Chapter 4

I woke early the next day. We'd moved in the night; I'd turned away and Amy was spooned up against my back, her hand was on my penis which was (as usual in the morning) quite hard and erect. I needed to go to the toilet, but was reluctant to get out of bed (I wonder why?) In the end, of course, I had to go. There was a murmured protest from my companion as I gently removed her hand and slipped out of bed, though I'm pretty sure she was still asleep. I took care of business and cleaned my teeth, before deciding, 'what the hell' and going back to bed.

I think real beauty shows first thing in the morning. I don't in the least mind tousled, messy hair (though I dislike it when it's a deliberate fashion statement) and I've never been bothered about makeup. And, of course, when you've engaged in the ultimate intimacy, there's something about your companion's expression. Amy looked beautiful. I know that believing oneself to be in love in the aftermath of sex is a common delusion, but also the act can be a trigger for all the chemicals that make up new love (someone once called it, 'one gland calling to another'). I looked at the lovely young woman who had shared my bed and her body with me, and I loved her. I wondered also, was I in love with her?

I couldn't resist stroking my hand down her side, caressing that marvellous curve from waist to hip ... several times, before moving on to her ... derrière, which felt nearly as good as her breasts. She hummed in her throat and wriggled slightly. Her eyes opened, slowly, and as she focussed on me, a smile — it was more of a beam, really — lit up her face.

"Wow, that was ... unbelievable," she whispered, sliding closer. "I'm so happy; I've wanted to do this, oh, since the first day I was here, really. It is real, isn't it? I'm not dreaming?"

"Shall I pinch you to see if you wake up?" I smiled.

"I don't mind. You can do anything you like to me," she said very seriously, "but I'd rather you kissed me."

That was no hardship.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked after a while.

"Why would I be angry?"

"Well, you ... I mean, I really wanted you to make love to me, but you were so reluctant, I had to really push you. I was unfair to you, but I'm glad I did."

"I'm not ... It's just ... relationships between people so far apart in age ... there are always problems. I'm not angry, it was beautiful..."

"Oh, good," she smiled brilliantly. "I hope you're going to go on doing it, too!"

"There's just one thing," I began hesitantly...

"Protection?" she asked with a smile, "I've been on the pill since I left home, and I've been very careful about taking it since I've been here. I kept hoping I'd need it!"

We lay there, close, for quite a long time, exploring each other with our hands, and lips, and tongues, not to mention eyes, of course. Hunger eventually got us out of bed, though I insisted a shower would be a good idea however hungry we might be. It was fun.

After breakfast we walked to the Ferry to have a look at Serenity, which was up on props in the boatyard. I never got used to how unstable it looked ... She was one of only a few boats not in the water for the summer. Amy couldn't get over how big she looked; it's always a shock, even to someone who knows. Poor Serenity looked ... drab. Her finish was dull, brasswork green and varnished wood peeling. I felt ashamed of the neglect. We borrowed a ladder and climbed up into the cockpit; opened the hatches. The interior was musty, but not too bad — we'd left her with cushions propped up to air.

I explained to Amy what was involved in getting her ready to go back into the water, some essential, some just desirable. She'd need anti-fouling, and her paint brightening up, the woodwork needed to be scraped, sanded and re-varnished, three coats. The diesel engine would need servicing, and we'd have to inspect and possibly replace standing rigging (that holds masts in place) and running rigging (that hoists sails and such like).

"It's a lot of work," I said, "I'll get the yard to do some, but it'd be a good idea to do as much as possible ourselves."

She nodded, "It sort of helps you know the boat," she agreed.

Actually, in the end, I decided to put off most of the work until the Autumn. There didn't seem to be much point wasting good sailing time, especially since Amy would be off to College in September, so I thought we'd do the anti-fouling and lubricate the blocks, get Charlie to look at the motor and then get her into the water. I made the arrangements for the servicing of the diesel, bought the anti-fouling and put it in the saloon; then went to the office and arranged for the stepping of the masts and launching in ten days time. By which time it was one o'clock, so I tossed a coin for which pub to go to for lunch — the Victoria won; we had salad, with salmon for Amy and chicken for me. They had tiramisu on the dessert menu; we indulged ourselves.

You don't need an itemised account of the next couple of weeks. We sailed the Wanderer a couple more days, until the tides were unsuitable for getting up the river and back in daylight. Did a little work on Serenity. Amy read her books. We walked and ate together, listened to music and, of course, we slept together; I don't have ... well, let's just say I'm not a teenager; but I knew plenty of ways to keep Amy happy.

