Chapter 7

So, Helen speaks...

How did I get here? From discarded wife of aspiring Vice President Commercial Finance, to pregnant wife of former bank clerk and current Thames barge Skipper. From upper-management social circles to heritage sailing, Mate of whichever barge my husband is in charge of. And, you know, there are similarities. Of course, I dress differently; blue denim or similar rather than cocktail dresses. Actual participation in the work, rather than direction. But over all, it’s about people; welcoming, entertaining, and often teaching. Teaching? For sure! People who want to sail traditional boats often like to join in the physical side, if it’s only taking the helm for a while. On board a Thames barge there are plenty of physical tasks in which passengers may participate. Tacking – turning through the wind – requires that the staysail is held ‘aback’ by a rope called the ‘bowline’, to prevent getting ‘caught in irons’ or ‘missing stays’. Doing that is the task of the Mate or Third Hand. Then there’re the crab winches, which wind the lee-boards up – that’s hard work, especially the last bit. The brail-winch and the brails, which reduce the area of the main sail. Weighing anchor involves the windlass, which is also a lot of work. Originally, these boats were managed by just two men, sometimes with a third as trainee, but nowadays their cargo is human, and those humans are often there for the experience.

I love the work. I love working alongside my husband. Husband! Do you know what the word means? Most people think it means the man in a marriage, but originally it implied one who cared for, protected and nurtured. My Geoff ... despite being twenty years younger than me, twenty-five years younger than my ex, is more of a husband than Damian ever was.

The work? Mostly taking groups of people for trips on the river. Sometimes it’s a couple of hours, just a short trip. Sometimes, an all-day job if the tides are right. You see, there isn’t enough water in the river at Maldon to float a barge except for an hour or so each side of high tide. Occasionally, we take a party out for several days, sleeping on board. We can only do that on a barge which is fitted out with sleeping cabins (Reminder is one). They are limited to twelve passengers and a maximum of five crew, which includes caterers. We rarely have that many crew.

But one day Phil came to see us as we tidied Thistle after a day trip.

“We’ve got a request for a ‘team-building’ exercise using Reminder, “ he said. “Some investment company from up north. They’ve not done this before. They’re paying for twelve places – three married couples, two ‘partnerships’, two independents.”

We looked at him questioningly.

“Seems their President took a trip earlier this year and was very impressed, particularly, Helen, with the way you enabled passengers to participate and learn if they wanted to. Anyway, the trip is arranged for late September. They’ll board by mid-day, and you’ll leave on the afternoon tide, about two. Usual catering.”

Up north? “Um, where are they from?”

“Oh, Newcastle? Gateshead? Somewhere around there.”

Surely not? “Do we have a name?”

“Marchant. Banking, investment and financial services, something like that.”

“Sounds like my ex’s company. Marchant Omega Financial Services.”

“Why, yes! That’s the name. Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know. I can’t somehow see Damian having anything to do with something like this.”

“He might not have a choice.”

Hmmm. I suppose he’d be willing to do anything to get ahead, but getting his hands dirty? Doing actual physical work? Surely not...

September, Monday 24^th. I’ve been here in Maldon just over a year. Actually, not here, here. ‘Here’ is on board SB Reminder, where I – unbelievable, a year ago – am Mate, in both senses, to my husband, Skipper Geoff Billings. We got the passenger list and, yes, my ex is on it along with my replacement. It’s a chilly morning, as sometimes happens, with a sea-fret rolling in up the estuary. We’ve got a fire in the stove, down in the saloon, and the kettle’s on. Clean linen on the bunks. Usually we recommend sleeping bags, but we have duvets and provide linen at a slight surcharge. We’ve swilled down the deck, and we’ve helped our caterers, Sheila and Deirdre, get provisions below. They’re happy, because they’ve got the fo’c’sle all to themselves for this trip – they like working with a husband-and-wife team.

At length, there’s nothing more to do; we’re squared away. Coffee is brewed and we’re sitting in the saloon sipping. Then it’s time to move, coming up to eleven. Our passengers will be arriving soon, and Sheila and Deirdre will begin preparing lunch. Light, because we’ll need to be getting under way soon after fourteen hundred.

