Chapter 2

James settled back into his old routine, though with some differences. Having no-one to go home to makes a big difference to how you live your life, though his recent experiences obviously affected the way he perceived things. Additionally, he was conflicted over several matters. Having actually set out to avoid death, or rather to not actively seek death, being hauled out of the water when in fact he could have died without it being suicide ... was he happy, or unhappy about that? Also, he found himself thinking of Beth Hanson and not merely because she’d risked her life for him. Did he want to go on sailing? What was he going to do about the void in his life left by Esther’s departure? These were just the main matters on his mind as he travelled around.

Customers found him preoccupied and pensive. To those who asked him if he was alright, or how he was, he gave a non-committal ‘I’m okay, thanks.’ He continued to wear his wedding ring.

After nearly three weeks of chewing over his position, he’d made no progress and decided the only way forward was to just get on with life and hope things worked themselves out. He called Marty Peters and arranged to meet them at a local restaurant at the weekend – the season was over for barge-sailing; Beth Hanson would stay with the Peters overnight so there’d be no problem her getting home, or with any of them having a drink of two with their meal.

It was a very pleasant evening. They kept the conversation light, Beth was friendly but not more, James enjoyed himself. All too soon it was over. Jenni, Beth and Marty thanked James for the meal. Jenni told him to keep in touch, that if he wanted to try some real sailing, he was welcome to join her and Marty on Asphodel in the new season as a third hand. He smiled and told them he’d think about it – it was certainly a good idea, though he added,

“I think sailing a dinghy is quite real enough – you’ve got it pretty comfortable in your tons of ship!”

Jenni laughed, “different strokes,” she said, “I like both. My friends Jessica and Dave say they like to be able to go to the toilet in comfort!”

They parted and James went home alone. On the way, he realised it was a different sort of ‘alone’. Although it was only a few months since he’d lost his Esther, although he’d never stop missing her and loving her, she no longer dominated his thoughts. He thought about his evening with his new friends and decided that, although he liked Beth, that he thought she wasn’t seeing him as relationship material. She’d been perfectly friendly during the evening, but had given him no hint she was interested in anything more. He’d put it out of his mind...

And so he did ... mostly. He threw himself back into his work. In between, he ‘Autumn cleaned’ the house, bagged up Esther’s clothes and took them to a charity shop and boxed up things of hers that he wouldn’t be using himself, leaving just one or two photos and mementoes that were particularly significant. He considered ... and rejected ... removing his ring.

As he slept the night that he completed the process, he dreamed of her. She was smiling in approval, blew him a kiss and turned and walked away. He woke in the morning with his face stiff with dried tears.

As he sipped his morning coffee, the phone rang.

“Robinson Plumbing and Heating,” he answered it absently.

“Oh ... Hello. My name’s Amanda Conway. My friend Jenni Peters gave me your number. I’ve got a sort of collection of minor problems ... slow drains, dripping taps, that sort of thing, and I think my boiler needs servicing. Could you fit me in?”

“Just a sec...” he dug out his PDA. “Next Tuesday suit you? Morning or afternoon?”

“Oh, I think the afternoon would be best if that’s okay.”

At the weekend he’d decided he needed to do something different so, on Saturday morning he drove to the Imperial War Museum collection at Duxford near Cambridge. This is a former second World War airfield where the old hangars and some new buildings hold a remarkable collection of aircraft, many airworthy, and other exhibits including the old operations room. The museum covers a wide area and takes some time to just walk from one end to the other. One of the new buildings houses the American Air Museum, including aircraft dating from the second world war up to the SR71 ‘Blackbird’. The most thought-provoking item though, for him, was the memorial in fifty-two glass panels bearing engravings of over seven thousand aircraft missing in action. Over thirty thousand American aircrew died during that war. He spent the day wandering around, gazing at the examples of aircraft and vehicles ... thinking of the pain of his own loss, thinking of thousands of loved ones that mourned their dead, the cost of trying to maintain a way of life, to stop a tyranny.

When he got home he put some music on – John Lennon, in fact – and sat with a glass of whisky, just sitting, sipping, and thinking ... though without coming to any conclusions.

On Tuesday, the door was opened by a young woman, composed, attractive, casually dressed.

“James Robinson? I’m Amy Conway. Won’t you come in?” He followed her into the hallway. “If you could be quiet just now, the twins are sleeping off their morning exertions at the nursery school,” she began. “Come through to the kitchen.” She pointed at the sink, where both taps were dripping, though the cold tap was almost running. Walking over to it, she emptied the bowl that had been collecting the wasted water, and they watched the water level dropping ... very ... slowly.

He smiled. “I don’t think there’ll be much of a problem there. Anything else?”

“The shower in the master bedroom en-suite doesn’t drain at all well, and the bathroom basin taps are dripping.”

“Uh huh. Your kids are upstairs?”

“Yes,” she said, with a ... sad ... smile.

“Then I’ll make a start in the kitchen,” he smiled, and went to fetch his tool-box.

The drain – actually the trap – was easy to clear, the taps presented a little more difficulty; they hadn’t been dismantled ... well, perhaps not since ‘Christ was a corporal’ but certainly he wondered it they’d had any attention since the house had been built in the sixties. Eventually they yielded and a little elbow grease and silicon lubricant with a new washer had them working like new. As he started work on the shower drain – a later addition to the house, and hence with a removable access to the trap, he heard the stirring of young children waking up, sort of whiny, not quite crying sounds, but they didn’t last long.

“Lucy? Andy? Don’t fuss, I’m here. Come and have a snack.”

After a while, the sounds of two young children clumping downstairs ... isn’t it strange how a relatively light child can sound like a herd of elephants on his (or her) own?

He pulled a clump of gungy, dark, long hair out of the trap – more than enough to account for the problem. He dropped it in a bucket, re-assembled the trap, and moved into the bathroom. Here, he faced the same problem as in the kitchen. At least the taps had isolators on. It took an hour to dismantle and service the basin taps, after which he took a look inside the toilet cistern ... which wasn’t actually over-flowing, but he replaced the washer anyway, and made sure it stopped filling at the correct point. That was enough for the afternoon, so he went in search of his customer. He found her sitting on the floor with her two offspring who were happily playing with a selection of ‘Duplo’. (Come on, you’ve heard of duplo? No? It’s just oversized lego for little kids.) The boy saw him in the doorway, stood and went up to him.