Chapter 10

Delia and Gerry might have continued 'pussy-footing round' each other indefinitely. With Delia increasingly involved with church, home helping, English conversation and learning Arabic; with Gerry increasingly fascinated by the local traditional sailing world, they were much less in one another's company. Delia, despite her new-found faith, still believed herself unworthy to love a man like Gerry, who she perceived as a hero. Gerry, similarly, thought Delia to be too good for him; even knowing something of her history, the turn around of her life and her obvious care for others led him to place her on a pedestal. If none of this were so, he'd still have kept his distance from a married woman.

The catalyst for change occurred in early March, just before the beginning of Lent. Gerry, more and more, was eating a sandwich for lunch with Tom or whoever he was working with, rather than walking home for lunch with Delia. For some reason, that day (it was a Monday) he decided to return home. He found Delia in the kitchen... (where else? It was her place – not in a 'the woman's place is in the kitchen' sense, but just that she was comfortable there). She was sitting, staring blankly straight ahead, papers on the table, one in her hand. Tears streaked her face.

"Delia?" He spoke a little sharply and regretted it immediately, but she suddenly responded, returning to earth with a bump. He saw her expression change as she forced it into a semblance of cheerful normality. "Delia?" His voice deliberately much gentler this time.

"Oh, hello Gerry. I wasn't really expecting you home."

"No. I understand that. What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing, really."

"The sort of nothing that's something," he said, "of course, if it's really private..."

"I suppose ... you deserve to know," she said, "It's my decree nisi."

"You're getting divorced? Did you not want to?"

"Yes ... no ... I don't know. I thought about it after what he ... what we ... did. He was angry with me, though and went ahead. I ... didn't oppose it. I, well, I don't love him any more, if I ever did, but this ... brings home all the confusion, the disappointment, the feeling of failure. Another six weeks or so and it'll be final. I'll probably go back to being Delia Evans, I expect. I'll have to think about that." She fell silent for several minutes.

Gerry didn't prompt her, but let her be quiet and think.

"I talked to Dulcie," she went on. "St. Paul, apparently, wrote that a believer married to an unbeliever should live with him if he permitted it, and let him go if that was what he wished, that she was not bound in that situation. So, when I got the petition for divorce, I ... let him go."

She was silent again and Gerry still said nothing; mainly because he couldn't think of anything constructive to say. Delia sat looking at her hands, clasped on the table, resting on a jumble of legal paper. Then she looked up, took a deep breath, obviously gathering herself together.

"You'll be hungry, I expect, and I need to eat, too. Sandwiches okay, or would you like me to knock up an omelette?"

He smiled. "Sandwiches will be fine." He stood. "I'll boil the kettle while you gather up your papers."

As he moved around the kitchen, she shuffled paper together and left the room with it. When she returned, he was placing bread, cheese, tomatoes and pickles on the table with a pot of tea.

"Thank you, Gerry," she said.

"Not a problem," he said.

The incident had a profound effect on their relationship, though the full effects were not obvious for some time. The next day was Shrove Tuesday and Delia made pancakes for the first time since childhood, then it was Ash Wednesday and Lent had begun.

Gerry didn't know what to do, how to proceed. He'd been married, briefly. The intensity of his work, the training, the absences on deployment ... coming home to find his wife in their bed with an insurance salesman. It had, apparently, been going on for some time ... If she was free to marry ... he was quite sure Delia was honest and loyal. She was certainly attractive.

One thing he did was begin to attend church, though not every week. He was welcomed warmly, partly as Bert's grandson, of course, but also for himself. Sitting with Delia, it is perhaps not surprising that they were thought of as an item, even if they hadn't got that far themselves.

Delia joined a Lent group, meeting one evening a week in the Octagon, studying the gospel of St. Mark. Gerry declined, as he preferred to visit Tom. The days passed and while Delia and Gerry were friendly, even comfortable around each other, there was still a tension there. Neither was admitting it, though, if they recognised it at all.

At Easter, Gerry was away with Tom aboard Reminder for a long weekend. The skipper was a woman, Becky Jones. Sturdy, weathered and fair-haired she was very business-like and professional; Tom, she knew and could rely on to do whatever was necessary. Gerry, she tested, sometimes not so gently, and had him do every job on board, initially under Tom's supervision. Some of it was very hard work. Gerry was glad he'd begun exercising at Christmas, though that wasn't really enough for some of the work; winding the crab-winches for the lee-boards, for example, or the anchor windlass. Tom told him that some skippers didn't wind the lee-boards up and down every tack, but that Becky was a perfectionist.

"And," he added, "she's putting you through the mill to see what you're made of."

Gerry just grunted and hoped they'd be on that tack long enough for his arms to recover.

Delia missed having Gerry around. Even if they didn't spend much time together, the house felt empty. But there was plenty going on; services Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Saturday and Sunday – Delia made herself get up for the dawn service on Easter day. She couldn't make up her mind about Gerry. She liked him, respected him, was attracted to him but struggled with the idea she might have him. She had to admit she was jealous ... yes, quite green ... when she saw him with other women. Did she deserve to ... should she say something?

With Reminder due in Tuesday afternoon, she made preparations for a substantial, extra-special meal for Tuesday evening. Should she go down to the quay to meet the ship? No, she thought not.

Reminder arrived back on schedule. Becky started the diesel engine for the first time since leaving in order to manoeuvre safely to her berth and they busied themselves about the ship as the punters drifted off, thanking the crew for their voyage, in several cases slipping Tom a substantial tip, which he later offered to share with Gerry.

"After all, you've done most of the work..."

Gerry smiled, but shook his head. "That's good of you, Tom, but I don't need it and I think you probably do."

Tom dipped his head and shrugged, but then smiled. "Thanks. I can certainly use it."

Gerry got his kit together, his 'dunnage', and found Becky to thank her.

"No thanks, Gerry," she said, "you've worked hard and have been more use than some Mates I've sailed with. Thank you. I don't suppose you'd be interested in supper this evening, would you?"

Gerry was surprised. Becky was not unattractive at all, but she'd been so professional throughout the trip that he hadn't thought she'd noticed him as a 'person' rather than as 'crew'. Thinking rapidly, he accepted. Delia hadn't shown any interest, he thought; surely she wouldn't mind if he was out that evening.

He arrived back at the house a little after five o'clock to find Delia busy in the kitchen, which hardly surprised him. She looked with a smile up as he entered.

"Welcome home, sailor," she smiled.

"Thanks," he replied a little awkwardly, "I ... er ... I'll be going out this evening. The skipper asked me."