Dora set off along the towpath, wearing, as instructed, clean but not new jeans. It went against all her ideas of correct clothes for the office, and would have horrified Ms scary-Nails, but Tom had been firm. 'If you turn up in a little suit and high heels everyone will have a fit and you won't get the job,' he had said.
‘That's good. I didn't bring any clothes like that with me.’
Her sandwiches and bottle of water were concealed in her shoulder bag along with a dictionary and bottle of Tipp-Ex. Jo had handed her a Red Cross parcel, having found a paper shop nearby that supplied these things; they had both agreed that while it probably wasn't entirely necessary, and there would be a gleaming new computer waiting for her, One Never Knew. 'It could be a battered old Underwood,' said Jo, and then reflected that battered old Underwoods had gone out even before her days as an office temp.
It was a lovely day, which helped; the sun was sparkling on the water and, further along, through the trees. She was to carry on walking until she reached the outskirts of the town where there was a riverside pub, Tom had told her. She had then to keep to the towpath and walk round the front of this. The boatyard was on the other side of the river.
She was expecting a bridge or something, because she knew the boatyard was on another island. But there wasn't a bridge; there was Tom. He was down at the river's edge, holding on to the painter of a small rowing boat.
‘Hi, you made it all right, then?' he asked, looking up at her.
‘What are you doing here?' said Dora, not all that pleased to see him. 'I am supposed to be meeting the boatyard people and having my trial day, aren't I?'
‘Oh yes. I'm here to take you to work.' He indicated the boat that bobbed against the slipway. It seemed a long way down and very muddy.
‘I really don't want to go by boat, Tom. I'll get covered in mud.'
‘Don't worry about that, we're all covered in mud. And as for not wanting to, well, I'm afraid there's no choice. At high tide, anyway. For a couple of hours either side of low tide you can walk.' He smiled encouragingly.
Dora looked at the boat, at Tom and then at the boatyard. For what she could see, it seemed to consist of a lot of old barges and boats, a building that looked like a barn with the side missing, and a sign that could have done with a touch-up. She had heard that it had a terrific reputation -not for presentation, obviously. She opened her mouth to make her apologies.
Tom interrupted her. 'Don't be a wuss.’
He was looking at her challengingly and she remem bered she didn't have to stay if she found she hated it. 'OK, then.'
‘It's not called a slipway for nothing, is it?' she said as she slithered her way down to the water's edge.
‘Now you know why I told you to wear jeans,' said Tom. 'I hope they're not too tight. Get in.'
‘It's too late to tell me my bum looks big in these,' she said. Very gingerly she stepped into the little boat and sat down hurriedly as it tipped under her.
Tom pulled at the rope until a mud-covered weight appeared. He heaved this into the boat and picked up what seemed to be the only oar. He didn't sit down.
‘How are you going to row with only one oar?' she asked a little nervously.
‘Like this.’
Tom dipped the oar in the water, first on one side of the boat, then the other. In no time they were across.
‘How will I get over if you're not here?' asked Dora, getting to her feet and taking Tom's hand so he could steady her as she got off.
‘If there isn't a boat, you'll have to bellow and someone will get you, but there usually is one. You'll get used to it.’
Convinced that she wouldn't, Dora said nothing. In spite of being careful, there was a fair bit of mud on her jeans, but she'd just have to trust Tom that it wouldn't matter.
She followed Tom up the slipway and along to a ladder. They went up this and followed a series of planks that ran along the side of the barn that Dora now realised was a temporary workshop rigged up over a barge. From under the tarpaulin covering could be heard the sounds of banging and sawing, whistling and Radio 2.
‘Sorry about the radio,' said Tom. 'The oldies like that easy-listening stuff and the rants.’
Someone stuck his head through a gap in the canvas. 'Not so much of the oldies, young Tom. Oh, is this our new girl in the office? Does it mean we'll get proper pay slips at last? Great!' The man had thick blond hair like teased rope and a gap in his teeth revealed by his broad smile. 'Will she be in charge of brewing up?'
