‘Down along the river.’ He jutted his thumb forwards. ‘Of course, it’s locked away in the boathouse on the estate for now, but tomorrow…’
‘I know it.’ Miranda wouldn’t particularly want to admit that she knew most of the old outhouses along the riverbank. She had explored every place she could make her way into. The little boathouse, musty and empty, had given her shelter when she was caught out in an unexpected downpour once on her way back from a day spent tadpoling on the bank.
‘You do, do you? Well, I’ll be there first thing tomorrow, so if you’re at a loose end you’ll know where to come, won’t you!’
‘You’re making fun of me,’ she said as she hoisted herself up over the gate that blocked this lane from the main road.
‘Me? Never.’ He smiled and she was suddenly aware that they were standing there watching each other for a little too long.
‘Well, I should be getting back,’ which of course, was an understatement.
‘I suppose that we’ll be bumping into each other again,’ he said diffidently then he scudded his final flat stone along the top of the river. ‘See you soon, Miranda,’ he shouted as he made his way in the general direction of Blair Hall.
*
The following day, Miranda arrived at the boathouse just as Richard was pulling back the huge doors. With the morning light flooding the little shed, it seemed much brighter and less eerie than when she came here before. Now, she could see it was a very old building, home to two boats, one – Richard’s little punt – slept silently beneath a great blue cloak. He pulled back the cover and resolutely ignored the sorry-looking remains of a red and white sailboat in the corner.
‘Hi,’ she said shyly as she slipped around the door.
‘Fancy seeing you here.’ He was lining up a couple of rusting tins of paint, but there was no way of knowing what they contained without opening the lids. ‘Come to watch me work, have you?’ he said kindly.
‘I thought I’d help you,’ Miranda said with more confidence than she felt.
‘Oh, I can’t see you helping here. It’s all…’ His words stopped when he caught her eye, as though he was thinking that he might jolly her along. Then he turned back to the bench, taking up one of the paint cans again. Miranda spotted a big old screwdriver and she grabbed it, quickly levering open the first can before moving on to the next, aware of Richard at her back watching her silently.
‘Well done, maybe you’ll be able to assist me after all,’ he said, surprise lilting his voice.
‘We’re in luck,’ Miranda said on opening the final can. It was almost full of varnish, a slightly more vivid colour than the faded tone of the little boat that lay stretched out in the sunshine coming from the doorway. She set to stirring it up with the screwdriver so that soon the lumpy years of disuse were being broken into the liquid. ‘Have you found some brushes?’ she called to him.
‘Well, I have, two, but really…’ He held up a wide brush that would quickly cover the whole boat in a first coat and a second, narrow brush that would work well on the darkened rims and around the decorative patch that held the boat’s name. Miranda handed the heavy can of paint across to Richard.
‘Here, you start with this and I’ll have a look at the others.’ She nodded towards the three remaining cans. She picked out the most vibrant red and began to stir it up also. Richard was running long, milky strokes along the belly of the boat, which seemed to dry in before he had time to wet his brush for the next. ‘It’s going to take a couple of coats; the wood is really thirsty,’ Miranda said as she knelt down to begin painting around the rims.
‘Oh dear, you can’t… you mustn’t…’ Richard began, but he faltered as he watched her delicately apply the fuchsia-coloured paint evenly and precisely along a fine line, giving the body of the vessel immediate definition.
‘What’s that?’ She smiled at him, enjoying his surprise.
‘You’re actually…’ He was embarrassed now, looking across at his own messy work by comparison. ‘Well, you’re actually very good.’ They set to work then, each of them painting their own allotted space, working around each other and chatting happily as they went.
‘Some day, perhaps when I have more money, I’ll resurrect the old girl again,’ he said wistfully as they sat back against a rock later that day looking at the sailboat that would spend another year in darkness.