Chapter 6

Tom was the first up; in grubby jeans and t-shirt he ate a quick breakfast before boarding Reminder to tidy up some loose ends he would normally have dealt with the previous evening. So when Chrissie arrived, having risen, eaten a cooked breakfast and dressed with care, she didn't find him on board 'Peewit', his yacht. It didn't take much effort to deduce where he was and she picked her way across the decks of SBs Wivenhoe and Xylonite to reach Reminder. He looked up from his labours and smiled a welcome.

"Have you much to do?" Her opening words, uttered, perhaps, a little nervously, seemed to please Tom.

"Odds and ends, only," he responded, "perhaps an hour, then I'm free for a few days. I was going to take a busman's holiday in Peewit starting this evening."

"Can I do anything?" The offer pleased him more; he'd never thought she was backward in pulling her weight on board, but it reinforced his already high opinion of her character.

"If you don't mind, there's quite a bit of washing up I didn't do yesterday. I wouldn't want you to get those things mucky on deck."

"I'm not wearing anything that really matters, but I'll certainly tidy up below."

"Thanks, Chrissie, that'll speed things up a lot."

As a result, it was a lot less than an hour later that Tom was trotting off along the quay to shower and change. Chrissie, meanwhile, was brewing coffee in Reminder's galley. It needs to be explained at this point that many Thames barges, including Reminder, are built of steel plates (hence known in the barge world as 'ironpots'). It may be imagined there's not much chance of getting a mobile signal below even if there's a good signal on deck. Which is problematic along the east coast. Tom returned and they took mugs of coffee on deck along with a scone each left over from the previous voyage.

They'd hardly been there more than a few minutes when Chrissie's mobile phone rang and informed her she had a missed call. She recognised the number as being that of her Director of Music.

"I'd better find out what he wants, Tom."

He nodded, though with a closed expression.

"Hello, Simon, what can I do for you? ... I don't know, I've only been here a few hours ... Heidi Erhartt? She's really good ... No, I definitely can't get back for rehearsals tomorrow ... I should grab Heidi if I were you, she'll be a real asset to the ensemble ... thank you for the vote of confidence in my ability, but I'm thinking I'd rather be happy than famous. I'll collect my things from Maidstone ... thanks Simon, and the same to you."

She cut off the call by closing her phone with a snap and looked round to see Tom wearing a quizzical expression.

"Was that what I think it was?"

"I suppose that would depend on what you thought it was."

"It sounded as though you've made a difficult decision ... to give up your career as a concert musician."

"Not ... exactly. I'm taking a chance. Simon Palmer, our director, wanted me back in the ensemble. He said he had the opportunity to replace me with Heidi Erhartt, who's an excellent pianist. Perhaps better than me, though I think I'm more versatile. He flattered me, saying he didn't want to lose me. I'm not exactly throwing away my career, though it might be hard for me to get another opening. It's just ... well ... I think there's something more important to me than fame and fortune. There are other things I can do besides seek a career as a virtuoso."

They were both silent, then, drinking their coffee.

Tom broke the silence. "But ... isn't music your life?" He looked at her, but she was staring out across the mud that was rapidly appearing as the tide ebbed.

She turned to look at him and her eyes were bright; a single tear trickled down her cheek. "No, Tom. You are." Then, "I'm not giving up music, Tom, I'm giving up a career which is keeping me away from you..." She held her breath.

"Aisling? You really want me?"

"Yes," she replied simply.

He put down his mug, took hers and placed it next to his on the hold cover; he took her face between his two hands, leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers in a kiss that expressed, for both of them, the frustrations and emptiness of their separation.

"I was going to take a few days to sail my boat instead of the barge," Tom said, "I need to be back Friday morning, though, to take Reminder out again Friday night for the week-end." He paused, took a deep breath, and asked, "Would you like to come?"

"Yes, please." Then, adding nervously, "I need to collect my things from Maidstone. They won't want to carry them around if I'm not travelling with them..."

"We'd better go, then..." Tom stood and held out his hand for Chrissie, who stood and pulled him to her to kiss him again.

