you think I’m going to shag the water board.”
“No, darling, you’re too busy, and those uniforms won’t do it for you at all.”
“You do realise that you’re actually keeping me from meeting you for this mystery tour of yours?” I say. “Let me go, and I’ll meet you as planned.”
He rings off but not before saying he loves me. It’s something he always does. I suppose the life he’s led, and the people he’s lost along the way, make him treasure life and love more.
I go to move towards the door and then curse as I trip over one of Max’s shoes. I adore living with him and can’t imagine being without him, but it’s a sure fact that this narrowboat isn’t meant for two men, one of whom is very tall. Plus, Max’s idea of tidy would send Marie Kondo into a tailspin. He sheds possessions here, there, and everywhere, and his books alone are going to sink the boat one day.
My smile dies because we’ve come to decision time. We both know we can’t continue living here. He can’t work in such a small space, and I can’t live with the mess. But what do we do? I know he doesn’t want to get rid of the cottage and I can understand that, but equally, I love living on a boat. I love the lifestyle and the close community that grows up around boat people.
But I love Max more. And I want to be with him more than I want to live on a boat. “I’m going to tell him we’ll move to the Cotswolds,” I say out loud to Weetabix, the words hushed but determined. “He gives me everything I want, so I need to do the same.”
She sleeps on, unconcerned. I feel sad at the idea of leaving a place that’s been my home for so long and my job that I love so much, but I need to do this for him.
Half an hour later I get off the bus, eyeing Max appreciatively. He’s leaning against a shop window dressed in jeans and an olive-green parka. He has a beanie crammed over his hair, and a rucksack slung over his shoulder.
“Going to tell me where we’re going?” I call out, and he looks around, his face lighting up when he sees me. It’s a sight I’ll never tire of because it makes me feel warm inside. I never doubt him anymore because I trust him implicitly, and he gives me no need. I know I’m everything to him because he shows and tells me all the time. That once-cordoned-off bloke is now warm and open, holding my hand or running his hands along my shoulders or through my hair. If I’m near him, he’ll touch me. It’s an immutable fact.
He leans close and gives me a smacking kiss. “You’re late,” he informs me.
“Tell it to the bus company. Don’t whine to me,” I advise him.
He grins, gathering my hand and tugging me after him.
“Are we going for a meal?” I ask.
“Of sorts,” he says rather cagily. “Just wanted to show you something and get your opinion on it.”
“Okay,” I say peaceably, wondering if it’s something to do with his writing. No day is ever boring with him, and his research trips are always interesting. So far this year we’ve been to New Orleans to investigate the cemeteries there and then the other night I had to fire pellets at him as he ran around the boat. Max nearly knocking himself out on the low roof had been an added entertainment bonus.
“I’m glad we’ve got some time,” I say. “I need to talk to you.”
“What’s up?” he says, instantly ready to try and sort out whatever is bothering me. Hope not, because he’s a bit hit and miss with that.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about our living arrangements,” I say, “and I think I’ve come to a conclusion.”
I look around as he pulls me along beside him. We’re in St Katherine’s Docks, a marina which is a stone’s throw away from the Tower of London. It’s a very trendy place, once a working dock, but now surrounded by expensive apartments and filled with luxury yachts, posh shops, and restaurants. I wonder if we’re going to see Charlie and Misha, as they live near here on Shad Thames.
“Go on,” he prompts.
“Sorry,” I say absentmindedly. “It’s so lovely here, Max. Imagine having a mooring here. You can see Tower Bridge, and it’s so open and pretty.” He smiles at