‘This will look lovely for your Christmas afternoon teas,’ I offer. ‘Very festive.’
She gives an approving nod. Lija’s equivalent of running round naked doing a happy dance.
‘I must get back to Stan,’ I tell her as I check my watch. ‘I’ve been gone too long.’ I hope he’s still having a nice sleep and hasn’t missed me.
‘I’ve put your bag in your old room. Is OK?’
‘That’s fine. Thank you for having me.’
‘This will always be your home,’ Lija says.
It’s a lovely sentiment, but I’m not so sure if that’s really the case. I feel as if I’m straddling a very strange line between long-term resident and temporary guest. ‘I’ll go and sort myself out, if you don’t need me.’
‘I will make Stan something to eat.’
‘Thanks, Lija. He won’t want much though.’
‘I wasn’t planning three courses plus coffee,’ she snipes.
‘I’ll nip up to my room quickly. If that’s OK with you?’ She rolls her eyes which I take as a yes. So while Lija disappears into the kitchen again, I climb the stairs to my former bedroom.
I thought with Lija living here it would feel different, but it’s all pretty much the same. It still smells the same, the carpet is still worn in the same places, the wallpaper is just as faded. I stand on the landing and inhale. There’s the faint scent of Miranda’s heavy perfume on the air – the ghost of her quite present.
‘I hope you’re proud of yourself, Mum,’ I say into the air. I hope she can hear me. Yet her spitefully cutting me out of her will may have been the best thing she ever did for me. ‘How do you like that, eh?’
I still want to trace my real mum – all I know about her is that she was called Jean Merryweather and that she died too young. While I’ve been on The Dreamcatcher, it’s been impossible – our internet connection is variable, at best. But it’s something that I want to pay more attention to. I want to know more about the woman who brought me into this world. I know my father loved her very much and thought he was doing the best for me when he married Miranda. Still, it’s all water under the bridge now. Mum’s gone, and Dad too. All I have left of them is the Maid of Merryweather which is why it’s so very precious to me.
Going into my old room, I cross straight to the window. I remember sitting here looking out at The Dreamcatcher and longing to be with Danny Wilde who seemed so free and so unattainable. I look at the bed and think of the rare nights I spent with Anthony in here – Anthony snoring and dreaming of his next round of golf, me shrouded in my cover-all nightie; that seems like another lifetime, another person. How things have changed since then.
The night has drawn in now and the garden is in darkness. I can barely make out the canal that runs at the bottom. Momentarily, the clouds part and the moon shines on the water. I catch a brief glimpse of the Maid of Merryweather in the moonlight and my heart swells. I’ll go down and have a look at the old girl tomorrow – see how she’s faring. It would be my dearest wish to do her up one day, restoring her to her former glory. With the current state of my finances, that could be some way down the road.
I take the picture of my mum and dad out of my bag, glad that I threw it in on the top at the last minute, and set it on the dressing table. They’re posing in front of the Maid of Merryweather with me in their arms as a babe. It’s the only photograph I have of them together and I look at it fondly. They look happy, carefree and very much in love.
Still, I can’t linger any longer, so quickly I grab my pyjamas and my wash bag. That will do. I can, at least, clean my teeth, then I can come back here for a shower in the morning. What I’d really like is to lie in a nice, hot bath and relax – one of the things that I do miss living on The Dreamcatcher. But I haven’t time for that now. I must get back to my patient.
Lija gives me a food parcel for Stan. There’s a toasted, buttered teacake wrapped in foil plus a little dish of fresh fruit: some chilled grapes, slices of banana and a handful of juicy, out-of-season strawberries. A few little bits to tempt him to eat.
I take them gratefully and say, ‘See you in the morning. You’ll be OK by yourself?’
She tuts at me. ‘Am not alone. I have Micky Bubble.’
‘You’ll learn to love him, I promise. Next year you’ll have the Christmas Countdown app on your phone from June.’
‘I think not,’ she says haughtily.