‘No,' said Tom. 'Come on, Dora, no need to take any notice of the riff-raff.’
Dora smiled at the riff-raff and continued to follow Tom along the planks to where there was a small wooden building. 'Fred?' he called. 'I've brought Dora.’
A small man with grey hair and a worried expression appeared at the door. 'Morning, Dora, welcome to Paper Hell. I'm Fred. Tom, put the kettle on.’
Dora followed Fred into the shed. It consisted of two desks, several filing cabinets and a couple of office chairs. The walls were papered with charts, notes, drawings, notices, calendars and blueprints. Both desks bore tottering piles of files, catalogues, magazines and unopened letters. Fred's description of it being Paper Hell seemed an understatement.
‘Sit down,' he said, removing a pile of ring binders from a chair so that she could. 'How do you like your tea? Or would you prefer coffee?'
‘Either,' said Dora to an enquiring Tom. 'Milk no sugar in whichever.'
‘Well, Dora,' said Fred, when Tom had disappeared into what looked like a lean-to. 'I hope you like a challenge.’
Dora found that she did and returned Fred's smile. 'Have you got a computer?' she asked.
‘Over there. State of the art. None of us knows how to use it.’
Dora pushed up her sleeves, actually and meta phorically. 'Where should I sit and what would you like me to do first?'
‘That's up to you, love, but there's some post that should be opened, I suppose.'
‘Can I have a free hand? I won't throw anything away unless I'm absolutely sure, but I will sort stuff into piles.’
Fred's relief spread over his face, erasing several years of worry as it did so. 'You do exactly what you like!’
Jo had known that she wouldn't be able to apply the gold leaf for a few days, until the coats of gesso were really dry, and was grateful. She was nervous of ruining such an expensive product. She cleared away her materials, stroking the cold, smooth end of her agate burnisher tenderly against her cheek for a moment before putting it in its box. Was she enjoying herself so much just because she liked the tools involved? It probably was part of it. She wiped the table, reminded of the times she'd wiped the table after Dora and Karen had made Valentine's cards, plaster models or later, jewellery. She was obviously still a little girl at heart.
As it was still only three, she decided she had plenty of time to check her emails when she'd stored everything away. She wanted to email her daughter Karen, to tell her how Dora was getting on. Karen would be impressed to hear that Dora was having a trial at a new job and completely amazed that she'd been talked into performing karaoke. Jo was amazed herself. It wasn't something she could ever have done, however drunk. She made a cup of coffee while the computer warmed up, and then clicked her way through to her Inbox and was surprised and a little unnerved to see one from Michael. He hadn't been in touch since just after she'd moved on board. Was he saying that he needed to come back immediately? *
Dear Jo, Hope all is well with The Three Sisters and you. Can you look in the boat file and tell me when she's next due a Boat Safety Examination? The file's in the case in the desk. The insurance is always due about the same time. I'll phone in a few days if you haven't read this message by then. You did say you went on-line most days. Best, Michael.
Well, she wasn't going to be made homeless immedi ately, which was good. Jo found the case and in it the file.
The Boat Safety Certificate was due to be renewed in a couple of weeks. This was a bit unnerving because it might involve her in doing something boaty – something she really didn't want to do. She shuffled through the papers until she found the insurance certificate. That was due soon too. She took both bits of paper to her laptop and started replying to Michael's email. Then she looked at the date of the Boat Safety Certificate again. She was out by a year. The Three Sisters hadn't had a valid certificate for eleven months. Feeling slightly sick, she checked the insurance. That at least was still valid, although only had a few weeks to run.
Dear Michael… She told him of her discoveries.
To her relief, she had her reply almost immediately.
