Chapter 11

Chrissie half woke in the wee small hours, reached for Tom and whimpered when her hand found empty space. Surfacing a little further, she remembered Tom saying he was going; she clasped her hands together in front of her face ... and prayed, feeling as she did so the ring on her finger; comforted, she dropped off to sleep again, fingers of her right hand on the ring.

At about the same time, Tom was piloting a barge with about six hundred tons of aggregate on board down the Colne from Wivenhoe trying hard to maintain his focus on his job as the ship was battered by the moderating, but still high, winds. It takes time for a high sea to settle down, even when the winds drop – so, leaving the Colne, passing Brightlingsea, Tom's ship (motor barge Colne Rose) began to feel the swell. The wind, at north-west, was off the land and hence somewhat reduced, but that was relative and even in The Swin, the passage between land and shoals on the route into the Thames, the swell was considerable and Colne Rose, despite her heavy cargo, was heaving and corkscrewing awkwardly, not to mention taking the sea green over the bows. By the end of his watch, Tom was tired and more than ready for his bunk.

He fell asleep, wedged in against the bulkhead, smiling as he dreamed of his love.

Chrissie made herself get up, shower and dress for school. She had some ideas she was keen to try. However, she didn't really have an opportunity in her first class. A sharp-eyed girl spoke up;

"Miss McKinley!"

"Yes," she paused and from somewhere retrieved the name of the girl, "Jo-anne, isn't it?"

"Yes, Miss. Did you just get engaged?"

"Yes, Jo-anne, I did. I just got the ring yesterday afternoon."

"Wow! Do we know him?"

"You might ... he's one of the barge skippers."

The girl frowned and it was another girl who asked, "Which barge, Miss?"

"Mostly Reminder, I think, but he's away working one of the gravel barges just now."

"Would that be Mister Carmichael?"

Chrissie looked at the girl, "Your name is... ?"

"Natasha Spurgeon, Miss. We live on the Hythe."

"Thank you, Natasha. Yes, I'm engaged to Mister Carmichael," she blushed a little, "we've known each other since we were a little older than you people. But we'd better get on. Let's talk about working songs..."

Mid-morning, Tom took over the watch. They were a little behind schedule, thanks to the heavy sea and despite his pleasant dreams, he felt bleary and tired. A cup of strong coffee was very welcome as they passed Canvey Island. By the end of his 'trick' they were unloading. He handed over, grabbed a bite to eat and fell into his bunk for a couple of hours.

At the same time, Chrissie was well into her afternoon classes. She had not intended to use the working songs topic, but it had worked so well that she followed through with it. The morning's questions had been duplicated several times.

By the time Chrissie finished work on Thursday, she almost felt that she might have been teaching for years. In fact, though she didn't realise it, she had; beginning with Alison Yeomans. It was just that she loved music so much it was second nature to her to share that love with anyone who was interested.

Her main focus as she left school, though, was the expectation that Tom would be returning to her. She wanted to feed him; what could she do ... she didn't want to share him with anyone else that night. The depression had passed and as the temperature rose, so did the humidity. She decided on salad and cooked some new potatoes for potato salad; washed lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber and radishes, spring onions and beetroot, to eat with some ham from a local delicatessen.

It got to seven o'clock and there was no sign of him. Chrissie told herself off for worrying; after all, he hadn't said what time he'd be back. Her stomach growled. She knew Tom would be cross if she didn't eat, so she made a salad sandwich and munched on it without enthusiasm. At half-past eight, her phone rang. At Tom's voice, she relaxed somewhat.

"Sorry, love. I didn't say what time I'd get in, did I? We're in the Colne now. I should be with you by midnight. Don't wait up, will you?"

