Book 2, Chapter 58

Within 10 minutes of our calling at George Harding’s house we, Joan Harding and their child Arwen had been sitting in A&E at the hospital waiting for George to get back from X-ray. Fortunately George had recovered consciousness but there was at least concussion and possibly a skull fracture so we waited anxiously with nothing to do but talk. Arwen I learnt had been named Arthur at birth but recently changed from occasionally suggesting that she was a girl to insisting on being called Arwen both at home and by her friends plus choosing her own clothes. She was to put it bluntly, one tough cookie!

My ‘reading’ of George on the dock seemed to have utterly got hold of the wrong end of the stick. George and Joan were what I thought of as a liberal but quiet Guardian readers confronted with being forced into the vanguard of those seeking better treatment for transgender children through a group called Mermaids. One of their difficulties was that people who transitioned then wanted to get on with a regular life rather than be seen as the public face of those associated through media coverage with sex scandals. Having seen me, someone they knew in everyday life, appearing on the television, in the newspapers and even being talked about by colleagues and neighbours without being held up to ridicule gave them hope that Arwen’s future was looking up.

They didn’t know my home address as we’d moved after I left school but guessed from the news clip of Dumblebit’s dramatic launch that I was a regular face at the marina and George had several times dropped by there in the hope of making a casual contact that might lead to a mentor for Arwen, talks with Mermaid parents and even changes in policy at George’s school where Arwen or Arthur expected to attend come next autumn. Looking across the waiting room at Arwen, who’d found better company than her mum and I in the shape of another girl of her own age to gossip with, I doubted she needed much in the way of mentoring but I made a date with Joan who in turn promised to phone as soon as she had news of George’s condition.

Driving home Da occasionally looked sideways at me .

“What?”

“Looking back, life before you came on the scene seems pretty dull. I like it this way better and I’m very proud to have you as a daughter.”

“I do feel at times that I have cheated you out of your having a son.”

“Nonsense. We’ve worked together; sailed together and even partied together. How many fathers and sons can say that. Plus we have the advantage of even being able to dance together. Just never steal my razor to shave your legs!”

Da knew I didn’t use a razor but I took it as intended and gave his hand a squeeze before we entered the house and had to go over all the details of the last few hours with Mum to explain why we were late.

Over the next few days my savings grew from Da’s, Ian’s and the yacht netting jobs as long as I ignored the undeniable fact that due to the physical nature of the tasks I really needed to lay aside some of the money for a reparative manicure so my hands didn’t look too much like a bricklayer’s for the modelling work to come. Our most important project was coming to a climax in putting finishing touches to Dumblebit in readiness for the sail to Milford Haven and as it was to be public debut for both Dumblebit as a paradigm shift in yacht design and for me as a self-employed local model so we both need to look good.

To an onlooker I hope I presented a calm face as I fitted in work, kick-boxing, dance lessons and Beth's keep fit classes but inside I was having kittens. Serena and Jenny spotted it after the keep fit class on Thursday night and prescribed a shopping expedition for the coming Saturday but in truth just having time to be silly with my friends was all I needed.

“You need to find your inner Naomi?” Jenny prompted. You’ve been so busy keeping other people happy that a bit of ‘queen-bee-time’ is called for.

Jenny was right that I had found life easier when concentrating the modelling course even if I did while doing it have to regularly apologise for parading the massive ego that it took to look unperturbed while centre stage. In 9 days I was going to be selling Milford Haven and its retail outlets to the public with nothing more than the image that if I was there it was ‘the place to be.’. Similarly Dumblebit was the culmination of a lot of work by a lot of people whose future prospects as a design depended in large part on how I looked single-handing her into Milford Haven Marina.

I made a start by phoning the man whose shop was promoting the made-to-measure wet suit that I’d been measured for. “The design is attractive but the colours could be better for the young women you want to attract,” I suggested. “White is good but the blue and the black feel cold so you might want to try light and dark pink for those parts.”. For all I knew the suit was already made but I spoke with the confidence of someone close to being the target buyer.

“Did you like that?” I asked my gang who had gathered to witness me trying to be assertive. “I hope so because Dumblebit is being lifted out of the water for a few hours work on Sunday. The weather forecast is good and I could do with some helping hands to buff and polish her in the afternoon in return for cold beers.” Friendship is good but bribery is more reliable for some things.

That was the moment my phone rang with Joan Harding saying that no major damage had been found to George and as he had just come home from the hospital would I mind joining them at their house next Tuesday at 7 pm for a get together with other families in similar circumstances to them and Arwen? Just at that moment I felt to be one of life’s experts so I agreed - naturally however, as soon as I put my phone away I felt totally out of my depth.

Imposter syndrome is, my friends reassure me endemic in modern life. No matter how well qualified we are or how much we’re reassured by those we respect, a belief that our supposed expertise is an illusion has become a regular part of our lives. Luckily I sometimes get things right as in when on Saturday morning I was called by the shop that had measured me for a wet suit. Dropping into the shop later that morning with Serena and Jenny I got to try the suit on finished in the very colours I had suggested…

"That is sooo hot!" pronounced Serena with Jenny nodding madly. To celebrate I bought 4 small sealable, waterproof bags for things like papers and camera that would slip into my shoulder-bag and hopefully prevent a disaster when I next proved my ineptness as a sailor by falling in the water.