Serenity was launched a couple of weeks later. It's an interesting procedure; the yacht is lifted into a sort of wheeled cradle. It's all heavy duty stuff; Serenity weighs about four tons. The cradle is wheeled into position around the yacht, thick webbing straps are passed under the boat and are then tightened to lift it clear of the stand, and the cradle towed to the slipway. It's straightforward enough to back the cradle into the water until the boat floats, and it is then taken to a mooring.

We had to provision the boat. In the end, rather than borrowing a car, I did an on-line order to a local supermarket and had it delivered. We filled the water-tank, and topped off the diesel, 'bent on' the sails (sailors have all sorts of jargon — 'bending' something is just fitting it. Sails are always 'bent on', never 'fitted'). I was happy to find that the artificial fibres of the sails were in good shape. Sails are expensive.

A couple of days later, we took ourselves, a selection of CDs, Amy's set-books and a selection of light reading, plus clothes and bedding, on board, and set sail mid morning on the first of the ebb.

That was important. The mouth of an estuary like the Deben, gets a 'bar' or shallow patch across it. In the case of the Deben, it's a shingle bank. At extreme low water, there may be only eighteen inches of water. Add to that, the shingle moves, so the deepest water can be in a dramatically different place after a storm ... add to that the unpleasant effects of the interaction of wind and current, which can produce a very nasty chop if the wind and the tide are in opposite directions ... you get the picture?

We had a north-easterly, which was pretty ideal, and plenty of water over the bar. That suited me just fine; I'm a cautious sailor. It was an easy exit, though Amy looked a bit green as we transited the uneven water over the bar. Actually, I dare say I did too. Anyway, we got clear of the estuary and Serenity settled to a much pleasanter rhythm. Amy easily picked up how to read a chart, and she picked up each buoy or marker in turn. We passed the Cork Sand buoy, going to seaward of the Cork Sand, then the South Cork cardinal marker; we picked up the Medusa next and knew we were in 'the Wallet'. The Knoll was followed by the North Eagle cardinal, and we were in the entrance to the River Blackwater, near enough five hours from leaving the Deben. A further hour and a bit took us to Osea Island, which is privately owned, with an interesting history, at least if you are interested in rich eccentrics! At that point, there was little point in going further; it was just past low water, and there wouldn't be enough depth to get up to Maldon until about 2100. I'd been stuck on mud trying to get up there before there was enough water once, and that was enough. So we anchored off Osea, and made tea.

I'd been surprised to find out Amy had never read any of the Swallows and Amazons books by Arthur Ransome. They are, admittedly, children's books, but I'm still re-reading them from time to time. I suggested that we might read them together as our 'light reading' while away from home. So, after tea, we sat and took turns to read out loud to each other. Although it was my idea, I was surprised how enjoyable and meaningful it was. Amy was charmed, and fascinated by the picture of childhood in the twenties and thirties. At eight-thirty we started getting ready to get under way, and by ten o'clock we were alongside the visitors' pontoon at Maldon; tired, but very pleased with ourselves.

In the morning, we walked up Church Road to the High Street. There's a café about half way up that does great cooked breakfasts. We treated ourselves.

Back at the Hythe Quay, I noticed a familiar figure.

"Jenni!" I called, she looked up.

"Hey, Barry! Come on board!".

Walking up to her, I introduced Amy.

"Jenni, this is Amy ... Amy, meet Jenni. Jenni's a Mate on Thames Sailing Barges."

"You mean, those..." she nodded at the vessels rafted up alongside the quay.

"That's right," Jenni smiled, "you want a look?"

"Sure, that'd be great!" Amy enthused.

"How's Jessica and Dave; I haven't seen them recently?" I asked.

"They're fine. Mind you, I've not seen them myself for a week or so. Marty's on board, though. Joe's talking about sending him out as Mate soon, but he wants to stay with me. I wonder why?" She grinned at us. "Come along!"

We clambered over the noisy gang-plank, picked our way across the inner two barges of the raft, to S.B. Reminder.

"We're off on the next tide," Jenni commented, "so I'm afraid you can't stay long. No punters, though, we're off to Ipswich for a week-end charter, then Mistley. Time enough for a cuppa, though, I'm due for one, anyway. MARTY!" She yelled, disappearing down the companionway.

"Go on down, love," I said, looking around. A head appeared out of the Fo'c'sle hatch.

"What?"

"Hey, Marty, Jenni's making tea."

"Barry! Long time no see!" He clambered up to the deck and walked over. "I'm really sorry about Lucy, mate. And I'm sorry I haven't seen you to say it."

"Thanks; I've been out of circulation. Amy's helped."

"Amy?"