Narrow Margins by Marie Browne Read Free Book Online Page A

confused-looking family over by the brokerage, she handed me the spare keys and necessary bits of paperwork before trotting over presumably to demand that they purchase something or to run them off the premises.
    Sam and I sat in the sun and waited, staring in the direction of the boat shed, just waiting for the moment when she would make her first appearance. A faint ‘chug, chug, chug’ was our first indication, then Happy Go Lucky ( our boat, our very own boat) gently sauntered into the basin from the canal.
    Sam jumped up. ‘That’s our boat, Mum!’ he shrieked, then leaping off the bench he headed toward his dad, who could just be made out, grinning, at the far end.
    After six years, experience had taught me to move very, very fast when Sam takes off. I managed to grab him just as he was about to make a, probably unsuccessful, walk-on-water attempt. With this disaster averted we both watched, entranced, as ‘our’ boat was skilfully piloted between others, coming in very slowly to bump gently against the wharf; she looked large and capable and with her faded livery of grey, black and red, very friendly. I swear if that boat had a tail it would have been gently wagging.
    Geoff stepped from the back of the boat onto solid ground and helped the capable-looking man tie her to some concrete posts. He thanked him then waited till he was out of sight before giving us a big smile.
    I wandered up to him, keeping a tight grip on Sam.
    â€˜Well, how was she to drive?’ I asked, ignoring the tugging on my arm and Sam’s rising screams, informing me that he wanted to get on to the boat. ‘She looked nice coming in.’
    Geoff held his hand out to help Sam over the gap and on to the back, stating loftily, ‘I think the word you’re looking for is “pilot” not drive.’
    â€˜Whatever, how was she?’ I frowned.
    â€˜I don’t know, she seemed …stately, but he “drove” her.’ Geoff indicated the retreating figure with a nod of his head and laughed, ‘I’ve never driven anything like this – you’re the one with the water experience.’
    Confusion and the beginnings of panic.
    â€˜What do you mean, water experience?’ I squeaked.
    Having deposited Sam through the engine room doors and safely into the interior of the boat, Geoff looked up at me. ‘Didn’t you do a lot of messing around in boats with your dad when you were younger?’ he said.
    Panic becoming more pronounced.
    â€˜Dad sails! We had a sailing boat, you know, sea-going, big flappy things and wooden bits that try to knock you into the water when you aren’t looking – and that was 25 years ago, I hated it, I spent most of my time hanging over the side being sick.’ I took another look at Happy, 23 tonnes of solid steel, engine, not a flappy thing in sight. ‘I can’t drive this, pilot this, or whatever – I’d kill us or sink us – I thought you had been on boating holidays.’
    Geoff shrugged, ‘Well yes, when I was about 18 and that was 35 foot, nothing like this great lump.’
    I sat back down on the seat. ‘So what we are saying here,’ I stated, enunciating carefully, ‘is that we have just bought 30 grand’s worth of boat and neither of us has the least idea how to make it go! How come this hasn’t come up, even once, in conversation over the last three months?’ I really didn’t know whether to be terrified or annoyed and, deciding that neither emotion entirely fitted the bill, I collapsed into a fit of the giggles. Geoff doesn’t ‘giggle’ so he just grinned and then disappeared into the boat calling to Sam that he needed to come out and stop Mummy being embarrassing.
    About six o’clock that night we called a halt to the unpacking. As Happy was still in hotel mode, there was no shortage of rooms in which to stack boxes. Sam chose his bedroom (he changed