Chapter 22

Saturday arrived. It had been quite a week for Chrissie, but everything official had been at least arranged and she was registered for school, had even had one and a half days of it. She was beginning to believe she might, eventually, be okay. The acceptance – dare she even think 'love'? Of everyone from Dave to the young twins ... had to be genuine. Even Beth's daughter Callista had gurgled and smiled at her. She had that great guitar and could play it almost whenever she liked. The school seemed okay; it'd take time to learn her way round and get to know people, but ... and Tom seemed to really like her, so she had at least one friend her own age. There was Ally, who was being a great friend and 'little sister', and Jenni who was being a great 'big sister'. It was almost too good to be true. Would Tom turn up? What would happen today?

Tom arrived at nine-thirty. There would have been no way to tell which of them was the more nervous, they were both like the proverbial 'cat on a hot tin roof'.

"Come in a minute," she managed.

"I need a word with Jessica," he responded.

"She's in the lounge; I'll just get some shoes on."

Tom shyly poked his head into the lounge and Jessica beckoned him in.

"Got something to tell me?"

"Yes, Amy's packed up a picnic for me and Chrissie, so if it's alright and she wants to, can we stay out 'till tea-time?"

"Yes. Amy called me, and you're staying here for supper. Beth and James are sitting on the twins this evening so Amy and John can go out. Of course if you and Chrissie can't stand each other's company, you can go back anyway; Beth won't mind."

Tom coloured slightly. "I told Amy I didn't mind ... well ... staying with Chrissie. As long as she doesn't mind."

Jessica suppressed a giggle. "Off you go and have a good time. Have you got a mobile? Good." She stood and went into the hallway.

She picked a mobile off the hall table and handed it to Chrissie. "This is my personal mobile. I have a different one for work. Speed-dial 3 for here, four for Jenni, five for Amy. But I suggest not calling Jenni as she will be with Marty. Oh, and speed-dial nine for emergencies – fire, police, ambulance and coast-guard."

"Thanks, Jessica."

"Oh, and by the way, if you like, you have permission to board Eirene. I gather Amy said you can row out to Serenity if you like, so you've a choice if you get tired of walking. Off you go, now. Shoo!"

The walked toward the Ferry.

"Would..." Tom gulped and took a deep breath. "Would you like a drink – tea or coffee or something before we really start walking?"

Chrissie was still quite as nervous. "Um, do you want something?"

"I, er I thought we could sit and look at the map and think about how far you'd like to go."

"Good idea. Okay. I'm not sure how far I can walk actually. These old trainers are pretty comfortable. Jenni insisted I get walking boots. She was paying, so I couldn't really refuse, but she said I ought to wear them for short periods before going any distance in them."

In the café, Chrissie had a latte while Tom drank a mug of strong tea. He opened a 1:25000 Ordnance Survey map of the area. "John insisted I bring this," he said, "it's marked with all the footpaths and rights-of-way. We can cross the river by the ferry and walk along the shore by the mansion. It's an interesting place, but you can't see much. The path goes a couple of miles along the shore, then we could turn off and come back along a road to the ferry again. About five miles. Sometimes you can see migrant birds in the bushes and trees. Or we can walk this side of the river up towards Kingsfleet. The path goes all the way to Woodbridge, but it's a long way. There are several paths off towards villages a bit inland and back to Felixstowe."

"If I get tired, can we just turn round and come back?"

"Sure. No problem."

"Let's do that, then."

Setting off, they began walking behind the boat yard, along the creek where Eirene had her mud berth with several other boats which were unlikely to ever have open water under their keel even if they were able to leave their berths. One of the spaces was occupied by the charred skeleton of a former houseboat. It was low-water, so there was no water in the creek at all, only mud, with one or two redshank poking desultorily about in it. On the other side of the raised path, some rough ground, and then the golf-links. A rough, rhythmic buzzing, chirring sound caught Tom's attention and he pointed out a small brown bird, with a black head with white markings in a nearby bush.

"Reed Bunting," he commented.

"It looks like a sparrow to me," Chrissie said.

"House, tree or hedge?"

"What?"

"There's three types of sparrow in Britain. House sparrows have grey heads except the females which are brown all over. Tree sparrows are rarer, and have russet heads. Hedge sparrows aren't really sparrows at all, different beaks, different shape body, different habits ... You probably won't see a sparrow out here. Warblers, buntings, wagtails ... oh, all sorts ... but not sparrows. On the other side, salt water and mud ... waders, gulls – several different sorts – terns, cormorants, ducks..."

"You must think I'm an idiot." Chrissie's voice was low, with a hint of tears very near the surface and her head was down.

"Oh, God! Chrissie! I'm sorry!" Tom was horrified at her reaction to his little lecture. "Chrissie, please ... I was only trying to share something with you..." Tom faced her. "Chrissie, look at me, please? A year ago, I couldn't have told the difference either. Old Pete, the skipper last year, got me interested and I borrowed a book; I just watched from the windows until I began to see the differences. I was showing off; I'm really sorry."

Chrissie could not help but hear the distress in his voice. She laid a hand on his forearm. "It's okay, Tom. I know you didn't mean to upset me. I just feel..." she trailed off. "Come on. Let's carry on ... and don't be afraid to show me things."

Some would say a walk along by the Deben is boring. The path is along the top of a bank built to prevent flooding; on the river side is an expanse of salt-marsh. The vegetation is a dull greyish green with puddles of water here and there, cut by channels which have water in only at high tide. On the land side is a strip of rough ground, sometimes with a wide ditch edged with reeds, then farm land. For much of the distance there are no houses and the only people are farm-workers, usually working singly. The river itself is quite a distance away, and except at high tide, there is a wide strip of mud each side. At low tide, the mud is two thirds of the width of the river. There are very few trees. It could be described as austere except for the cultivated land.

What is the attraction? It's hard to describe. The air is clean and fresh. Indeed, it's often so fresh it is described as a 'lazy wind' because it blows through, not round, you. There is sense of timelessness and peace, if you can slow down enough to appreciate it. And there is wildlife, from beetles and butterflies up to flocks of Brent Geese ravaging the fields of cereal crops. Reed and marsh-dwelling birds, water-hens and coot, swans and grebes. Waders – redshank, curlew and dunlin, knot, sandpiper and godwit. Gulls – black-headed, herring, black-backed, and terns. If you like birds, that should be enough to whet your appetite and if not, it would bore you to continue. If it's your kind of place, all that is enough. Of course, it's a great place to walk a dog, too.