Dear Jo, What a bloody nuisance! I can't believe I didn't check before. You'll have to dry dock her and have a survey to get the insurance renewed. It's best if she can go where she went last time. She needs some work done to her too. I'll arrange it. I'll be back with more details shortly. Stay on-line. Best, Michael
Jo went to make another cup of coffee to replace the one she had let go cold. She tidied the galley whilst she was waiting for the kettle to boil. All the joy she had felt modelling the little cherub's foot had been replaced by anxiety. Where would she and Dora live? And it might be very difficult for Dora, if she had just found a job she could get to love. A ting from her laptop warned her there was another message – from Michael.
All sorted. She's booked into the dry dock and they can do the work. Very lucky to get a slot as it is a bit urgent. Just as well the insurance is still valid. Best, Michael It's all right for Michael, thought Jo. He doesn't have to actually do anything about any of this. He can just stay in his luxury villa with his trophy mistress and direct operations. She pressed Reply again.
You know I'm really grateful to you for lending me The Three Sisters but I'm a bit worried about having to deal with this. I did tell you I wasn't boaty! I don't suppose you could put it off for a few months, could you? Or even a few weeks, just so as I can find somewhere to stay. Jo
Jo was not normally so relaxed about things like insurance, but, she reckoned, no one would know if The Three Sisters was insured or not, except her and Michael. It would be a different matter if she was going to go anywhere, but just sitting on the mooring shouldn't alert anyone to their uninsured presence, surely? She pressed Send and hoped Michael would listen to her pleas. After all, he'd surely want to supervise things when he was in the country? He wouldn't want his middle-aged female lodger in charge.
She chopped some onions as a displacement activity. Her laptop pinged again.
So sorry, failure of communication! No need for you to worry about any of this. I'll sort it.
Jo was mortified by her relief. She knew her daughter would have taken on the challenge of getting a barge into dry dock with enthusiasm. Karen had acquired some courageous genes that had skipped a generation and passed her mother by, unless they came from her father, of course.
Reluctant to admit that Karen's father had had anything to do with her daughter, she decided to capitalise on her displacement activity and chop carrots and celery too. She'd make a nice lasagne for supper. Dora would need something familiar and easy to eat after her first day at a new job.
Dora came home exhausted, muddy, but happy. 'I've had a brilliant time!' she said. 'They're all so sweet at the boatyard.'
‘So you're going to stay?' asked Jo, infected with Dora's enthusiasm.
‘Definitely. It's great! They haven't had anyone working there for ages so there's masses to do. I'll have to devise a system for them. They have got a computer but they only use it for typing letters on. I'm going to get them into order. I love that sort of challenge,' she added, sighing blissfully. 'Tough, but not actually life-threatening.'
‘Goodness.'
‘Well, you know how it is: when things have been absolutely dreadful, anything I do is going to seem brilliant. It's a win-win situation. Like you said it was when you were temping. I am so tired though!’
Jo handed her a mug of tea and a rock cake she had made in case she couldn't repair decorative objects and needed to open that teashop.
‘So, how was your day?' Dora mumbled through half a cake.
‘Well, I started on the picture frame, the one with the broken cherub and the broken moulding? I really got into it. I just hope I'm good enough to make the things sellable.'
‘Oh, let me see,' Dora said.
‘They're drying under cover – I'll show you later.’
‘And? What else happened today?’
Determinedly, Jo put the smile back on her face. 'Michaelemailed asking me to check the insurance and the Boat Safety Certificate.'
‘Were they OK?' Dora had spent time checking similar things all day and felt she had a professional interest.
‘The insurance was. The Boat Safety's about a year out of date. But I don't think it will matter. After all, we're not going anywhere, are we?’
Dora shook her head. 'These cakes are lush.' Jo sounded relaxed but Dora sensed some disquiet about living somewhere without all the relevant documents.
‘I think it will be all right,' Jo went on, almost to herself. 'What time do you think you might be hungry again?’
Dora's hand stopped halfway to her mouth. 'Um, not terribly soon. These cakes are just too delicious. Sorry! Oh, and I've just remembered.'
