Turning the next corner, Bea gave a tiny gasp. The Little Blue Boathouse was in sight and it was exactly how she imagined it would look. It was a small stone building with a timber roof that was painted in a watery pale blue, and large windows looking out over the river.
‘Could this place get any more idyllic?’ she murmured to herself. Breathing in the fresh air and listening to the river lapping against the jetty and the tiny shingle bay where all the kayaks lay in line, she could tell this would be the perfect sanctuary for the next couple of weeks. She had every intention of passing her trial shift. Up ahead, there was a bright yellow water taxi heading towards the jetty with its engine humming away. It was packed with tourists and Bea guessed there were approximately fifty passengers on board. She noticed a small metal sign advertising today’s excursion; hopefully, in a couple of days’ time she would be selling tickets for those very trips.
Excited to see inside, Bea stepped through the door, which was propped open with the perfect anchor doorstop. Whitewashed panelling gave the whole place an authentic nautical feel and the walls were covered with paintings and photographs of what Bea assumed was the River Festival, along with boat races and the scenery that surrounded the River Heart in all the various seasons.
‘Welcome, what can I do for you today? Great day for kayaking, or a rowing boat for two?’
The man standing in front of her was a jolly-looking fellow with charm. His welcoming smile was huge. Even though it was a glorious day outside, he was wearing a flamboyant blue velvet suit, sporting a bright-red checked cravat and leaning on a cane. Bea loved his dress sense, which certainly stood out in the crowd.
‘A kayak for one would be good. And I’m Bea. Pleased to meet you. I have a trial here in a couple of days.’
‘Oh yes, Bea! I’ve already heard. Lovely to meet you, I’m Wilbur. You’re around for two weeks, is that right?’
‘I am, but from what I’ve seen so far, I already feel like I could stay for ever. It’s so beautiful.’
‘Believe me, this place has that effect on people. And if your trial is successful, are you ready for a busy two weeks?’
‘I was born to be ready,’ she said, remembering hearing those words in a movie once.
‘You’ll need to be. It’s the busiest time for the Boathouse, especially with such glorious weather and the River Festival coming up. It’s been going for sixty years, this year. How incredible is that?’
‘Very incredible. Julia mentioned there’s a little attic room available too. If I’m successful at my trial, of course.’
‘There is, would you like to go and have a look?’ Wilbur gestured behind him. ‘It’s vacant.’
‘Would I? That would be great!’ enthused Bea.
‘It’s very basic but I don’t think there’s anything better than waking up with a view of the water.’
Bea couldn’t agree more. Wilbur pointed to the door at the back of the room. ‘Through there and up the ladder.’
Excited to see the room, Bea headed through the door and spotted a rope ladder straight in front of her. It reminded her of a story that her father used to read to her as a child, with a rope ladder that led to a secret tree house. She balanced on the wobbly bottom rung and climbed up, pushing open the hatch door above her head. Placing both hands on the tiny wooden handles each side of the opening, Bea pulled herself up. Once on her feet, she gave a tiny gasp. What a beautiful space. The first thing she noticed was the view of the river and the cliffs, which seemed to go on for miles and miles. The room was minimalist but perfect. The floorboards were covered with a wool rug in blue and rose, creating a striking first impression and bringing warmth and colour to the room. There was a bed with a small table and lamp beside it, and a small basin in the corner of the room with a mirror. The beautiful green velvet armchair positioned in front of the window was adorned with a crocheted blanket and a cushion, and the small writing desk and chair on the other side of the room were positioned next to a vintage clothes rail with wooden hangers. There was also a small counter with a kettle, a portable hob and a small freestanding fridge.
