Narrow Minds (17 page)

‘Well, we'd better get started then.' I downed the last half inch of cold tea.

It took us an hour to move all the sections of wall down the boat, another hour to move the sofa out on to the tow path and roll the rug up then about twenty seconds to lift a section of floor and lift out the bedraggled, miserable and oil-covered rodent from between the floor struts.

‘Got you, you little miscreant.' Geoff reached in and made a grab for the panicked rat as she tried to back away down the boat. He dragged her out by the scruff of her neck and placed her, greasy and covered in cobwebs into my lap. Enraged, cold, confused, and upset Beans promptly dug all her claws into my hand and then bit my finger. Her normally pink-and-white skin was smeared with dust and other dirt. She hissed and spat as she twisted and struggled in my hands.

‘Ouch! Blimey.' I did the only thing I could think of, and grabbing a tea towel wrapped the rat in it so that only her head was in the open air. Sucking my bleeding finger I pouted at Geoff. ‘She bit me.'

He just chuckled and carried on moving the wall segments back into position.

By the time the birds had begun to sing, the walls were back in place, the rug was back down and the sofa had been dragged back in from outside and everything had been swept and cleaned. Dangerous Beans had been washed in baby shampoo (she didn't like that either) and had been placed in a nice large box with a big woolly sock and a hot water bottle to sleep on and was now out cold after her adventures. Geoff and I were leaning on each other over a last cuppa.

When the kids got up about eight that was exactly where they found us, we hadn't even managed to open the bed up before falling asleep.

At about ten Sara and Geoff appeared, they had just popped around to say goodbye and presented us with a magnificent apple and blackberry cake thing, I don't know how she made it but it tasted wonderful, probably not the best thing for breakfast but everybody enjoyed it, especially the rat who was enjoying being fed food she wasn't normally allowed and having Charlie coo over her. She hadn't suffered any lasting harm and was now leaping around as usual. It was a shame the same couldn't be said for Geoff and me.

It's odd, over the last three years I had probably taken, and given, at least ten addresses but we never seem to keep in touch with the people we meet on boats, you sort of pass a little time together have fun then move on. I suppose if we permanently toured and weren't heading for a particular place we would meet them again, have fun again, swap stories and then move on again. I wondered if this was something Geoff and I could look forward to when we didn't have to work, the kids were grown up and doing their own thing. I must admit it's a nice way to meet people and it's also a really good way to leave behind those you never ever want to see again.

Charlie watched Geoff and Sara wander off hand in hand toward the marina. ‘I want a dog and I want dreadlocks.' She turned to look at me. ‘How do you get dreadlocks?'

I really had no idea how they were created. ‘Why don't you set the computer up and see if you can find out.' I placed a hand on her arm as she nodded and headed toward the table where we usually set up the laptop. ‘A dog I'm quite happy with.' I made sure she was looking me in the eye. ‘Dreadlocks … well, not so much, I think the school would certainly pitch a fit.'

Charlie frowned.

‘Look,' I continued quickly before she could start listing the reasons why she should tie her hair in knots, ‘I have no problem with you having dreadlocks, I think they look great but the school is going to go mad if you turn up with those, why don't you find out how it's done, then decide if you really want it.' I paused, thinking about it. ‘Honestly, Charlie, they look like they take a huge amount of work to keep them clean and sorted out, it would be like having another pet, let's just sort out the dog first, then maybe at a later date you can turn your head into a small furry animal and look after that as well, eh? Just as long as you promise me one teeny tiny little thing.'

Charlie stared at me for a moment, then muttered, ‘What?'

‘That if it leaps off your head and hides in the walls we damn well leave it there to die.' I laughed, honestly I'm so funny sometimes.

Charlie glared at me (obviously not as funny as I thought), shook her head and stamped off toward the laptop. I winced slightly at her expression then, crisis averted for the moment, sauntered out to find out how Geoff was getting on, I was quite anxious to be under way.

