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Authors: James Hamilton-Paterson
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problems in the Navy at the time, plus I wanted to come home. I was born pretty much here, you see, just over in Kenton. I’m a Middle-sex man, Gerry. In every sense.’
Ah yes. Enter Dorothy, discreetly, wearing mufti. But I liked the way an ancient county, once the eponymous home of the Middle Saxons and brutally zoned out of existence in the mid-Sixties , still lingered to define something that persisted just beneath the surface, even close to the heart.
‘When I married her I liked her spirit. We were good chums, really. Not a lot of the other, if you get my drift.’ Clifford stared intently into his beer. ‘We were neither of us much on that sort of thing. Well, it was four years before Pauline wasborn, then Jack a couple of years later. Millie was thirty plus by then. And then – ironic, really, when you think about it: it was me introduced her to sailing. Basically, I was happy to get her out of the house. All that stuff in the papers about her being a seawoman born and bred is a load of bollocks. I’m not saying she didn’t take to it like a duck to water and it wasn’t long before she outgrew poor old Ruislip Lido. But bred to it she wasn’t. I doubt if she’d ever put bum to thwart in so much as a rowing boat until she met me. From then on, though, she was bloody unstoppable. Always off sailing, she was. I did most of the kids’ upbringing myself. Not that I resent any of it, it was just the way things turned out. I suppose it’s the same for all of us in one way or another. We always wake up too late to who we really are, and by then we’re stuck with living a life belonging to someone else entirely.’
I could sense Dorothy sidling closer. ‘And from then on Millie just drifted further away each year?’ I suggested, not much caring but being professional all the same: an author temporarily stuck with someone else’s life entirely.
‘Drifted, my arse. She’d set her course and headed off over the horizon. She knew where she was going, all right. Not even that Aussie shark could stop her.’
‘Lew Buschfeuer?’
‘Now, now. I’m referring to the brave animal that lunched off her arm. Better man than I am, Gunga Din, and all that. I wouldn’t have had the nerve. You probably haven’t heard Millie swear? I mean, really have a go? We used to sound off a bit in the Navy but we were just kids compared to Millie. I bet that shark’s ears are still ringing. Like I said, you’ve got to admire the woman’s spirit. She’s way beyond all this, now.’ Clifford’s gesture took in himself, the cricketing weasels, the entire pub and its encroaching tide of eateries, as well as a large tract of north-west Greater London. ‘You know she’s got a new house near Chichester? She did ask if I wanted to move down there, which was nice of her, but to be frank I’d sooner die. Poncy lot. Weekend sailors and the pink-gin set in designeryachting caps. Either that or wearing more wool than the average sheep. They look like extras from a film about Dunkirk.’
‘So what do you think she’ll do now? She can’t go on with this long-distance yachting caper, surely? Not at her age. And anyway, she’s already broken the only record that matters.’
‘Christ, Gerry, don’t let her hear you say that. There are dozens of other records, and to people like her they all matter. But you’re right – even she can’t go on for ever. I’ve asked her, naturally, and so have the kids, because obviously we worry about her. When you think about it, it’s ridiculous, really, a one-armed grandmother sailing around the world. But she’s always vague about the future. I don’t think she knows herself. Two things I’m certain about, though. One, she’s never going to come home to Pinner, and between you and me I can live with that because she’s not the only one to have a life of her own.’ He shot me a complicitous glance. ‘You must meet Terry sometime.’
Nothing discreet about
Ah yes. Enter Dorothy, discreetly, wearing mufti. But I liked the way an ancient county, once the eponymous home of the Middle Saxons and brutally zoned out of existence in the mid-Sixties , still lingered to define something that persisted just beneath the surface, even close to the heart.
‘When I married her I liked her spirit. We were good chums, really. Not a lot of the other, if you get my drift.’ Clifford stared intently into his beer. ‘We were neither of us much on that sort of thing. Well, it was four years before Pauline wasborn, then Jack a couple of years later. Millie was thirty plus by then. And then – ironic, really, when you think about it: it was me introduced her to sailing. Basically, I was happy to get her out of the house. All that stuff in the papers about her being a seawoman born and bred is a load of bollocks. I’m not saying she didn’t take to it like a duck to water and it wasn’t long before she outgrew poor old Ruislip Lido. But bred to it she wasn’t. I doubt if she’d ever put bum to thwart in so much as a rowing boat until she met me. From then on, though, she was bloody unstoppable. Always off sailing, she was. I did most of the kids’ upbringing myself. Not that I resent any of it, it was just the way things turned out. I suppose it’s the same for all of us in one way or another. We always wake up too late to who we really are, and by then we’re stuck with living a life belonging to someone else entirely.’
I could sense Dorothy sidling closer. ‘And from then on Millie just drifted further away each year?’ I suggested, not much caring but being professional all the same: an author temporarily stuck with someone else’s life entirely.
‘Drifted, my arse. She’d set her course and headed off over the horizon. She knew where she was going, all right. Not even that Aussie shark could stop her.’
‘Lew Buschfeuer?’
‘Now, now. I’m referring to the brave animal that lunched off her arm. Better man than I am, Gunga Din, and all that. I wouldn’t have had the nerve. You probably haven’t heard Millie swear? I mean, really have a go? We used to sound off a bit in the Navy but we were just kids compared to Millie. I bet that shark’s ears are still ringing. Like I said, you’ve got to admire the woman’s spirit. She’s way beyond all this, now.’ Clifford’s gesture took in himself, the cricketing weasels, the entire pub and its encroaching tide of eateries, as well as a large tract of north-west Greater London. ‘You know she’s got a new house near Chichester? She did ask if I wanted to move down there, which was nice of her, but to be frank I’d sooner die. Poncy lot. Weekend sailors and the pink-gin set in designeryachting caps. Either that or wearing more wool than the average sheep. They look like extras from a film about Dunkirk.’
‘So what do you think she’ll do now? She can’t go on with this long-distance yachting caper, surely? Not at her age. And anyway, she’s already broken the only record that matters.’
‘Christ, Gerry, don’t let her hear you say that. There are dozens of other records, and to people like her they all matter. But you’re right – even she can’t go on for ever. I’ve asked her, naturally, and so have the kids, because obviously we worry about her. When you think about it, it’s ridiculous, really, a one-armed grandmother sailing around the world. But she’s always vague about the future. I don’t think she knows herself. Two things I’m certain about, though. One, she’s never going to come home to Pinner, and between you and me I can live with that because she’s not the only one to have a life of her own.’ He shot me a complicitous glance. ‘You must meet Terry sometime.’
Nothing discreet about
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