Walking across the creaky floor, Bea smiled up at the attic beams that met in a series of arches, absorbing the beauty of deep brown hues. Taking a seat in the armchair, she gazed at the paintings and pictures of boats that covered the walls and the series of classic books piled on the shelf, before looking out at the view. Felicity was right, the first houseboat had arrived. Bea hadn’t ever seen anything quite like it. The handcrafted cedar boat had a massive deck with sofas and a hammock that hung over the water. The elegance, panache and charm of the houseboat bobbing on the water blew her away. It was very different from the gleaming white yachts that you saw in movies and magazines. Daydreaming, she thought about how wonderful it would be to live on a houseboat and sail all over the world, with a different bay to wake up in every morning. That would be something Bea thought she would never tire of. Wondering who lived on a boat like that, she noticed a pair of binoculars hanging at the side of the window and a selection of birdwatching magazines strewn across the table. Bringing the binoculars to her eyes she focused on the houseboat and the bold lettering on the side, which read: ‘The Hemingway’.
Hearing Wilbur call her name, she took another quick look around before descending the ladder. Bea’s face was stretching into a huge smile and she felt a positive shift in her feelings and mood. This place was just what she needed to concentrate on herself and her own well-being. This was an adventure she couldn’t wait to start.
‘What do you think?’ asked Wilbur, handing over change to a customer who then disappeared into the changing room with a wetsuit.
‘I love it! I want to wake up to that view and the room is utterly gorgeous.’ She crossed her fingers in front of Wilbur. ‘I’m hoping I pass my trial.’
‘I’m sure you will sail through it. No pun intended.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘And there’s no charge for your kayak today. If you would like a wetsuit, they’re just there.’ Wilbur pointed to a rail. ‘And life jackets are over there, lockers for your personal items too.’
* * *
Within five minutes, Bea was tightening up her life jacket and walking down to the shallow bay. The river was full of kayaks and with the weather as sunny as it was Bea was going to take the opportunity to spend an hour on the water. The spare kayaks were lined up, all in bright solid colours, and Bea chose yellow. The front end of the kayak was planted on the shingle and the rudder in the water, so she found a rock-free area to enter the water from the shore. As she waded in, the cool water splashed against her legs, her feet squelching inside her now soggy trainers. With the drag marks already half erased by the waves, the banana-coloured boat was soon bobbing in the water. Bea strapped her helmet under her chin and scooted slowly into the cockpit, extending one leg at a time. She began to use sweeping strokes to pivot the kayak and soon she was heading out into the middle of the river in the direction of the houseboat. She soon got into the rhythm and shouted ‘Good afternoon’ at everyone who crossed her path.
The water was a little choppy at times but overall surprisingly calm – nothing that Bea couldn’t handle. Enjoying the views, she glided for a wee while. She could already imagine the exciting atmosphere of the River Festival. Beginning to paddle again, she hit shallow water. With the sun reflecting on the water, Bea could see darting fish below the surface. This made a lovely change. If she was back home, she would be trying to grab a few more hours’ sleep ahead of the no doubt mundane night shift she would have to take on later.
After five minutes she changed direction and headed for deeper water. It wasn’t long before she was paddling close to The Hemingway, wondering who lived on a boat like that and where they had travelled from. The hammock looked divine and she could imagine herself lying there, soaking up the rays with a cheeky bottle of pinot grigio chilling in an ice bucket at the side of her. ‘That’s the life,’ she murmured to herself.
‘Well, if it isn’t Bea, the woman who is free to do what she wants.’
Immediately, Bea swung a glance to the deck and met the gaze of Nolan, who grinned at her. He was standing with a paintbrush in his hand and wearing just a pair of grey lounge pants. Her hands poised on the paddle, Bea couldn’t help admiring his tanned torso. And there it was, a feeling she’d forgotten – that tingle, the goosebumps and the flutters in her stomach that had been missing for so long.
‘Pleased to meet you again,’ she said, flicking her eyes over the boat. ‘Are you the captain of this amazing vessel?’
Nolan threw his head back and laughed. His eyes flashed with instant warmth as he winked then rescued her from the embarrassment. ‘I’m just about to crack open a beer, do you fancy one?’