It was about midday when we pulled out and finally headed, once again, toward Cambridge. Not having had a chance yet to steer her, I elected to drive, Geoff happily agreed and pottered around in the engine room.

Happy Go Lucky
, our last boat, had had a fairly modern engine situated at the very rear of the boat, contentedly and tidily ensconced beneath nice clean boards in a small engine room that was clean and fairly quiet. With the engine running you could look over the side and watch the (very small) eddies of smoke erupt from the exhaust and there were never any problems.

This thing wore its engine like a medal, the huge green monstrosity reared boulder-like from the very centre of the engine room, the floor around it sticky with oil, old water and various bits of machinery, both new and ancient, it was all a bit of a mish-mash and poor Geoff, with his obsessive-compulsive need to have things orderly found it a little unsettling.

When the engine leapt into life, it would do so with a coughing fit that a retired, asthmatic miner would be proud of. It wouldn't have been so bad if it had then settled down to a steady working throb, it didn't. Huge clouds of black smoke would billow from the exhaust that was situated like a small chimney on the top of the roof, throwing small smuts and sooty particles high into the air. With every cough and hack the engine created another small black cloud of indistinguishable ‘things' which would be shot into the air.

Geoff had decided that as long as the engine was actually running, he wouldn't take it apart until we had reached Cambridge. I could understand why, to revamp that engine room was going to be a huge task and with Geoff's need to ‘get things right', once he started he wouldn't be able to stop until the engine was purring like a kitten and the engine room was sorted, polished and catalogued.

As we pulled out into mid stream, I could feel my face reddening with each successive cough and bellow from the engine, honestly the wretched thing sounded like it was on its last legs. (It could have been, I wouldn't have known.) It was actually incredibly easy to ignore what must have been astonished and disapproving looks from those enjoying a canal side walk as the huge cloud of smoke from the exhaust was streaming right into my face, I honestly couldn't see a thing.

I couldn't understand how Geoff could drive this thing. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, my eyes watered and every lungful of air I tried to take burned as though I was standing next to a bonfire, and the smell was quite appalling. Eventually I gave up trying to breathe through the horrendous effluvium and pulled the neck of my jumper up over my nose. With this barrier in place I then leant as far out over the river as I could, allowing the stream of noxious gasses to pass by my left ear.

By the time we had covered the three miles to the entrance to Wast Hill tunnel I was in agony. Bent at uncertain angles, my back was straining and complaining. However, if I stood straight in an effort to ease the pain I couldn't breathe and to cap it all, as I slowed down at the approach to the tunnel, a small red light on the start-up panel began to flash insistently. Worried about small flashing red lights, I slowed further; the light stopped flashing and just pulsed redly at me. I pulled her over to the side and screamed for Geoff.

At my second shout Geoff emerged from the engine room and made his way carefully along the gunwales to where I was standing.

‘What's up?' He stared along the roof toward the entrance of the tunnel. ‘Why have you stopped?'

He turned to look at me and his enquiring look turned to one that alternated between concern and amusement. ‘What the hell happened to you?'

‘What?' I put a hand up to my face. ‘What's the matter?'

‘Never mind,' Geoff said, grinning at me, ‘so what's with the stop?' He seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face.

I pointed to the red light that was now just flat red. ‘What's that mean? It says ‘oil', is that bad?'

Geoff stopped smiling ‘Oh crud.' He stared at the light. ‘I think we may have a problem.'

He climbed over the roof and gathering a rope as he went, leapt onto the bank and tied
Minerva
to a tree. With another two ropes in place, he clambered back aboard then disappeared to go and sort out the infernal engine.

Getting in and out of the engine room was a huge pain. Because the engine was so exposed and needed so much ventilation, double doors had been built into each side of the boat, these needed to be open when she was running just to allow enough air flow around the engine. You could also gain access via the boatman's cabin at the back, but that tiny space was so full of ‘stuff' that it was easier to just swing yourself in via the doors. This was fine as long as you remembered that there was a fairly long drop down to uncertain footing. I mostly stayed out, Geoff always remembered, but I usually either fell into the engine room or managed to fall over when I was actually in there.

