Katie Fforde - Going Dutch

Before she could say hello, Marcus said, 'You still here?' to her.

She frowned. 'Yes, still here. Shouldn't I be?'

‘I expect you're going later?’

What was he talking about? His mood clearly hadn't improved. 'No, I'm spending the night here, thank you very much,' then she turned away, ignoring bad behaviour like a good mother should. 'Carole! How nice to see you. Did you give them a lift? That's very kind of you. Why don't you come down and have a glass of wine or some thing while they sort themselves out. Will you eat with us, or do you need to get back?' While she was saying this she was aware of Tom disappearing with the man she realisedwas indeed Ed, and whom Marcus should have intro duced. Honestly, Marcus had no bloody manners at all!

‘I'm not going back,' said Carole, who appeared both frightened and defiant. 'I'm coming with you.’

Jo swallowed, thinking even more badly of Marcus, springing an extra person on her without notice, especially when he didn't approve of people bringing their girl friends along. Typical double standards. 'Right. Good, I'll show you your cabin. You are sharing with Marcus, aren't you? Otherwise I don't know where you'll sleep. I'll have to find some extra pillows.'

‘Of course I'm sharing with Marcus,' she said, looking at Jo oddly. 'We're partners.'

‘Is Tom showing Ed where to sleep?' Jo asked Marcus. Marcus nodded. 'I'll check his accommodation is suitable.’

Concealing her mental description of him as a sulky child behind a smile, Jo said, 'Come with me, Carole.' She opened the door to what had been her private space a few hours before. 'You might prefer to go backwards, but do mind your head.' Where, she wondered, was she going to find half-decent pillows at this stage? Tom would have to be a hero and sacrifice his. He could probably manage with a sofa cushion.

‘Oh. It is quite small,' said Carole, when she had made her way down.

‘Just the usual size. You and Marcus are a bit spoilt on Hildegarde.' Jo concealed her defensiveness behind a Brown-Owl bracingness. 'This is the original living space, although in the old days they had to cook and eat in here as well as sleep.'

‘Yes, I suppose so. Is this the bathroom?' Carole peered into the adjoining cupboard. It's minute!'

‘I only use it for the loo and tooth-brushing. I haven't quite worked out how the shower works. I use the other bathroom, up the fore end.'

‘Not very convenient.'

‘It's fine when it's just me and Dora.' Jo kept up her bracing tone by sheer effort of will. To think that she'd given up her haven, her sanctuary, to two people who didn't appreciate it. One was a spoilt brat and the other was moody, arrogant and too rude to live! 'I'll leave you to get yourself organised,' she added, thinking longingly of her sherry, still unfinished in the saloon. Would this trip turn her an alcoholic? she wondered as she made her way up the steps and into the wheelhouse.

‘Shall I open the wine?' said Dora, seeing the look on Jo's face.

‘Yes.' Jo threw herself full length on to the sofa, aware she'd have to spring to attention any second. She no longer cared about becoming an alcoholic – it was probably inevitable.

‘You didn't have any idea Carole was coming, did you?' Dora placed a full wine glass next to Jo's half-finished sherry.

‘Nope.' She kept her eyes closed.

‘I wonder if she can cook,' said Dora.

‘I'm sure she can. Anyway, she won't have to. She might do the heating up though. That could be very useful.'

‘I can't help wondering-' Dora began before the sound of feet on the steps stopped her.

Jo sat upright and knocked back her sherry in one, dizzy-making action.

‘The men won't be long, will they?' Carole stood in the doorway, sounding nervous.

‘I don't suppose so,' said Jo. 'There's not much to see up there. Come and have a glass of sherry or wine; we've got both.'

‘Marcus is always very insistent that Ed gets a decent berth,' said Carole.

‘Well, it's as decent as we could make it. Though I did omit to put flowers on the dressing table.' Jo sounded less welcoming now.

‘Oh, it's all right,' said Dora. 'I did that.’

Carole and Jo stared at her.

‘Not really. Only joking. Let's get to the wine!' Dora said brightly.

‘Do sit down, Carole, we mustn't stand on ceremony if we're crossing the ocean together.'

‘The North Sea's not an ocean,' said Dora. 'Red or white, Carole?'

‘Nothing, thank you.'

‘Of course, this will be a very run-of-the-mill trip to you, Carole,' said Jo after a moment. 'You must have been to Holland dozens of times with Marcus.'

‘Actually, I haven't been before. He doesn't usually let me come on trips.'

‘But he let you – asked you to come this time?' The reasons for this buzzed round Jo's head like angry flies. 'No, he didn't ask me, but he said I could come.' Mortification flooded over Jo. He must have let Carole come because he had sensed she fancied him. It was for protection from a frustrated perimenopausal woman. It was probably also the reason for his extreme rudeness – he was fending her off. When she became aware she was using nautical expressions in her head, she sipped her wine to ward off despair.

Dora took over the role as hostess. She opened another bottle of wine and retrieved a few cans of lager from the fridge. She opened a packet of handcut crisps and put them in bowls. There was a chicken casserole all ready to serve. She peeked in the oven and counted the baked potatoes that were to go with the casserole. Thank goodness for Jo's tendency to over-cater, she thought.

As there was nothing else constructive she could do, she poured herself a glass of wine and took a handful of crisps. She glanced across at Jo, who looked tired, and felt very sorry for her. Poor Jo! She was anxious enough about this trip without having to deal with Carole too.

Then she noticed the table that she had set earlier and added another place. It was going to be a squash, but too bad. No one should mind too much; after all, they were on a barge, about to do a job, not socialising on a yacht in the South of France.

Carole, she couldn't help thinking, would be more at home in the Cap d'Antibes than chugging down the great greasy Thames to the coast. There was an awkward silence. Jo, usually so socially conscientious, didn't break it, and Dora couldn't think how to. Carole didn't speak either. To everyone's relief, they heard footsteps approaching.

Dora bounced forward, feeling like a Labrador puppy, friendly but a bit over-enthusiastic. 'Come in, both of you. I'll get you a drink. You must be Ed – what would you like?'

‘How do, all,' said Ed. 'And beer for now, if you've got it. A drop of rum later.' He was tall, silver-haired and, Dora decided, gave one confidence. A different confidence to Marcus's, who seemed rather sullen all of a sudden. Ed was happy in his skin and knew what he was doing. He was either unaware of the atmosphere or dispelled it by his jovial presence.

‘Glass or can?' Dora asked.

‘Can. Let's save on the washing-up wherever possible!'

He laughed merrily and Dora felt he was going to be

a good catalyst for the disparate group of people on board.

'Oh, thank you for doing the honours, Dora,' said Jo,

who seemed to have returned more or less to her old self.

‘What would you like, Carole? You must have something while we're all swigging away.'

‘A glass of still mineral water then, please. I don't need anything complicated.' She aimed for a smile but didn't quite manage it.

‘I'm afraid that's a bit of a problem,' said Jo after a moment. 'We haven't got any. I've got lots of fizzy water, all kinds of soft drinks and alcohol, including rum' – she glanced at Ed – 'but no still mineral water. You might have told me, Marcus,' she finished. Marcus had told her that Ed liked rum. Marcus didn't respond.