Half relieved to hear him, half cross he would be so late, she just said, "Take care, Tom," before hanging up. She covered the bowls of salad, made herself some tea and sat down with her guitar, a tune running through her head, words coming, unbidden, to fit it. Words written in the nineteenth century by Elizabeth Barrett Browning;

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

The song was fixed in her mind and heart, but she wrote it down anyway making minor changes only until she was quite satisfied. Then, tired, undressed and climbed naked into bed. The sound of Tom's feet on the deck as he arrived home moved her from 'asleep' to 'just awake', and when he joined her in bed, she wrapped herself round him producing a sigh of satisfied completion, echoed by her own. They coupled, briefly and intensely, before sleeping, pressed together.

In the morning, they were too tired to do more than get washed, dressed and fed before Chrissie had to leave for school. She'd arranged to finish work at lunch-time and in fact would not be working a full week in future anyway, rather, the equivalent of three full days. Tom had an idea for his morning ... he had a purchase to make.

At lunch-time, they ate the salad things Chrissie had prepared the previous evening. If the lettuce was a bit limp, Tom wasn't about to complain. Once they'd finished eating and washed up, Tom went to the bench seat and lifted the cushion, revealing a locker underneath, from which he removed ... a touch-sensitive, electronic, six-octave keyboard, in a padded protective case.

"I know it's not as good as a real piano, but for the time being it's the best I can do," he told her.

She opened the case, switched it on and waited for it to be ready; then ran her fingers over the keys.

"There's a folding stand and some pedals to go with it," Tom said.

She swung round, flung her arms round his neck and kissed him hard.

"Thank you! I was resigned to getting what practice I could at school," she said.

"We need to be getting ourselves sorted for the weekend," Tom said, "If you're coming with us, of course. You could bring the keyboard, but for this time, I suggest just your guitar."

"Of course. I'm not going to spend more time away from you than I have to. And yes, I'll leave the keyboard here until I've tried it out. Oh, Tom ... that was so thoughtful of you."

They packed for the weekend and carried their kit along to Reminder and placed it in the Master's cabin. Tom spent a few minutes going over 'Health and Safety' and the crew's responsibilities, then walked round the ship with Chrissie, exploring how much she could remember. Chrissie was delighted she could remember many of the proper names for ropes and parts of the barge, and demonstrated she remembered how to tie a bowline and a reef knot.

When the caterer arrived, Chrissie recognised her from her last summer with Tom, eight years before and was surprised to be greeted with a warm hug.

"Nita? You haven't changed a bit!"

"Chrissie! You're very kind, but I'm older and fatter. Hasn't put Hubby off though, thank God! It's going to be fun working with you. Brought your guitar?"

"Oh, yes. Never without it."

"Good! Let's be about sorting out a cold buffet for tea!"

The punters trickled in from about four o'clock. Anita and Chrissie explained about the cabins, safety procedures, how to use the sea-toilets and so on, and made tea, coffee and cocoa. Tom, Jim and Andy got Reminder under way easily enough with the light north-westerly wind, the engine running as a safety measure, just before high water at six thirty.

The run down river, the punters helping themselves at the buffet and mostly taking their food on deck to eat, was straightforward, and the barge was anchored in Mersea Quarters by half-past ten. For the most part, Chrissie and Tom had to maintain a discreet distance, though they managed to touch hands from time to time, but once the barge was snugged down for the night with the punters either in their bunks or sitting in the saloon with various drinks, the two sat on the hatch-cover by the mainmast.

"I have a gift for you, " Chrissie said, "it's all my own work. Actually, it's not; the words are nineteenth century. But It's for you." She checked the tuning of her guitar and sang her composition;

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace..."

When she finished, Tom captured her hand and lifted it to his lips.

"I shall treasure it, as I treasure you," he said.

They went below to the Master's cabin, to make love before they slept.

In the morning, they were up bright and early to get the barge underway. The crew needed to eat, of course, and the keener punters were up wanting to do what they could in the managing of the ship, in the first instance, winding the windlass to raise the anchor; hard, manual labour, but somehow appealing to the enthusiast! While cooking bacon and sausages for sandwiches, making tea and coffee and washing up, though, Chrissie was accosted by one of the female passengers.