Chapter 1

Jenni Peters... Doctor Jennifer Peters, Ph.D. (mathematics) wrinkled her nose as she wiped her small son's bottom. "I hate using disposable nappies," she told him, perfectly aware he would not really understand what she was saying, "but on this occasion I'm glad I haven't got to deal with a terry one."

The child gurgled and said... 'Dada..."

"I timed that just right from the smell of it." Marty, her husband, was standing in the doorway when she turned to look.

"Oh, your timing is always impeccable," she commented. "Didn't I hear the phone?"

"You did," he said, his expression suddenly serious. "It was Jessica. She said could you go over."

"Now?" Jenni's expression too turned serious. "I hope Dave's okay..."

"She said not to break your neck but sooner would be better than later."

"Oh dear ... would you mind finishing Davie off? I'll go straight there."

"Oh ... she said 'take a pound coin'."

"Whatever... ?" Jenni shrugged and left. It being a mild spring day in early May, she just put on sandals and walked the short distance to Jessica and Dave Yeoman's home.

Jessica greeted her. Jenni thought she looked unhappy; distraught might be closer.

"Dave not too good?"

"Jenni ... I think ... he's going to die..." She turned away and Jenni followed her upstairs.

Dave Yeomans was propped up in bed, with an oxygen mask over his face. His breathing sounded dreadful, but his eyes lit up when he saw Jenni enter the room.

"Jenni, Precious, thank you for coming," he wheezed, removing the mask briefly.

"You know I'll always come," she said, "what's it about?"

"Have you got a pound?"

"Yes, but..."

"Would you give it to me, please?"

"Yes," she handed the coin over, "but..."

He lifted his hand; it appeared to take considerable effort. He then fumbled for an envelope which he handed to her. "Open it," he said.

It contained a bill of sale, transferring ownership of 'the sailing ketch with auxiliary engine, "Eirene" in exchange for one pound sterling and 'other valuable considerations'.

"Dave ... Dad ... why..."

"I ... Jessica and I ... want you to have her. I won't be needing her, and Jessica doesn't want her if, when I ... leave. Perhaps you'll take Ally sailing sometimes."

"But..." Jenni found herself fighting down tears. After a minute or so she got her emotions under control. "What about these 'valuable considerations'?"

He smiled a little painfully. "Your love ... sweetheart; and the ... new life ... you gave ... me."

Jenni sat on the bed. It was an effort to not just flop, but lower herself and not joggle the bed. She took his hand. "Dad ... don't die..." That time her attempt to control her tears failed and they streamed down her face.

"Don't cry ... darling... " His eyes shut, though he was still gripping her hand. Gradually his grip slackened, but he was still breathing – steadily if noisily – and Jenni fetched an easy chair and placed it next to the bed so she could sit, hold her adoptive father's hand and watch his face in physical comfort. Inside, she was deeply sad. For almost twenty years he'd been her ... well firstly, her saviour, but then her counsellor, support, guide and mentor. He'd loved her and encouraged her. Knowing him, she'd colluded with her advocate, Jessica Barnett. The two had proved to be soul-mates and Jenni had loved Dave (and, indeed, Jessica) enough that she'd suppressed her own desire to have him for herself; she'd sung at their wedding and known joy in their happiness.

Dave would have said Jenni was what she was by her own determination, grit, personality and gifts. Jenni was sure that without Dave she would have achieved little or nothing.

She sat there for some time; when he started coughing, she held him and gave him sips of water and when he drifted off to sleep again, she just held his hand.

It was getting on for midnight when Jessica entered the room.

"Thanks, Jenni, love. I don't like to leave him alone."

"He doesn't need to be alone, Jess, I'll have a word with Marty ... perhaps give Beth or Amy a call ... and I'll sit with him by turns with you, if you like." Her eyes prickled and she knew without looking that Jessica's eyes were bright with tears too.

When Jenni got home, she looked in first on her little boy who was sleeping; he'd kicked his little duvet off and she covered him again before going to her bedroom.

Marty was still awake; sitting up in bed reading Joshua Slocum's book. He looked up as she came in.

"Not so good, Jen?"

"I'm scared, Marty. Jessica thinks he's going to die. I've never seen him so ... reduced."

"Best get some sleep, sweetheart. You'll be wanting to sit with him, I'm sure. I'll call Beth. She'll certainly look after Davie while I'm working."

Beth Robinson was more than happy to take Davie in; her own daughter, Callista, at eleven, loved small children and would immediately shift into 'mother' mode.

So for a couple of days, Jessica and Jenni sat in turn with their loved one; holding his hand, feeding him sips of water or juice, inhalers and medicine. As it happened, Jessica was just about to take over the vigil from Jenni when his breathing altered to a pattern called 'Cheyne-Stokes' breathing; becoming shallower and shallower, stopping altogether for several seconds then starting again. They looked at each other and neither left.

He stopped breathing altogether half an hour later. At least, they would tell each other later, he hadn't been alone.

Formalities, procedures, necessary actions, got them through the next days, as they contacted friends and family with the news. The funeral was to be the following Friday.

Anh and Terry Knight, both 'Reverend' made arrangements to cover the Seaman's Mission in Portsmouth to head to Suffolk to take the service (with the permission of the Vicar of the parish). Amy and John Shepherd made their own arrangements to be there. Donna McPherson (nee Taylor), no longer a Goth, travelled from Edinburgh to hold her father's hand and weep with her friend Jenni.