Chapter 11

Tom woke 'with the dawn's early light' (he'd left the hatch open, grey light shone in) and lay in his bunk in the fo'c's'le thinking. He didn't recognise what he was feeling, because it was an entirely new sensation. He'd been alone all his life; even when his parents were around either he might as well have been alone, or he'd wished he was. He was experiencing loneliness; missing a young woman who treated him as a human being, a serious little boy ... and most especially an affectionate little girl. It couldn't be ... he couldn't allow ... he could not trust anyone. He dressed and climbed to the deck, looking at the sky or, rather, at the heavy clouds obscuring it. He scrambled up the ratlines and perched on the cross-tree; gulls crying incessantly, mournfully, overhead. Four weeks ... four weeks more, and then what would he do? Tears trickled down his cheeks un-noticed as it began to rain. A century earlier, perhaps even less, and he could have run away to sea, almost unmissed, but now? The gulls and the open sea called to him, pulled at his heart.

He didn't hear Anh's light soprano voice calling from the deck; he didn't notice the vibrations of the rigging as she climbed the ratlines, but he came back to earth – almost literally with a crash – when she touched his shoulder and he jerked with surprise.

"Steady, Tom ... it's a long way to fall. We're making breakfast. You didn't hear me call from the deck."

"Oh! I'll come, Annie."

On the deck, she stopped him before he could move to the companionway hatch.

"It'd help if you talked about it, you know."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean, you don't have to carry it all yourself. I can tell you are unhappy and worried about something. I can understand you have no reason to trust people, but what have you got to lose?"

They went below to the saloon and Terry put cooked breakfasts in front of them.

"Tom," Anh said, "my family went back to Vietnam and left me here. I didn't want to go; I didn't trust the government in Hanoi, and I most especially didn't trust my father. I was all alone until I met Terry."

Terry looked at her, questioningly. "Later," she said, "before I go." He nodded.

Anh added, "Amy and Jenni have their own stories."

Jenni spoke then. "Tom," she said, "I ran away from home because my father beat and raped me. I was a prostitute in London until I escaped that, but I would have died if Dave Yeomans hadn't found me curled up on the saltings with hypothermia. Believe me when I say we understand about feeling you can't trust people. But if you can't trust anybody you'll only have half a life"

Tom looked round at them, then down at his plate.

Jenni laughed, "Eat, Tom, We're not expecting you to bare your soul, not here, not now! Just believe there are some good people around that won't ... abuse you, use you, take you for a ride!"

He picked up his knife and fork and tucked in, only then realising that he was, in fact, hungry. Anh was also eating, but slowly, as if she was reluctant to finish and get up from the table. In due course, though, they both cleared their plates.

Anh looked at Marty. "Would you spare Terry for a while? I need to talk to him."

"Sure," he replied, "take as long as you need."

She stood and looked at Terry, who also rose and went to her, holding out his hand. She took it, but reluctantly, and they left together. The others watched them go. Jenni frowned.

"I hope they're alright..."

Anh and Terry walked along the quayside for five minutes or so. Terry stopped and turned her to face him, but her head was down. "I'm not going to be angry with you, you know," he said, lifting her chin. She was weeping silently, the tears pouring down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry..." she sniffed. "I should have told you before we were married..."

"Annie," he said gently, "you know I love you. Just say what the matter is and be done. I suppose it's something about your family ... I can't think of anything that would stop me loving you."

Taking a deep breath and looking him in the eyes, Anh said, "My twelfth birthday present was to be raped by my father."

"Oh ... my ... lord," Terry breathed, "you poor sweetheart. I take it there's more, though?"

"I was ... used ... by him and assorted uncles regularly until I left home. It was difficult to ... disengage ... from my family. I went to the hospital and was tested ... and treated for a selection of STDs. I am clean in that way. But ... it is possible I might not be able to have children. The doctor thought I was probably alright. But I should have told you in the beginning..."

Terry looked round, but couldn't see anywhere to sit, so he sat on the ground, pulled his wife into his lap and wrapped his arms round her.

"Annie ... sweetheart ... darling ... beloved..." he rocked her as she cried. "Annie, you're right you should have told me before, but when would you have told me? You haven't had sex with anyone else since we married, have you?"

She shook her head, "I haven't had sex with anyone since leaving home. But I needed to, which is why I tried to seduce you."

"But when you thought I belonged to someone else, you backed off."

She just burrowed into his embrace.

"Annie ... you've told me, and the sky hasn't fallen, has it? None of it was your fault and it's all in the past. I forgive you for not telling me before. I still love you, okay? Now ... the sky may not have fallen, but I think the rain is about to, so let's go back. There's something rather important I want to do before you leave for work."

They walked back arms around each other's waist ... which if one person is over six foot and the other is barely five feet, is not a very efficient way of walking. It is, however, satisfying, if you happen to be in love and you aren't in a tearing hurry. Back at the barge, the others were busy about the deck though it was just beginning to rain again.

"Below," Terry said. "To our cabin." When they got there, he shut the door, sat on the bunk and looked at her. "I want to make love to my wife before we leave. May I do that?"

She knelt astride him and kissed him. "I love you, so much. I would love you to make love to me."

They undressed each other, slowly, enjoying each exposure. Terry could not help but look for evidence of the abuse she'd told him about, but all he could see was her beauty. They came together in a union so intense that they both cried out as they reached the peak.

Jenni and Marty heard and shared a smile. Tom heard and frowned, not understanding, but was reassured when they later emerged, smiling and holding each other close.

The cruise starting that Monday was a short one, two nights and finishing at Mistley on the Stour rather than returning to Ipswich; it was a youth group from Colchester whose transport was arranged to deposit them at Ipswich and pick them up Wednesday evening. Jenni arranged with Anh to collect her on their way to Mistley.

Supplies were delivered late morning and Terry and Tom laboured in the galley to prepare a meal for when their passengers arrived.

They locked out at three; it meant they were fighting the end of the rising tide, and with a south-easterly breeze sailing was impractical; or at least would have been very hard work beating down river in the narrow fairway, so they motored down river and anchored in Erwarton Bay, across from the Parkeston Quay international ferry terminal and out of the way. The weather continued wet so the party were happy to join in various games and shanty singing in the saloon until bedtime.