Authors: JS Taylor
Chapter 7
Adam leads me along a riverside pathway behind the studio. We reach a tiny wooden jetty, leading to a white boat with a big sail.
It’s not enormous, but there’s plenty of room on deck, and a little cabin which looks to be well appointed. The perfect sized boat, I decide, for two people.
“This is it?” I say excitedly. “This is actually your boat?”
“I told you the boat wasn’t much,” says Adam. “But she serves my purposes.”
“She’s beautiful,” I say. “I’ve never met anyone who owns a boat before.”
Adam laughs.
“Well now you have,” he says. “I’ve got a few more mind. But they’re out in the US and France.”
“You’ve got
three
boats?”
“Ah, five actually,” he says, handing me onto the bobbing craft. “This is the smallest. But she’s kind of my favourite. As a boy I used to go fishing with my brothers on a little boat. This kind of reminds me of that.”
A dark shadow seems to pass over his face at the mention of his brothers. I consider pressing him about it, and decide later would be a better time.
“Oh.” I step carefully onto the boat, considering this. “Does the boat have a name?” I ask.
“Of course,” says Adam, moving to help me board. “All boats have to have a name. They have spirits you know.”
“Do they?” I laugh.
“Be careful on that part,” says Adam, manoeuvring quickly to steady me. “It can be slippy.”
“So what’s the boat called?” I ask, allowing him to catch me in his arms and guide me on.
“She’s called Muse,” he says. “After the goddesses of music.”
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Not named after a saint, or a prophet?” I tease. “Surely that’s not how a good Catholic boy names a boat?”
Adam grins. “Boats belong to the water. They need special names to capture their wildness. That’s why they’re always female,” he adds, looking at me.
“Oh yes?” I tilt my head, flirting with him.
“Rivers and oceans are like the perfect woman,” says Adam, his eyes sparkling. “Beautiful, captivating, mysterious. But you gotta always treat her with respect. Because every woman has a dangerous side.”
I’m smiling at him now.
“Is that so? Even me?”
“Oh, especially you,” he nods. “That’s the mistake most men make. They think wicked women are the most dangerous.”
I s
teady myself on his strong body, as we stand on the bobbing boat.
“They’re not?” I ask, heady in his proximity.
“No,” he says. “It’s the good women you have to watch.”
He glances at me.
“You stand between a good woman, and someone she loves, and you’d better watch out. She’s the most dangerous thing living.”
“Is that so?” I turn this image on myself.
It’s true I am fiercely loyal. I’d lie in traffic to protect people I love. But dangerous? I can’t see that.
“How do you know I’m not one of the wicked wom
en?” I ask.
Adam laughs. “Because I wouldn’t have to work so hard to bring out your wicked side. And believe me Summer, we’ll get there.”
I feel my face growing hot.
His voice changes. “Believe me Summer,” he says. “You’re one of the good ones. I’ve seen some situations. I’ve got a knack of knowing how people will turn when a crisis hits. And you’re a fighter.”
I blink at him, wondering how he could possibly know this, when I don’t truly know it about myself.
“When the shit comes down, you’d be surprised who comes out swinging,” continues Adam. “I’ve learned to know. I’ve seen girls fight their way past armed soldiers, when men are running. Never underestimate the power of a woman’s love.”
He looks at me intently for a moment, and then looks away, as though regretting saying so much.
“In any case,” he says, his voice losing its former intensity, “a boat needs a name to reflect its mystery, as well as its joy.”
“You sound like a poet,” I say, stepping uncertainly behind him.
“Well, The Muse calms me down, in the busy city,” he explains, steadying me, “and I do a lot of my songwriting out here on the water. So I guess she brings out my lyrical side.”
“I thought you had an urban childhood,” I say, as he releases me onto the swaying deck. “Where does the love of boats come from?”
In my mind, Adam’s background is Belfast buildings. But on board the boat he moves with such grace and ease, he could have been born at sea.
“Ireland is quite a rural place,” he says, stepping easily across the deck, and grabbing hold of the mooring rope. “You’re never too far from a river or a coast. Even in the city. And there’s pirates in my family history,” he adds with a dangerous grin. “So you could say it’s in my blood.”
He unloops the heavy moor rope as though it weighed nothing. Then he moves to the other side of the boat, and begins winding a lever.
Adam looks so at home out on the water. I find myself gazing at him admiringly as he expertly tends to the boat.
“Is that the anchor?” I say, peering curiously out over the boat.
“That’s right,” says Adam. “It’s good that you’re paying attention. Because you’ll be sailing this one day.”
I give him an uncertain smile, thinking he must be joking.
“You’re not serious?”
“Of course I am,” he says, moving away from the raised anchor to kiss me. “A girl of mine has to be able to sail with me. Else I’d worry about you.”
This touches me deeply. The fact he’s thought so far ahead. That’s he’s seeing us together long term.
Adam reaches down and pulls out a life jacket, and fits it carefully over my shoulders.
“There we are,” he says, approvingly, adjusting the straps. “It suits you Summer,” he adds. “You look right at home of the water. Ready to go?”
I nod, and Adam moves towards the mast. His strong arms wind up a variety of complicated looking levers, and the sail fans impressively into the wind.
In moments, the boat is propelled forward, out into the Thames.
I close my eyes, letting the cool breeze drift through my hair.
“This is lovely,” I say, as the boat moves to its own gentle rhythm. “Really lovely.”
Adam smiles, leaning against the side of the boat.
