Chapter 3: Bill

Like the previous day, I woke early after a restless night, made coffee and went to sit in the cockpit. The sun was already showing on the horizon, so I was later than yesterday, and Lexie did not appear. I had plenty to think about, but just enjoyed my coffee and let my thoughts drift. In the recent past, doing that meant revisiting my failed marriage, that scene ... Today, though, what filled my thoughts was a sweet face, framed by pink hair. Strangely, though, no rings or studs; they just wouldn't fit into the picture.

Finishing my coffee, I went below and put the kettle on again.

"I'll wake her with a cup of coffee," I thought. When the kettle boiled, I filled the cafetiere again; carried the mug to her cabin and tapped on the door. There was no response, so I opened it and went in, placed the mug on the useful little ledge by her head and gently shook her shoulder.

"Lexie..."

I was not prepared for the arm that snaked out from the sleeping-bag, pushing it back, and hooked round my neck. I was too shocked to resist as she pulled my head down and pressed our lips together. Later, as I analysed what had happened, I realised it was premeditated; she'd obviously been up and rinsed her mouth. At the time I was overwhelmed by a series of impressions. Soft sweetness ... an active tongue ... and no rings or studs. I sank to my knees next to the bunk as we parted and our eyes locked together – her hand slid from behind my neck to my shoulder, down my arm to my hand. Taking my hand she pulled it to her and placed it on her breast. Soft, but firm, smooth and round, the nipple hard, pressing against my palm. I squeezed gently, stroked, brushed the nipple - she gasped and pulled my head down for another kiss. I was in sensory overload, only peripherally aware of my erection.

"Bill..." her voice penetrated the fog I was in. "Bill ... I really need to get up..."

I suddenly realised what I ... what we ... were doing and pulled away. She flung the bag fully back, sat up and swung her legs out of the bunk, naked but for a pair of panties. Still on my knees as she stood I couldn't fail to be aware I was staring at her, and closed my eyes. That didn't help; the image was burned into my consciousness.

"If I minded you looking I wouldn't be showing off to you," she said, as I felt, rather than saw, her moving past me. Once she was out of the cabin I unfroze and went back into the saloon to put the kettle on again, but I was still in a daze. She came in as I was putting cereal bowls on the table, she was dressed in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Walking up to me she stood in front of me, a hand on each of my hips, but her head down.

"Do you think I'm ugly?" Her voice was very quiet and subdued.

I was shocked; how on earth could she think that? I placed my hands each side of her face, lifted it to look at me and kissed her softly. The studs and rings were still missing.

"No, I don't think you're ugly at all."

"But you didn't want to look at me..."

"Oh, I wanted to look at you," I said, "but ... I was ... embarrassed, I suppose. And knowing you'd been ... raped ... I don't know how to ... relate to you. You're young and beautiful, I'm middle-aged and undistinguished. You've got a life ahead of you, I'm ... well, not exactly waiting to die, but not exactly looking forward to anything except drawing my Old-Age-Pension."

We were looking at each other; it seemed she was looking into my soul. I think she saw truth there.

"You think I'm beautiful." It was a statement, not a question and there was, I think, joy there. "But do you like me?"

"I wouldn't say that," her face fell for a moment until I added, "it's too soon to be sure, but I think it would be more accurate to say I love you."

She grabbed my head and pulled me down to kiss me hard.

"Good! I want my breakfast, though, and I need to go to work, don't I? But Bill, when I come ... home ... we need to talk, don't we?"

"Yes dear," I replied meekly.

She giggled, it was a pretty, musical and very welcome sound.

After she left for work, I made vegetable soup before walking along to the café for coffee. Not something I did every day, I admit. The café wasn't busy, but Lexie was listening to Doreen and nodding; another girl served me my coffee. As I left I caught Lexie's eye and we smiled at each other. Back at my house-boat I got my computer out and tried to write. It's what I do, here and there, between odd jobs and the occasional crewing; short pieces about sailing on the east coast, about the country and nature; sometimes pieces for the Parish Magazine – I don't get paid for those, of course. At that time, I was working on a romantic short story. They get accepted sometimes by women's magazines. It was difficult concentrating on my heroine, though; a sweet, round face framed in pink hair and smallish, pert breasts got in the way. When I thought the soup was cooked enough, I turned the gas out to let it cool and made a sandwich for lunch.

There didn't seem much point in just mooching around waiting for Lexie to come back and I couldn't raise any interest in any of the books I had available, so I went for a walk along the sea-front. It was just about high water and there were boats entering the Deben, presumably either intending to stop at the Ferry or motor over the ebb; others were leaving on the first of the ebb. It was a fresh breeze – meaning about seventeen to twenty knots, not that it was cold, though it was quite cool, being from the north-east – and I enjoyed it. Perfect sailing conditions, I thought.

As I walked back I thought I was feeling like a teenager in love for the first time. My heart was beating a little faster than usual and I was walking quicker, too, as if getting to the café early would mean I'd see Lexie earlier, which was silly. As a result I was sitting –uncomfortably – on the low metal fence (actually it's for flood prevention). Lexie emerged from the café and her face lit up when she saw me. No-one has ever seemed that pleased to see me before. She actually ran across the rough pebbles covering the car-park to get to me and hugged me so hard I wondered if my ribs were in danger.

"Whoa, there! I'm happy you're pleased to see me, but don't crush my chest," I wheezed.

She laughed, and took my hand. "Let's get home," she emphasised. "Then ... you need to tell me your story."

"Yes, dear," I said meekly, hoping to hear that giggle again.

It worked. I just loved ... love ... that giggle.

Back at the house-boat, I blended the soup and put it in a casserole dish in the oven to heat through. Later, I'd make dumplings and put them in; it makes them crisp on top and fluffy inside, cooking them in the oven.

"Do you drink?" I looked at her as I headed for my stash of whisky.

"I have been known to. What've you got?"

"Great selection," I said, "anything you like as long as it's Famous Grouse whisky."

"I guess I'll have a drop of whisky, then. With water, unless you've got some ginger ale."

"Nope, no ginger ale. Famous Grouse isn't very expensive, but it's much too good to spoil by mixing it with ginger ale. A little water is good."

I fetched the bottle out of concealment. Why do I hide it? Don't know, but I don't leave anything of value laying around and my bottle of whisky falls into that category. I don't drink much, but when I do, I want it to be there. I poured a couple of fingers into two tumblers and added water. I handed one to her and sat next to her on the couch with mine.