setting the blade correctly. All my shaping planes are wood, too, so I need the practice.”

“You don’t see that much nowadays.”

“No, and that’s a shame. It’s all electric. Routers, planers, thicknessers. Mortisers, pillar drills, circular saws. I’ve got some of that, but I try to do it the old way as much as possible.” He put the tool down in the bench recess on its side. “Let’s go and meet your lady.”

They found Helen chatting easily with Betty in the kitchen. The (slightly) older woman looked at her husband. “George, meet Helen ... Geoff’s fiancée.”

Helen’s eyes met Geoff’s. It was obvious that she was now relaxed, and those eyes reflected the slight smile that was on her lips.

In bed that night, snuggled in Geoff’s arms, she thought about the experience. Her home, as a child, had been like the Billings’; quiet, relaxed, but purposeful. She thought her father would have liked George Billings, and Geoff, too, of course. Perhaps ... maybe ... But the languor following their restrained, quiet, love-making, the warmth and comfort, and the long day, were all too much and she, too, slept.

She dreamed of standing at the wheel of a Thames barge under way; the sails all perfectly set and pulling as they should, with Geoff busting around the deck doing things she knew she would have to learn.

“So, where are you going with your life?”

She glanced round. She recognised the Skipper, though he was not one of the skippers she knew; tall, slim, bearded with a pony-tail. Despite the blue denim, neckerchief and Breton cap, there was no doubt it was Emmanuel.

“I don’t know.” She looked ahead and saw that the buoy she’d been aiming to pass to starboard was now to port, and adjusted her course. It took a few moments to get the barge settled on the correct course. “This is all new to me.”

“But you like this?”

“Yes, I do. Of course, being with Geoff makes a difference.”

“What about motherhood?”

“I wish.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, I really wanted to be a mother. It just never happened.”

“I see.”

“I think I’m looking forward to a season sailing with Geoff. Once we’re married, perhaps a house, or a largish flat, then we’ll be looking at adopting. Possibly fostering.”

“I see.” Pause, while the vessel forged ahead towards the next marker. “Round the next buoy, what point of sailing will we be on?”