I kiss her cheek and hurry out into the cold night to Stan’s cottage. The downstairs is in darkness when I unlock the front door and I chide myself for not thinking to leave a welcoming light on. The place feels cool, damp – the ancient central heating system not making much of an impression. I’ll light a fire in a minute, get the woodburner going to drive the chill away.
Climbing the stairs, I’m glad to see that Stan’s light is on in his bedroom and he’s sitting in bed, propped up by his pillow.
‘How are you doing?’ I ask.
He has a good old cough before he answers, but it doesn’t sound quite so painful as before. ‘Not too bad,’ he wheezes.
‘Did you have a bit of a sleep?’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I’ve only just woken up.’
‘Lija’s sent some food, if you’re feeling peckish. I’ve got a teacake and some fresh fruit for you. Fancy some hot milk and honey?’
‘Oh, lovely,’ Stan says. ‘My favourite.’
‘I’ll go and set it out for you. Back in a minute.’ In the tiny kitchen, I get Stan’s meal ready and then trip up the stairs again. I sit with him while he eats and am pleased to see that he manages it all, then I tidy up. In the living room I light the woodburner and, due to my new-found fire-lighting skills, it’s soon roaring away.
‘It’s all cosy down there now,’ I say to Stan. ‘Do you want to come downstairs for a while? I can find something for us to watch on telly.’
‘I’m comfortable here,’ he says. ‘I’m feeling quite sleepy again.’
‘The more you can nap, the sooner you’ll get better. Can I get you anything else?’
‘No, I’m fine thank you, Fay. You don’t have to stay, you know. I can manage.’
‘I don’t mind being here at all. I’d rather keep an eye on you. That’s why I came back.’ I settle in the chair next to his bed and, finally, let myself relax.
‘You spent enough time looking after that mother of yours,’ he says. ‘I don’t want you stuck here nursing me. Now it’s your turn to live.’
‘Oh, I’ve been doing plenty of that,’ I assure him. ‘I love being on the canal.’
‘You’re happy?’
‘More than anyone should be.’
He smiles softly at me. ‘I’ll rest happy knowing that.’
‘You’re going nowhere, Stan. You’ll get through this.’
‘I’m turned ninety, Fay. Something’s going to get me in the end.’
‘Not on my watch.’
‘I’ve had a good life,’ he says. ‘A full life. I’ve no regrets.’ Then he smiles sadly. ‘Well, not many.’ He smooths the blanket over his striped pyjamas. ‘It would have been nice to have had a daughter. Someone like you.’
‘You were never tempted to marry?’ In all the time I’ve known Stan, he’s never mentioned anyone special.
‘I came close,’ he says. ‘Have I never told you?’
I shake my head.
‘I was engaged to the most beautiful girl. A real head-turner. Oh, you should have seen her, Fay. She had blonde hair that tumbled to her shoulders and the prettiest blue eyes. She was tiny and slender. When her hand was in mine I felt like the king of the world. I thought I was the luckiest man alive. Her laugh could light up a room – any room. And she was mine.’ He gives a light laugh. ‘Audrey and I were childhood sweethearts and she wrote to me all through the war. Every single day. I’ll swear those letters kept me alive.’ He points to his chest of drawers. ‘They’re all in the drawer there. I read them from time to time.’
‘Oh, Stan. What went wrong?’
‘I lost her. She fell ill and slipped away from me before I even knew what was happening.’ His face shows the pain that, even after all this time, must be close to the surface. ‘The wedding was planned, everything in place. But it wasn’t to be. We’d both survived the worst the Luftwaffe could do and yet a simple infection carried her from my arms. Sepsis, they said. Though I never did know what caused it.’
‘That’s terrible.’ There’s a lump in my throat and I can hardly get the words out. How awful to lose the love of your life like that. If anything happened to Danny, I don’t think that I’d ever recover.
‘I never loved again,’ he says, surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye. ‘She was the one for me. No one else. That’s why I’m not afraid of going. She’ll be there waiting for me, my Audrey. I know it deep in my heart.’
I want to cry too now.
‘I’ve made you sad.’ Stan tuts. ‘Silly me. You don’t need me wittering on. I’m feeling sorry for myself.’
‘Of course you’re not.’
