Chapter 3

Strangely, to my mind at least, Monday started off like any other Monday. The network server went down (OK, it doesn't happen every Monday) the phone rang every time I replaced the receiver; although I had my local files on my workstation, there was an error somewhere, that took me over an hour to find ... and I hadn't seen hide nor hair of Anne. I held out until ten-thirty, then set off in the direction of the kitchen ... of course, the route took me past Anne's office that she shared with Emma and Louise. I 'knocked and entered' in accordance with the notice on the door. Emma looked up at me, a studiously neutral expression on her face. Louise didn't look up, and at Anne's workstation was some strange person with ... brown hair.

"Hi, Emma," I smiled, walking as quietly as I could across the room. "Seen Anne this morning?" Before I finished 'morning', I was brushing aside the brown hair to kiss Anne's neck. She whipped round, grabbed my head and planted a searing kiss on my lips, to applause from Emma and Louise, the latter no longer holding in laughter.

"I approve," I said, pulling back far enough to look at her clearly.

"You were quicker on the uptake than I expected," she smiled.

"It would take more than a change of hair colour to disguise you from me now," I said, "connection, remember?"

The routine of the week was no different than any other week, but one thing was very different; each lunch-time was spent in Anne's company. We'd sometimes have sandwiches, a kebab or fish'n'chips from the local chippy and sit on the green to eat; or if the weather was bad, one of the local fast-food restaurants. That Monday evening, Anne went home alone, packed a bag, and came down to my old Victorian cottage, which was a walk away from the office (as against a bus-ride from Crookes).

Weekends, we continued to learn about each other, often using her house in Crookes if we were thinking of walking in the Rivelin valley, for example. I forget at what point I broached the matter of birth-control.

"I wondered if, or when, you were going to ask," she said sternly (but with a twinkle in her eye) "actually, I've been on the pill for years. Dysmenorrhoea."

I so did not want to get into that! "Anne," I said gently, "I wondered when we were in the Lake District. I thought you'd given it some consideration, and if you were happy to have a baby, I was happy for it to be our baby. As it is, I'm happy as long as you're happy."

It was one day in the middle of the third week of our relationship that we were in Pizza Express; it was raining, as they say, 'stair-rods', and Julie came in. On this occasion I was facing the door; Anne had her back to it.

Julie came straight over to our table.

"Sam... ! May I join you?"

I looked at Anne, who shrugged.

"Help yourself," I said, and, as she sat down, "I'd like to introduce Anne Abbott, my girlfriend; Anne, this is Julie Prentice."

They both muttered something like 'pleased to meet you', though neither girl's expression had anything of pleasure in it. I took Anne's hand, squeezed it gently and thought very hard,

"Anne, I love you. Relax. This might be uncomfortable, but Julie will get no-where."

Whether or not she 'heard' me, I couldn't say, but she smiled very slightly and her eyes met mine.

"What can we do for you, Julie? Or is this just a social visit?"

"I was wondering if you'd given any thought to what I asked you last time we met?"

My word, that was a bit blunt.

"What was to think about? You wanted out a year ago; you didn't want a permanent relationship. I moved on ... it took a long while, but I moved on, and now, I'm with Anne, who I'm in love with."

Anne's slight smile deepened a little; an expression I can only describe as a 'scowl' flitted across Julie's face.

"Then," she said sweetly, getting to her feet, "I wish you every happiness." Her expression did not match her words.

After she left, Anne commented,

"There goes one unhappy woman. Mind you, she is a stunner, isn't she?"

"She's very attractive, yes, but she's not a patch on you!"

"You keep saying things like that ... how many men would choose me over her?"

I laughed. "How many men do you want?"

"Touché!" she said, "But seriously..."

"I'm quite serious," I said quietly, "I was with her, oh, nearly two years. I know how I felt about her. I cared about her; last year I would have married her, but now, I know how I feel about you and I really, honestly, cannot think of any woman in the world I would rather be with than you. I'll keep saying it until it sinks in, OK?"

Life continued and my feelings for her only deepened and strengthened. I wanted to marry her, but something held me back from asking. It got to a weekend in June; we took extra days to give us a long week-end and we towed the Kestrel down to Mersea Island in Essex for a Dinghy Cruising Association rally. The DCA are a collection of 'rugged individuals' who sail small boats where others sail yachts. I suppose the active membership would be in the region of two thousand, mostly in the UK, but some scattered all over the world. Rallies are loosely organised; very loosely organised, often with only one meeting point during a rally for lunch, sometimes at the beginning of the day for a cruise in company (not very practical, considering the very individual choice of boat), usually with an evening rendezvous at a pub for a meal, most people sleeping on board. Anne and I agreed to join the Blackwater rally.

The forecast was good, force three to four from the North East, cloud but no rain. We launched at Bradwell Marina on a rising tide. The launch at Bradwell is into a tidal creek, with moorings dotted about. The combination of current and wind and obstructions makes sailing in or out, shall we say, intimidating. Anne offered to take the helm, and I was more than happy to let her. She extricated us very neatly from a very tricky position.

I suppose it's about ten (nautical) miles (add 10% on to land miles) from Bradwell to Pyefleet Creek for the rally rendezvous, and we had a dead beat to windward for the first six or so, meaning we covered maybe twelve miles, taking about three hours to do it, before turning down wind into the Colne and then diving into Pyefleet Creek. We rafted up with a couple of other boats to eat our lunch. It must have been about two thirty ("fourteen thirty") when we worked our way out of the creek. The water on the sea side of Mersea Island is somewhat sheltered, but we could see that the wind had picked up and we took down a reef in the cruising mainsail (smaller anyway than a full sized mainsail for racing).