Chapter 11

That last morning was warm, sunny, with a gentle westerly. Perfect. “We’ll sail up.” Rupe announced. They would have breakfast as they sailed, just tea and toast, then they would have time to tidy up when they arrived. Two sisters hauled and sweated to get the spars up. Rupe watched admiringly as their bodies stretched and pressed against their shirts.

“Feel free to help at any time.” Mary shouted, but she was happy too. It had been a great week, a perfect way to lose her virginity; if she was slightly less sure about her sister, well Amelie had enjoyed it, so that was a plus for her first time (times). Then they untied the stern and then the bow, bore round from their last mooring, and up the river and onto a broad reach. Amelie took up position snuggled beside Rupe, she had fallen for him. Abigail and Mary smiled at each other from opposite sides of the boat and drank their tea. Then Abi was up and down with dirty cups and plates. It had been tempting to make toast as they sailed but that would have been risky, and anyway they all wanted to watch the last slipping away from the shore. Rupe, she had to admit, had a knack, she could set the sails just right when sailing, but she would have put the engine on (just in case). He had just let the jib take them right round (“Mind your heads!”) and controlled the inevitable swinging wooden boom that could knock your brains out if you let it. The three were content to sit and watch the world go by, he was content to sit and watch the water slide by in silence. For the first time for several days, sex was not part of his thinking. It had been a good week though.

As the masts of the boat yard appeared, he said “We’ll sail it in. The wind is perfect.” That was up there with offering to give an extempore speech to a crowd of people about something you know nothing about – it might all work, or it could be a disaster. Yet they all agreed, he seemed supremely confident.

Abigail looked ahead. ‘Shit! I’d recognise him on a dark night in a coal mine! That’s Dad.’ was what she thought. She said nothing. Rupe was committed now, he didn’t need any more pressure. They glid up the river and at the right moment, he turned into the opposite bank, head to wind. The bow just scraped into the mud and held. As one, they hauled up the topping lift, got out the scissors to support the spars, lowered the peak and throat and then let the boom into the scissors and allowed the gaff to follow. A quick tie around the sail to hold it from flapping, and then Mary went (as directed) to the bow and held the jib out side ways. At first nothing happened, then, very slowly at first, the boat began to move backwards. Reversing across the river under wind alone, at that moment Rupe realised that he hadn’t taken the river into account. They might drift down, or, if the tide was coming in, even 30 miles from the sea, they could drift up broadside.

He was lucky, he didn’t admit it until later. The tide was just turning. It had been going out for three hours at Great Yarmouth, now it finally started to drop here.

A couple of yard staff stopped what they were doing and watched. As he edged up to the staithe the let the jib go to flap, and took it down. “Nicely done sir, nicely done.”

“Well done Rupert, excellent piece of sailing!” Mr Gunstone could barely contain himself. He was seriously impressed.

“Mr Gunstone! What? I mean thank you, and what are you doing here?”

Mrs Gunstone answered: “We thought you’d welcome a lift back rather than struggling on buses and trains.”

“That’s lovely Mum, thank you.” said Abigail, standing up after she had tied one of the stern ropes. She was thinking ‘I was looking forward to a quiet trip back, not having to talk to anyone. “Can you fit us all in?”

“Ah, well that’s the other reason – tada!” Mrs Gunstone pointed at the Range Rover. “Ronald thought that a trip in the new car would be good fun.”

“A Range Rover! Wow, that’s fantastic sir.” said Rupert, who had also been looking forward to sharing a table and holding hands with three girls who he knew very well now. Still, it would be easier to get a lift, that was true.

The three girls decided to show that they were not entirely useless, and between them they raised the roof, Mary and Amelie then started dragging the boat cover across the boat from the front. Mrs Gunstone took the opportunity to insist on a quick tour.

Inside, she took a quick look at the beds, the two sleeping bags on one bunk. What did that show? Who knows, but she just looked at her daughter, who started to go pink. Then Abigail’s mother looked outside at Rupe patiently talking through the finer points of sailing a gaff rigged wooden boat compared to a Bermudan rig. She hugged her daughter “Oh well, you could have done a lot worse. He’s a nice boy. Was it ... okay?”

“Mum, it was wonderful. He’s caring and giving.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” As she headed for the hatch she said “I was fifteen, it wasn’t a good first time.”

Abigail took her mother’s hand. “I’m sorry. Rupe wasn’t my first, that was Simon.” Mrs Gunstone wrinkled her nose a little. “I know, he was a -”

“Shit? Yes I can imagine. And Rupe was better?”

“Much, he makes up for Simon. I wish I’d waited.” she didn’t say that she hadn’t had the choice.

Mrs Gunstone wanted to ask if it was only her, Abi, who Rupe had slept with; she wanted to ask, but didn’t want to know what she thought the answer would be. So she wisely didn’t ask.

Mr Gunstone continued chatting about sailing, entirely ignorant of the fact that the boy he was talking to had introduced his daughter to aspects of sex that he fondly imagined she had no idea about; aspects, in fact, that he only had vague memory of himself. Mrs Gunstone and Abigail agreed he would be best kept ignorant.

On the way back, Rupe offered to take the third row seat. It was less upholstered, but since he was asleep in five minutes, that hardly mattered. The three girls similarly dozed in the middle bench seat. “Like the three graces.” said Mr Gunstone. “So innocent at that age.”

Mrs Gunstone nodded.

“Hello Rupert – I mean Rupe. How was your day? Good.” Mrs Bearstow smiled at he son, and waited. He went to his bedroom to dump his bag. He’d been out cycling with a couple of mates. It had been good. Up hills and then down. Watching the buzzard, seeing a hare, eating a – He stopped thinking as he saw three carefully laundered, and even ironed, pairs of girls pants neatly arranged on his bed, each pair half overlapping the next so it was immediately clear how many there were.