Book 2, Chapter 50

Bill made a point of sitting in the cockpit reading and sipping a mug of tea while I motored through the inner harbour and moored Molly in the marina to the accompaniment of a round of cheers and applause from Philip and Evan, Penny and Andy, Serena, Jenny, Kelly and my Da. This was a Monday straight after work so I felt very flattered that, on what must have been last minute calls from Philip, they all turned up to make a welcome committee. There aren't many, if any, moments of approval in a person's life and I'm not sure why. The Cardiff to Uphill return voyage was scarcely epic but maybe that’s it; serious competition leaves no room for respect.

“How were the foreign lands?” called Evan, referring to England

“Maent yn siarad yn rhyfedd yno.” They speak strangely there.” I replied repeating a joke Evan and I had used many times since childhood after trips across the border.

“You netball girls never did as well over in England as us rugby boys,” taunted Evan, conveniently forgetting that I had played wing at rugby and I’d never played netball in my life.

“How much has she broken?” My Da asked Bill.

“Well her and the warden on Flat Holm did make a great big hole in the cod I prepared to take home for my Litara!”

“Flat Holm? I’m impressed. Did she take the fish and leave you on Molly at anchor?”

“She beached her as sweet as I've ever seen in done. My reputation as the sailor of the family will soon have to be passed to our Venus. You'd have been proud of her Isaac.” With that Bill reached in the icebox and pulled out a bottle of champagne. The purists might have winced at the mugs and paper cups we used but it’s the thought that counts.

A tougher girl than I would have run after the celebration to her kick-boxing class but single-handing a boat is tiring so I settled for ringing in to offer my apologies and going home with Da for dinner. An early night after a bath was called for but although I'd only been away 36 hours and wasn't expecting any news I did check my emails to find an unexpected message from Milford Marina, which was about 100 miles west of us by car. All I knew about Milford Haven was that it was a major oil terminal that looked to be on the way up until the Sea Empress oil spill disaster about 5 years ago. The loss of wildlife, fishing and tourism had knocked them back seriously but according to the email they were fighting back, even trying to promote the port as a start for the Tall Ships Race in 2005. In the shorter term they planned an event for Saturday, 9th of June and I had come to their notice as a local media personality and model who was sailing a revolutionary new yacht. Would I and my yacht be available to be in their marina on that date?

I printed the email and ran downstairs to show Dad who was straight on the phone to Bill while I phoned Litara in London. Three way phone conversations between four people tend to get confusing but put simply Dad thought Dumblebit could be ready, Bill liked the idea of his pioneering prototype getting publicity and Litara muttered about lawyers and insurance and schedules before asking us to give her time but promise them nothing!

Excitement doesn’t get work done and next morning while Jack was fitting a section of cabin sole I tightened all the toe-rail bolts by ½ a turn. That sounds ridiculous with over 60 bolts on each side running the length of the boat but it was a lesson to me in building. Bill had explained that hard-used yachts leak and all of the beautiful interior woodwork and upholstery plus the very expensive electronics got ruined in a very short time. It wasn’t inevitable in Bill’s opinion and as a Scot he was determined the solution did not have to be more expensive.

Normally it seems there is an inward facing flange at the top of the hull which is covered in adhesive sealant. The deck is put on top is that and then a toe rail made of aluminium put on top of the deck. Finally the three layers are through bolted together. There is so much to go wrong he'd complained. The adhesive first sets then cracks. The bolt holes leak and you still have to drill more leaking holes in the deck for the stanchions and to fix a track for the jib sheet car.

I'd taken Bill's word for all this but tightening each nut inside Dumblebit the whole thing made a kind of sense. First he had the boat builders use a newly approved butyl tape instead of adhesive: it’s sticky but never sets so slowly over weeks, under the pressure of the through bolts it had crept into every crevice sealing the joint completely. Secondly he had one of his ‘interests’ make a toe-rail that incorporated a jib track and, thinking ahead, had used countersunk through bolts with Allen key heads instead of screwdriver slots making it easier to hold the bolt still and tighten the nut rather than hold the nut still and turn the bolt which would break the seal. Thirdly the company that made the toe-rail/track made stanchion bases that clamped on the track so no extra deck holes were needed to fit the upright stanchions which held Dumblebit’s lifelines.

The job was a salutary lesson that nothing about boats and sailing is as simple as it looks but while it should have taken me all day working alone - climbing the companionway, clamping the Allen key into the bolt, going down the companionway, turning the nut half a turn, moving to the next bolt and repeating 130 times - in reality I called Andy who was only too pleased to sit on deck reading a book while holding an Allen key for a couple of hours for the price of 4 beers that evening.

Having finished the tightening job Andy and I headed into the city to trawl charity shops for furniture to fit his new flat. Despite being NED of Arianrhod nobody had told me Andy would soon be moving into a flat that had been rushed to completion so that his presence would discourage thieves and vandals while the development was completed. I say we bought furniture but there was some small collateral damage to my purse in the form of a couple of tops and a hand-tooled leather messenger bag. As I told Andy, it’s all in the wording. What’s one person's used tat is another's antique or art work investment. It was still early in the afternoon so we popped into the café and as Andy relaxed I could ask the question that I’d been bursting to ask since the previous evening.

“What’s happening with you and Penny?”

“I’ve no idea. We get on well but nothing was happening beyond friendship because her parents don’t approve of me. Yesterday though, just before you sailed in, she rang me to meet her at the marina and it was like she was a new girl.”

I still didn’t understand what it was Penny saw in Andy but my pickup on her body language had been spot on. After our double-date disaster it looked as though instead of joining a convent she was staking her claim to Andy and if that were the case it was up to me to help things along so when Andy dropped me back at the boatshed I asked him to come in and meet my Dad.

“Dad, this is Andy who you’ve met a few times but probably you didn’t know that he’s a sculptor in metal who cuts and welds rather than casts his works. Andy this is my Da, Isaac who is an electronics genius and boat fitter who often needs one-off pieces of metalwork to house and mount his creations. Andy I know isn't looking for a job Da and my Da isn't looking for an employee Andy but it struck me you might be able to help each other out sometimes.”

Quite why I did it I don't know as Andy, though a nice guy in lots of ways, had been as long as I'd known him, one of life's drifters. Woman’s intuition?

That’s when my phone went and it was Litara. I listened for a minute then turned back to the men…

“Da, I hope you meant it when you said you could have Dumblebit ready in time because she and I have a modelling job at Milford Haven on the 9th of June.