While I was waiting for him to do whatever magic was required to make the engine functional again I indulged in a huge coughing fit in an effort to rid my poor lungs of all the yuck that I had inhaled. A couple walking their dog on the opposite side of the canal heard me coughing and looked over. I waved a hand at them which was sort of intending to say, ‘Hello and don't worry I have neither emphysema nor pleurisy however I sound.'

The couple stared at me for a moment then looking slightly startled they rushed off. I shook my head, surely my coughing couldn't have been that bad?

Geoff chose that moment to stick his head out of the engine room. ‘Turn her on again.'

I shrugged and hit the start button.
Minerva
shuddered and coughed into life within a cloud of smoke, but wonder of wonders the red light stayed off.

‘Yay!' I gave Geoff a thumbs-up. ‘You fixed it, what was wrong?' Geoff held up one finger telling me to hang on a mo and disappeared from sight again. When he returned he was carrying a length of steel pipe and a small mirror.

I eyed the pipe suspiciously. ‘Where did that come from?'

‘It's not really important where it came from,' he said as he slid past me and out on to the bankside gunwales. ‘It's much more exciting to know where it should go.' Reaching into the thick cloud of smoke he slid the metal pipe down on top of the small exhaust that stuck some four inches out of the roof. The thick smog cleared almost immediately as the short pipe extended the chimney to about two foot which effectively channelled the smoke and fumes over my head and away up into the trees.

‘Sorry about that.' He clambered back down to me and handed me the mirror. ‘I thought you knew about the exhaust extension, you take it off if you're going under a low bridge.' He tapped the mirror then, looking at me, he pointed to my face. ‘You may want to go and have a wash.'

Bemused, I looked at the mirror then gave a little scream. I looked just like a bad rendition of one of the old black and white minstrels. My forehead, cheeks, and between my eyes were completely black, where I had squinted against the smoke there were small white lines all around my eyes, set off beautifully by the long white tracks that had been made by asphyxiated tears. There were a couple of beautiful muddy smudges where I had dragged the back of my hand over my eyes in an effort to get them to stop watering; this had had the added effect of blackening my ears and dying the surrounding roots of my hair. The whole thing faded to grey below my nose where the neck of my jumper had created a fairly useless barrier against the smoke.

It was no wonder those people had looked surprised and worried: along with the coughing I looked exactly like an escaped coal miner on his last legs.

Geoff had the grace to look a little embarrassed. ‘Erm, I probably should have told you about the chimney.'

I pushed the tiller toward him and glared. ‘You think?' Shaking my head I hurried back into the boat to have a good wash, all the time wondering if Swarfega was going to be classed as a good skin product. Sadly, probably not.

By the time I returned to the back of the boat, clean and sparkly, Geoff had got the engine running again but the little red light was back.

‘So what's the verdict, oh great mechanic?' I quipped as I clambered up onto the back deck.

Geoff was staring at the little red light with a certain amount of irritation, as I stepped aboard he gave me the same look. Whoops, not the time for blasé jokes and gentle joshing about his engineering skills then.

‘I'm not exactly sure.' Geoff tapped the little red light, obviously hoping it was an electrical problem, he was far happier when it was an electrical problem.

‘Oh dear.' I joined him in staring at the little red light. Maybe both of us staring at would give it enough positive energy to go out without us having to do anything real about the problem.

‘Look at this …' Geoff moved the throttle forward and the engine coughed and spluttered a little faster. The red light began to flash.

‘Wah.' I made a grab for the throttle. ‘Turn it off, turn it off!'

‘No, no,' Geoff said and slapped my hand away from the throttle, ‘flashing is better than glowing.'

‘Oh.' I stared at the steadily blinking light. ‘Really?'

Geoff nodded, then upped the revs a little more. The light went out.

I reached forward and tapped it. ‘What did you do?'

Geoff slapped my hand away again. ‘Nothing, that's the point.' He lowered the revs again and the light came back on, then he moved the throttle forward and the glow became dark.