JOHNNIE
Dawn was beginning to break as Johnnie steered Annie out to sea. A light sea mist was clinging to the hills and he could just make out the silhouettes of several cormorants on the Mewstone as they motored past. The wind, currently a light north-easterly, promised some good sailing for the next couple of hours.
Always an early riser, he loved the solitude this time of day offered out on the water – no distractions, just time to enjoy the quiet and, today, to think about what he was going to find when he got to France. Neither he nor Sabine had been able to work out what Martha’s problem could possibly be.
The smell of bacon drifted up from the small galley where Rachel was busy making them breakfast and, no doubt, drinking a large mug of tea. An hour ago, when she’d arrived on the quay carrying a red kitbag she’d barely managed to mutter ‘Good morning’ as she’d stepped on board. ‘Not a morning person, I’m afraid. Be all right when I’ve had some tea.’
Johnnie, feeling his spirits sag, hoped he’d done the right thing by inviting her to crew for him. The last thing he needed was some moody woman on board. He’d simply told her to put her stuff in the small cabin in the bow and then to come and help him cast off. To his relief she’d been more than competent with the ropes and within minutes they were underway, motoring out towards the mouth of the river.
‘There’s breakfast stuff in the galley. Want to go and rustle us up some food?’ he said. ‘I’ll host the sails and we’ll hove to for breakfast.’ He realised he was being a tad chauvinistic, telling Rachel to do the cooking but no way was he prepared to hand the tiller to her until he knew how good a sailor she really was. She’d disappeared down into the cabin without a word.
Now, as he headed out into Start Bay, she reappeared with a large plate of bacon butties, two mugs of tea and, importantly, a smile on her face Johnnie was pleased to see.
‘You awake now?’ he asked.
Rachel nodded. ‘Always need tea first thing. Didn’t want to make a noise in the kitchen and disturb BB before I left.’
‘He’s settled in all right then?’
‘Seems very happy. It’s good having someone to keep an eye on the place while I’m away.’ Rachel took a bite of her bacon sandwich. ‘Mmm. Why does food always taste so much better when eaten at sea?’ she said.
Johnnie didn’t answer. He was too busy enjoying his own breakfast. He glanced at the main sail as it flapped in the wind.
‘Think you’ve picked a good day for the trip,’ Rachel said. ‘Good steady wind.’
Johnnie nodded. ‘We should make good time. Where were you based in the south of France?’
‘Antibes.’
‘Know it well. I’ve done a few deliveries down that way,’ Johnnie said. ‘So I guess you sailed mainly in the Med?’
Rachel nodded. ‘France. Spain. Italy. Corsica. Malta. Places like that. The last couple of years we’d started to explore further east, but stopped when things began to get nasty over that way.’
‘How big was your boat?’
‘Last one was sixty foot. Hugo has it now. He has plans to charter it.’
‘You miss your life down there?’
Rachel hesitated. ‘If I’m truthful, yes. Although I’m really enjoying living in Dartmouth. I miss my husband though. He’d been ill so his death wasn’t unexpected. It was still hard though, accepting it was all over.’
‘It’s the finality of it all, isn’t it? Johnnie said.
‘This is the first time I’ve been sailing since he died,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m only now realising how big a part it played in my life and how much I’m missing it.’ She finished her sandwich before glancing across at Johnnie and asking. ‘Annie? What happened to her?’
‘Big C.’ Johnnie said briefly. ‘Right – want to take the tiller for an hour?’ It was too soon for them to have a conversation about Annie. There was no way he was going to discuss Annie and how much he missed her. Easier to change the subject and give Rachel the tiller.
‘I’d love to.’
Over the following hours they settled into an easy on-board comradeship, both enjoying the sailing. Rachel prepared lunchtime cheese sandwiches which they ate sitting in the cockpit and afterwards they took it in turns at the tiller.
The wind was with them and they did make good time as Johnnie had predicted, arriving in Roscoff some eighteen hours later. Rachel got the sails down while Johnnie motored them into harbour. Once moored up, he took over culinary duties for their supper, heating up a ready meal and an apple tart.
Rachel, her offer of help having been declined, sat in the cockpit with a glass of wine looking out at the lights of the ancient town on the other side of the quay.