“Isn’t it?” he says. “You can really get away from it out here. But you’re in the thick of it too.”
He raises his arm to point.
“See there? That’s the top of the millennium wheel. We’ll see it in a moment. When we turn this next bend.”
Adam moves behind me, wrapping his arms around my body. I lean back, letting him envelop me.
“Isn’t this perfect?” he murmurs into my hair. “You, me and the river.”
“It is,” I sigh, turning slightly to touch my cheek to his. “Completely perfect. It’s like a dream”
And dreams never last.
“You know what would make it just that bit more perfect?” adds Adam. “Besides you being naked of course?”
I laugh. “What?”
“How about a glass of wine?” he asks. “I’ve got a few good bottles in the little cabin. “Or
champagne?”
“Oooo
champagne would be lovely,” I admit.
Adam kisses my ear.
“Wait there,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
Adam vanishes through a tiny door, into the small cabin. And I turn to stare out at the water. I breathe in deep.
London looks so peaceful from this vantage point. So much less busy and intimidating. Adam is right. I’ll feel differently about the city, now I’ve experienced it from the water.
The wind has whipped a little higher now. There’s an ominous creak, and I turn to look at the sail.
Is it meant to sound like that?
The bow seems to be shaking.
It’s just the wind
, I tell myself.
You just don’t understand boats, that’s all.
Suddenly Adam appears from below deck.
“Summer!” he shouts. “Get down!”
In the shock, I barely take in what he means. But my eyes suddenly fix on the sail. It’s seems to be pulling strangely. I just have time to register that it’s given way, when the bow comes flying towards me.
What the…?
Time seems to stand still, as it comes directly at my face. I’m frozen like a rabbit in the headlights. My muscles are locked solid, in the hazy fear I hardly follow what happens next.
Instead of smashing into my face, the impact takes me far lower down that I expect. I’m hit square in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of me, and driving me to the deck.
“Are you ok?”
I blink up, to see blue sky, and Adam’s body on top of my, shielding me.
It takes me a full moment to realise, that he must have wrestled me to the deck just in time. The bow arcs ominously over us, casting a dark shadow.
Adam glances up at the unsecured sail, and then his strong arms are helping me to a sitting position.
“Summer? Are you ok?”
I nod dumbly.
“Good. Wait there. Don’t try to stand.”
Before I have the chance to reply, Adam springs to his feet, and grabs the bow with both hands. He wedges his feet against the deck, and pulls, wrenching the flying sail back, inch by painful inch.
I start to move, thinking I should help him. The sail is taking the full impact of the wind, and looks impossible to master.
“Get down Summer!” shouts Adam. I hesitate.
“Now!” he bellows. This time the fire in his voice is enough to make me obey instantly.
Panting, Adam drags the flapping sail in line with the boat. Then in a dexterous manoeuvre, he grabs a free rope, and flings it over the bow.
My breath is held, as I watch him secure it with effort. Then he winches the sail back, unleashes the ropes, and lets it fall.
I breathe out.
“It’s safe now,” says Adam. “I have a spare rope. I can fix it, so we can sail back.”
He frowns. “I don’t know how that could have happened,” he mutters, walking over to me, and pulling me to my feet. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“No you’re not,” says Adam. “You’re shaking.”
He pulls me into his arms.
“It’s nothing,” I say, willing my body to calm. “I’m ok now. Honestly.”
Adam pulls me away to face him, running his hands over my hair.
“You could have been badly injured,” he says grimly. “That bow was moving fast. A broken nose would have been the least of it.”
His face darkens over suddenly.
“Summer,” he says. “Don’t you ever disobey me again. If I tell you to get down, you get down and stay there, ok?”
Shit. He’s completely furious.
I nod dumbly. Adam looks so angry. He raises his hand, and I flinch.
To my surprise, the anger in his face vanishes like a cloud before the sun, replaced by utter horror.
“Summer,” he whispers, “you didn’t think…”
He sinks his hand back slowly, his face still a picture of shock.
“I was just moving my hand to push my hair away,” he says, “surely you didn’t think I would ever raise my hand to you in anger?”
I don’t reply.
Of course I think that. Isn’t that what I deserve?
“Did you think I would hit you?” he asks.
Adam’s face is so utterly devastated, that it prompts me to speak.
“No,” I blurt. “I know you’re not like that. It’s an old instinct, that’s all.”
Suddenly I realise I’ve said too much.
Adam scans my face for a long moment. I know he’s too clever not to work things out.
“Your ex-boyfriend,” he says, with unnerving discernment. “The one you mentioned at the party last night.”
I say nothing. But he must know by the shame in my face he’s judged right.
“He hit you. Didn’t he?” Adam’s tone is soft.
I bite my lip, not sure how to respond.
“Didn’t he?” says Adam.
He takes my face in his hands.
“You flinched,” he said, “Like you were expecting to be struck. Summer, tell me. What did he do to you?”
Adam’s voice is so warm, so caring, that I feel it suddenly pouring out. The truth.
“It was never serious,” I blurt. “Nothing to leave marks. It was just… Dez lost his temper sometimes.”
The fury in Adam’s face it so strong that I can’t stand it.
“It was mostly my fault,” I whisper. “I… I’m not the girl you think I am Adam.”
The fury in Adam’s expression twists to a pain so deep, that I wonder for a moment if he’s physically hurting from fixing the boat.
“Summer,” he says, “you must never say that. A man who hits a woman in anger is not a man. Do you understand? It wasn’t your fault.”