The Canal Barge – Part 2: Slow Water

"Yes," said Helen. "To both."

The kiss was warm, unhurried and wonderfully ordinary, the kiss of two people who had thought that chapter closed. Raymond's hand rested lightly on her shoulder, and she laughed against his mouth and slid her fingers into his silver hair. The canal slid past in the dusk, still as glass.

"I should have asked on Tuesday," said Raymond.

"I'd have said yes on Tuesday."

"We are slow."

"We are thorough."

They stayed another week. They worked the locks together under the long summer sun, ate long lunches on the towpath with baguettes and cheese, swam in the quiet green water off the stern and lay on the roof of the barge in the evenings, watching the swifts. Helen learned to read the weather from the colour of the clouds. Raymond learned she hummed old songs, badly, when she was happy. He pretended not to notice.

On the last night, a storm came. Thunder rolled over the plane trees and rain drummed on the deck like a hundred small fists. They tied up under a bridge and shut the hatches. The cabin was tiny and warm, with a bunk in the stern and a lamp swinging gently on its hook.

"I'm not what I was," said Helen, at the foot of the bunk.

"Neither am I. Thank goodness." Raymond smiled. "I think we are better."

"Do you?"

"I think we are kinder."

She kissed him again. They undressed slowly by lamplight, laughing at buttons and knees, at stubborn hooks and the comic dignity of age, and under the old quilt their love-making was tender, patient and full of humour, with the rain thundering overhead and the barge rocking softly on the water. Their hands found each other as if remembering a song.

In the morning the sky was washed clean. The canal lay silver and still, and a heron stood on the bank. Helen sat on the deck with coffee in a chipped mug.

"My flight is on Saturday," she said.

"I know."

"I could change it."

"I would like that." Raymond put his arm around her. "Lock twenty-four is very beautiful in September."

"Is it?"

"I will show you," said Raymond, and kissed her hair.

More mature romance stories: Autumn in Quebec · The Quilting Circle · The Silver Ballroom