Narrow Margins by Marie Browne

irritated hiss from a group of four or five adolescent swans, gliding about the marina, casing each boat in the hope of bullying a late-night snack from some unsuspecting resident. We watched them in silence for a while as they moved silently in and out of the pools of reflected light from the boats; it was a clear night and with no light pollution there seemed to be a billion stars.
    Tea finished, we lay on our backs staring up into the night sky. It would have been nice to lie side by side but being an aptly named ‘narrow’ boat we had to lie head to head with our feet pointing towards either end, trying to work out all the constellations that we really ought to know. It was the second recognisable instance since I had had my ‘cunning plan’ that I actually felt this might have been a good idea.

Chapter Six
Fully Trained – and Still Terrified! 
    A S FAR AS S AM was concerned, training day was possibly going to be the best day of his short life. His dad had installed the television, he had a new game to play on the PS2 and, unlike every other day, there were no restrictions, he could actually play for as long as Mum and Dad were busy, instead of just the one hour he was normally allowed.
    There were snacks provided (all healthy and good for him), a vast amount of drinks (no additives, no chemicals) and unlimited violence (brain-rotting and mind-boggling). So by the time Dave from the training company turned up, he couldn’t have cared less. He did manage to say hello, but that’s only because I wouldn’t let him past me with the huge quilt (nest-making material) he had stolen from our bed, until he did. He was quite obviously looking forward to his day immensely. I just wished that I could’ve said the same.
    Waiting for the kettle to boil, in response to Dave’s ‘White, one sugar, please’, I watched Sam fluff up all his pillows, pull the quilt around him, arrange all his snacks and drinks in easy grabbing distance and, with a grin almost as big as one of his father’s, fix a steely gaze on the big-eared character and his robotic sidekick and completely zone out reality. I found myself unreasonably irritated with him. Here we were in the middle of this ‘big adventure’ and all he wanted to do was play stupid games, but he looked so happy sitting in his ‘nest’ I had to smile and pushed the growing jealousy to the back of my mind. I grabbed the cups of tea and fought my way through the cramped engine room to the back of the boat, hoping that the tea was enough to put off leaving for a little longer.
    Dave was explaining to Geoff about something called ‘springing off’. He was a lovely guy who had obviously been around and aboard narrow boats for years, still finding them just as wonderful today as he did 20 years ago. He had run his own hotel boat business so Happy held no horrors for him at all. Unfortunately he had one huge flaw – enthusiasm! He was eager to be off, eager to impart his love for all things wet and sloshy, eager to get us trained and competent. Geoff seemed to be as eager as he was, while I, on the other hand, was eager to go and see how Sam’s new game was progressing, help him eat his snacks and drink his drinks and I was pretty sure there was room in that nest for two.
    No such luck.
    â€˜Right, come on then,’ Dave enthused. ‘Let’s get this lady turned round.’
    For a moment, I thought he was talking about me and eyed him with wary confusion, where was I supposed to turn? He was, of course, talking about the only lady he had eyes for and, with a turn of the key, Happy came loudly to life and seemed as eager to be off as the two chattering men.
    â€˜Springing off’ went surprisingly well. Geoff stood on the bank with the stern rope wrapped around a bollard, with the tiller far over to the right and the engine chugging away. Happy’s nose moved gracefully out into the marina in a