‘She feels close sometimes,’ he says. ‘I turn and think that I catch a glimpse of her or there’s a hint of her favourite scent on the breeze. It’s comforting.’ He gazes at the chair in the corner of the room and then smiles. My eyes follow his, but I see nothing.
‘Time for you to settle down, Stan. I’ll bring some water so that you can take your tablets.’
So I pop downstairs and grab a fresh glass of water. When I take it back into Stan’s bedroom, he’s already dozed off. I guess the tablets can wait until later as I’m sure he’ll wake in the night. I watch him for a moment and my heart’s filled with affection for him. I never knew my grandfather, but I hope that he would have been someone like Stan.
I cover him up properly and turn off his bedside light, then I tiptoe out and go back to the living room.
Chapter Eight
The fire has warmed the room now and it’s feeling cosier. I close the curtains against the night and change into my pyjamas. I clean my teeth quickly in the kitchen and then make up my bed for the night with the cushions and blankets that are on the sofa.
When I’m settled, I FaceTime Danny. He picks up instantly. It’s lovely to be able to see his handsome face and suddenly the distance between us disappears.
‘I’ve been missing you,’ he says.
‘I miss you too.’ More than I like to admit. Perhaps it’s the conversation I’ve just had with Stan, but I feel close to tears. I wish he was here to hold me now. ‘I’ve had a hectic day. This is the first chance I’ve had to call properly. I’m sorry.’
‘No worries.’ The sound of his soft Irish voice always soothes me. ‘How’s Stan doing?’
‘Quite poorly. But he seems to have perked up a bit since I arrived.’ I pull one of the crocheted blankets round my shoulders for warmth.
‘You have that way about you.’
I laugh. ‘Flattery will get you anywhere.’
‘I learned that quickly.’
‘I’ve just had a really sad chat with him. I didn’t realise that he’d been engaged, but his fiancée died. He was only young, but he never wanted anyone else.’
‘Poor old boy.’
‘He’s so kind and has so much love to give. I can’t bear the thought of him having spent his life mourning for her.’ My throat tightens. ‘I never want you to leave me.’
‘I’m not planning to,’ he teases.
‘I know I’m being silly, but it made me realise that we need to seize the day. Carpe diem and all that.’
‘I like the idea of being impetuous, and we’ve both had our moments.’
‘Let’s never stop being spontaneous or adventurous. You never know what’s around the corner.’
‘Well, I don’t know if it’s good news or bad news, but my job here has finished. I’m being laid off at the end of the week. I didn’t see that coming quite so soon. It’ll mean less money, but I can set off on Saturday and I’ll be with you sooner than we thought.’
‘It’s good news for me. I can’t wait to see you.’
‘Digs and I are both pining for you. The dog’s off his food.’
‘Don’t tell fibs. It’s not even a day. I bet he hasn’t even noticed I’ve gone yet.’
‘We’ll both be a shadow of our former selves by the time we get to you.’
‘Well, there’ll be plenty of cake waiting, that’s for sure.’ I hold the phone closer as if it’s Danny I’m nestled against. ‘I’m glad it’s soon. It’s horrible being away from you but, in a strange way, it’s nice to be back too.’
‘Is Lija pleased to see you?’
‘In her own way.’ We both chuckle at that. ‘I helped her to put the Christmas tree up when I got here. The house is starting to look quite festive.’ I can’t wait for Christmas this year, to be spending it with Danny and the people I love most. I stifle a yawn. It’s been a long day and it’s catching up with me now.
‘You must be exhausted,’ Danny says. ‘I’ll say goodnight and let you get your beauty sleep.’
‘Goodnight. I love you.’
‘Love you too,’ Danny says. ‘The bed will feel big without you.’
I think of our tiny, cramped cabin on The Dreamcatcher. ‘That bed will never feel big,’ I giggle. ‘But I’m sad that I’m not squashed up in it with you.’
‘Hope you manage some sleep on your sofa.’
‘I’m sure I will. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’ Danny blows me a kiss and we both hang up.