They took their mugs and plates below, washed them hastily and shut the barge up.

It's only about fifty miles from Maldon to Maidstone, but those fifty miles include the M25 and the toll-crossing of the Thames at Dartford, so it was lunch-time when they arrived and food was the first priority. It was just as well they did that first, because the coaches didn't arrive until nearly three o'clock. They then had to wait for the cases to be unloaded; Chrissie's two and a holdall were almost the last to come off.

Chrissie introduced Rob and Tom.

"You're a lucky B..." Rob told Tom, smiling and holding out his hand.

Tom nodded, seriously. "I know," he said, taking Rob's hand and shaking it firmly. "Thank you for, you know, being cool about things. Looking after Chrissie, I mean... " he floundered, not knowing what else to say.

"No problem, mate ... she's a great girl and, well, I hope she's happy." He turned to Chrissie, "I put your cases on first to make sure of them, but I took your twelve-string in the coach with me. I assume you took your regular guitar with you?"

Chrissie nodded. "It usually goes everywhere with me, but I left it at the B&B today ... Oh!" She turned to Tom, "I never told them I'd be leaving..."

"Don't worry about it," he reassured her, "they're good folks. They might ask for a night's money if they had to turn someone away, but probably not. I'll give them a call, in fact, while you're collecting your things." He walked a little distance away, deliberately turning his back on Rob and Chrissie.

Chrissie took both of Rob's hands in hers. "Thank you, Rob. It's not enough, but thank you." She drew him close and kissed him softly on the lips, then releasing him she picked up a case to carry it to Tom's old Skoda. Rob followed with the other case and the holdall, leaving them with her at the car in order to collect her twelve-string guitar which was with his own luggage. She accepted it from him with another gentle smile, placing it carefully on the back seat before getting in beside Tom.

As they left, she looked back and saw Rob watching them out of sight.

The journey back to Maldon was quite uneventful, though the traffic was beginning to build, and they arrived in time to buy some perishables at the supermarket, collect Chrissie's guitar and bag from The Anchor, sort out what she needed and park the rest in Tom's car. They boarded Peewit just before high water and a light North-Westerly enabled them to sail off the quay.

Tom began to sing as they made their way past the prom;

"Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies, Adieu and farewell to you ladies of Spain, for we're under orders for to sail to old England, and we may never see you fair ladies again..." Tom's voice, an untrained but pleasant light baritone, pleased Chrissie. Tempted at first to join in, something held her back and she just listened. As she did so, she realised Tom was sending a message. Not deliberately, she thought; he was too straight-forward for that. In fact, there was more than one message. One lay in the sheer happiness; of course, that could have been due to being underway in a sailing boat; she knew he was always happiest when sailing but she thought it was more than that. Another lay in the choice of song. Again, she doubted if it was deliberate.

She sat in the cockpit, watching his face, trained mostly forward, with glances aloft at the burgee or the sails but also at her. A gybe was necessary as they rounded the point to pass Heybridge and Chrissie released the stay-sail sheet and sheeted it in as they came round. Their eyes met and Tom's smile broadened.

"You haven't forgotten..."

She shook her head. "Tom ... you don't have to tell me, but ... were there many?"

He frowned. "Many what?"

"Spanish ladies."

"No," he paused, "no ladies of any sort. There were always women who thought ... oh, I don't know. Something about sailors and women in every port. But somehow ... no. None of them were..." he trailed off and concentrated on sailing.

Rounding Hilly Pool Point for the run down to Osea Island, as soon as he had a few moments with less need for concentration, he caught Chrissie's eyes and went on. "None of them were you," he finished simply.

"Oh, Tom! I've been such a fool..."

He patted the seat beside him and, hesitantly, she moved across the cockpit and folded herself into the curve of his arm.

"We never made a commitment, not formally," he said quietly. "You said we were meant to be together and we told each other we loved each other, but we never made a commitment. I didn't hold you to be mine. I never believed I was good enough for you, so I never expected..." he swallowed and fell silent, holding her close, noticing, and correcting, barely in time, that he was off course and the leach of the sail was trembling in anticipation on an involuntary gybe.