‘What?'
‘I've invited Tom for supper.'
‘That's nice. I've made a big lasagne.'
‘I know I shouldn't have without asking you and I'm perfectly happy to cook, but I felt I had to ask him.’
‘Why?'
‘He met me this morning and rowed me across to the boatyard.'
‘He rowed you? You mean there's no other way of getting there? Dora, that's awful!’
Dora smiled happily. 'You only have to row when the tide's in. When it's out there's a really muddy set of stepping stones you get over.’
Jo rolled her eyes. 'That's OK, then!'
‘Can I email Karen?' asked Dora, pulling the laptop towards her. 'I want to tell her what's going on.'
‘Good idea. I was going to do that before I got that email from Michael.’
Karen replied quite soon.
Hi, Dora, great to hear from you! I'm writing this in my lunch hour. Brilliant about you getting a job so soon. It sounds fab. Is Mum OK? Is she in a stress about the boat being uninsured? She used to be really hot on that sort of thing. She may be putting a brave face on it, but worrying really.
By the way, could you ask her if she could find my fork-lift truck driving qualification? They won't believe I've got one here and I need it to move the big installations around. (The fork lift, not the certificate!) I don't want to take another test here! It's in a file at home somewhere. I know that's a bit of a bind, but I do need it. You could go home with her and protect her from the Floosie. Oh, got to go. Bye! Love, Karen
'I'm not sure I want to go home,' Jo said when she'd read her daughter's post. 'Even with you to protect me.'
‘Why not? Shall I set the table for supper?' Dora asked, shutting down the computer.
‘Yes, and open a bottle of wine. In the cupboard. Because I've sort of made my statement.' Jo returned to the subject at hand. 'I don't want to have to go back. Although as it is for Karen's certificate, and Philip won't mind. It's just me.'
‘Couldn't he get it for Karen?'
‘Not a cat in hell's chance. He'd never find it, or she'd have asked him.'
‘What a nuisance!'
‘On the other hand' – Jo hunted in a drawer for the bottle-opener – 'there are some clothes I need to collect. We could do that at the same time, I suppose.'
‘Is it only clothes?' said Dora as she laid the table.
Jo considered. 'I expect there are other things. I left most of the utensils and I could do with some of them.'
‘Let's go on a raid,' suggested Dora. 'Next weekend. I wouldn't mind seeing if you've got those old tapes of me and Karen.'
‘That's a good idea. Now, where's that Tom? Supper's just about ready,' Jo said, peering into the oven.
Just at that moment, Tom's voice could be heard hallooing. Jo shouted up out of the porthole and he came down.
While they were eating, Jo's phone rang. She got up from the table and answered it. It was Philip.
‘Jo? I've had an email from Karen. She says she needs her fork-lift truck licence and that you've got to get it.’
‘I could try and tell you where it is-'
‘Don't bother. I never could find anything in that rats' nest you call a filing system. Karen says Samantha and I have got to go out for the day. She's very protective of you, I must say.’
Jo was silent, giving Philip time to realise why Karen was protective of her mother.
‘It won't take you that long to find, will it?' Philip went on.
Now he seemed to be grudging her time in her old home, Jo felt indignant. 'I do need my summer clothes and I would prefer it if – you weren't there.' Jo was surprised at how shaky she felt at the prospect of seeing her husband's new woman.
‘Better for Samantha too. I don't want her getting upset.’
Jo's shakiness became anger. 'Of course not.' She bit out the words with more emphasis than was really appropriate.
Dora and Tom looked at their plates.
‘No need to get antsy. The house is immaculate. Samantha has redecorated the spare room and it looks lovely.’
It looked lovely when I decorated it, thought Jo, outraged at the thought of her humorous toile de Jouy wallpaper being removed. 'Dora and I will come next weekend, if that's all right. But do please arrange to be out. I would hate to upset Samantha.’