I fidget and fuss with my blankets and the cushion for my pillow until I’m reasonably comfortable. But, as soon as I feel my eyes grow heavy, I hear Stan start to cough convulsively. So I heave myself from my makeshift bed and go to see how he is.
‘You don’t sound so good, Stan.’ But he can’t even answer me, so I put on the bedside light and sit with him, rubbing his back until the awful spasms subside.
‘I’ll make you a drink, see if it will calm the coughing down.’ In the kitchen I make up a hot lemon drink and add some extra honey. I put the rest of the water into a hot water bottle for him and take it back.
Stan’s sitting up now and I plump his pillows for him. He sips the hot lemon gratefully and I give him his pills before slipping the hot water bottle under the covers. The heat of the fire is starting to warm the upstairs now too.
‘Shall I read to you for a bit?’
He smiles wanly. ‘I don’t want to keep you awake.’
‘I’m here now. I can at least be useful.’ So I pick up Stan’s book – a Bernard Cornwell novel – and start to read for him. He closes his eyes and listens. I read out the words slowly, soporifically, and soon I hear his breathing change.
I sit quietly and watch him as he sleeps. I can’t bear to see him looking so frail, so vulnerable. It terrifies me to think that he won’t always be in my life. He’s family and I hate to see him suffer. I close the book and put it on his bedside table. Then I stroke his wispy hair and pull the cover over his arms so that he doesn’t feel a chill.
Turning out the light again, I retreat to my own bed on the sofa but stay awake until dawn.
Chapter Nine
Just before seven, I check on Stan again and realise that I’m holding my breath when I pop my head round his bedroom door. He’s still dozing, but opens his eyes when he hears me.
‘Morning, Stan. I’m just going to nip over to the house to get something for breakfast. Would you like a cuppa now?’
‘That would be lovely, Fay. Did you manage to sleep on the sofa?’
‘Slept like a log,’ I lie.
Before I leave, I sort Stan out with a cup of tea and his tablets, draw his curtains, stoke up the woodburner with some fresh logs – I’m going to keep that thing going 24/7 if it kills me – and then I step out into the frosty morning.
The grass is crisp and white. Cobwebs on the trees are draped between the branches like lace doilies. There are wisps of mist coming off the surface of the canal and drifting slowly up the g
arden. It looks so beautiful. Truly a winter wonderland, although I do hope the coming winter isn’t too harsh. If the canal ices up then Danny might not be able to move The Dreamcatcher – or it will certainly slow his progress. I’m glad he’s setting off sooner rather than later to come back.
Instead of turning towards the house, while I’ve got a few minutes to spare, I take the opportunity to walk down to see the Maid of Merryweather. The lawn crunches beneath my feet and I wish I was wearing a proper coat instead of just my thin hoodie. I fold my arms across myself to try to keep some warmth in.
The boat’s sitting quietly on the water at the bottom of the garden, moored to the jetty my dad built many years ago. The narrowboat was always his pride and joy. Now it’s mine too. At least Miranda had the good grace to leave me that in her will.
I’ve got the key to the door in my pocket so I climb on board and let myself in. The chill air cuts through me like a knife. It’s a shock to find that it’s colder in here than it is outside. The windows are running with condensation and the usual warm, comforting smell has gone. The air is damp, fetid. Oh, my poor old lady!
I make my way down the steps into the cabin. It’s clear that there’s been a pretty substantial leak in the roof. Some of the ceiling has come down and the floor is soaking wet. Obviously, Lija hasn’t been near her since I left.
When I touch them, the cushions on the sofas are sodden too. It’s going to take an age to dry her out and the refit is going to be even more extensive. If I don’t do something to get her watertight again and stop the rot, then she’s simply going to become beyond repair and will be lost to me for ever. I can’t let that happen.
‘Oh, Dad,’ I say into the air, ‘I’m so sorry. I will bring her back to life, I promise you.’ And I can only hope that I find the means to do so soon. He’d be distraught if he could see the state that she’s in. This is more than a narrowboat to me too, it’s my only tangible link with Dad and with my real mum. Being on board usually lifts my spirits and reminds me of all the lovely times I spent with my dad on her, but now it’s only causing sorrow.