‘Come on, Juliet! You want to be warm, don’t you?’ He is standing in the gently swaying boat.
‘I really don’t think I can,’ I say. ‘Like I say, I’m not good on water.’
I never have been, not since I went on a fishing trip with Pete in our early dating days. The weather was so bad that I spent the whole time hanging over the side being ill. I haven’t been back on the water since.
‘It’ll be fine,’ he says, and I wish I could believe him. But isn’t this what we’re trying to do here, build trust? I look at his hand. ‘Really, it’s the way we do this around here.’
He holds my stare and I don’t know whether to trust him or not. The last time I looked into a man’s eyes, I ended up letting him kiss me and making a complete fool of myself. And, I remind myself, I’m doing this to prove I’m not a fool. I’m doing this to get the mill running, and to make bread. Yesterday’s Juliet would have stayed firmly on dry land, worried about what might happen. Now that I have a second chance, I’m prepared to take the risk. Slowly I reach out my hand, and he holds it. He tugs encouragingly and a ripple of excitement runs through me, making me feel half my age, as if anything is possible. I see a flash of blue from the kingfishers, like some sort of sign. And suddenly, with a burst of courage, I take a huge stride, hoping I land in the canoe and not the lake. As beautiful as it is, I do not want to end up in it.
I land, wobble, and reach out for something to hold on to. I find myself right up against Laurent’s firm chest. I can smell him, cologne and wood from his work in the mill that morning. I look up and he’s right there, looking down at me. I glance away and try to take a step back, nearly toppling. He catches my elbow. I don’t want him to think I’m attracted to him. I’m not, Itell myself. I’m not going down that route again. I am not Shirley Valentine.
‘Now, take a seat here,’ he says, and I do as I’m told and sit facing him. ‘The other way round,’ he adds. ‘You’ll need to paddle.’
‘What? Oh, yes …’ I spin around on the small seat, making the boat wobble again. I grip the sides and shut my eyes, thinking this has been a terrible mistake. I feel the boat move as he lowers himself onto the seat behind me.
‘Now, take this,’ he says, and I open my eyes to feel a paddle being lifted from the floor and slid in beside me. I follow his instructions and balance it across the sides of the boat in front of me. My heart is racing.
I watch as Laurent expertly flips the rope from its mooring stake and tosses it into the boat. There’s a bit more wobbling, but then I hear and see, out of the corner of my eye, his paddle dipping into the water.
‘Put your paddle in and just keep paddling,’ he says. ‘I will steer from behind,’ he says. ‘Now, you take the left side, I’ll take the right. You just have to keep paddling. It’s when you stop, that’s when boats become unsteady, especially in choppy waters; that’s when boats capsize. You have to keep paddling.’ I’m not sure if he’s talking about the canoeing or life itself. Maybe both.
He pushes the boat away from the shore and I start to panic. ‘Just paddle. I will steer,’ he says.
Within seconds we’re away from the bank. I dip my paddle into the water, and when I’ve pulled it as far back as it can go, I lift it, put it back into the water and pull again, like Laurent does. I’m smiling as we move quietly through the lily pads, the dragonflies darting out of our way. I wish Maddie and Jake could see me, Pete too! He’d never believe it. This is beautiful. If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d get out my phone to prove what I’m doing here. But I just keep paddling. We glide across the water,rhythmically, knowing the fish are feeding below us. The odd duck quacks from the bank as we pass the little waterfall just beyond the fisherwomen’s spot, and rivulets run from the main lake into the wooded area.
Laurent paddles behind me, and we’re travelling slowly through the water. I catch a flash of blue. The kingfishers are there and now I’m even closer to them, watching as they sit at the edge of the lake, waiting for the right moment to dive and come up with dinner.
Suddenly one plunges into the water. I hold my breath.
‘Keep paddling,’ I hear Laurent say softly as we float up the lake into a much more shaded area, where trees meet trees and their branches entwine. I keep dipping the blade in the water and pulling it back in a gentle rhythm, when suddenly a kingfisher appears, a small fish in its beak, and I’m delighted.
‘Success,’ Laurent says. ‘You just have to keep trying.’
We carry on until he guides us to the shore and grasps an exposed root on the bank. ‘This is where we come for wood. You can only get to it by boat,’ he says, ‘so there’s always plenty.’ The rain is dripping onto the leaves above us, which are creating a canopy. ‘Put your paddle into the boat,’ he instructs, and I do so, entranced by the beautiful woodland glade we’re in. ‘And this is where to swim.’ He points to a part of the lake just beyond, where the trees dip low into the water. It’s like a natural swimming pool, with a waterfall over the rocks above it and more rocks as the water flows out on the other side.
‘There is nothing like it. This is where I come when I need to think, to be alone. When I need to take a moment, I come and swim.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say.
‘You should try it. It’s very private.’
‘I’m not sure I’m confident enough in the water.’
‘Give it time,’ he says.
I draw my eyes from the swimming hole to where the weeping willows drape their long branches in the water. ‘Maybe I’ll get brave enough at some point,’ I respond. I would like that very much.
‘Now, take my hand,’ Laurent instructs, and suddenly all the fear has returned.
I slowly stand and the boat starts to wobble. In a panic, I launch myself at the lakeside bank, clinging to it for safety. The front end of the canoe shoots into the air.
‘Woah!’ he says, steadying the canoe and himself, then moving to the centre of the boat.
‘Sorry!’ I say, grimacing.
‘Slow and steady. That’s how we do it. Not in the heat of the moment.’ He passes me the rope.
When I offer a hand to him, he accepts it. He pulls himself from the canoe and secures it. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘over here, this is where we manage the woodland space and help ourselves to wood from the piles when we need it.’ He starts walking, then bends over and hands a log to me. We load ourselves with an armful each, then pack them into the canoe. ‘We should be quick. The weather isn’t good.’