‘Not high cuisine,’ Johnnie said, joining her with plates of steaming risotto. ‘Don’t tell my French relatives how low I’ve sunk! At least the wine is a decent vintage!’
‘Tell me about your French family,’ Rachel said.
‘Natives of Roscoff from time immemorial. Farming family and from the early twentieth century onion growers and exporters.’
‘So how come you ended up on the other side of the channel?’
‘Both Grandpapa and Papa were Johnny Onion boys,’ Johnnie said. ‘Travelling over to England every year to sell the onion harvest.’
‘Oh I remember those from my childhood,’ Rachel says. ‘Bicycles loaded down with garlands of onions. There was a man who used to come to our small town every September. Always wore a striped shirt and a black beret. You could barely see his bicycle for onions. My mother always bought at least two large bunches. Swore they were the best onions she could buy.’
‘That’s them,’ Johnnie said. ‘By the fifties though the trade virtually died out. Which was when Papa met and married my Devonshire mother and settled in Dartmouth.’ He drained his tea. ‘Calling me Johnnie was his idea of reminding me where I came from. My sister got a proper French name though – Sabine Le Roy. Do you know her? She’s Sabine Wills now. Runs the kiosk on the quay for the boat trips.’
Rachel caught her breath and choked before shaking her head. ‘Sorry, something went down the wrong way.’
Johnnie looked at her, concerned for a minute, before saying, ‘So where was this small town?’ Johnnie asked.
‘Small town? Oh where I grew up? Highbridge, Somerset. You’ve probably never heard of it.’
Before Johnnie could answer, Rachel finished the last of her wine and stifled a yawn before standing up. ‘I’ll just wash up and then I’ll hit my bunk, if that’s okay? Bit tired. Been a long day.’ She picked up the plates as Johnnie went to help. ‘No, you stay here and finish your wine. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, sleep well.’
‘Goodnight and thanks for today’s efforts,’ Johnnie said, puzzled as to why she was making such a hasty retreat. What had he said?
Johnnie was already out on deck the next morning when Rachel surfaced. ‘Kettle’s boiled,’ he called. ‘Help yourself to a mug. Thought we’d have breakfast ashore today. Ready in fifteen?’
Johnnie led the way to a small cafe down a side street that was busy with fishermen and sailors all enjoying versions of the local speciality, crepes.
While they were waiting for their crepes to arrive, Johnnie said, ‘Would you like to come with me and meet Cousin Martha?’
Rachel instantly shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t dream of intruding on a family problem. Besides, I’m really looking forward to having a wander around Roscoff.’
‘Okay. You’d better take these then.’ And he pushed the keys to Annie’s cockpit hatch across the table to her. ‘Just so you can at least get inside if you want to. I shouldn’t be too long. I’m hoping we’ll be able to catch the next tide.’
Rachel picked the keys up and put them in her bag without a word. Johnnie opened his mouth to say something but the waitress arrived with their coffee and crepes and the moment was lost.
Apart from a muttered ‘delicious’ from Rachel, breakfast was eaten in silence and finished quickly. Johnnie pushed his chair back and stood up. Placing a twenty-euro note on the table, he said, ‘Okay, I’ll see you back at the boat. Shouldn’t be too long.’
Walking through town to Martha’s, Johnnie thought about the difference twelve hours had made in Rachel. Yesterday he’d thought they were getting along fine, enjoying the sailing and each other’s company, but then during supper, the shutters had come down. Today there was a definite chill in the air between them.
It was almost as if Rachel had decided not to talk to him. Damned if he could figure out why. Get this business at Martha’s sorted and on their return trip he’d try to get her to tell him what had upset her so badly.
The front door to Martha’s terraced cottage was unlocked and he gave a quick knock before calling out, ‘Martha, J’arrive,’ and walking in.
‘Finally you’re here,’ Martha said as they kissed cheeks when he found her in the small conservatory at the back of the house.
‘So tell me, what’s the problem? Oh, who’s this?’ Johnnie said, seeing a small girl in a buggy. Martha had numerous grandchildren but he didn’t remember seeing one this young for some time.
‘Hello, who are you?’ he said to the child, who simply sucked her thumb and stared at him.
‘She’s Carla,’ Martha said before adding quietly, ‘And she’s all yours.’
‘Hello, Carla, I’m John …’ He swung round to face Martha. ‘What the hell do you mean, she’s all mine?’