Katie Fforde

Going Dutch

© 2007

Acknowledgements

To the DBA, the Barge Association, for the rally and other barge related events, including a kind man called Alan, who thought of the title for me.

To Jonathan Early for the gilding which really was magical; to B J Wood & Son, who are an extraordinary boatyard; to Harriet Jones for many things, including her pink engine, and not forgetting our own dear Accacia, who is the star of the show, in my eyes, anyway.

To the wonderful team at Random House including Kate Elton and Georgina Hawtrey-Woore, the art department, the sales force who are as inspired as they are outrageous, and the wonderful Charlotte Bush who has brilliant ideas and an excellent taste in hotels. None of it would be possible or anything like as much fun without any of you.

To dear Richenda Todd who stops me embarrassing myself so tactfully and so frequently.

To Sara Fisher and everyone else at A M Heath, including Sarah Molloy who is still my friend! It is a privilege to work with such talented, diligent people.

Chapter One

Dora put down her bags and looked at the woman who was waving to her from across the water. As instructed, she had taken a taxi from the station that serviced the pretty Thames-side town and had been deposited at the gates of the moorings. Then she had telephoned to announce her arrival. Her new landlady was going to meet her and let her in.

She did recognise her, of course, but her best friend's mother had changed a bit since she'd last seen her. Now she was wearing a long overshirt and a pair of baggy jeans. Before, she had worn the sort of County women's clothes Dora's mother wore: skirts, silk shirts, or possibly a shaped T-shirt, with a cashmere cardigan round the shoulders. Her hair, which used to look coiffed in a hairdresser-once-a week way, was now rather wild. She was smiling warmly, however, and Dora felt that going to her for refuge may not have been such a bad idea after all.

‘How did you manage this lot on the train?' asked Mrs Edwards when she had crossed the bridge and reached Dora. She picked up a selection of 'bags for life' that bulged with woolly jumpers. 'And why do you need all these jumpers? It's May!'

‘My mother said it's always cold on boats,' Dora explained apologetically. 'And people were very helpful,' she went on, remembering how their kindness had nearly made her break down and cry. She was so brittle, the smallest thing was likely to set her off.

‘I do really think that on the whole mankind is nicer than it gets credit for,' said Mrs Edwards, politely ignoring the remark about the cold and boats. 'Now, follow me.’

Dora heaved her rucksack on to her back and followed her along the path to a tall steel gate. Mrs Edwards leant forwards against a metal plate. The door beeped and she pushed it open.

‘I keep the fob in my bra,' she explained. 'I've usually got my hands full. I'll give you one, then you can come and go as you want.' She sent Dora a glance. `OK?’

Dora nodded and followed Mrs Edwards down the walkway to the pontoons. Tied up against each one was a barge of some kind. Although she longed to look at them, Dora was grateful that Mrs Edwards didn't stop – her rucksack was so heavy. They had passed about four barges, each different from the other, before Mrs Edwards halted next to a huge vessel painted dark green.

‘This is The Three Sisters. It was originally called that in Dutch, but no one could say it, so Michael, who owns it, translated it. It's a common name for Dutch barges.’

Mrs Edwards swung the bags over the side of the barge and then followed them, her legs going over in a surprisingly nimble way. Dora thought her own mother would have made much more of a meal of it, but reflected that her mother had always made a meal of everything, which in part explained why she was here.

Mrs Edwards turned to give Dora a hand. 'You give me that lot, then if you put your foot there, you can get on board quite easily. A bit of practice and you'll be leaping on and off like a young lamb.'

‘I'm not sure about that,' said Dora, clambering aboard awkwardly. She followed Mrs Edwards up the metal step and through a door.

‘This is the wheelhouse, obviously,' said Mrs Edwards,indicating the huge wheel. 'But also the conservatory.' Amongst a row of flowerpots containing tomato plants and geraniums Dora also spotted pots of basil and parsley. 'All these would have to be moved if we ever went anywhere, which, thank goodness, we're not doing.'

‘You get a good view from here,' said Dora, looking around her. 'And, presumably, lots of sun.'

‘It's a lovely place to sit, I must say. There aren't usually so many barges here, but there are lots of visitors, because of the rally. It starts tomorrow.'

‘Oh, have I come at a bad time?'

‘Not at all! It'll be nice to have some moral support.'

‘Isn't the rally fun, then?' asked Dora. She wasn't sure what a rally involved but she decided just to go along with anything Jo – Mrs Edwards – suggested. She didn't feel up to any decision-making herself quite yet.

‘In a way.' Mrs Edwards was more cautious. 'But on Sunday there's a parade of boats, which means you have to let anyone who wants to, come and look all over your boat.' She looked concerned. 'I find the idea of strangers tramping about my home completely hideous! I'll have to have a massive tidy-up.’

Dora now dimly remembered that her friend Karen's mother had always had a more laissez-faire attitude to tidiness than her own mother. She'd been very relaxed about them making a mess in the kitchen, experimenting with recipes for toffee, fudge and, later, pancakes. 'Well, of course, I'll help you.'

‘Let's not think about it now. Let's go down and have a glass of wine. I know it's only five-thirty, but as far as I'm concerned, the sun's over the yardarm,' said Mrs Edwards.

‘What does that mean?'

‘I'm not quite sure, but I do know it means you can have a drink. I think when you've had a long journey and not a very brilliant time recently, you deserve one. And I have to keep you company.' She smiled and Dora thought what a nice-looking woman she was. Middle-aged, of course, but quite attractive.

She returned the smile and followed her landlady down a flight of wooden stairs.

When Dora's best friend Karen had called, all the way from Canada, and said, 'Go and stay with Mum on her barge,' Dora had been diffident.

‘She won't want me inviting myself to stay. She's had a ghastly time herself!'

‘I'll tell her. She must know what's happened anyway, she was invited to the wedding. But she'd love having you. She needs the company. Whatever she says, she must be lonely, and you might be able to stop her getting too eccentric.’

Dora wasn't nearly as bossy as Karen and had no intention of trying to put Mrs Edwards back on the path of conventionality, but as she really needed somewhere to go, she eventually agreed. 'Being a social pariah, I don't have much choice,' she'd said.

‘You're not a social pariah! You fell out of love with a man who really was quite boring and then changed your mind about getting married. People do it all the time. It's no big deal.’

Dora had spluttered her disbelief. 'Yes it is! We'd been planning this wedding for about five years.'

‘Not since you were seventeen, for goodness' sake! You only met John when you were seventeen.'