Katie Fforde - Going Dutch

‘So sorry!' Dora appeared smelling of shower gel, her hair wet and curly. She picked up a slice of toast and put it into her mouth whole. 'You should have woken me earlier,' she mumbled.

Jo smiled. 'You need your sleep. I know you were in late.' She felt a pang of envy for youth, which allowed you to sleep as long as you needed to.

‘Oh, did I wake you?’

Jo hurried to reassure her. 'Oh no, not at all. I just happened to be awake when you got in, that's all. More toast? You might as well, I've made it already.’

Obligingly Dora took it.

‘Did you have a nice time last night? It was better than I expected, I must admit,' said Jo.

‘Definitely. The quiz was really fun!'

‘Quizzes are always better when you win them, though we liked it too. What's Avocet like?'

‘Very sleek. Nice, but not quite enough like a boat for me.' Dora frowned. 'It's strange but I had had nothing to do with boats before a couple of days ago and now I think I could get to really like them.'

‘They do grow on you. The Three Sisters feels like home now.' Jo wiped at the couple of crumbs that had fallen from Dora's toast. 'Now, can I be rude and ask if you left the bathroom tidy?’

Dora nodded, chewing the other slice of toast. 'Spick and span. I even wiped out the washbasin with my towel.' She swallowed. 'I've got another if using the washing machine is difficult.'

‘It's not, and I've got loads of towels too. I'd just bought a new lot when Philip… Philip did what he did, and I couldn't bear to leave them. I love towels.' The thought thatperhaps she should work in a towel shop or a major department store flitted in and out of her mind like an itinerant butterfly.

‘OK, well, I'll wash up. Then what would you like me to do?' Dora asked as she got up from the table.

‘Make the brownies?’

Dora had obviously forgotten about the brownies. 'Oh yes. I'll put the oven on now. Where's the chocolate? And nuts? They won't be ready if anyone turns up at eleven. It is eleven, isn't it?’

Jo nodded. 'But apparently if you close the door to your boat no one can come on. It's to give you a chance to see other people's boats.'

‘But you won't want to do that immediately, will you?' Dora appeared disappointed.

‘Oh no,' Jo assured her. 'We've worked this hard, we're going to open for business.' Her eyes widened in horror. 'Oh my God! Look at those cobwebs! How can I have missed them?'

‘I expect they came in the night,' said Dora, ripping open packets of chocolate and throwing them into a heatproof bowl.

‘You're very quick with those brownies. You've obviously made them before.'

‘Oh yes. I used to make them for John all the time. When he gets another girlfriend I must give her the recipe.’

‘Will you know if he gets another girlfriend?'

‘Of course. Everyone will tell me, don't worry.' Dora realised this was the first time in weeks she'd been able to mention John's name without wanting to burst into tears. Maybe I've finally turned a corner, she thought with relief. A night out with people who didn't know her or her history, and with whom she could just be herself, had been wonderfully settling.

Jo had dealt with the cobwebs, catching them in a bit of kitchen towel, but had found a patch of mildew she hadn't noticed before, and was scrubbing at it with an old toothbrush when the first guests came.

‘Hello! Anybody aboard?’

Jo rushed up to the wheelhouse to usher the couple in. She recognised them from the previous night but had no clue what their names were. 'Hello!' she said warmly. 'How lovely to see you!’

They were a couple a bit younger and quite a lot thinner than she was. Sadly, not only could Jo not remember their names, she couldn't remember if she'd liked them. Being younger and thinner was only forgivable in nice people.

They were certainly friendly. 'Hello, Jo. All right after last night?’

What had happened last night that she might not be all right? Maybe they were just asking if she had a hangover. She smiled gaily, hoping she hadn't appeared drunk. 'Absolutely fine. You?’

The woman grimaced. 'Bit fragile. But you didn't have brandy after the coffee, did you?'

‘No. I'm sorry, I can't remember, which is your barge?'

‘We haven't got one. We're thinking of buying one though, so we're doing our research,' said the man. 'Can I look at the engine?’

Jo indicated the square of metal that covered the engine compartment. She hadn't penetrated this space yet, having decided against it when she saw she had to step sideways down a vertical ladder to reach it. She had no idea if the engine room was like an operating theatre or a midden and she didn't much care. She'd abnegated all responsibility in that area. 'Help yourself.’

The man swung back the heavy cover and looked down the abyss. 'Hm. Got a boiler suit I can put on?’

Jo rummaged in the lockers under the seats that were built in round the table and produced one. It was Michael's. She had stuffed all signs of him into the locker when she had first arrived and was feeling particularly anti-men.

Jo turned to his wife. 'You don't want to see the engine room, do you?' The woman was wearing white trousers and a blue-and-white-striped Breton top. She shook her head. 'I want to see the cabin, where they would have lived in the old days.'

‘That's where I live now,' said Jo, trying not to resent the woman for looking good in a top that should have put pounds on her.

But her little cabin was a picture, she decided. It had looked neglected and unloved when she had first moved on to the barge because Michael had always slept in the cabin Dora now had. But Jo had fallen in love with this little space and she'd made it her project. The redecorating had helped rid her of the sense of worthlessness Philip's desertion had left her with.

Now, she lifted the wooden shelf that disguised the double doors as panelling, and ushered her guest down the three steep steps to the cabin. She felt proud and a little protective of her efforts. It had a thick, deep red carpet that instantly made it feel cosy and yet because of the white-painted tongue-and-groove boarding of the walls and ceiling and four large portholes, light danced over all the surfaces, making it a little sunlit haven.

There was a double bunk, that could be taken apart to make a table, but Jo had got so fed up with sleeping on a ridge that she had bought a four-foot mattress. She wouldn't need to convert the bed to a dining table when she had the whole of the rest of the barge to dine in. The bed was covered with a patchwork bedspread she had brought from home, because it had been made by her mother and was, therefore, hers.

Behind the panelling were lots of little cupboards and storage spaces that were fine for the separate, non-iron clothes that Jo lived in these days. There was even a tiny en-suite bathroom behind one door. The whole space became a shower unit, although Jo had never investigated how this worked as, owing to lack of headroom, you had to sit on the loo while you washed. She did use the washbasin and loo and had now put a little vase of flowers on the shelf. There was another vase of flowers in the bedroom part and all her clothes were stuffed away in the cupboards.

‘All it needs is a little stove,' she said to Mrs Stripy-Top, 'and it would be perfect.'

‘Where would you put a stove?' the woman asked, more appalled than curious.

‘I think it must have gone where this plate on the ceiling is.' Jo frowned. 'I'm not sure it's called a ceiling. Boats are strange places.’

Mrs Stripy-Top laughed, and Jo decided to forgive her for being younger and thinner. After all, she did have smoker's lines round her mouth – she wasn't perfect.

‘So, are you looking forward to having a barge?' Jo asked.