Chapter 4

It's not surprising we woke early ... ish ... the next morning. Actually, it was ten past seven when I stirred myself to look at my watch. I then turned my head to my left and looked straight into Hazel's eyes. I was at a loss for words, aware, you might say painfully aware, of her body close to mine, separated by just a couple of thin layers of cloth.

"Good morning, John. I hope I haven't made you too uncomfortable?"

I turned my head away before clearing my throat, then I looked back. "Er ... no. Actually, I was just thinking I was strangely comfortable," I answered with a slight smile, "but how are you feeling this morning?"

"A lot happier than I have for a very long time," she said seriously. "I can't remember the last time I slept so well. Do we need to get up?"

"No rush. We're not on a schedule. Sometimes we may need to move at a particular time in order to catch a tide. We could go now, to head up the Orwell to Ipswich, or the Stour to Mistley, or we could wait until high water to head out. This is a holiday. We're here to rest."

"That's good," she said, "I've got you where I've been wanting you since ... well, since that wet day in the park."

"You're not serious?"

"Oh, very serious. Do you know, you're the only man I feel I can trust to look at me as a person, not a sex-object, victim or cripple."

"I'm privileged and honoured."

"So you should be. But, I almost hate to say this ... perhaps we ought to get up?"

That first day, we took a leisurely sail up towards Ipswich, stopping at Pin Mill on the way back for lunch at the Butt and Oyster, arriving back at the Ledge at tea-time. We played Scrabble, and I lost, coming a poor third. Emily gloated. We had an early night, Hazel matter-of-factly heading for the aft cabin to sleep in my arms again.

I slipped out of bed at five-thirty to get the shipping forecast, which could be summed up as 'no change', made coffee and a sandwich and as quietly as possible got us under way. We were butting into the first of the flood leaving Harwich Haven. With a light to moderate south-westerly breeze, progress over the ground was slow. Emily emerged, yawning and rubbing her eyes, as we passed Landguard Point. She was wearing an old T-shirt and panties. Nothing else. She looked around.

"I don't know whether to berate you for not waking me, or thank you for letting me sleep. I heard you making coffee, but just couldn't be bothered to open my eyes," she said. "Hazel still asleep?"

"Far as I know," I said. "Why not go and check?"

I could hear the mutter of their voices, but the usual sounds of a sailing-boat under way made it impossible to pick out any words. They emerged some time later just as I was about to gybe to cross the shipping channel. Hazel was 'dressed' just like Emily. I couldn't help my erection as they crossed the cockpit to enter the saloon, or miss their giggles as they disappeared. I, er, 'regained my composure' shortly after that, but lost it again when they reappeared with mugs of coffee and sausage sandwiches.

"Let Hazel take the wheel for a bit, Dad, and eat your sandwich."

Hazel, rather nervously, stood legs akimbo at the wheel, leaving me staring at her rear. A very nice rear, I had to admit. Emily coughed and I looked at her. She grinned, pointed at her eyes then at me and winked. I think it may have been possible to fry eggs on my face. It certainly felt hot enough.

Emily ate her sandwich, but when I began to stand to take the wheel back, she gestured to me to stay where I was ... sternly. She took the wheel from Hazel, who sat next to me and asked,

"John ... would you mind fetching my sandwich and coffee?"

They were wedged in the corner of the cockpit. It wouldn't have been good enough if there'd been much motion, but that day it was fine. I picked them up and handed them to her; she patted the seat next to her and wouldn't take the cup and plate from my hands until I sat again. She leaned against me and turning just said, "arm."

I lifted my arm and she rested back against me as I held her.

We crossed the bar at just after nine. Emily wouldn't let me take the helm until we reached the Woodbridge Haven buoy, just before we crossed the bar; for the previous almost two hours I'd been wedged in the corner of the cockpit, Hazel pressed against me and my arm round her; it was a beautiful day, a reliable force three to four breeze, the sun reflecting off the slight chop on the sea. It might have been heaven.

Hazel stood next to me as we crossed the bar, resting her hand on the cockpit coaming; asking what I was doing, asking about the buoys ... her arm around my back and her hand resting on my hip.

Once we were past the Ferry, the moorings and the Horse Sand, Emily poked me, nodding emphatically at Hazel and frowning.

I know I'm slow on the uptake sometimes; not more than two or three times a day, mind you, but often enough. I'm sure there would be those hearing this account who would wonder at how slow I was to recognise ... well, what Hazel was offering. It only took a few minutes of Emily's emphatic grimacing before I stepped back from the wheel and gestured an invitation to Hazel to take over. I stood next to her, a little way back. She reached back and found my hand, pulled it and placed it on her hip. She then grabbed the waistband of my cut-off trousers and pulled me close to her. Well ... it was certainly no hardship, but, as I say I can be really slow on the uptake and right then I was thoroughly confused. I glanced at Emily, who was wearing an enormous smile and whose eyes were fairly dancing with amusement. She winked, and collected up our mugs and plates, disappearing below to wash up.

We couldn't have had a better slant of wind. Apart from a short stretch by 'The Rocks', where we had to gybe before and after, it was easy sailing. Emily frowned pointedly when I was about to move away from Hazel to adjust the set of the sails. After 'The Rocks' she took over the wheel and, dense as I am, I couldn't miss that I was supposed to sit with Hazel.

I just could not see that a young woman as attractive as Hazel (despite her disability) might have any romantic interest in a sixty-six year-old retired banker and I ruthlessly suppressed my own growing desire for her.

At the top of the Deben, I took over to negotiate the slightly tricky channel and the entrance to the Tide Mill Marina. It was the top of the tide, near enough mid-day, and by the time we'd moored and done a harbour stow, we were more than ready for lunch. Emily made ham sandwiches, which we ate in the cockpit, washing them down with ginger beer.

Hazel didn't look very happy as we finished our meal.

"I'm sorry, but standing and balancing like that; it's the longest I've stood on these legs since I got them. I'm afraid my stumps are a little sore." She looked at me – not Emily – and said, "will you have a look at them, please?"

"Wouldn't you rather have Emily help?"

"No," she shook her head firmly, "I've got some salve they gave me just in case. I'll get it and go into the cabin."

"And I," said Emily with a conspiratorial smile, "will go for a walk in Woodbridge ... buy some crusty bread and some salad stuff. I'll look in some charity shops, too; there are some good ones here."

She left and I went aft to the master cabin. Hazel was laid on top of the bedding, her legs propped by the side of the bed, her stumps bare, and wearing the same long t-shirt she'd had on first thing that morning. I bent to look at the stumps which did appear pink, but the skin was unbroken.