“I’ll go and stand on the quay,” I said, “if that suits, Geoff. It would probably be a good idea if you were to be the one to keep an eye on passengers climbing across from Hydrogen.”

“Good thinking, Sweetheart.”

The first arrival was a tall, dignified gent (whom I recognised slightly), dressed in blue corduroy trousers, what looked like deck-shoes, and a serious yellow and blue waterproof jacket over a blue roll-neck pullover. He’s accompanied by an elegant lady, dressed somewhat similarly. Both were carrying largish holdalls. He came up to me, smiling.

“Missus Billings!” He dropped the bag and held out his hand. It was warm and dry, the grip firm. “I’m James Marchant. This is my better half, Gwen. Helen, if I may?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“I recognised you, earlier this year.” He paused to see if I reacted, but went on, “We hadn’t been introduced before, but I saw you at company events with our Mister Greengold.” He released my hand. “I was ... disturbed ... when he divorced you. I’m old fashioned, and I believe honour and integrity are fundamental to banking. Tell me – are you happy now?”

“Yes, sir. Happier than I’ve ever been, I think.”

“Good. Well, I just wanted to say, it’s not your job to be a servant. My people can all manage their own luggage, and if they’ve got too much it’s their own fault. They were warned. Any problems, I’ll back you up. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

The other ten passengers – if that’s the correct term – straggled in. The first pair after James Marchant and his wife were two men, who were obviously a couple. However, had they not been holding hands there was nothing else to indicate their relationship, at first sight, anyway. A younger couple arrived together, but since they had different names and neither wore a ring, I assumed them to be the second ‘partnership’. The two independents, actually a man and a woman, arrived separately. I was beginning to wonder if Damian and wife were coming at all until I saw a new, bright red, Porsche Cayenne squeeze into the last remaining space on the quay. Being quite a large vehicle, there was very little space to spare, and the young woman was forced to climb across to the driver’s side in order to exit the car.

I kept a neutral expression on my face as my ex marched up to me, wife in trail.

“Our luggage is in the back of the car,” he announced. “This is for Reminder, right?”

“This is for Reminder.” I glanced at my watch. “Lunch will be served in ten minutes. You’ll want to bring your luggage now, as there won’t be time later.”

He stared at me, clearly having actually seen me for the first time. “Helen?! What in Hell are you doing here? And why can’t you fetch my luggage?”

“I’m not going to fetch your luggage because that’s not in my job description. As to what I’m doing here, I’m the Mate of Reminder. As it happens, I’m also married to the Skipper.”

His wife sniggered behind him and when I looked at her, she winked and smiled. When he turned to look at her, though, she had schooled her face into neutrality, rather like me.

He turned back to me and looked me up and down. “Well, well. Looks as though you’ve put some weight on since I last saw you.”

“Indeed. Not that it’s anything to do with you, but that’s what happens when a woman is pregnant.”

His wife coughed behind him and turned away, obviously hiding a smile. But then she straightened up and turned back. “Come on, Damian. We’d better get our cases. I don’t want to be without mine, anyway.”

I smiled at him, turned and made my way along the gangway to Hydrogen, then crossed to Reminder before turning back. The woman ... what was her name? Oh, yes ... Madeline. Maddie. Anyway, Maddie was dragging a medium-sized, wheeled suitcase across the quay, then carried it across the gangway and across Hydrogen’s deck.

I held out a hand to steady her as she picked her way over the gap – wide, because of the lee-boards of both barges, which prevented the hulls touching. She stepped down onto the deck and looked me in the eyes. “I know what he is,” she said quietly. “I just want you to know that it wasn’t me he was sleeping with when he divorced you. He thinks he’s using me, if he thinks at all, but it’s me that’s using him.”

I nodded. “Okay.” Then I turned to lead her to the hatch. “You’ll need a hand with that case,” I said.

She descended the companionway ladder, and I handed down the case. As I released it, Damian was beside me with his case. It was ... large. I waved at the hatch and he climbed down. The case wasn’t just large, it was heavy. God only knew what was in it, but I handed it down to him and waited for him to move out of the way. Happily Sheila was there and steered him to the last empty cabin, whereupon I climbed down and entered the saloon.